Derek wasn't afraid of the dark. He didn't think the boogeyman was waiting in his closet to pounce when the time was right. In fact, many would consider Derek to be the frightening creature of the night, werewolf that he was.
It was definitely out of the ordinary, then, when he actually knelt down and looked under his bed one early morning. Derek had phenomenal hearing, and when coupled with the fact that he was a light sleeper, it meant that the strange scrabbling sounds from beneath his bed last night had woken him
"I better not have rats," the irritated werewolf muttered.
The only things under his bed were a crumpled tissue, a receipt, and a forgotten porn mag one of his coworkers and sometimes friend had given him as a joke. It'd been a shitty joke than and it was a shitty joke now. He grabbed the tissue and the receipt, but left the magazine because he couldn't quite reach it. It's not like it would bother anyone down there anyway.
Satisfied that he didn't see or smell any evidence of rats, Derek got to his feet, threw the tissue and receipt away, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. The noise could've been from pipes or the god-awful neighbors in the apartment below.
Nothing unusual woke Derek for the next two nights and the incident was completely forgotten. He had more important things to worry about anyway. His baby sister apparently had a new boyfriend and his manager was out sick for a week, putting him in charge. That meant Jackson, provider of the porn mag, was being a lot more of an asshole than usual.
Friday night, Derek dropped into his bed, exhausted. He quickly stripped down to his boxers, flicked off the light, and burrowed under the covers, ready for the sweet relief of sleep.
It came quickly and left the same way.
He jolted awake, shocked to see the sun up. It felt like he'd just closed his eyes. Sighing, he rubbed a hand through his messy hair and shoved himself back to sit against the headboard. When his sluggish brain finally processed what was going on around him, he froze. Something smelled off. Every scent in his apartment was familiar, even if it wasn't pleasant, but his enhanced sense of smell was picking up something new.
Without moving any further, Derek took a visual inventory of his bedroom. The light was off, but the curtains were open and strengthening sunlight was pouring in through the windows. Nothing looked out of place. Frowning, Derek was about to get up when something made him pause. His soft down comforter was crumpled from when he sat up, except for the bottom right-hand corner, the side that was against the wall. He carefully leaned forward to get a better look.
Derek was a pretty steady man, but he almost jerked back in shock when he realized exactly what he was looking at. The corner was smoothed down and pulled tight against the mattress, but the middle was marred by a large handprint that had been pressed into the soft blanket.
Before he could even think, Derek yanked the blanket to the side and the handprint disappeared into the crumpled mass. Now his heart was beating a little faster and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. His more animal instincts were kicking into gear as his wolf grew angry at the thought of something trespassing in his territory.
That odd smell was still in the room, impossible to ignore. Derek pulled the offending corner of the blanket toward him and held it to his nose. One deep sniff was enough. Though the handprint was gone, the smell remained strong. It was sickly sweet decay, like wet, rotting fruit. Derek reared back and sneezed.
Annoyed and not completely convinced he wasn't going crazy, he slid out of bed, practically stomping on the floor, half-daring whatever left the handprint to grab his ankle. Nothing happened except for his asshole of a neighbor banging on his ceiling/Derek's floor because the stomping was too noisy. Snorting, Derek took that as his cue to get dressed and find some much needed breakfast.
Even though it was Saturday, Derek still had enough chores and errands to keep him busy. It wasn't until mid-afternoon when he dragged the vacuum to his room that he thought of the events of that morning and the scrabbling noises of a few nights before. A little disgusted by his own hesitation, he stepped over the threshold, plugged in the vacuum, and got to work.
When he shoved the plastic extension under the bed, nothing leapt out and tried to bite him. Even if it had, he would've been able to handle it. Werewolf and all. There was an odd crumpling noise that turned out to be the porn mag getting suctioned to the extension. With a wry smile, Derek pulled it off and tossed it one the dresser before finishing the floor.
That night, he went to bed with the light on. Thank god he didn't live with his sisters anymore –they wouldn't let him hear the end of this if they ever found out. A feeling of foreboding and his senses trying to pick up the slightest unusual sound or movement conspired to keep him awake long into the night. It was with burning eyes and many large yawns that he finally managed to fall asleep.
And was immediately woken up by the feeling of being watched.
Though Derek wanted to flash his eyes and roar at whatever was sneaking into his room, violating the boundaries of his home, that probably wouldn't solve anything in the long-term. He could already hear Laura's smug, mocking voice in his head, commenting on how he'd matured, how great it was that he no longer tried to solve his problems by biting them to death. It made him want to bite something to death.
Derek cracked his eyes open ever so slowly and carefully. The bedroom light was now off, which was slightly unsettling, but the moon was bright enough to see by. Down at the bottom right corner of the bed was a gaunt hand, planted in the exact same spot as the handprint from the night before. Just barely above the edge of the bed, somehow fitting between the bed and the wall, was a pair of glittering, intent eyes.
He couldn't help an involuntary twitch, and in a flash, the hand and eyes were gone, leaving only the smell of rotting fruit behind.
Of course Derek didn't go back to sleep. He laid in bed and closed his eyes and tried not to move, hoping to coax his visitor back into the room. It was clear that he was dealing with some sort of supernatural creature. There's a monster under my bed, Derek thought, feeling tired and exasperated. Great.
Surprisingly, he didn't have to wait too long for the little bastard to reappear. Probably only an hour passed, wherein Derek switched between figuring out what he'd do if he caught the creature and making a mental grocery list.
Instead of a stare, the werewolf actually felt stale breath hit his cheek. He reacted automatically, meaning that his first lashed out and into the creature's face. It yelped and toppled backward with a blue-tinged hand over its injured nose. Derek sat up and flicked his bedside lamp on. The creature –well, it looked like a young man in a very creepy, ichor-oozing way– cringed.
Incredulous, Derek stared. The man-creature-boy-thing was blue, skeletal, and streaked in black grime. Skinny legs disappeared into complete darkness underneath the bed. When the creature finally opened his watering eyes, Derek saw that they were pitch-black with tar-like tears beading at the corners. He pulled his hand away from his nose, and black, clumpy blood was covering his face and hand.
"Aw, what the hell man!" the blue creature on his floor complained, delicately feeling his nose.
"What the hell me?" Derek managed to say, stunned. "No. What the hell you."
"My name's Stiles, asshole," Stiles replied rudely, wiping his bloodied hand on his tattered pants. "I'm just doing my job. Jesus." He winced when he touched the bridge of his nose. "I think my face is ruined," he grumbled petulantly.
Derek didn't have to wrestle with himself to get his claws and fangs under control. Stiles, whatever the hell he was, was rude, but didn't appear to be an immediate threat. Of course, thinking that could be the last mistake he ever made, but he was tired and grouchy and wanted to be left alone. "Your job is to creep on me from beneath my bed?"
"Yes!" Stiles replied, throwing his hands up in a I'm-so-done-with-you gesture. "Boogeyman, here. That's sort of what I do."
Derek just blinked at him.
"And it was going just fine until you took away that er, special, uh, magazine and then punched me in the face! For a bachelor, you keep your room disgustingly clean. There's nothing under your bed. It's sooo boring."
The surreality of him, a werewolf, being berated by a boogeyman about keeping his room too clean and depriving him of a porn mag was something Derek wasn't getting over soon.
"Get back under there," Derek said abruptly.
"What?" It was Stiles's turn to sound incredulous.
Derek raised his eyebrows. "Under the bed. Go."
Stiles's mouth dropped open. A trickle of black sludge dripped from his nose.
Derek pointed.
With a huff and a final swipe at his nose, Stiles wiggled back under the bed. Derek watched him go. When Stiles finally disappeared, Derek's unnaturally good hearing caught his parting, "Jerk."
"You better not bleed on my carpet," Derek muttered. He couldn't help the small smile when he heard a thud by the bottom of his bed.
As soon as the darkness under the bed faded back to normal gray shadows, Derek turned his lamp off, laid down, and went to sleep.
A week later when Derek was propped up against headboard reading a book, and he felt a cold, slightly damp hand grab his ankle, he didn't even lose his place.
"Stiiiiles…"