Paradise City | Lydia Martin

Chapter 01 | Wolf Moon

The city of Beacon Hills was shrouded in darkness, its citizens soundly asleep, unaware of the horrors happening on their doorstep. Only a selected few had to leave their cosy homes, put on their badges and drive to the reserve, about to search for a body that was found by some late-night joggers. Or at least half of one.

The tyres of the state-issued police cruiser squeaked on the wet leaves as the car came to a stop on the border of the woods, the driver and a passenger getting out. One of the officers opened the back door, letting out the search dog they brought with them. They were momentarily blinded by a pair of headlights, but it was soon revealed that it was only the Sheriff, greeting them with a tired smile as he exited his own vehicle.

„Good evening. Thanks for coming on such short notice," he put on his jacket to fend off the chill, his breath forming a mist as he spoke, „You know your assignments. Keep together and be careful. That psycho could still be here."

Just as he finished the sentence, a large shadow swooped through the treeline, disappearing as soon as they turned. The dog at their heels whined and lay on the ground, covering its eyes with paws.

„What the hell was that?" questioned one of the officers, shining his torch through the trees, but seeing only trunks and bushes.

„Like I said, be careful," frowned Stilinski, the hair on his forearms standing up as an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, „Hopefully, no one is stupid enough to show their face here."

-|-

„We're seriously doing this?"

On the other side of the forest, the Sheriff's own son, Stiles and his best friend Scott decided to do a little investigation on their own. They had just parked Stiles' old Jeep, which he lovingly named Roscoe, near the entrance to the reserve and were about to go in.

Scott would probably continue his complaining if it wasn't for the bright green eyes watching him from the trees, the scathing glare making him stand paralyzed on a spot with his mouth gaping open. He blinked a couple of times and the figure vanished. Just an exhaustion-induced hallucination, nothing more.

„You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town," Stiles lit his torch and shined it where his friend was staring off to, jumping when it landed on a squirrel that squeaked and dashed away, „What is it?"

„Nothing. I just thought I saw something," the McCall shook his head, his floppy hair flying around, as he tried to get rid of the image, but those danger-filled eyes seemed to be burned into his mind, „See? This is why I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow."

„Right, 'cause sitting on the bench is such a gruelling effort," teased the boy with a buzzcut, but Scott didn't take it personally, already too used to his snark.

„No, because I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm making the first line," a small smile stretched across the Latino boy's face as he thought of all the training he did over the summer, proud of himself for the effort he put into it.

„Hey, that's the spirit!" to anyone else Stiles would sound encouraging and supportive, but his trademark sarcastic comment followed, dismissing his previous statement, „Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one."

They walked deeper into the eerily silent woods, stumbling over roots and fallen branches. Scott pulled his hoodie tighter around his body as a chill ran down his spine.

„Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?" Scott's voice quivered a bit, but he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

„Huh! I didn't even think about that!" shrugged Stiles with a sheepish smile.