Chapter 001 - And so, it begins.

...

In Beacon County, California, with an estimated population of 80,000 and growing, Beacon Hills was a prosperous town clouded by broad and beautiful forests.

At first glance, the town of Beacon Hills was like any other.

But look again, and I only pray that you are prepared, for as its true colors unfold, you shall learn that the history of Beacon Hills is not for the faint of heart.

Mysterious disappearances, deaths without explanation, and an alarming rate of animal attacks that people always just seemed to turn a blind eye to.

The town of Beacon had death written on its very foundation.

So, I invite you to it.

I invite you to this story that hopes to unravel the mystery that is Beacon Hills.

Welcome to Beacon Hills.

Welcome to Cursed.

...

Sunday, January 9, 2011.

The night everything changed.

...

It was a little past midnight in Beacon Hills, California. The boundless sky was now covered by a veil of complete darkness if not by the small spots of lights known as stars shining on it even among the heavy clouds that hovered above the town, hiding if briefly the full moon that hanged in the sky by but a tread tonight, serving as a guide for the lost souls that walked among the dark and cold streets tonight.

There was tension in the air tonight.

The whole of Beacon could feel it, as if an invisible force was breathing down their neck, just waiting for the perfect time for an attack. And none felt it more than Sherrif Noah Stilinski.

One which he could only compare to the feeling he got when he was out on patrol in the streets, hunting for a criminal akin to how a rat would for cheese in a maze, knowing of the eyes looking at him from everywhere, searching for any chance or slip up, ready to pounce at every mistake of his.

It was the same feeling a prey would get when in the presence of a predator.

It did not help that animal-related death has been in a all time high these last few months in the county, the guilt part being what has been called by the journals the Moon Killer.

And Noah couldn't help but feel as if, while he was waiting, the thing out there already had him right where it wanted, its mouth around his neck, just waiting for the right time to bite.

Sighing, the middle-aged man shook his head slightly, eyes straying away from his office door, reaching for the last drawer of his desk, only to find it empty. Rolling his hazel eyes in annoyance at the fault of a whiskey he kept there, but still couldn't help the small smile on his lips, "Damn it, Stiles." he cursed with a light chuckle at the end.

Getting up, he first made his way to his office doors, crossing eyes with one of his deputies before giving him a nod and closing his curtains. From there, he made his way to a metal cabinet in the office's corner. Taking a hidden key from under it, he opened the middle drawer to find papers upon papers stacked up. Reaching behind it, he frowned when his hand found nothing.

"Oh, come on!" He shouted with no real animosity, a sight being let out as makes his way back to his desk and fell on his chair, letting his body sink into it. His eyes roamed the room aimlessly, looking for anything to distract him from his craving for an unhealthy meal. It continued for but a few seconds before his orbs found his office tv in the upright corner of the room playing the latest news, the tv on mute as he had left it while working.

Turning the volume up, he listed attentively to the two late-night hosts.

"... accounts of passersby during the attacks have described it as ridiculously big. Around ten feet tall when in its hidden legs and about six feet when on all fours, called a freak of nature by survivors." Explained the male host, an African American man in his late thirties with a slight high pitch to his voice, Noah always found funny as to how such a serious looking man could have such voice.

"Believed by authorities to be an uknown and new sub species of a grizzly bear that somehow has found itself ina the state, this beast has already made three victims in its three months of activity. All on the night of a full moon, hence his nickname given by the local papers." The female host complemented, a blonde and beautiful woman in her early thirties.

"And now, we recommend you get the kids out of the room, for with us is an exclusive video of this beast, taken from a late victim's phone moments before her death. I warn you, it is not for the faint of heart," he spoke in a warning manner, seconds before the image on the tv changed. Suddenly he wasn't funny anymore.

The image blinked as almost complete darkness met the audience, the sound of ragged breaths clear to them when from the darkness a shadow loomed over the forest, almost completely hidden by the thick trees, invisible if not by its eyes that seemed to shine in the darkness, reflecting the light from the girl's flashlight.

Her disheveled breath, probably from running s, her anxiety clear to Noah even through the TV screen as he watched that shadow grow bigger and bigger till it reached its full giant glory, the video shaking along the girl's hands.

And then it pounced, the video becoming a blurry of movement and light as the girl screamed in fear as she run for her life. A run that didn't last long as the wet sound of ripping flesh made itself present, her scream stopping abruptly as the only sounds heard were the earth-shaking roar that the beast let out before his paw crushed the phone, ending the video.

And just as the video ended, the door to his office sprung open, a panting deputy standing at its frame, the fear in his eyes telling what words didn't. Covering his face with his hands, Noah muttered to himself.

"Fuck."

....

Almost on the other side of town, in a two-story-tall house, Scott was relaxing in his bed, listening to a random work out music while adjusting his lacrosse stick net, making sure that it was in top condition for the team tryouts that would happen tomorrow.

He had made the brilliant and 'totally possible' decision of making the first line this year, tired of passing all his time on the bench with Stiles while watching the crowd cheer for his teammates while he did nothing but sit and watch during the entire game and season.

He wanted that glory, to have people cheer his name, and he was going to get it!

Hearing his phone ringtone, Scott ignored it when he saw it was Stiles calling, tossing the object on his bed with a sigh.

He probably had another of his crazy ideas that would make them end in a cell.

Again.

While brushing his teeth and washing his face to ease his growing anxiety for the next day, hoping to calm down just enough for a good night of sleep, Scott heard crackling wood noises coming from outside his house.

Turning his head slowly to stare at the dark woods around his house from the widow of his bedroom, Scott made an expression of confusion that soon turned to fear, his body shrouded in adrenaline as the recent news of the animal's attack passed through his mind.

Grabbing and putting on the first shirt and hoodie he could find, Scott's eyes lingered on a baseball bat in the corner of his room.

Picking the bat and slowly but rapidly going down a layer of stairs that brought him to the first floor of his house, Scott moved carefully, tiptoeing and praying that the wood wouldn't creak under his weight. Bat arched back, ready to swing and protect himself in case of an attack as he tried to escape.

Approaching the back door of his kitchen, he couldn't help but hold still when the door creaked, just freezing there like an idiot as he waited for an attack that never came.

Sighing in relief, he stepped out. His option of a hoodie proved right when the cold temperatures brushed his face and exposed his legs, not helping the chill that seemed permanent in his being.

Walking around the house to avoid anything that may be at the entrance, he finally stepped on his porch, looking around for any sign of, well, anything.

Hearing something, he looked out to the streets in front of his house, as if expecting to see the twins of Shining coming out of nowhere. With this thought to distract him, the Hispanic boy couldn't help but jump in fear when, in the next moment, something jumped him.

"Boo!"

Startled and afraid, Scott screamed as he prepared himself to swing the baseball bat at whatever had made the sound. Hands tightening around the wood in preparation, and if not for the sound of laughter, one that he knew all too well, Scott would have.

Recognizing that the thing that got the jump on him was his mischief of a best friend, who was currently hanging upside down from his roof, Scott took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he shouted in confusion and anger at his friend.

"Stiles, what the hell are you doing?!", all he had as an answer was his friend's maniac laughter.

"What am I doing?" he asked with his signature dorky smile while pointing to the bat in Scott's hands, "When was the last time any of you played baseball?"

...

Earlier that night in the Stilinski household.

Sheriff Stilinski had yet to come home when Stiles found himself in the bathroom of his house, coming back from a long, long hot bath, towel wrapped around his waist as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

His honey-brown eyes examined himself, a skinny and pale body meeting his eyes as he loomed over his form.

From the top of his head, his buzz-cut greeted him, something that annoyed Stiles greatly as his anxious self couldn't help but feel a sort of desperation as he thought of the time it would take it to grow back.

High cheekbones adorned his face, complementing his jawline, which was one wisp away from being sharp. His broad shoulder contrasted with his long and thin but yet muscular arms. His somewhat defined chest led the path to what could hardly be called abs, ending in a 'v' path to his pelvis.

However, it wasn't his almost-to-skinny and frail body that took the teenager's attention and made his very being grow cold, but his face, his eyes, as Stiles stared at the reflection of a nightmare.

One that haunted him his whole life.

...

It all started on the fateful day of his mother's death.

The year was 2004. A veil of darkness already covered the night sky with angry dark and gray clouds, the sounds of thunder reaching the ears of his ten-year-old self, his only company and the only thing that seemed to keep him connected to the world around him.

The boy's honey-brown eyes were puffy, his sclera itchy and red, obvious proof of his crying as Stiles fought against the never-ending flow of tears that just won't stop falling.

Tiny hands that held back sobs that never fully formed covered his face. Silence lingered in the dark corridor that the boy was in as his darkest thoughts rushed through him all at once. His tiny frame became even smaller as he shrank in his seat in the hospital chairs outside his mother's room when a team of doctors and nurses entered it in a rushing manner, orders and odd words that he couldn't quite make out being fired left and right like the poetry of a bard in a story without a happy ending.

But one thing he could make out was after what felt like hours for the young and innocent kid, the Stilinski heard the struggles slowly stopping; the orders falling as a flat noise made itself known.

And soon, the doctor announced the date and hour of his mother's death.

It was then that the darkness took him.

He didn't remember fainting, at least he didn't think he fainted. At that moment, all he could remember was the feeling of loneliness and desperation his mother's death brought him. It enveloped his whole being, the air heavy, and suddenly, it took him a herculean effort to just breathe, a burning pain in his lungs from the lack of air.

If he could describe death, he thought it would be exactly like it. That chilling feeling of loneliness surrounded him like he was floating in the darkness itself, just drifting without a destination or purpose.

He was alone...

...and then, he wasn't.

The being that approached him walked on all fours, of that much Stiles was certain as the sound of his paws hitting the floor reached him. And from how the entire world seemed to shake as it walked, it was big. Way too big.

And that's when Stiles saw it.

With long pointed ears, fur darker than a night without stars that gave it an ethereal feeling, standing out from among the darkness that surrounded them, an elongated jaw with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth, paws bigger than the feet and hands of basketball players put together with claws that looked like they could tear through metal with ease greeted him.

He was a predator, a hunter, and he longed for his prey.

But, it was when the thing's glowing red eyes looked at his honey-brown ones that Stiles instantly knew what it was.

A wolf.

And faster than one would blink, Stiles woke up, his figure shooting from the cold and hard floor, struggling against the bidding of his father's arms. The world was blurry and the confusion that took him made him desperate, only barely making out the sound of his father's soothing words.

Slowly he would calm down, and as he embraced his father, who sought to comfort his apparently in panic son, Stiles swears he could hear a voice whispering in his ear.

So far, yet so close.

There, but not completely, like an echo.

'Soon.'

...

Staring at his reflection, Stiles could see the same glowing red eyes staring back at him. It replaced his reflection in the mirror with the same giant wolf he had seen that night in the hospital and as he stared at the mythical creature; it gave him a grin full of mischief, an emotion that seemed almost human-like.

Blinking, Stiles opened his eyes only to find that the wolf was gone, his pale self gritting him.

Sighing in mental exhaustion, he splashed the sink's cold water against his face to cool himself from the influx of unpleasant memories that rushed at him faster than the Flash could do a stupid decision concerning time travel.

'Unit One, do you copy?', a muffled voice reached his ears, like a distant shout. He looked around in confusion when another voice made itself present.

'Unit One, copy. What do you want, Steven?', This time, his father was the one to talk. The tiredness in his voice was clear to Stiles as he left the bathroom, following the voice only to find himself in his room, the widow that faced the street open as he followed his dad's voice, leaning against the widow rail to stare at an empty street.

'Sir, sorry for bothering you, but it's urgent. Two joggers just called claiming to have found a new body.', by now Stiles was observing his father through the window, his face morphing to a serious one by this piece of news as what Stiles dubbed as the 'you're in trouble voice' made itself known.

'Where?', he demanded.

'At Beacon's Reserve, sir. I already alerted all the nearby officers, but I'm afraid I have more concerning news.' Steven's voice seemed to die in his throat.

'And what can be more concerning than a person being dead, Steven?!', his father's harsh voice called.

'They only found half, sir.'

And with that last sentence, Stiles ran to his closet, the sound of his dad's cruiser taking off in the background as he fished for clothes, putting the first ones he could get his hands on and rushing through his house's front doors, his jeep keys in his mouth as his hands occupied themselves by buckling his belt as he ran to what he called a car.

He hadn't even stopped to think about how he could hear his father talking all the way down from his car.

Nor did he notice as a pair of glowing red eyes following him and Roscoe as the jeep slowly disappeared on the horizon, the sound of its tires speeding down the roads filling the otherwise silent night.

...

Currently.

"I thought you were a predator." Was Scott's response, which made Stiles snort at him, face scrunching as if to say, 'Are you serious?'.

"Well, that's what you get from ignoring my calls.", this time, it was Scott who snorted at him.

With a look of fake hurt at his friend's reaction, Stiles propelled himself out of the roof in a near-perfect fall and steadied himself on his two legs. Not missing a beat, he climbed the porch so he and Scott were officially facing each other, his friend letting a tired sigh at his antics.

"Now go put on your big boy pants. We need to go. " The vague statement just made Scott even more confused than he already was.

"Go? Go where?" he asked and Stiles looked at him like he just asked the dumbest thing ever. But nonetheless, he explained.

"Okay, look. My dad received a dispatch about twenty minutes ago. Two joggers found a body in the woods."

"A dead body?", that just made Stiles doubt his friend I.Q.

"No, idiot, a body of water!" and Scott felt a little embarrassed at the dumb question. "Yes, a dead body. Now come on, we have a tomb to raise, Lara.", the look on Scott's face at his friend's words didn't have a price. But he soon thought of something.

"Wait, if they already found the body, what are we going lookin' for?" Stiles just gave what Scott dubbed a 'mad smirk' in response.

"That's the best part, they only found half." the look of sheer curiosity that Scott gave him was all Stiles needed to know that he rooked him. "We are going." and he was not asking.

...

It was already past 11:00 PM when Dumb and Dumber exited Stiles's jeep, a lantern in his hands, as he illuminated the path ahead of them. The woods were completely silent, if not for the occasional sound of creaking wood and snapping twig that made Scott's heart jump.

The latino boy could not help but sigh, doubting his mental health and why he let his best friend pull him in shit like that. Stiles seriously needs to grow a sense of self-preservation. But then again, so need him or he wouldn't be there.

"All I wanted was one good night of sleep before practice tomorrow.", he complained.

Stiles just looked at him with a sympathetic glance. He knew it was Scott's dream to make the first line, but unfortunately, his severe asthma and lack of athletics was one big stone in his path.

"Come on, Scotty. You are the one who's always bitchin' about how nothing happens in Beacon." Stiles replied, going deeper into the woods with his friend hot on his tail.

"Just saying. All I wanted was one good night of sleep before practice tomorrow.", the boy complained.

Stiles just looked at him with a sympathetic glance. He knew it was Scott's dream to make the first line, but unfortunately, his severe asthma was one big stone in his path to stardom.

"Yeah, 'cause we will have so much excitement while bench warming."

The pale boy called out, walking ahead of his best friend as both boys started to go deeper and deeper in the darkness of the woods, unaware of a pair of glowing red eyes following their movements amidst the dark, mere meters away from the two clueless teenagers whose lives were about to take a... wild turn.