January 9th 2011 - Sunday

The last light of day filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting a soft glow on the forest floor as dusk settled over Beacon Hills. Charlotte laced up her running shoes, her mind already clearing with the promise of an evening jog. Isle, her marbled border collie, danced around her feet, eager to begin their routine.

"Ready, girl?" Charlotte asked, scratching Isle behind the ears. The dog responded with an enthusiastic bark, her tail wagging furiously.

The air was cool and fresh as they set off down the narrow, winding trails that snaked through the woods surrounding Beacon Hills. This was Charlotte's sanctuary, a time when she could let her mind wander and her body find a rhythm. Isle trotted ahead, her nose close to the ground, occasionally glancing back to make sure her mistress was following.

The forest was alive with the sounds of nature settling in for the night. Birds chirped their evening songs, and the rustle of small animals scurrying through the underbrush provided a soothing backdrop to Charlotte's thoughts. She loved these moments of solitude, where the only thing that mattered was the steady beat of her footsteps and the cool air filling her lungs.

They had been jogging for about twenty minutes when Isle suddenly stopped. Her ears pricked and her body tense. Charlotte slowed to a walk, scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble.

"What is it, girl?" she asked, approaching Isle, who was now sniffing intently at a spot just off the trail.

Before she could investigate further, a voice called out from behind her. "Excuse me, miss! Do you need some help?"

She turned to see a man jogging up the path towards her. He was tall and lean, with a shock of graying hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. His expression softened as he approached, seeing Charlotte and Isle.

"Sorry to startle you," he said, slightly out of breath. "I'm Adrian Harris, chemistry teacher at Beacon Hills High. I haven't seen you around here before."

"Charlotte Benoit," she replied, extending a hand. "I'm new to town. History teacher. Nice to meet you."

Adrian shook her hand, a curious look crossing his face. "A pleasure. What's your dog found there?"

Charlotte looked back at her dog, who was now whining softly and pawing at the ground. "I'm not sure, but she's definitely found something."

Together, they approached the spot where Isle was fixated. As they got closer, a foul smell hit them, making both of them recoil.

"Oh God," Adrian muttered, covering his nose with his sleeve.

Charlotte's heart sank as she pushed through the underbrush, revealing a grisly sight. Half-buried under leaves and dirt was the lower half of a human body, severed cleanly at the waist. The Lurker within her stirred, its dark presence whispering in her mind, reminding her of its ever-watchful gaze.

"Call 911," Charlotte said, her voice steady despite the horror in front of her. "We need to report this immediately."

Adrian fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. "Do you think it's someone from town?"

"I don't know," Charlotte replied, her mind racing. She could feel the Lurker's dark energy simmering beneath her calm exterior, pushing her to investigate, to unleash its power. But she pushed it back down, focusing on the task at hand. "But we need to make sure the authorities get here quickly. Isle, stay back."

Isle obediently sat down, her eyes still locked on the gruesome discovery. As Adrian made the call, Charlotte surveyed the scene, looking for any clues that might indicate who the victim was or what had happened. The forest, so peaceful moments ago, now felt menacing, the shadows deeper and the sounds more sinister.

Adrian finished the call and joined Charlotte, his face pale. "They're on their way. What do you think happened here?"

"I'm not sure yet," she admitted, "but it doesn't look like an animal attack. The cut is too clean."

As they waited for the police to arrive, Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much darker. She glanced at Isle, who was still on high alert, and then back at Adrian.

"So, chemistry, huh?" she asked, trying to distract them both from the gruesome scene. "I guess we'll be colleagues."

Adrian managed a weak smile. "Yeah, it looks like it. Welcome to Beacon Hills, where the weird never takes a day off."

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours before the distant sound of sirens pierced the evening air. Charlotte took a deep breath, steeling herself for the questions and the investigation that would follow. She had come to Beacon Hills for a fresh case, but the darkness she found here was worse than she expected.

As the first police officers arrived and secured the scene, Charlotte couldn't help but wonder what other secrets these woods held—and how many more bodies might be hidden beneath the surface. The Lurker's presence was a constant reminder of her own dark past, and she knew that whatever had happened here, she would need to stay vigilant.

🌙

Nestled at the edge of the dense forest, the two-storey house of the McCall family stood like a sentinel, watching over the woods with its weathered wooden facade and ivy-clad walls. The thumping beat of youthful music reverberated through an upstairs window, where a determined teenager meticulously braided a new net onto his lacrosse stick. The room was a chaotic blend of sports gear and school books, posters of lacrosse players, and rock bands covering the walls. Every so often, Scott glanced at a set of instructions, ensuring his work was flawless. Satisfied with the strength of the weave, he tested it with a firm punch of his fist. Rising from his chair, he stretched before the mirror, critically observing his reflection. His hard work over the semester break had paid off, and while he knew more exercise wouldn't hurt, he was pleased with his progress. His naturally tanned skin, a testament to his mother's Hispanic heritage, glowed softly under the light, accentuating the muscles that had begun to take shape.

Reaching for his lacrosse stick, he swung it experimentally, but his aim was off, and the nightlight on his table went crashing to the floor, shattering with a loud clatter. The room's dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. From downstairs, his mother's voice carried up, tinged with a mix of amusement and concern.

"Glue's in the cabinet!" she called. Moments later, she appeared in the doorway, her petite frame outlined against the hallway light. Her storm of black curls, now neatly braided, framed her face, and her warm brown eyes—mirrored in her son's—reflected her worry. She wore a bright green nurse's uniform, which stood out against the dim surroundings.

"I thought you quit lacrosse," she remarked, eyeing the broken lamp with a hint of a smile.

"I didn't quit, I just never played," Scott sighed, the frustration of the previous semester where he hadn't made the team weighing heavily on him. But this time would be different.

"Have you thought about quitting?" Melissa asked, her voice gentle yet serious. She stepped into the room, the scent of her floral perfume mingling with the musty smell of old sports equipment.

"Mom..." Scott began, but she interrupted.

"I just want you to be happy. High school should be fun. You should be out chasing girls..." she hesitated, then added, "But not catching them. Just chasing."

"Well, I'm not having much luck with that either," he muttered, looking down at the shattered lamp.

Melissa smiled softly. "Okay... I should go before I completely destroy your self-esteem. Don't worry, sophomore year is always better, I promise." She kissed his forehead, her touch warm and comforting, and left for the hospital.

Left alone, Scott gathered the broken lamp pieces, tossing them into the bin with a resigned sigh. He headed for the bathroom but was stopped by a strange noise—a faint rustling that seemed out of place. Grabbing his mom's baseball bat for protection, he quietly opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. The air was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow over the yard. His knuckles turned white with tension around the handle.

Suddenly, a figure dropped from the roof, causing Scott to jump back in fright, almost swinging the bat in defense. Both boys screamed in terror before recognizing each other.

"Stiles, what the hell are you doing?" Scott demanded, his heart still racing. The night was filled with the sounds of crickets and distant traffic, but Stiles' sudden appearance had shattered the peace.

"You weren't answering your phone," Stiles replied, struggling to free himself from the porch's overgrown vines. He was thinner than Scott, with a buzz cut contrasting Scott's longer, curly hair. "Why do you need that stick?"

"I thought it was some kind of predator!" Scott retorted, lowering the bat.

"Pre...?" Stiles echoed, catching his breath. "I know it's late, but you gotta hear this. My dad got called in. They're bringing in every officer from Beacon Hills and even the State Police."

"For what?" Scott asked, his initial fear giving way to curiosity. The moonlight highlighted his worried expression.

"Two joggers found a body in the woods," Stiles said, finally freeing himself and jumping down.
"A dead body?"
"No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body."

"You mean like murdered?" Scott asked, disbelief etched on his face. The thought of a murder in their quiet town seemed surreal.

"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!" Stiles' eyes sparkled with excitement. "Let's go!"

In no time, they arrived at the reserve's entrance in Stiles' blue jeep, its old engine sputtering to a stop. The forest, enveloping Beacon Hills, loomed ominously as they plunged into the darkness. The towering trees cast long shadows, and the air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Stiles led with a flashlight, its beam cutting through the blackness, while Scott stumbled behind, trying to match his friend's pace.

"Are we seriously doing this?" Scott grumbled, his breath visible in the cool night air.

"You're the one always complaining that nothing ever happens in this town..."

"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. I'm making first line," Scott declared, determination in his voice.

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

"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?" Scott changed the subject, irritated.

"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," Stiles admitted, without a hint of embarrassment.

"Comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail," Scott muttered, his breath growing short. "Maybe the severe asthmatic should hold the flashlight?" he suggested, pausing to use his inhaler. The cold metal felt reassuring in his hand as he took a deep breath of the medication.

As they crested a hill, Stiles switched off his torch. Below, the forest was alive with the flashing lights of the police search. The distant murmur of voices and the occasional bark of search dogs reached them. Impatient, Stiles ran ahead, his silhouette darting between the trees, leaving Scott struggling to keep up. By the time he realized Scott was not with him, it was too late. The search dogs found him, and flashlights pinned him in place. The dog barked, and Stiles, startled, fell.

"Stop where you are!" an officer shouted, struggling to control the dog.

"Hold on, hold on, this little delinquent belongs to me," Sheriff Stilinski called out, recognizing his son.