Supernatural Investigators

The Truth

In the suburbs of Los Angeles, stood a house at the end of the street far from prying eyes of its neighbours. Its neatly trimmed grass had garden gnomes spread all across as if they were its protectors. The small Victorian house had fences all around it with a metal gate that creaked anytime it was opened. There were rose bushes planted along either side of the pathway.

The interior of the house was a mix of pine and oak wood. Upon entering there is a coat closet on the left and running along the same line a staircase leading upstairs. On the right is the family room and a doorway that leads to the library. Moving past the library, is the dining area and the kitchen  towards the left corner.

In the kitchen there are two other doors, one leading down to the basement and other, the back door. In the centre right of the kitchen was a small table, where Stacey Willer who was sixteen sat.

It was a Sunny Saturday morning and she was up early to study for a test. It was an hour later, her younger sister, Sarah spotted her in the kitchen; munching on a piece of honeyed toast and studying at the same time.
"I had never,” started Sarah, laughing, “in my entire life, seen you pick up a book before."                                                      
"Lay off,” said Stacey, still buried in her book. “I have an History test the day after and I haven’t touched the subject since the term started.”
    Sarah toyed with a strand of her chestnut hair and studied Stacey with her bright brown eyes.
"What?" Stacey asked with her mouth full of toast, looking up from her book.

“I was just wondering whether I could help, that’s all,” she replied, biting her lower lip hopefully.
“Yeah right,” she said, smirking, “As if I’ll ask a fifteen-year-old high school nerd for help.”
Before Sarah could retaliate, Matt Willer walked in.

“Good morning," he said brightly, smiling at the two brunettes.
"Hi!" Sarah replied while Stacey, who had disappeared behind her book again, just waved her hand.
"I can see that everyone’s up," said a blonde female who wrapped her arms lovingly around her husband.

After greeting them she walked over to the counter to get started with breakfast.
“Ann so what’s for breakfast” asked Sarah leaning against the counter, the girls for some reason never called Ann ‘mom’, it was always Ann.
“What would you like?” Ann asked smiling as she poured a cup of coffee for her and Matt.
“Well French toast” Sarah smiled.
“Coming right up” Ann said, turning to get the bread.

After breakfast:

    Stacey was the one who finished first and walked upstairs, still engrossed in her book, unknowing of where she was going. Sarah was the last one to leave the kitchen. As she walked up the first few steps, she heard Matt saying, "Don't you think its time?"
Smiling, she walked back down and poked her head in the kitchen and asked, "Time for what?"
"Oh... it’s nothing," Ann replied, her inky blue eyes not meeting hers.
"Okay," she said, rather disappointed, and disappeared.

11:30:

    Sarah came downstairs to get a drink when her dad asked her to check if they had any mail.
‘That’s odd,’ she thought, as she went outside to check. ‘No one ever sends us any mail.’
    She opened the door and noticed a large brown envelope on the front porch. She picked it up curiously and stared at it as she walked back inside. It was addressed to ‘Matt Smith’. On the bottom-right corner of the envelope, something was written with tiny, weird handwriting.
“Is there any mail, dear?” Matt asked from the living room.
“Err, yeah…” replied Sarah closing the door. She stared at the envelope as she walked all the way to the den, handed it to him and went upstairs.

She entered her sister’s room. “Oh-”
“What?” Stacey asked, her hazel eyes looking at her threateningly as she tried to get the comb out of her tangled, chocolate-brown hair. 
“Um… are you busy?” asked Sarah, walking towards her.
“I think so, why?” she replied sarcastically.
“I know this isn’t the right time, but when I fetched the mail today I found a letter addressed to ‘Matt Smith’.”
“So?”
“Stacey, we’re Willers, not Smiths.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” cried Stacey in anguish, the comb now knotted firmly with her hair.
“I - I don’t know,” Sarah stammered, trying to help her sister pull out the comb. “I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all.”
“What does it look like? I’m trying to get this darn comb out of my hair!”
“I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about the letter.”
“I have no idea but I’ll think about it later,” Stacey said, flattening out her chaotic hair.
“Okay,” said Sarah and walked out of the room.