7: Whispers of the Supernatural

The early evening air was thick with the scent of pine, the cool breeze stirring the leaves around us as we walked down the familiar streets of Beacon Hills. It was one of those quiet nights where the town seemed almost peaceful, the kind of night that tricked you into thinking everything was normal, even though you knew, deep down, that things were anything but.

"Okay, so, animal attacks, shadowy figures in the woods, and the howls." Stiles was practically bouncing as he walked beside me, his voice full of excitement. "This is big! I mean, it's like we've got a real mystery on our hands, guys!"

I glanced at Scott, who walked silently beside me, his face a little more subdued than usual. He'd been quiet since we left the Hale House, and I could tell that something about that place was still bothering him. Maybe it was bothering me too, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why. That voice. The pull. The way everything had felt so... wrong yet so inevitable.

"Yeah, but Stiles, we're talking about rumors. Just stories people tell when they're bored," I said, trying to sound casual, even though a part of me felt uneasy. The truth was, I hadn't been able to shake the feeling that there was something to these stories, something deeper than just a few wild tales spun by bored teenagers. There was an undercurrent to Beacon Hills that I'd always sensed but never fully understood.

Stiles shot me a look, his eyes practically gleaming. "Come on, really? You're telling me you haven't heard the stories about the weird stuff happening around here? People have been talking about it for years! There's the woods and the howls at night, the attacks on livestock, people seeing strange things in their yards... It's all connected, I can feel it!"

Scott sighed beside me. "Stiles, you've been reading too many of those websites again, haven't you? They're just urban legends, man."

Stiles ignored him, marching ahead and gesturing with his hands. "Urban legends? You can't be serious. No one just makes up howls in the woods and mysterious animal tracks, Scott. Think about it! This town has something going on, and we're going to figure it out!"

I had to admit, Stiles was right about one thing. I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was lurking beneath the surface of Beacon Hills—something I was starting to feel was much closer to us than I had realized. It wasn't just the eerie sense of being watched that I had felt at the Hale House. It was the pull. The way everything seemed to be leading me toward something I wasn't ready to understand. And now, as I listened to Stiles go on about the attacks and the shadows, I couldn't help but feel like all of this was connected—like it was all part of something much bigger than any of us.

"So, what exactly do you want us to do, Sherlock?" I asked, half-joking, though the tension in my chest was starting to build again.

"We investigate, obviously!" Stiles said, spinning around to face us, practically grinning. "We start with the woods, where all the howls have been heard. Maybe check out the places where people have been attacked. We're going to figure out what's been going on around here."

Scott frowned. "You really think this is worth it? We don't know what we're dealing with, Stiles. If it's some kind of animal—"

"Then we'll have backup," Stiles interrupted, his grin widening. "Besides, it's not just about the howls. I've been digging around, and there's something more to these stories. People say there's a pack of wolves—no, wait, hear me out—people say there's a pack of wolves that's been attacking animals around town. I think it's more than just animals. I think we're dealing with something... supernatural."

My pulse quickened. Something in Stiles' voice sent a chill down my spine. He was onto something, I could feel it. His excitement was infectious, but my instincts told me that whatever we were about to uncover, we weren't ready for it.

"I don't know about this," Scott said, his voice guarded. "What if it's just some... wild animal? Something we don't know about?"

"I get where you're coming from," Stiles said, his voice softening. "But think about it, Scott. There's a pattern. These attacks aren't random. Something's causing it. And I'm not letting this go until we figure it out."

I ran a hand through my hair, uncertainty gnawing at me. "Look, I don't know if we're ready for this, Stiles. What if we're getting in over our heads?"

But Stiles was already moving ahead, his enthusiasm outweighing any doubts. "Too late for that now. We're already neck-deep in it, my friend. You can't back out now!"

"Wait, you said people saw shadowy figures," I said suddenly, my voice quieter. "Where exactly? Are these just stories, or—"

Stiles glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with excitement. "They're more than stories. People around town, especially in the areas near the woods, have reported seeing figures darting in and out of sight. Not exactly human, but close. I've got a few leads on where to start, but we need to investigate."

As we made our way into the woods, the sky above us began to turn a deep shade of orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. The shadows lengthened around us, and the familiar forest that we'd walked through countless times before now seemed different. Darker. Full of something... else.

The woods had always been a place of mystery in Beacon Hills, even before the talk of wolves and strange happenings. But now, with Stiles leading the way, armed with his usual collection of wild theories, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching us. Something that didn't belong.

We reached the edge of the woods, and Stiles pulled out his phone, tapping the screen furiously. "Okay, so these are the coordinates from a few people who've reported seeing stuff. I think we should start there."

I tried to ignore the unease creeping into my chest as we ventured further into the woods. The air seemed heavier here, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.

"Okay, keep your eyes open," I murmured to Scott, my senses on high alert. "This place... I don't know. It doesn't feel right."

Scott nodded, his posture tense, but he didn't say anything.

The deeper we went, the more intense the silence became. No animals, no wind, nothing. Just the sound of our footsteps crunching over the leaves. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was following us, just out of sight, waiting.

Stiles was at the front, muttering to himself about the coordinates. "We're getting close," he said, eyes scanning the trees around us.

And then, suddenly, a sound broke the silence.

A howl.

It came from somewhere deep in the woods, distant but unmistakable. It was long, drawn out, almost mournful.

Stiles froze, eyes wide. "Did you hear that? Did you hear that?!"

Scott and I exchanged a glance. The howl echoed in the distance again, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I heard it."

And for the first time, I realized that whatever was in these woods, whatever Stiles was chasing with his theories, was real. Something was out there, and it wasn't just a simple animal. The truth was deeper—darker—and we were standing on the edge of it.