A/N – Thanks to all of you guys who have been reviewing, there are fewer of you but your reviews are epic. Thanks especially to Lowlife Theory, whose story "What Do You Get The Werewolf Who Has Everything" I read at least once per week and whose epic "Hell and High Water" rocked my view of the Pack something fierce. Blooboy70, MimeMoe, ByronLancaster, DereksGirl24 and all the rest of you are too wonderful for words. I really hope this chapter rocks your socks off.

Jackson still had not woken up from his faint despite all the efforts of the Pack. They took turns sitting with him, electing to wait out the long night before trying to get away. Carrying him would be impossible if something…or several somethings decided to pursue them, and none of them felt comfortable wandering around in the dark after hearing Danny and Ted's story. Derek was determined to get every single member of his Pack out alive, so they would take the fewest risks possible. When they started to complain that they were hungry, Derek sent half the group to the kitchen to cook the burgers and hot dogs they brought. Stiles wanted to go as he was the unofficial cook of their group, but Derek (unreasonably, Stiles thought) ordered him to stay. Scott, Allison, Lydia and Ted volunteered to go. They were in for a shock when they arrived; in the short time they had been gone, the kitchen had returned to the state it was in before…the window was whole and unbroken, and the refrigerator was back in its place with the door intact, looking none the worse for wear. They stayed well away from it while they grilled the meat, unpacking the buns and condiments and a couple gallon jugs of water until they had the makings of a fine (if unhealthy for humans) feast. Only Lydia saw anything unusual before they got back…a blackened and burned hoof print on the hall carpet…the burning smell tickling her nose, as if it happened just a few moments before they walked through…

They ate quietly, and Derek debated filling them in on the story of the house…but he was pretty sure it would only terrorize them more and give them nightmares to boot. More energy for the house to consume.

Lydia excused herself from the group to use the bathroom. Derek refused to let her go by herself, so she took Allison with her (much to Scott's annoyance). Lydia might have resisted even Allison's company, but the sight of the hoof print chilled her. Something seemed to be wrong with Allison; she kept rubbing her temples as if she had a headache. That seemed odd to Lydia; since becoming a werewolf, she had never felt healthier in her life. The accelerated healing factor constantly worked to keep their bodies in optimum condition…Lydia no longer even suffered seasonal allergies, and she knew that Jackson's secret lactose intolerance had gone away as well. So how the hell did Allison have a headache? She was about to ask when they made it to the lavatory.

"Go on in, Lyd. I'll wait out here. Shout if you, you know, get stuck or something." Allison grinned slightly at her joke, then rubbed her temples again.

Lydia sighed, torn between wanting to argue and her natural desire for privacy. Finally, she went in, clicking the lock on the door behind her. She would do her business, and go back to the others as fast as possible. For a miracle, the bathroom seemed to be immaculate, no sign of decay existed here as in the rest of the house. She soon finished up and went to wash her hands. As she reached for a towel to dry them off, she caught sight of a dark shape in the mirror. For a split second, she thought she saw the goat-headed thing Scott told them about. She gave a short scream, but realized it was just Allison's dark hair, hanging down around her face. Allison was looking at her funny, and was smirking at her a little. There was something odd about her eyes too, but Lydia couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"Next time, knock! You scared the crap out of me…no pun intended."

Allison's smile just got wider. "Sorry, love. I forget how quiet I can be sometimes. Let's go to the others."

The large bathroom had two doors in it, and Allison went to the one opposite where they entered. Lydia called out to stop her, but Allison was already through the door and out into a new hallway. Lydia felt a sense of vertigo as she passed through, and she found herself in a long hallway with doors on either side every few feet. The bathroom door closed and locked behind her. They were somehow on the second floor.

"Allison! Wait up!" The brunette was walking quickly down the hallway, yet making no noise at all. She was almost lost in the shadows when Lydia caught up…she somehow felt it would be really bad to let Allison get swallowed up completely. Despite the enhanced wolf vision Lydia could call up, the darkness of this hallway seemed thick and impenetrable.

"Where are you going?" Lydia grabbed Allison's arm, using 'extra' strength. Allison looked at her, surprised…but still smirking.

"I saw a room up here before. It was full of clothes. I want to show it to you. Come and see!"

Allison opened a door at random, and flicked on a light switch. The dim illumination revealed an enormous room that seemed to be just a giant wardrobe. Hundreds of dresses of every conceivable design hung on hangers along the side walls. The back wall was all shoes, hundreds of pairs sorted by size, color and style. Lydia's breath stopped in her throat at the sight.

A few dozen mannequins with detailed faces complete with makeup modeled the fancier dresses in ridiculous poses. Some were bent, some were straight, some looked like they were in the middle of some exotic dance routine…but all of them seemed to be looking directly at Lydia. The mannequins had creepy carved grins on their faces; sly knowing smiles that seemed to say 'We can move when we want to. You can almost catch us out of the corner of your eye, moving an arm slightly left or right or turning our heads just a tad as you walk by…and when you turn your back on us, why then we can REALLY come to life!'

If Lydia wanted to get a look at those shoes, she would have to walk past the mannequins. She growled in her throat, her eyes flashing gold. Allison turned and looked at her again, still amused.

"Strange…" was all she said.

Lydia ignored her, and gathering her courage she walked past the tangle of limbs and bodies to get to the treasure trove of shoes. A plaster hand seemed to catch in her hair, but Lydia yanked it free causing the mannequin to fall over and bring down a few others as well. Lydia whirled and backed against the shoe wall, her heart rate picking up. The mannequins just lay there…although even the fallen ones seemed to still be looking at her, and they almost looked angry. She didn't want to turn her back on them, but she could feel the coolness of the patent leather behind her, and she sighed…longing to examine the treasures and gleefully snatch a few dozen pairs. The mannequins just lay there, the one that she knocked over rocking slightly for a moment before it became still. Allison wandered over to a niche that had an ornate oriental screen for changing outfits. The brunette ran her hand over the brightly painted wood with its exotic Chinese characters.

Lydia slowly turned to the wall, and there at the top she noticed a pair of shoes that looked exactly like ones she owned when she started high school. They were an extremely limited edition, and only her connections in the fashion world allowed her to acquire one of the few exclusive pairs. Black and sleek, with impossibly thin straps and uniquely shaped heels that gave perfect support even when walking quickly…wearing them was like getting to wander through the Garden of Paradise. Then Stiles Stilinski had pulled up in that ridiculous Jeep and splashed mud all over them before they were out of the box for three hours. He grinned and apologized to her before running off after Scott, and she never told him how for a single moment she hated him with every fiber of her being. That's what led to her rudeness to him all those years, and even after she got over the loss of the shoes she found it impossible to be nice to him…until he confessed to her how much he had always loved her. She forgave him then, and even grew to like him after a while. Had he not fallen for Derek Hale…and had she been able to get over Jackson…who knew what might have happened? But these thoughts were pointless. She had her shoes back! There was no way they were getting left behind. She quickly tried them on, and of course they fit perfectly…as if they were made for her. They actually fit better than the original pair.

"Allison, look at these! These are the ultimate shoes! Quick, let's go back down to the others before they send out a search party. You know, I'm actually glad I came despite everything."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that. I'm happy you like the shoes…you deserve them."

Something about the way Allison said that was off.

"Allison, what is wrong with you? You've been weird since I locked you out of…" Lydia's voice trailed off. "Allison… how did you get into the bathroom if I locked you out?"

Allison just smiled.

"Oh dear God in Heaven! Who the fuck are you?" Lydia took a step back.

"Shall I show you who I am? Just a moment. Let me change into something more comfortable." Allison's voice got deeper as she spoke. She stepped behind the screen, and began to throw articles of her clothing over the top to land at Lydia's feet. Then there was a moist ripping sound, and Allison's scalp with its long wavy black hair still attached came flying over. More tearing, and something that looked like a bloody rubber mask came next. Whatever Allison was becoming, it was breathing very heavily behind the screen…something whose enormous black horns were sprouting from its head while Lydia watched.

Lydia turned around and screamed again. The mannequins were all standing in a line, wooden hands clasping each other's as they formed a barrier against her escape. Their grins were ferocious, and Lydia could see rows of tiny sharp pointed teeth in their mouths, like a shark's.

The thing behind the screen was grunting, and the twisting shadow of whatever it was loomed on a nearby wall. The sight of the thing was going to give her nightmares for years, if the shadow was any indication. Assuming she lived to even have nightmares, of course.

Lydia reached for the wolf inside her. She brutally slammed her terror down and demanded it come out. She shifted, then raced towards the mannequins, vaulting over their heads just as she heard the oriental screen clatter to the floor. The goat thing had finished changing, and now it was coming for her. It gave a weird cry, that was half growl and half bleat, but Lydia did not turn to look at it. She smelled sulfur and smoke as it's burning hooves flamed the carpet with every step.

Lydia tore out of the room, and the thing followed her…it almost sounded like it was galloping now. Lydia forced herself to the very limit, racing towards the stairs in the distance, somehow knowing that if she could get to the ballroom she would be safe. The goat thing liked to chase its prey when they were alone. She dared not slow when she reached the top of the stairs, already screaming for Derek and the rest of the Pack. She would have to leap down the stairs the way she had seen the boys do a hundred times in Derek's house. At the precise moment she planted her foot to leap, the heel of the shoe twisted and broke off. Her body twisted through the air and slammed into the marble floor at the bottom with a sickening crunch. In the darkness at the top of the stairs, the thing that watched her suddenly broke apart into little pieces of shadow that scurried away like spiders just as the Pack arrived to find their fallen member.

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The midnight hour struck as Lydia was carefully brought back to the ball room by Scott and laid on a couch next to Jackson. Derek cursed and swore as Allison told them about how Lydia locked herself in the bathroom, and then refused to answer when she called for her. Allison broke into the bathroom to find Lydia gone, and only the open door of a shallow linen closet gave any clue to her whereabouts. There was no other exit from the bathroom, and the closet had no secret panels that she could find. Panicking, Allison went back to the ball room when they all heard Lydia screaming from the second floor. They raced to the stairs to find her broken (but still breathing) body lying in a pool of blood. The injuries were lessening even as they watched, and Derek gently set her limbs so that the bones could heal more quickly, pushing one dislocated arm back into its shoulder socket with a forceful shove. Two Pack members were down, six to go.

Scott was getting frantic, knowing that it could as easily been Allison lying there broken instead of Lydia. "Derek, we have to get them out of here! It is freaking Halloween and we are in a real live haunted house! We are going to be killed if we stay!"

Danny lifted his head up from Ted's shoulder where he'd been resting it. "Dude, if you saw what was out there, you'd be barricading us in right now! There is no way we would make it down that driveway if those hellhounds decided to come after us! Not to mention the weird zombie chick with the dog fetish! Let's wait until morning and go then. That leaves us six hours until sunrise. We'll each take an hour watch and bust out of here, and hopefully those two will be all healed up and wide awake. It's suicide any other way!" He closed his eyes and leaned back down, staring into the fireplace that Derek had managed to build a decent blaze in. Ted absently stroked his mate's hair, a determined look on his face. Derek marveled that as 'flexible' as Ted was, always trying to please his friends and put his own needs dead last…he was the least freaked out of all of them, as if he'd decided that giving in to his own terror would be too selfish. The Alpha had no doubt that the boy would want to be first in any attack and last in any retreat…and no one would ever get left behind on his watch if what Danny told them was any indication. To be willing to face down those hounds just so your mate could escape…Derek would do no less for Stiles or any of them. They were such a strong Pack, none of them realized how powerful they all were when they were together. It would be devastating to lose any one of them, Derek vowed he would die before letting that happen.

Allison fell asleep after a bit, and Scott did as well despite wanting to keep his own personal watch over her. Ted and Danny were both snoring too. Stiles had been extremely quiet since they found Lydia, just sitting by the fire and pretty much ignoring anyone that tried to talk to him. He sat close to the fireplace fiddling with his phone. Derek sat next to him. Stiles stiffened, putting his phone back in his pocket and seemed about to get up and leave.

"Sty, what's the matter?" asked Derek gently, though he suspected he knew.

"Isn't it obvious? This is all my fault. My idea, my responsibility. I put the Pack in danger, Derek. You were right, and I didn't listen to you. If we get out of here…I mean when we get out of here…they're going to want me out of the Pack…and they're right. I should go. Somewhere I can't do any more damage." The firelight glinted off of the tear tracks staining his face.

"It is not your fault. I…read up on this place in the library. There was some really screwed up history in this place, and I still let you all come. I should have stopped it."

Stiles looked at him. "But you didn't. And you know why you didn't? Because of me. Because I wanted to come. I made you come and the others too, and if anything happens…" his voice broke and he couldn't go on. Derek hugged him tightly, stroking his back.

"You couldn't have known. You meant well, Stiles, you wanted us to have fun. That's not a crime. Look…we're werewolves. Danger goes with the territory. There'll always be stuff we have to face, and we may not always win. That's just the way it is. My uncle, Allison's family…not to mention all of the other monsters in the world, quite a few of which seem to be here…we will always have enemies. But one thing you taught me our first Christmas together is that no matter what happens, we have no right to dwell on mistakes or misplaced guilt. It ruins the future as well as the past. You did that for me, got me to think of something besides my own self-loathing, and self-pity. So don't you dare do that to yourself, or I'll rip your throat out…"

Stiles started chuckling. "…with your teeth, I know. That really never gets old. And you have no idea how sexy you are when you say it."

Stiles gazed into Derek's eyes, losing himself in the oceanic depths and thinking for the thousandth time that he had no right to be so fortunate, so blessed to have this wonderful man be completely in love with him.

Derek smirked at him and looked away, the worship and adoration in those dark eyes too much for his soul to bear. The happiness that swelled within him threatened to crack his chest open when he thought about how he had finally met someone who would never betray him, never break his heart and always look at him as if he had all the answers and all the strength and all the power one could ever want…Derek only wished the reality were half as good as the image the Stiles built up in his mind.

Stiles stood up slowly and laid back on the couch closest to the fire, yanking his t-shirt over his head and beckoning Derek over.

Derek sat next to him, and chuckled when Stiles pulled at Derek's own grey t-shirt.

"Sty, now is definitely not the time or the place."

Stiles pouted. "Just lay next to me then. I need to feel your skin on mine."

Derek nodded and pulled the shirt off, then spooned Stiles into the rear of the couch, feeling the heat from the fireplace warm his back. Derek wrapped his arm around the younger boy, and sniffed along his mate's neck until he found the exact spot that gave off the most scent and wedged his face in there, Stiles chuckling at the tickling sensation.

'Better not fall asleep!' he thought to himself. But before he knew it, he fell into slumber as did Stiles. None of the werewolves saw the glowing pair of red eyes hovering just outside of the ball room doors. None of them noticed the fire dwindling down as the temperature in the room dropped, or the faint smell of rotting meat in the air.

A shadow began to creep across the floor of the room, a shadow shaped like an arm with extremely long alien fingers that ended in hook like claws. The shadow stretched further and further into the room and crept up the back of the couch where the Alpha slept with his mate. Impossibly, the shadow went up and down the other side and came to rest over Stiles' face, causing him to moan softly in his sleep while his dreams took a darker turn.

'Yes…this one…he is the one…he will die for us…he will free us…" a deep and inhuman voice whispered gently into the room.

'Himmm? This boy? Can he be the one?' this voice was high and feminine, and echoed down through the fireplace.

'Can it be true? Will we finally be free?' This voice was masculine, but with a distinct southern accent.

The voices ceased their chatter, and the shadow hand seemed to grip the face beneath it. Stiles let out a whine. Somewhere in his dream (which had started off as usual with Derek doing a slow strip tease, for some reason surrounded by penguins) Stiles felt an alien force grip hold of the fabric of his dream and twist it into a new shape. He was suddenly in the master bedroom of the house, high above on the top floor. He had never been in this room, but somehow knew exactly what and where it was. An enormous four poster bed dominated the room, and Stiles lay with his body under the heavy blankets looking at the door of the enormous closet directly across from him.

'Who puts a closet right in front of a bed? That's so creepy. What if that door slowly swung open while you were lying there, what if a Shape stood there illuminated by moonlight, or just a pair of glowing red eyes? What if some black thing with horns charged out of that closet right at the bed, and you were trapped under the covers while it leapt into the air, jaws agape and claws outstretched? You could hide under the covers, and that might protect you, or it might not. Maybe the Thing would stand there by your bed while you struggled to keep from pissing yourself in fright, too terrified to peek out lest it snatch the covers away and leave you defenseless? You would just spend the night lying there, hearing it breathe, hearing it chuckle as it enjoyed its game and waited until just the right moment to give in to its terrible hunger and feast? You could almost hear it whisper…'I am here…really here…just open your eyes…and see…'

Sometimes the thing wasn't in the closet. Sometimes it was under the bed, waiting to snatch at your ankle and pull you under the bed with it, into the magic passage that connected to the nightmarish world it came from. Sometimes Stiles would be asleep and have the distinct impression of something sitting on his chest, grinning and waiting for him to open his eyes. Other times, it felt as if whatever was under the bed had begun gently pulling at the blankets, causing him to clutch at them before they were pulled all the way to the foot of the bed.

It was a game that these Boogeymen played with kids…a game where neither side seemed willing to cross a certain line. The Boogeyman couldn't get you as long as you had your blankets, as long as your eyes were closed, as long as you kept your ankle out of its reach. You had to…give it an opening of some kind. It seemed even monsters had rules. Not that it was above cheating…

Stiles did then what he had done the last time he had this dream when he was just a little boy. At six years of age, after being terrorized by his own imagination for months, he pulled back the covers and stomped his feet on the floor as he slid out of bed.

"Come on you fucker. Try it. Just try it. Go on, grab my ankles." His mouth was set into a hard line, and his eyes glittered as he balled his fists and waited.

Nothing grabbed his ankles.

Stiles walked (he didn't run…he somehow knew running was one of the things that let it come for you) slowly to the light switch and flicked it on. He dropped to his knees and peeked under the bed. Nothing. Then he walked over to his closet (sensibly placed to the far right of the bed) and braced himself, gritting his teeth. He yanked the door open and let out a roar, a challenge that the monster would have to answer or back down. Nothing within but clothes.

"Good thing for you." Stiles would mutter before slamming the door. Since that time, the nightmares never bothered him. He had discovered a great secret…it was the fear that killed you, the fear that let it break whatever rules or cross whatever boundaries kept it from eating children all over the world every single night. He would just face anything he was afraid of in life, and try to take a piece of it with him. Without fail, he always found that his fear was far greater than the actual object, and that if he ran at it straight on it would lose its power to harm him.

Now, as he dreamed in this spiderweb of a house…this venus-flytrap of souls…he remembered that great secret and put it to the test.

He slid to the floor, stomping both feet down.

"Come on you fucker. Try it. Just try it. Go on, grab my ankles."

Only this time, something did.

A blackened hand with alien fingers and hooked claws shot out and wrapped itself around Stiles leg. It gave a mighty tug, nearly toppling him to the floor. An inhuman roar came from under the bed.

Stiles, somehow knowing that this time was going to be different and planning for it, simply brought his other foot up and smashed it down onto that black hairy arm with all his might.

The thing gave a high pitched chittering screech and released its hold, the hand disappearing back under the bed.

Stiles was hyperventilating in his dream, but he was also grinning a ferocious grin. His eyes were very dark, and had Derek been there to see his face, he would have recognized it at once. This was a monster that lived within him that had nothing to do with the wolf…and it always got even.

Stiles walked over to the closet then, yanking the door open. Lightning flashed as the silvery moonlight illuminated the goat-headed man. It gave off its bleat/growl, and raised up its arms, intending to wrap them around the boy in one final terrible hug.

Stiles' face was pale with fury, with rage that this thing desecrated the world with its presence. It wasn't supposed to be here, shouldn't be allowed to be here, there were dark places in other worlds, other dimensions that were given to it…it had strayed from its place to come here, and now it had to pay the price.

As the thing leaned down towards him, Stiles reached up and grabbed the long black horns with his hands, wrenching with all his might. One horn bent, while the other gave off a splintering crack. The thing shrieked and tried to pull back, but Stiles braced his feet on either side of the closet door, trying to pull it fully into the room. It singed and burned then as it passed the doorway; it could only exist here when the air was tainted with fear, and there was none present within the room or within this boy…just white-hot righteous hatred. Stiles wrenched again, and this time both horns broke off and the creature hurtled into the room where it fizzled out like hair held too close to a candle flame.

Stiles spit into the closet. "Fucking weakling." he said contemptuously. He slammed the closet door in the dream, and suddenly started awake next to Derek. His other-self slipped back down into the basement of his mind (where all true monsters live) and the memory of the dream left him.

Stiles looked around the room, noticed that everyone was still sleeping including Derek and relaxed back onto the couch. He sighed deeply. The last thing he wanted to have in this freaky place was a nightmare. He pulled out his phone from his pants pocket once more and used the only function on it that still worked; the camera. He had uploaded a few personal pictures to his phone, and now looked at one that always made him feel better when things got bad. A picture of his mother.

Somewhere deep in the otherspace that connected this point on earth, this house to a world where nightmares walked needing no shadows to hide them, the goat-headed thing mewled as it nursed its wounds. It had deeply underestimated the boy, and had only just barely managed to retreat before it was destroyed. Had that confrontation taken place on the physical plane where the rules were very different, the monster would have been no more. But in dreams, anything was possible, even escape from a force more powerful than itself. Things were going according to plan with the others. Having given in to their fears, it held the minds of the young boy and girl captive within itself. They would never wake while it lived, and thanks to their nearly immortal bodies, the sustenance they provided was far more potent than those pathetic humans that shriveled and died so easily. All of the others of this fascinating race of shape-changers had given in to some degree, they just waited to be taken, even their leader whose fear for his mate was greatest of all. Perhaps when it had all of them, it would be strong enough to handle the wretched brat that hurt it so badly. But to do that, it would need to enlist the help of the others that dwelt here with it…