Invisible String. Stiles Stilinski (1)

lxi. caleb the ghost

"We can't leave—" Scott exclaimed, "Not until we figure out why Stiles sent us here."

"Who are we going to ask?" Lydia asked as she led them out of the house's driveway and back on the main road, "There's no one here."

"We can ask him," Malia said nonchalantly, pointing to the other side of the road. Amelie turned around, squinting at the little blond boy staring at another house. But he wasn't—

"Hey!" Scott called out. The boy turned around, eyes widening with fear before running off.

"What do we do?" Lydia asked panicked.

"Go after him!"

"But, guys he's not—" real. They'd run off before she could explain to them. This was a bad idea. Reluctantly, the Anchor followed them down the road, where they chased the poor boy to his home. "This is a bad, bad idea."

But, they ignored her anyway.

"Hello? Anybody here?" Lydia asked aloud as they entered to boy's house. Amelie was almost shaking now.

"Visitors? I can't believe we have visitors!" The voice of a woman made her jump in her place. She was tall, and dressed in a long floral dress. "Oh, Caleb will be so happy to see you. It's been such a long time since he's had anyone to play with."

Glancing to her friends, who had begun to grow wary, she gestured for them to go and sit. If they started it, they'd have to end it. "Oh, you must be thirsty! Come on in and have a seat while I get you something to drink."

"Seriously? What is with her?" Malia whispered as soon as the woman was gone into the kitchen and she left them in the living room.

"She's the woman I saw in the mirror..." Lydia told them as they sat on the dining table. Amelie could feel the dust on the table as she looked around her to look at all the frames with missing people. She was right...

"This was my mother's lemonade recipe..." The woman smiled at them giddily as she handed each one a glass of lemonade. Amelie grimaced at the sight of fungi floating on top of the liquid. She had to kick Malia under the table, who was gulping down the drink like she'd been in a desert. "At least, as much as I can remember. We always served this when we had friends to visit."

"We didn't come to visit," Malia told the woman, "We're looking for someone."

"A... friend of ours," Amelie said softly as the woman turned to her, "Maybe you've seen him? His name is Stiles."

"It's been a while since anyone came through Canaan..." She trailed off.

"How long?" Lydia asked.

"Since April 8th, 1987?" Malia took out a small piece of paper she'd probably found on one of the picnic tables.

Lenore's face turned cold. "Why would you disturb those things? They don't belong to you."

"We need to know what happened," Scott interjected.

"There was a picnic, a community party," She explained briefly making Malia quirk a brow, "It seems like everyone left in a hurry..."

"People have been leaving Canaan for a long time," Lenore shrugged, "That's the day the last of them left."

"All at once? They all just disappeared?" Amelie needed her to say it. She knew she was right.

"I didn't say they disappeared—" Lenore said coldly. "I said they left."

"Did they leave in a cloud of green smoke—?"