6 YEARS LATER

Jackson moaned in his sleep. The sheets that were around him suddenly became a trap and he couldn't move. His arms and legs were constricted as he tried to roll over, and he moaned again, but this time even louder.

The smoke was filling his lungs. He coughed, trying to get as much fresh air he could into his lungs, but he couldn't breathe. The fire was licking his skin, and he was stumbling over fallen pieces of wood and scraping his skin against stone. A man was yelling out, calling for someone, and several screams followed. All cries for help.

Jackson screamed, his teeth clamping down on his pillow to muffle the sound, but it didn't stop him from biting his tongue as the marks on the back of his neck flared with the usual pain whenever he had "the dream." His hand went immediately to the scars, burning like a fire under his touch, and he massaged them carefully. Sweat ran down over his eyes as he sat up, hand still on his neck, and he fumbled for his lamp. He bumped into something on his dresser and it came down onto the floor with a crash, waking up the household.

His father was the first one in the room, flicking on the lightswitch and squinting in the bright light. "Jackson? What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Nothing, dad. Nothing. I was just trying to...get the light. Knocked it over. Go back to bed..."

"What's going on?" His mother came in, bathrobe on and arms over her chest. "Jeff? What's wrong?"

"Knocked over his lamp. Now he's ordering me to go back to bed," Jeff shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Jackson groaned as Linda came into the room. "Mom, I'm fine. Just go-"

"Jackson Nathaniel Whittemore, you're burning up! Are you sick?" Linda felt his forehead and sighed. "I could cook bacon on you, Jackson. Let me get a cloth."

Jackson groaned, letting himself fall back onto the bed. "I said I'm fine! Just get out of my room!"

"Jackson, please don't yell at us. We're only trying to help you. Just tell us what's wrong," Jeff glanced out the window. "Full moon tonight..."

"What?" Jackson exclaimed. "A full moon?"

"You sound so worried, baby. Are you sure you're okay?" Linda placed the cloth on her son's head. "Is there someone picking on you at school?"

Jackson smirked at this. No one dared to pick on him. Captain of almost every sport, did date the most wanted girl in school, and was the player who scored the winning goal in the state finals for lacrosse. Yes. Someone was definitely picking on him.

Derek.

The name made him flinch, and he closed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"2:34. Why?" Jeff watched as Jackson got from his bed and grabbed a hoodie. "Um, where do you think you're going? It's nighttime. You have school in the morning."

"For a jog. I can't sleep anymore..." Jackson pulled his hoodie on over his head and slipped on his sneakers. "The doc told me to do something productive whenever I felt angry or restless, dad. She has been for 6 years."

Jeff looked at his wife then back at Jackson. "Fine. Just...don't be long? There's been attacks again."

Jackson froze by his bedroom door. "Attacks? Like a mountain lion?"

"We don't know, but still. Don't be out too long. Go for your run and come straight home. We can schedule another appointment-"

"I don't need another appointment. I'm fine." Jackson stuck his earbuds in his ears and allowed the music to play at its highest volume as he bounded down the stairs of the Whittemore mansion. With 14 rooms and 4 bathrooms, he could have the entire lacrosse team over if he wanted. The kitchen was supplied with endless amounts of food, the game room in the basement was stocked with the latest in technology, and not to mention liquor in the coveted wine cellar.

Jackson stretched as he slipped outside the gates and stepped out on the sidewalk. He felt his shoulder pop, and he groaned in relaxation. Once he was rearing to go, the song on his ipod has switched to his running song, "Down" by Summer Camp. He took a deep breath, pulled up his hood and began to run.

He had no idea where he was going. He recognized the trees and houses as he ran past them, but where his feet and mind were taking him, he had no idea. After running 3 or 4 miles, he found himself standing outside the Hale house. The roof on the upper floor was collapsed and covered in black from the incident that happened years ago. From what Jackson heard, many people died and only three people made it out of the house alive. Derek, his sister Laura, and their uncle Peter. Peter turned out to be the Alpha werewolf that was terrorizing the town a few months back, but Derek killed him, therefore making Derek the new Alpha.

Jackson shivered, taking the earbuds from his ears. He approached the house and shivered as a gust of wind rushed past him. Was Derek home? He hoped not...Derek didn't seem like himself from that day on when he became Alpha. He was cockier, stronger, and most importantly, more deadlier.

The door opened with a loud moan as Jackson pushed it open. The porch was dark, with the moon overhead his only source of light, and it reeked of dust, rust, and dead animals. He gagged, covering his mouth and nose with a sleeve. Whatever died in the house was fresh, as if Derek had just finished snacking on a deer...or human, recently. He didn't want to think about it, but Jackson couldn't help himself from stepping into what would've been the living room.

He looked around, running a hand over the dusty furniture, and found himself standing in front of a door that led to another room. Opening it, Jackson pulled out his phone and shone the light into the dark room. A flight of stairs led downwards into the basement and brought up an ever stronger stench. He turned and vomit on the floor next to him, but something in the back of his mind was telling him to a look downstairs. Allowing this urge to take over, he took a careful step forward and set a foot on the first stair. It groaned, but supported his weight.

The room was dark, even darker than the upstairs, and it smelled much worse as Jackson made it to the bottom of the stairs. He coughed, his nose still covered. What was down here? He saw a window in the back of the room, but it wasn't even a window. It had bars on it like a jail cell, and something about it sent a shiver down his spine.

He looked around at the walls. Scratch marks of all shapes and sizes covered the concrete , some deep and some that just barely went under the surface. Jackson reached out with a shaky hand and ran a finger over one. He gasped as a flash of an image filled his mind's eye, and he winced.

Men and women were all pressed up against the wall with the barred window. They screamed and cried out for help, but no came to the rescue. Flames were roaring and licking their skin, and their screams only worsened.

Jackson yelled and stumbled backwards, tripping over something on the floor. He landed with a hard thud, smacking his head on the pavement. Groaning, he slowly turned his head and saw what he tripped over.

Bones.

He cried out and crawled backwards against a wall. Grabbing his phone that fell out of his hand, he shone the light from the screen around the room. It was covered in bones, some small and some big. The image flashed in his mind again and he began to cry as the flames grew and devoured the people that were desperately calling for help. A figure suddenly toward over him, and he felt himself being picked up and carried away from the fire, but he couldn't see who was carrying him-

Jackson started with a cry and rushed to his feet. He scrambled up the stairs, stumbling over his own wobbly feet, and raced out the front door. He ran until he was home, and by that time his ribcage was on fire and his heart was thudding in his chest. Sweat ran down his face, but he quickly wiped it off as he quickly and quietly snuck into his house. His father was asleep in the living room, the 56 inch flat screen on, but no sound came from it. Jackson shook his head and rolled his eyes. He was about to sneak into his room when someone cleared their throat in impatience. He hung his head, turning to see his mother standing in her bedroom doorway, arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was out for so long..." He mumbled as he brushed a hand through his messy hair, eyes widening as dust fell from his head.

"Uh huh. And may I ask where you were? You're covered in dirt and dust-are you bleeding?" She touched the back of his head.

"Ouch!" He pulled away, feeling a dull throbbing beginning to form at the back of his skull. "Geez, mom! That hurt!"

"Well, sorry! I'll let you bleed to death then! And if you do decide to lie down on that bleeding head of yours, change your sheets in the morning and do the laundry. I'm not responsible for bloody sheets in this household."

"No, just your own, right?" He scampered into his room before she get a good smack on him and shut his door, the lock clicking as he turned it. His heart was somewhat calmer, but the pain in the back of his head was still there. Groaning, he went into the bathroom that was attached to his room and flicked on the light. He blinked several times at the stranger that was staring back at him in the mirror before realizing that it was himself that he was looking at. The black under his eyes made him look sick, and his skin was pale and clammy. His normally nicely styled hair was messy and covered in filth. Bending over the sink, he splashed water on his face and grabbed a towel from the closet.

He opened his bedroom window and lay down on the floor. Even as a kid, he always needed a window open. He didn't know why, and he never could explain it to his parents. Without it open, he felt severly trapped in his own home, as if he were a caged animal.

With the towel under his wounded head, he tugged a blanket off the bed and covered himself up in it, and thankfully, went to sleep without the nightmares.