01.

ON THE RURAL OUTSKIRTS of a small California town called Beacon Hills, police cars and state trooper SUV's gathered on a dirt road. The officers jumped out, search dogs barking at their sides. One by one, they clicked on flashlights, streaks of light tearing through the shadowy woods as a desperate search began...

Not far from those dense woods, a two-story home laid hidden under a canopy of trees. A gentle wind drifted into the open window of the upstairs bedroom—where two hands threaded the laces on the head of a lacrosse stick. The work was slow and determined, fingers pulling each lace into a diamond mesh pattern, instructions laying on the desk nearby.

Knotting the last loop, sixteen year-old Scott McCall stood with the re-threaded stick. Dressed in only a pair of athletic shorts, his lithe frame may still have had some filling out to do but it was easy to see that he'd soon grow into a strikingly handsome young man.

Scooping a ball up from his bedroom floor, he gave the lacrosse stick a spin, testing his handiwork. A voice came calling from outside the open door, yelling to be heard: "Scott, I'm off to work. Dinner's in the fridge!"

Scott accidentally sent the ball crashing into a lamp.

"Glue's in the cabinet!"

As he knelt down to pick up the pieces, his mother, Melissa McCall, peered into his room, speaking normally now: "I thought you quit lacrosse."

"I didn't quit. I just kind of never play."

"Have you thought about quitting?"

"Mom."

"Just want you to be happy. High school should be fun. You should be out chasing after girls." She considered that for a moment. "But not catching them. Just chasing."

"Well, I'm not having much luck with that either."

"Okay, I should go before I completely destroy your self esteem. Don't worry. Sophomore year is always better. I promise."

As she left, Scott finished picking up the pieces of the broken lamp. Getting ready for bed, he pumped out a few chinups at the bar mounted in the doorway of his closet and then brushed his teeth in the bathroom.

But a sound—an odd cracking—spun him around...

☾

The front door to the porch opened. Now armed with a baseball bat, Scott started for the yard. Breath held tight, he moved cautiously off the porch steps.

The sound of movement stopped him cold.

Holding still, he white-knuckled the bat as his eyes wandered up to the side of house. A dark figure suddenly swooped down, causing him to holler in terror, almost swinging the bat as an upside down face appeared in front of him.

"Stiles, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"You weren't answering your phone." Caught in the trellis, Stiles hung in front of Scott. He continued talking upside down as if this were a perfectly normal way to have a conversation: "I know it's late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even State Police."

"For what?"

"Two joggers found a body in the woods."

"A dead body?"

"No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body." Reaching up to pull himself free of the trellis, he landed on his feet in front of Scott.

"You mean like murdered?"

"Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties."

"Hold on. If they found a body, what are they looking for now?"

"That's the best part. They only found half."

☾

A beat-up jeep skidded to a halt in front of the gated entrance to the Beacon Hills Preserve. Stiles got out with a flashlight in hand. Scott followed, hurrying to keep up with him as he charged into the hiking paths. "Are we seriously doing this?" Scott asked him.

"You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town," Stiles responded.

"I was trying to get a good night's sleep for practice tomorrow."

"Right, because sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort."

"No, because I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm going to make first line."

"That's the spirit. Everyone should have a dream. Even a pathetically unrealistic one."

"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?"

"Huh. I didn't even think about that."

"And what if whoever killed the girl is still out here?"

"Also something I didn't think about."

"Comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail." Racing up the paths, Scott's breath began to shorten. "Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight."

As they crested a hill, Stiles paused—below, flashlight beams scoured the shadows, the police search just ahead. Unable to stand still, he raced forward: "Come on!"

"Stiles, wait up—"

But gasping for air, Scott had to stop to take a hit from his inhaler. Stiles disappeared up ahead. Then, realizing he'd left Scott behind, he slowed to look back when barking spun him around. Fanged teeth snapped ferociously at him, sending him staggering away and falling right onto his ass. A search dog yanked back against his leash just before tearing him apart.

"Stay right there!"

Scott froze. It was not him the State Trooper was yelling at, however. Peering out from behind a tree, he saw Stiles had run right into a search party. Flashlight beams in his eyes, the boy put his hands in the air.

"Hold on, hold on, this little delinquent belongs to me," Deputy Stilinski called out as he stepped into the light past the growling search dogs. Stiles shrunk under his glare. "Do you listen in on all of my phone calls?"

"No...Not the boring ones," Stiles replied.

"And where's your usual partner in crime?"

"Who? Scott? Scott's home. Said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back at school."

Deputy Stilinski yelled out: "Scott? You out there?" Hidden in the shadows, Scott didn't move. Still clearly suspicious, Deputy Stilinski turned back to Stiles: "All right, young man, I'm taking you back to your car and we're going to discuss a little something called Invasion of Privacy."

Watching Stiles get escorted away, Scott stepped out from the cover of the trees with an irritated sigh. Starting back, he tried to find his way out of the woods, but with each step it became increasingly difficult to see in the pitch black.

At a fork in the path, he paused in confusion. He was about to start off down one direction when he heard it—a rustling among the trees.

Scott held still. Breath tightening more from fear than asthma, he reached into his pocket for his inhaler. But suddenly, he heard an odd rumbling—the sound of sudden and furious movement rising in volume and velocity until half a dozen deer charged out of the darkness, soaring past him with the thunderous beat of hooves trampling the ground.

Startled, Scott dropped his inhaler.

Then, once again alone in the dark, he knelt down and pulled out his cell phone to look for it.

Guiding the phone's lighted display over the ground, he didn't find his inhaler but he did manage to briefly illuminate a face, dead eyes peering up from the pale, yet beautiful face of a young woman torn in half.

Crying out in shock, Scott lurched up, tripping on his own feet and tumbling over the unearthed roots of a tree. Suddenly, he was propelled down a leaf-covered slope, slamming into trees, rolling head over heels and tumbling to a stop at the base. Pushing himself up, he breathlessly looked back up at the embankment down which he just fell.

A low growl stopped him moving. Stopped him breathing. Something crouched in the shadows right near him. Something very large. He slowly began to turn around, when a shape hurtled towards him.

For the briefest instant there was a flash of razor-sharp teeth. Scott twisted forward, crying out. Then, seeming to disentangle himself from the attacking animal, he scrambled back to his feet and into a panicked run.

Whipping through branches tearing at his skin and clothes, he raced blindly through the forest until he crashed out into the road. He whirled around to face an oncoming car. The driver swerved, almost clipping him. Horn blaring, the car hurtled past.

World spinning around him, dark blood stuck his tattered shirt to his back over a deep and vicious looking bite. He whipped around when he heard the strangest sound...

The howling of a wolf.

It echoed through the hills, over the trees, across the rooftops and into the night...

☾

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