Possession (Void!Stiles)

Prologue - Stiles.

"Scott! Answer your phone! Please pick up, Sc-Scott! You have to answer me," I quivered, sending the voice message to my best friend. I found it rather unusual that he wasn't answering, that I hadn't yet received a call back. I clicked the power button on my phone to check the time. It was 3:27am. We were constantly exchanging calls throughout the night, so I knew it was permissible by Scott to ring his phone, yet he didn't answer. Eventually tired of attempting to reach Scott, I chucked my phone onto the bed as I continued to step in the opposite direction of the bandaged man.

I had trapped myself in the corner of my bedroom, attempting to escape the terror of the familiar face getting closer by the second. But the joke was on me. There was no way in hell that I was getting out of this one. It was one of those situations in which I wished I was a ghost, so I could effortlessly hover through the wall. But even then, my abilities would still be no match for what I was facing. He would find me regardless of how far I ran.

The masked figure continued to inch himself closer to me. I let out a scream, mostly to alert those around me that I was in danger. But I knew it wouldn't change anything. My father was working a night shift. He wouldn't be home for hours. And, well, there was no one else here.

"Stiles," he hissed, emphasising the last letter. "Or should I call you something else? I know Stiles isn't your real name."

"I'm not telling you what it is," I uttered, keeping my true identity confidential. Very few people have ever known my birth name. Actually, very few people even knew that Stiles is not my birth name.

"Why are you hiding from me? I thought we worked well together," he begged. Flashbacks of my previous experience with him coursed through my mind, triggering me to flinch at the knowledge of everything that occurred.

"I don't associate with bastards like you," I spluttered, compelling the monster to shove my body against the wall in a fit of rage. He hoisted me in the air with his arm against my neck. I generally don't spit profanities towards others, but this was a different situation, though I regretted my choice of words as soon as they escaped my lips.

"That wasn't very nice. Why would you talk about us like that?"

Shocked by his calm reaction, I didn't say a thing, afraid he would have hurt me more than he already was. I was struggling to breathe, his arm prodding into my throat.

Eventually he released me. I perceived it was because he had no intention of killing me, for if I was dead he would have to find a new victim. For him I was an easy target. He had left his mark on me, so he always knew where I could be found.

"Come on Stiles, we work so well together, don't we?" he urged, trying to persuade me.

"I don't think we do," I retorted, entirely disagreeing.

"Let me in," he yelled, once again pushing me up against the wall. I swore the surface should have broken with the force. At least this time my feet were still firmly planted on the ground.

"No" I answered, choking. I gasped for air, struggling to inhale.

"It's too bad, Stiles," he said. His tone of voice was empathetic, though I knew it was his trickster personality fooling me into thinking that he actually cared.

"You don't get a choice."

And the darkness consumed me.

I had no clue as to what to tell Scott. I needed to warn him but I didn't know what to say. How was I supposed