Chapter Text
Trying to fix the radio was starting to irritate Stiles. He had been messing around with the thing for the majority of the afternoon since he came home from lacrosse, and the thing still wouldn’t turn on and connect to a station. Each time he thought he had made it work, he would turn it on and watch in hopefully delight as the screen lit up as he began to turn the dials. His hope would quickly diminish when all his ears heard was static and he growled in frustration, throwing the piece of crap on the bed and turning around in his desk chair, arms folded. He huffed, knowing he looked childish, but who was to know?
He doesn’t know what to do. The radio won’t work, his homework for the night is complete and his father is downstairs watching the television as he cooks dinner. Stiles had managed to convince him to make chicken burgers and if he listens hard enough, he can hear his dad pottering around the kitchen as he cooks.
Swirling around in his chair, he flicks his gaze around his room, eyes never landing on one thing for too long as he tries to figure out what to do. It’s still light outside, the sun casting a warm glow over Beacon Hills as it makes its way towards the ground and he wonders about going for a walk, if that would be a good idea.
In the end he jogs down the stairs, feet skidding along the floor for a moment as he holds the end of the banister to twirl himself around. He grabs his shoes, slipping one on and then the other before he grabs his jacket from the one of the hooks by the front door and yells back towards the kitchen, “I’m just going for a walk Dad, I’ll be back in a minute!”
“Don’t be long, dinner will be ready in a moment,” his dad replies, his back to Stiles as he stands at the oven. He hears the zip being pulled up on Stiles’ jacket before the door opens and shuts with a bang, Stiles’ quick, “Bye!” echoing before the house falls silent except for the sounds of the cooking and the background hum of the television.
Making his way down the driveway, Stiles forgoes his beloved Jeep, patting it lovingly as he passes by it. He begins to walk down the street, watching as the sun continues its descent towards the ground, stars appearing here and there in the sky as day turns into night. Stiles makes a mental note not to take too long and speeds up his pace, making his way towards his desired destination.
The bell chimes again when he finally makes it to the antiques store. The place still smells the same, the comforting scent of old, worn down wood and heavy dust and he beams as he enters the shop. The lamps are all on, casting the shop in a warm, pleasant glow as he slides up towards the counter where the old man is sat reading a book, this one a different book than the last time Stiles was here. ‘The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow’ by Washington Irving is written in bold capitals on the spine of the book.
Stiles clears his throat and the man looks up, eyes peering at him over the edge of his glasses perched on the end of his skinny nose. He bookmarks his page and turns towards Stiles, arms resting on the countertop as he says in a deep voice, like that of a intellectual school professor, “How may I help you young man?”
“I brought an old dial radio from here the other day,” Stiles begins, leaning his weight against the counter slightly, “And it doesn’t seem to be working. I wondered if you knew what I could do to make it tune into the stations?”
The man looks at him for a moment, bald head gleaming until dark grey hair peppered with white springs forth around his eye level, encircling his scalp. His well kept beard and moustache are a lighter grey and the man reaches up to scratch at his jaw as he leans back in his seat. He turns to his left slightly and reaches down, glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose as he appears to root around in one of the shelves in the wooden counter. Stiles waits patiently while the man searches for whatever he’s looking for before he murmurs quietly, “Ah,” and sits back up, pushing his glasses up with one hand as he produces a booklet with the other. The pages of the small booklet are worn, the paper yellowed with age and the ink forming words on the paper almost faded into nothing. The store owner places the booklet on the counter top and opens it up, blowing on it slightly to remove any lingering dust.
Flicking his eyes across the page, he makes a satisfied noise when he looks up, closing the booklet as he does so. He slides the booklet towards Stiles and Stiles takes it, picking it up and flicking through the pages himself. There are diagrams drawn on some of the pages, showing how the radio works, how the dials turn and how the batteries have to be placed within the device. Stiles looks up towards the man who is smiling at him and says, “How much?”
The man shakes his head, “Nothing, not a dime. I should have given it to you when you brought the thing but I forgot so take it and go figure out how to make that old radio work.”
Stiles smiles at him and thanks him, waving as he leaves the store and the bell chimes overhead. The man waves slightly in return before he returns to reading his book, the soft glow from the lamps almost making the man appear younger and as if he was a model for a worn out photo.
Turning onto the street and breathing in the chilly air, Stiles stuffs his hands and the booklet into his pockets and begins his walk home, thinking about the chicken burgers his dad will have cooked up. He hums as he walks, eyes mostly on the darkening sky and the twinkling lights as they blink down at him and he wonders what it’s like being a star, so far away and so bright, an explosion of gases and magic that live and die but always give out their lights to deliver to the eyes of humans on earth. He wonders and then stops, body stiffening as the hair on the back of his neck stands on edge.
Someone is watching him.
The street is empty, cars passing every now and then but the air is silent, distant sounds of civilisation and the sound of insects a background buzz to the pounding of his heart beating too loud in his own ears. He casts his eyes around, looking to his right that shows the road and a few houses planted here and there, a few shops that claim to be open all hours, their windows lit up a bright white as products collect dust on the shelves. A stranger is walking down the street, hood up, hands shoved into their pocket, but they are walking away from Stiles, not paying him any attention, as if he’s not there.
He looks to his left then and scans the scene. A children’s park, deserted at this hour, faded colours on all of the metal structures, the swing set, the merry-go-round, the monkey bars. The gate separates him from the park, cutting off the pavement and opening into thick tuffs of grass that taper off to soft rubber mulch that encircles the ground around the different play sets around the park. Apart from the slight usual uneasy feeling of seeing a deserted playground at nightfall, the park doesn’t concern Stiles. He bypasses it and looks out towards the field behind it, which hosts two football fields until it tapers off into more woodland. Stiles wonders absently how much woodland in Beacon Hills there is and if they should rename the town to indicate the vast forestation they seem to have in comparison to the lack of hills in the area.
It’s the woods that get him. The trees trunks are mostly thin towards the front but from the how many there are, they quickly dissolve into darkness no one can see more than a few of the trees that lead into the deeper parts of the woods. Stiles stares towards the tree line for a moment, silent, still, his muscles wanting to twitch and move, whir to life but he keeps still, as still as he can, as his eyes scan between the trees.
He can’t tell if he’s more relieved or shocked when he finally spots the red eyes watching him from the darkness. He stares right at the red irises and even from this distance, he can tell the creature knows he’s spotted it because it stands there a moment longer before the eyes disappear and leave only an inky blackness in its place.
Stiles doesn’t hesitate to walk towards the trees.
*
What was remaining of the sun cannot penetrate through the leaves and branches here and the woods before him are dark, bathed in blue and an unsettling darkness that feels as though it could wrap around his frail frame and swallow him whole. He keeps his hands in his pockets, clenches them into fists and looks around, trying to find the source of the red eyes.
Stiles can’t see anyone, not anything. The sounds of cars passing on the road seem distant and fade away the further he walks into the woods and he wonders idly if his dad is worried, is wondering where he is, if he will go looking for Stiles. It makes him pause for a moment, unsure if he should continue this chase that has only led him into an undisturbed forest and he considers turning around and walking home, having dinner with his father and forgetting the glowing eyes from the trees.
It is then that it hits him, literally. Something huge, heavy, covered in dirt and panting harshly knocks Stiles over and Stiles shouts as he falls, the loose branches and rocks digging into his skin when he lands. A hiss leaves his lips as a rock slices the side of his hand and blood wells up to the fresh wound and begins to run, a single trail that travels down his hand and Stiles watches in wonder before he thinks to look up to see what had hit him. He doesn’t see anything for a moment and as he is about to get back up when it appears again, something large, something hunkered over with hot breath that smells of decay and rot, of old blood mixed with fresh blood, of meat. Its body looks foul, smells like a corpse and Stiles resists emptying the contents of his stomach as the creature watches him with sickly eyes, the whites a pale yellow, the red veins almost reaching towards the milky irises. Its mouth hangs open, sharp, misshapen teeth standing at odd angles, pieces of something unidentifiable stuck between some of its rotten looking teeth. Stiles doesn’t want to look closer but considering the smell of the creatures breath, he wonders if what is stuck between its teeth is meat and flesh.
It’s like time had slowed down to a stop as the creature kneeled hunched over, watching him and unmoving and then suddenly it was pouncing towards where he’s lying on the floor, its mouth gaping open, longer than any humans, its powerful jaw closing to snap its teeth at Stiles as it flew towards him. Stiles didn’t know how to react, felt paralysed with shock as the thing came to fall upon him and, presumably, devourer him.
Stiles closed his eyes and prepared for the feeling of those nasty teeth digging into his skin, but there was nothing. He heard a large thump, as if something had heavy had hit something equally as heavy and then there was the sound of bark breaking in a tree. Stiles reopened his eyes and looked over to where he had heard the noise to see someone in a leather jacket had thrown themselves at the creature, propelling them both into a tree trunk. The bark on the tree was broken and splintered from where they had connected and both bodies were on the ground, struggling. The creature got up first and took a swipe for the other person, who rolled over to dodge the attack, the creature’s claws scratching at the earth when it missed its target.
The person rolled again into a couching position and growled, something feral in the way it did so, before they spun around towards where Stiles was still on the floor. His eyes widen for a moment as he took in the person before him; it was the guy from earlier, who had been standing next to the seats in the lacrosse field. He was still wearing his leather jacket, but his white shirt was splattered with blood and something green that smelt foul. Stiles guessed it had come from the creature when he had impacted with it and Stiles wrinkled his nose. The guy glanced down at his shirt and then rolled his eyes before he stiffened, looking behind him to where the creature was about to lunge for him again.
He turned back towards Stiles and yelled, “Run!” before turning back towards the creature as it leapt at him. The man dodge the things attack and it fell to the ground again, but it was up on its feet again fast, swinging its long arm out and catching the man’s ankles, making him fall onto his back with a thump and a hissed breath.
Stiles scrambled to stand up and looked around for something to use as the guy in the leather jacket tried to get back up on his feet to take the creature out. It was swinging its arms, long talons catching on fabric and skin, noises that hurt Stiles’ ears leaving its mouth while it fought. Stiles felt around on the ground until he found a heavy enough rock and then turned back towards where the two were fighting and waited for his opportunity. The guy was on his feet again and as the creature swung at him, he dodged away, giving Stiles a great opening to hurl the rock at the things head. It hit with an audible crack and the thing shrieked, blood welling up at its skull before beginning to trickle down its leather like flesh. It screamed again before it tried to lunge for the guy, but Stiles reached out and caught the end of his jacket sleeve and tugged him towards him, out of the line of the things attack.
“Run!” Stiles said, mimicking the guy from a moment before. He reached down to grab at the guys hand, turning away from his surprised face to break into a run, dragging the guy with him as the creature gave a blood curdling scream from behind them.