Demons - Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf)

Chapter 1: Late Night Visitor

The wind howls outside of my bedroom window as I curl up into my twin brother's warmth. His strong protective arm around me, the only comfort this hell hole of a house provides. I watch as Isaac sleeps peacefully beside me, his slow steady breathing the only sound filling the room. He never looks this calm while he's awake. His face almost constantly twisted with concern and wisdom beyond his years shining in his eyes. In a previous life, one where our mother hadn't left us, our brother was still here, and our father was as loving as he had once been many moons ago. I look out the window and watch the stars and long for the sparkle that once lit up our eyes as children.

My eye's slide shut as I try to fall asleep, but the sharp sound of pebbles hitting the nearby window drew me away from dreamland where everything is alright. I gently slide Issac's arm off me and feel a small smile spread as he subconsciously reaches out for me, still the protective older brother even in his sleep. Tip-toeing over to the old dirty window, white paint cracking a peeling away from the frame, and gently slide it open to avoid making too much noise and awakening the beast from its slumber. As I peer over window sill my hyperactive sarcastic best friend, Stiles, jumps excitedly below. His swirling dark caramel eyes shining with excitement and hidden mischief saw by those closest to him. I mentally groan because I know this is the part where he tries to drag me into some hair-brained scheme which ends with us and our other friend, Scott, getting into trouble, Scott usually attains some kind of injury and I feel the wrath I doubt Satan himself could muster.

"Carter! Get down here, we're going out," Stiles whisper shouts, his voice shaking with excitement, arms swinging in a wild gesture towards his faded blue, slightly battered but well-loved Jeep.

"Stiles, what is it? I really can't go I have to meet with Lydia tomorrow morning," I sigh, the bad taste of the lie coating my mouth. He can't find out I left in the middle of the night, least of all with the Sherriff's son. Not again.

"But Carter," a slight whine enters his voice, "my dad just got a call saying two joggers in the woods found a body." Stiles face drops slightly urging me to escape my imprisonment and run through the woods like we always did.

"I'm sorry Stiles, but you know how Lydia is. She is the love of your life after all. Anyways you can always drag Scott along," I say half-heartedly feeling a slight pinch in my heart mention the strawberry blonde bombshell. I used to have the biggest crush on Stiles, but I think.... no. I hope it's faded. It hurts too much hearing him talk about Lydia so much, about his 10-year plan to make her fall in love with him and leave her Captain of every sports team boyfriend, Jackson Whitmore.

"Okay. I'll do that," he says crestfallen before pointing towards me, "but don't think for a second you won't hear, every detail of what you're missing out on." He carefully turns and walks back to his pale blue jeep, his head hanging lower than it had been before, less excitement in his movements. When he reaches the door and opens it, he turns slightly and shouts, "Goodnight Carter."

Then he mumbles something afterwards too quiet for me to hear. I sigh and carefully slide the window closed, wishing I could have gone on the adventure with him one last time before school begins again tomorrow. Turning around and my heart begins to hammer in my chest as I see the only person worse than the devil himself looming in the doorway of the bedroom I share with my twin. A sadistic smirk twisting his features into a terrifying expression.

"I see you're still friendly with the sheriff's kid. I thought I told you to stop seeing him," my father sneers stalking towards me like a predator would their prey. "I think you need to learn to listen to what I tell you."

I gulp down a breath of air, standing painfully still as my muscles seize with fear. Isaac sits up groggily in the bed and rubs his eyes with confusion coating his face before realisation dawns at the scene before him. A sharp stinging pain abruptly blooms in my face and then my stomach. Gasping for breath, I see Isaac move as though to jump in between me and my assailant. He looks at me and I shake my head slightly and look at him pleadingly, begging him to leave it and save himself some pain. It's not his fault I didn't listen the last time our father mentioned my friendship with Stiles. The man who claims to be my father punches me in the side of my rib cage a few more times while bruises blossom on my snowy white skin, before grabbing my hair and dragging me down two flights of stairs. I beg and plead until he throws me on the dirty concrete floor. I scramble away from him and desperately try to escape my fate.

The demon smirks as I eye the source of most of all my punishments. In front of me is a large white chest freezer wrapped in chains and lined with claw marks. But that is exclusively for Isaac. A couple of metres away from the dirty white box is a smaller chest which looks deceivingly like a toy box, hidden in the shadows and unlikely to be noticed unless you already knew of its presence. The wood is painted a flaking sky-blue colour and the lid has Carter written in fancy writing in a glittery purple paint. The entire chest is covered in some of my favourite characters from my childhood like Tinkerbell and Piglet. Surrounding the chest is a pile of old chains with several locks sitting open along its length. The chest is too cheery for the purpose it has adopted over the years. Surrounding the chest is a pile of old chains with several locks sitting open along its length. The beast grabs my ankles and drags me towards the box.

I claw uselessly at the concrete floor only achieving more scores in the ground with some flakes of my red nail polish and scream pleadingly at the thing dragging me towards the object of my fear. My foot suddenly drops and I take the opportunity to try and scramble away to safety but he just picks me up and shoves me into the small box, slamming the lid shut and locking the chains around it. My body is cramped in the small box, but I am too terrified to move in the darkness not that there was much room to do so in the first place.

"Maybe now you'll listen to me the first time."

His thumping footsteps ascend the creaky woodenbasement stairs as my breathing becomes laboured and black begins to creep intothe edges of my vision as the panic sets in.