A/N – In my quest to traumatize poor Derek on yet another holiday (and who knows, this may become a trend; a very dark version of 'How They Celebrate' for all you Boy-On-Strings fans (love ya, Kris!), I'm having the Beacon Hills Scooby gang star in a good old-fashioned horror story where the werewolves are definitely not the scariest things around. If I could turn Christmas into a nightmare, Halloween should be a breeze…
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Thursday night was steak night, and Derek had no idea why Stiles was trying to ruin his favorite evening of the week with a fresh shipment from the land of nonsense.
"They call it 'Fear House'. It's supposed to be the most haunted house in California. Jackson's dad's company just bought it and they're going to tear it down on Monday! If we want to see the inside of it, this weekend is the last chance we'll have!" Stiles turned the steaks over on the outdoor grill after brushing another coating of his famous marinade into the tender meat. The tantalizing smell was doing to his teeth what the sight of Derek in just his cutoff denim shorts did to other parts of his body. Stiles wore a similar outfit, but though his physique had greatly improved since he became a full member of the Pack, he was and always would be shy about showing off his body to anyone but Derek. A Black Heart Procession t-shirt lay nearby in case one of the Pack stopped by for a visit that Stiles would dive into the moment he heard the engine.
Derek rolled his eyes, trying to rake the rest of the dried autumn leaves in the yard into a neat pile. "You're wetting yourself over the idea of spending the weekend in a condemned and spooky old house…if I knew you got off on that, I'd never have had this place renovated." he waved at the restored Hale mansion.
"Yeah Derek, but this one's supposed to be haunted! Like, with ghosts! Haven't you ever wanted to see a ghost?"
Derek shuddered. "Sure, if it was someone I loved and not some dead maniac that wanted to drive me insane before trying to trick me into killing myself."
Stiles goggled at him for a second. "Okay, that's…really specific. And also too bad, since that's what the ghosts in that place are supposed to do. Come on, Saturday night is Halloween! My second favorite holiday! It'll be the ultimate! We'll get the whole Pack to go with us!"
"What makes you think they would want to?" Derek leaned the rake up against a nearby tree and stretched, and Stiles forgot about steaks and haunted houses both as he watched the play of muscles under the taut flesh. Derek caught him looking (of course) and smirked. "If you burn one, you're eating it." he scolded.
Stiles shook himself back to full awareness. "Um…what was I talking about?"
"The ten ways you want me to make you scream tonight."
"No…um…oh, yeah! The Pack. You're the Alpha, just order them to go." Stiles grinned broadly at his own cleverness.
"Forget it! I would never force them to do something that would put them in danger, if the place is even really haunted. That would make me the most irresponsible worthless Alpha in the whole goddamn world."
Derek's eyes gave a crimson flash as he stalked off, leaving Stiles to frantically try to come up with an apology…but then Derek stopped, slowly turned around and came back.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I just care about you guys too much to take foolish risks with any of you."
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief…Derek had changed so much since their first Christmas together. In the past, he might have kept going, leaving Stiles alone and miserable. Now…even after they had a rare argument, no matter how upset they got, Derek always insisted on telling Stiles how much he loved him, and that no fight would ever change that. Stiles would never know what caused such a change in Derek, but he would be thankful to whatever it was for as long as he lived.
"C'mon on, Der. I really want to go, it would make me so happy! Besides, we're all werewolves! What could hurt us?"
Derek sighed. "I'll leave it up to the Pack. The seven of you vote on it, and majority rules. Either way, it's the end of it. Agreed?"
Stiles nodded emphatically. He was sure the vote would be unanimous.
He took the steaks off the grill, and shut off the flame. The two men stood and watched the sun go down among the trees, turning the sky a blood red and giving the prematurely risen moon a crimson tinge. Watching the sunsets with Derek was so fantastic, the two of them holding hands and just drinking in the wash of colors before the day faded away. When the first stars began to sparkle and the moon began to dominate the sky with her own pale brilliance, the men picked up their steaks with their hands and tore great chunks out with sharpened teeth designed for that very purpose. They watched each other with glowing lambent eyes as the residual juice from the meat (a mixture of salty blood and spicy marinade) ran down their chins and spotted their chests as they ate noisily to an orchestra of newly awakened crickets. When they were done, they playfully licked the remaining juices off each other's fingers, chests and lips. As they alternately kissed and nipped, they began to wrestle and soon they were rolling around on the forest floor as the two pairs of shorts were lost. Derek won their little contest (he usually did, but not always) and took his prize; the Alpha roughly mounting his mate, the two beasts howling their pleasure into the darkness.
The next day…
"You're on crack, Stiles. Absolutely not." Scott leaned back on the sofa in Derek's living room with his arm around Allison, who snuggled into him.
"But why not? You were always up for stuff like this before!" Stiles sputtered. Derek smirked. Scott still irritated him sometimes, though he was an excellent head Beta these days. He grew more likely to side with Derek as he matured, seeing the sense in the Alpha's requests he never could when he was newly turned. Scott had even taken over training the younger wolves and Derek had to admit he was doing a damn fine job.
"Maybe it's because the last time you dragged me out to some scary place in the middle of the night… I got bitten by a freaking werewolf!"
Stiles sputtered some more. "But…it all worked out okay, didn't it?" he finished lamely. Scott gave him a Glare. Stiles thought his friend must be taking secret Glaring lessons from the Alpha.
"I say no, too." said Lydia, filing her claws to perfect points. "Places like that are bound to be dirty, and I don't own anything I'd be willing to sacrifice for a few lame scares. Let's just have a party like normal…werewolves. Do you know how easy it is to bob for apples with fangs?"
"That's two against, Stiles. Two more 'no' votes, and we stay home to see how long we can hold Lydia's head under water." Derek chuckled darkly as Lydia stuck out her tongue at him and flipped him off with a clawed finger.
"I say yes, Stiles. My dad showed me the place, and we could have an awesome party there. I could even have the power turned on by the time we get there. Some food, some alcohol, a few decorations…it'll be the best party ever!" Jackson almost never went along with Stiles' plans, so the junior Alpha was pleasantly surprised. Derek just gave Jackson an annoyed look.
"That's two votes for 'yes', Derek. Allison?" asked Stiles, hopefully.
"Um…it might be fun, I guess." Stiles and Allison had become total BFF's over the past two years, and although Allison didn't really want to go, she could never resist Stiles' puppy-dog eyes.
"Is that a yes, Allison?" asked Derek, Glaring at the young raven-haired wolfette.
Allison's smile faded away at Derek's expression, but she nodded 'yes' all the same. Scott pulled her closer to him as Derek scowled. Just then, the doorbell rang, and Derek said 'Come in!' Danny opened the door and hung his jacket in the closet before coming to greet his Pack members. Stiles filled him in on the voting session, but Danny was shaking his head no before Stiles was halfway finished.
"No way, my mother taught me not to mess with stuff like that. Sorry, Stiles."
Danny proved immune to Stiles' entire repertoire of pouts, puppy-eyes and any amount of begging.
"Ted has the deciding vote then." Derek announced.
"Great! No pressure or anything! Either way, I piss off one of my roommates!" called Ted as he came in from the kitchen with bowls of snacks and a couple of six-packs of soda.
"I don't want to make anyone mad at me, so I'm just going to flip this coin." Ted pulled a shiny quarter out and tossed it into the air. It spun a few dozen times, winking and flashing in the light before Ted snatched it.
"Heads we stay home, Tails we go to the haunted house." Slapping the coin on the back of his other hand, he revealed…Tails side up. Three werewolves groaned aloud while the other three cheered. Derek closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. Just when he thought he was done with ghosts…
After a great deal of searching, they were able to find sleeping bags for all of them among the camping supplies the Pack pooled together from their respective basements and attics. Jackson made the arrangement with the electric company to have the power turned on for the weekend, while Ted and Danny went shopping for enough food to keep eight hungry werewolves fed for two days. Scott and Allison handled the booze, while Lydia and Stiles went to buy what they needed to decorate it and set up the music system. Derek went down the local library to read up on the place…a little knowledge wouldn't hurt if things got serious.
The house was built in 1890, even before the Hale family had settled down in Beacon Hills. Supposedly built on land said to be cursed by the local Native Americans (of course), the eerie incidents began happening even before the place was fully built. Six workmen died during the construction in bizarre accidents, and a seventh disappeared without a trace. When it was finished, a great party was thrown by the new owners; Manfred and Annabella Pheer. They were newlyweds, he a wealthy industrialist and she the sole heir of a distinguished southern family. From all reports, they were deeply in love…until they moved into their new home. Manfred began telling his friends he believed his wife to be having an affair, though he could never quite catch her at it. Several times he thought he heard a man's voice in a room she was supposed to be alone in, only to hear her claim she heard nothing. Other times he heard a voice curse at him from the shadows, calling him a fool or making threats to kill him. He never found the source of the voice, even searching the house's many secret passages (built in case the Civil War sparked once again…people still remembered the years of bloodshed, and not all of them were happy at the way the War ended). Annabella too began to change. Gone was the loving wife Manfred remembered; she began to harp and nag at him, and she drove the servants from the home with increasingly impossible demands. Her willfulness and temper became legendary, and the ladies' social circles let her know she was no longer welcome among them. In fits of temper, she was seen to throw things or actually strike people who upset her no matter their rank or station.
It all came to a head during a masked Halloween Ball (of course). Manfred stated he saw his wife kissing someone in a mask made to resemble the head of a goat. He tore through the crowd to get to her, and found her standing alone and claiming no knowledge of any goat-masked man. Her temper flared at his accusations, and in full view of the guests struck him across the face. He angrily shoved her against the wall…and then to the horror of all those gathered around, she pulled an ornate dagger from where it hung nearby and plunged it into his chest. Before they could stop her, she ran through the doors into the woods that bordered the property.
Manfred was seriously injured, but nonetheless roared in rage that his hounds were to be released to chase after his faithless wife and bring her to justice before God and man. The servants raced to do his bidding, having no liking for the shrewish carp she had become. Manfred was given a torch, and he and the other guests followed the baying hounds through the woods. He found her trapped in a pool of quicksand, two of his hounds having followed her and become trapped themselves.
"Beg forgiveness, and even now I will pull you from the mire as long as you swear to be faithful and obedient from this moment forward, else may the mud claim you!"
Annabella spit on him as she raged from the quicksand. She forced the heads of the two hounds beneath the mud as she cursed him. "The mud may claim me, but I claim these your hounds! They shall do my bidding from the next world, and we shall make every moment you stay in that prison of a house a torment! You will wish our places were reversed before I am done with you!"
The guests arrived and watched as she sank beneath the surface, her maddened screeching finally cut off.
Since that night, whatever evil had existed there before had solidified, given strength and form by the tragic events that occurred. Manfred survived the injury, but found that any time he attempted to leave the property the wound would pain him as if he had been stabbed again. Staying was torture as well; at night he would be pursued relentlessly by 'the goat headed demon', and were he to seek refuge on the grounds of the estate then would he immediately hear the baying of ghostly hounds and the tinkling high cold laugh of his wife as she sent the beasts from the Underworld to find him. The phantoms only appeared at night, and he would spend the day exhausted and unable to attend to his affairs or his business. Several families attempted to make a home there after Manfred finally died a doddering and frightened old man. Without fail, the cycle would repeat itself over and over. Men would become suspicious and violent while women became harpies. The goat headed man would start appearing to them, sometimes in the reflection of a mirror, and then from within shadowy spaces where he would curse at people before finally taking to pursuing them through the house. And then of course, there were the hounds and their Mistress outside…
By the time Derek had gotten through the literature, he was cursing himself for not flatly refusing Stiles and this ridiculous party idea. Alpha werewolf or not, he was pretty creeped out by this story…and he didn't creep out easily. The place was seriously bad news, and he had no idea if they might really be in danger by staying there. He would try once more to talk them out of it, he decided. At least, from everything he read, it seemed that the happenings needed to 'build up' over time. People had stayed there for weeks or even months before the strange things started to happen. One or two nights should be relatively safe, and then the place would be destroyed Monday morning and Stiles would forget all about it. Derek hoped he would be able to do the same.
Derek left the open book sitting on the library table before heading once more out into the fading daylight. An errant breeze let in when he opened the door flipped the next page of the book, leaving the vital words on the page unread.
"Though all reports suggest that the haunting progresses slowly in each case, there is one exception to this rule: dramatic escalations of these phenomena occur on the anniversary of the masked ball…Halloween. Pheer House should be avoided at all costs on this night."
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The cars all pulled up to the massive iron gates that guarded the house. Jackson unlocked the rusty padlock and pulled the chain off. The driveway inside the gates was torn up, meaning they would have to leave the cars outside. It was a quarter mile from the gates to the house, and every member of the Pack was grateful for the extra strength and endurance their wolves gave them to help lug all of their gear to the door of the huge mansion.
Derek looked up at the place in awe. Jackson's home was huge, and Derek's was slightly larger…but this monstrosity was the love child of Richie Rich and the Addams Family. It was mind bogglingly huge, as only a wealthy industrialist could hope to afford. This place could not possibly run itself without a full staff of servants. There seemed to be no order to anything, the house was asymmetrical to the point where it bothered the eyes. Some windows were rectangles, some were diamonds and others were circles. Ledges and balconies and patios thrust from the house in nonsensical places, as if the house had taken to 'shifting' itself like a Rubik's Cube. The Pack looked up at as the sun disappeared behind the highest peaked gable, suddenly finding themselves lost in the enormous shadow of Pheer House.
"Well, here we are guys! I told ya it would be a…blast." Stiles' voice trailed off into silence. The rest of the Pack continued to stare at the house quietly.
"Anybody smell that?" asked Scott quietly. Derek nodded. It smelled like rotting meat; but the scent just hung there, not trailing away to a source that could be identified. As if it were part of the house.
Jackson unlocked the front door just as Derek was opening his mouth to call another vote; from the looks of the Pack, the Alpha felt they were a hair away from turning tail and running all the way back to town. Jackson flicked a switch just inside the door. Nothing happened.
"If there's no power, we are not staying!" Derek announced. At that precise instant, the foyer light came on…weakly.
"I guess it needed time to warm up or something." Jackson said quietly.
"Yeah, like your brain. Let's just get this stuff inside." Derek grumped. They trooped into the house, so encumbered by their gear that none of them noticed the front door swinging softly shut behind them…all by itself.