Beacon Hills was a small town with a lot of secrets, and somehow, Stiles Stilinski seemed to know all of them—whether they were true or not. He was the quirky, often over-the-top friend who could spin a wild theory out of the slightest of clues. If there was something strange in the air, Stiles was already convinced it was a government experiment or an alien invasion or—more likely—a supernatural force at work. At first, we thought it was just his overactive imagination. But soon enough, we learned to pay attention.
It was during our first year of elementary school when Stiles showed up on our doorstep, grinning like a madman, waving a notebook full of scribbled notes.
"You guys aren't going to believe this!" Stiles said, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood at our front door. His wide-eyed excitement was infectious, even if we didn't know what he was talking about.
Scott and I exchanged glances. "What is it, Stiles?" Scott asked, wiping his hands on his jeans. He was the more laid-back of the two of us, always content to let Stiles take the lead.
"Aliens, man!" Stiles said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I've been doing some research, and there's this pattern in the weather around Beacon Hills. It's like... you know, anomalies. They're happening on the full moon! It's practically screaming 'extraterrestrial interference!'"
Scott raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious right now? Aliens?"
I couldn't help but laugh. "What, you think they've been hiding in the woods waiting for the right moment to invade?"
Stiles looked at me, as if I'd just failed a pop quiz. "Don't mock me, Ethan! This is important research! There are weird things happening around this town. I'm telling you, one of these days, we're going to find something big."
I could see it in his eyes—the fire of someone who believed with every fiber of their being that he was onto something. And while his enthusiasm was often contagious, I had a sneaking suspicion it was going to get us into trouble.
"We've got enough weird stuff going on around here already," I muttered, half to myself.
But Stiles wasn't listening to me. He pulled out a map that looked like it had been folded and unfolded a thousand times. "Look at this! The old power station on the outskirts of town, the cemetery by the woods... and the old Hale House? I mean, come on, you've gotta admit, there's something strange about that place."
Scott's face scrunched up. "That house is abandoned. What's so weird about it?"
Stiles grinned mischievously. "That's what I'm talking about! The creepiness. The strange lights at night, the sound of voices on the wind. People say the Hale family was involved in some messed-up stuff, and now, the place is just sitting there, rotting away. I bet there's something we don't know about it."
"You're a trip, Stiles," I said, shaking my head but unable to stop myself from smiling. It wasn't the first time Stiles had dragged us into some wild goose chase, and I was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last.
The next day, we found ourselves trekking through the woods on the outskirts of town, our shoes crunching on dry leaves as we made our way toward the old Hale House. The trees were thick here, casting long shadows even in the late afternoon. The air felt cooler, heavier, like something was watching us. Even Scott, usually the fearless one, seemed a little on edge.
"Why are we doing this again?" Scott asked, his voice a little more cautious than usual.
Stiles held up his notebook with a flourish. "Because there's definitely something strange about this house, and we're going to figure it out. Maybe ghosts, maybe something even more freaky. You've heard the stories, right?"
"Yeah, but that's all they are," Scott replied, though his eyes darted around the trees. "Stories."
"Exactly!" Stiles beamed. "And it's our job to find out if there's truth behind them."
We crept closer to the house, the once grand structure now a crumbling relic of the past. The windows were boarded up, and the faded wood of the porch looked like it could collapse at any moment. A faint, eerie hum seemed to rise from the ground, vibrating in the air.
"Tell me again why I'm letting you guys talk me into this," I muttered, looking at the decaying house with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
"I'm telling you, Ethan," Stiles said, his voice low, almost reverential, "there's something about this place. People think it's haunted, cursed, or whatever. But I think it's something more. Something supernatural."
Scott rolled his eyes but didn't protest. "All right, fine, let's just get this over with."
We pushed open the creaky front gate and stepped onto the porch. The moment we did, it felt like the air shifted—thick, heavy, as if the house itself was aware of our presence. I glanced at Scott, who seemed to tense up, and at Stiles, who was practically vibrating with excitement.
Before we could move further, we heard it—the sound of footsteps inside. Slow, deliberate.
"Someone's in there," Scott whispered.
"See?" Stiles said, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and anxiety. "Told you. Ghosts or something way worse."
"Let's just get out of here," I suggested, my instinct telling me to turn around and run. But before we could, the door to the house creaked open.
A tall man with dark, brooding eyes stood in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, but there was something undeniably intense about him. He studied us for a moment, as though weighing whether we were a threat or just annoyances to be dealt with.
"You kids shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Stiles didn't seem intimidated at all. "We were just exploring. You know, checking out the history of the house. Are you—"
"Get off my property," the man interrupted, his tone sharp.
"We're sorry!" Scott quickly apologized, taking a step back. But Stiles, ever the rebel, didn't seem ready to back down.
"Wait! You know about the history of the house, right?" Stiles pushed, ignoring the warning signs in the man's demeanor. "People say there's something strange here. Like... maybe supernatural stuff?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "Get lost."
Before any of us could say another word, the man stepped forward, closing the door with a thud. Stiles, Scott, and I stood frozen for a moment before Stiles broke the silence.
"Did you see that guy?" he said, his voice trembling with excitement. "He was totally hiding something! I knew there was something off about this place!"
I let out a deep breath. "Stiles, I think we should just go."
But even as we walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that the man—whoever he was—had known more than he was letting on. And Stiles, of course, was already planning his next move.
"This is only the beginning, guys," Stiles said, his voice filled with the promise of more mystery. "There's something big happening here, and we're going to find it."
It was official. Whether we liked it or not, the trio had been formed. And together, we were about to uncover more about Beacon Hills than any of us ever imagined.