The omens, symbols & NIGHTMARES haunting the springtime of Lydia’s life & coloring her psyche had quelled with time. Life after high school was everything the ambitious banshee wanted — almost everything — MIT, proving the Riemann hypothesis & finally attaining the Fields Medal she had promised herself since adolescence. She was able to keep the opulent lake house in her family’s name as well as a deluxe house of her own — living her teenage dream. The supernatural activity in Beacon Hills seemed dormant to Lydia’s contentment, like a strange parallel universe where everything was NORMAL. At least closer to normal than she would have expected. But the grace period, like most things, would be proven ephemeral.
The riddles & eerie imagery crept back in. A crackling, electric aura hanging around the empty neighborhood streets. Lamps flickering, power outages. Oak and maple leaves pirouetting together. Something was changing, and the intuitive woman sensed it subconsciously. She chalked it up to spooky weather, a natural phenomenon indicating a seasonal shift or the metamorphic energy of the equinox but a darker part of her knew better. Everyone around her was fine, weren’t they ? If they weren’t safe, arcane whispers might sound names of the impending dead, & that wasn’t happening yet but Lydia could only shake off the unsettling feelings until one night.
Midnight was strangely harmonious, if not for muted sounds of rain — and thunder. Something was calling Lydia into the night, an uncanny clairvoyance coaxing her downstairs. Carefully padding along the hallway, she sensed a presence. Something had arrived, something dark like a shadow over her home that she couldn’t quite see but she knew in a way that sent chills tingling along milky skin. It brought her to the sliding glass door to the backyard, a surreal flash of LIGHTNING illuminating what she never imagined she’d see again …
A spectral black horse of monstrous size carried a ghostly rider, staring right at Lydia. Almost as if it knew her. A ghost rider of the Wild Hunt, blackened & dated western attire and demonic eyes —- silvery with a supernatural effulgence, the full moon’s glow was unmatched as its stare seemed to pierce her soul. Was it waiting for her ? Frozen in place, the petite banshee gasped. She REMEMBERS the gleaming chrome, fanged snarl — POSSESSION. Japanese demons. Hallucinations & fireflies. Kanjis evaporating from asylum walls. But hadn’t they found a solution ? A true alpha’s bite & a sacred vessel. A crumbling doppelganger. A 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 and the most heartbreaking, deathly void in Lydia’s life. This had to be a dream, because how could the two be mixed ? Unless … unless …
She woke with a 𝑺 𝑪 𝑹 𝑬 𝑨 𝑴 unearthly enough to galvanize the telluric currents, tears spilling down pale cheeks as the anguish flooded back.
That first night was only the start of a long string of horrors. Ones that nobody knew was happening. Anyone with a hint of supernatural being could sense it. Hell, the wolves could smell the anger from miles away. Beast wasn't like the former Riders. It was vicious. Powerful. And targeting. But it was also one more thing.
Ten days into its arrival, Beacon Hills Animal Hospital was decorated with four enormous scratch marks. Right across the front of the building. Locals wanted to write it off as a wild animal. But no cougar could put indents that large into steel. And the clinic's owner seemed less than convinced.
The next unknown victim was an economics teacher. His house destroyed, but nobody knew who lived there. Then a Federal Agent - a distant father gone next. And even if he would have been missed, he wasn't anymore.
The storm was at its worst at twenty days. Trees uprooted; winds pushing even the bulkiest vehicles aside. Thunder shook the grounds, and lightning blinded the skies. Supernatural beings could feel it instantly. This raging beast was coming, and coming fast.
It appeared again - not even bothering with stealth. Accompanied by a pack of Riders acting like the rodeo was in town. Large claws sank into the front lawn as it dared near the household. Knocking over the mailbox that said Stilinski on it. For a mere moment, the glowing of its ribcage faded; only to come back tenfold as the front door flew open. Police issue rifle pointed at the creature; its handler aiming right for the eyes. Unphased, the beast moved forward, letting the Sherriff see those beautiful fangs before rising up and preparing to strike.
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