#featuring Herald Stilinski-Hale

[anchorsandadderall]

Dolly

Sterek Week, Day 7: Halloween

Words: 2,629

Summary: Nothing in the Stilinski-Hale house is ever normal, of course. Not even birthday gifts for their son Herald.

Genre: Horror (sort of), Humor

If you do not yet know the tale of Herald, please go and view/read this absolute gem of the fandom here. Herald and his origin story belong to @spaggel and @grimm-times

Aside from the Sheriff, Cora was probably the one most unaffected when she met Herald. Derek and Stiles introduced them via FaceTime, because that tends to be the easiest way to introduce new, woefully unsuspecting people to him. They have the opportunity to hang up and swear the call dropped if it’s too much all at once. The amount of people who suddenly ‘lost signal’ when FaceTiming It for the first time is staggering. Scott swore he thought their kid was super adorable, he just lost signal while in a tunnel, despite the fact that he was calling them from a Burger King. 

It’s also helpful that electronics seem to malfunction around It a lot, and while sometimes the flickering screen has the same effect as the reveal of the girl in The Ring, a lot of times the static helps to… soften things. While sitting on the couch with Derek and It, Stiles bangs the side of his phone to try and sort out the heavy lines of distortion running up from the bottom of the screen, making everything wobble as it passes. That has to actually be making things look worse, surely. 

“Okay, now please remember that Herald is like… eight years old now, so he understands stuff that people are saying.”

Derek clears his throat. “He’s five.”

Stiles pauses and counts in his head. Time seems to go a lot slower when one is awaiting possible eminent death in ones own home all the time. “Five. But he can still understand you.”

“Sti- Stiles.” Cora’s voice jumps and doubles back as the screen wobbles. “The only danger here is you making me motion sick. Lemme see my nephew.”

Stiles sighs and tilts his phone to bring It into view. “Herald. This is your Aunt Cora.”

Herald takes the phone, grasping it in his knobby little fingers and stares at Cora’s flickering image. His eyes unfocus and the pupils drift apart slightly. Stiles braces himself for the hang-up but Cora just laughs.

“Hey, he’s got Derek’s eyebrows!”

***

The package arrives four weeks later, and it’s covered in red ink stamps and writing on the shipping label. It’s in Spanish, written in a dying ballpoint pen. But the mailman didn’t hang around to say there was extra shipping due or anything. Plus it’s from Cora, so it has to be fine. Stiles just cuts the box open and sifts through the balled-up newspapers.

And finds the doll.

The doll is some sort of cloth nightmare creation from Cora’s neck of the woods in South America. It’s rail-thin, the body wrapped in some kind of lacy doily to make a dress. The arms are too long, and the eyes are too big, bugging out of her head. For some reason the eyes are sewn onto black felt circles. Stiles thinks it’s supposed to mimic eyeliner, but the eyes are too high on the head and the circles form large, dark crescents under her eyes. 

Stiles shudders and stuffs her back into the newspapers so it hides those bulging eyes, grabbing the piece of folded cardstock that’s been rifled around with the papers. Cora’s messy scrawl is inside, written in red pen.

‘1 missed birthday present down. More to come. Love, Aunt Cora’

“Hey kiddo,” Stiles says automatically as he hears the front door open as Derek comes home from picking It up from kindergarten. He shoves the box aside so he can mail the hideous thing back to Cora and tell her to buy It a less creepy doll off Amazon if this is what they all look like where she shops. “How was school?”

“He didn’t bite anyone today,” Derek says, releasing It’s hand so he can wander freely around the kitchen while Derek hangs up his backpack. “His teacher is thrilled.”

“Me too, because that means he gets to stay another week.” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s cheek. “Our kid might learn those pesky social graces yet.”

“Can I see her?”

Stiles looks over at where It has perched himself at the edge of the table, staring up at the box without blinking. “What?”

Herald points up at the box.

“What are you talking about, buddy?” Derek walks over to the box and sifts the paper around, pulling the doll free. When he flips her over and the wiry black hair falls away to reveal the huge eyes, he startles and drops the doll… right into Herald’s waiting arms. 

“Your uh… sister decided to send that for Herald,” Stiles says, internally screaming. Herald has the doll, and looks quite pleased about it. Stiles is probably a terrible person if he gets rid of it now.

“Oh.” Derek looks down at it, a shudder running up his spine. “…Why?”

“How the hell should I know? She always had a weird sense of humor.” Stiles sighs. Time to foster good habits and all that parental stuff. “Let’s call Aunt Cora tonight and say thank you, okay?”

It turns his head slightly, not looking at anyone. Turning his ear towards the doll, maybe? Then he nods his head.

“She packed her too close to the strawberries. She didn’t like that.”

“Right.” It’s not the weirdest thing Herald has ever said. It’s not even the weirdest thing thing week. “Well, we don’t give people feedback when we’re thanking them for a present. So don’t say that to Aunt Cora.”

“Yes,” It says, and then departs with the doll. 

When Stiles is dumping out the newspapers to fold the box down, he finds a bag of candies tucked in the bottom of the box. There’s a smiling piece of red, round candy on the front of the bag, holding a strawberry.

***

The doll is called Amaia. Stiles takes note that It always just says that her name is Amaia, not that he named her. He likes to talk to her, which, again, isn’t all that weird. It talks to a lot of inanimate objects. And then he forgets to talk to his very animate parents for long periods of time. 

So he loves the doll and calls her his new friend and everything is great. Stiles can overlook the creepy factor since it makes Herald so happy. Hell, his kid has a creepy factor, who is he to hold it against a doll? But one does have to draw the line somewhere, and for Stiles, that’s at the front door. 

“Maybe you can take Amaia for the next show and tell day, okay?” Stiles offers after having successfully distracted It with Pop Tarts long enough to pluck the doll off the table. 

“She doesn’t like my teacher,” It says, watching the doll. “I want to show her that she’s nice.”

Ooookay, the doll is never going to show and tell. Ever. “Well, when you come home you can tell her all kinds of nice things about your teacher.”

It gives this a long moment of consideration. “Yes,” he finally agrees, and goes back to carefully biting his Pop Tart into the shape of an anatomically-correct heart. Stiles gives Derek a ‘dodged a bullet’ look of relief. Once Derek leaves to take It to school, Stiles stows the doll on top of the fridge so he doesn’t have to look at her creepy bug eyes all day. 

Stiles is working at the kitchen table at his laptop, tapping his fingers on the edge. He’s half focused on his screen, but something sort of... itches in the back of his head, but on the inside. A twitchy, uneasy feeling. 

“Derek, quit watching me,” he says, not taking his eyes off the screen. 

No answer. The prickling doesn’t go away.

Stiles sighs and rubs his eyes, breaking the spell of concentration with the screen (which wasn’t exactly helping him make progress). He turns to the kitchen doorway to tell Derek to stop being a creeper and make sandwiches or something.

The doorway is empty. The kitchen is empty. 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck gingerly as he looks around and confirms that... he’s definitely alone. The kitchen is quiet, save the slight hum of his laptop and the ticking of the clock that’s hanging over the stove. 

It’s cold. Well, Stiles thinks it’s cold, but there’s also the very real possibility that he’s just bored, and neither of those problems will be solved by him just sitting here. He gets up, trying to rub a little warmth into his arms, and heads out of the kitchen. A quick walk around the house, maybe asking Derek if he was hanging around the kitchen recently, grabbing a jacket if he needs to... then he can get back to work. 

When Stiles opens the door to the home office where Derek is working, he’s trying to pull a second sweatshirt over his first one. “Hey Derek. Were you in the kitchen?”

“Not recently, wh...” Derek turns to the door and fades out in the middle, eyebrows coming together as he looks Stiles up and down. “Are you okay?”

“It’s kinda chilly downstairs, don’t you think?”

“I-” Derek pauses as his computer begins humming louder, like it’s running harder. The screen dims. The lamp in the office dims, casting a brown tint on the walls. The bulb sputters, slight pops of yellow as it tries to fight back to full brightness.

Then it passes. The light comes back on fully, the cheerful orange light from the bulb radiating comfortably. The computer quiets back down. Derek immediately saves his work, just in case. 

“That was... weird. Uh, I haven’t been downstairs since I got home,” he says. 

“Oh,” Stiles says, for lack of anything better to say. He can’t very well insist that Derek had to be downstairs because it’s way creepier if he wasn’t. “Right. Well. I’m gonna go... get back to work.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Derek asks, leaning over his desk like he’s tryin to get a closer look at Stiles, but he’s already making a beeline for the staircase.

The kitchen light is off when Stiles gets back downstairs. So is his laptop. Everything is silent except the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Stiles yanks his chair out, wondering how the hell he was gone long enough for his computer to go into sleep mode. Movement on the chair makes him glance down before he tries to sit. 

Amaia is on his chair. The force of him pulling it out has tipped her onto her side, one long arm falling past the edge of the chair. Bulging eyes staring at him. 

Stiles grabs the doll and shoves her into the freezer, slamming it shut. 

“Don’t make me call a priest,” he warns through the closed door. “You better not have screwed up my computer.”

***

It’s hard to be phased by much of anything after a life in Beacon Hills and now five years of fatherhood to the creepy little gremlin that is their son. Stiles and Derek just kind of take the first week in stride. Weird stuff happens when It is away at school. It usually stops when he comes home and Stiles returns custody of the doll to him. At worst, Stiles nicks his fingers on every knife in the utensil drawer while trying to find a wooden spoon. Messy, but not too bad when one’s mate has pain-removing powers.

Then It stays with his grandpa for the weekend. Stiles makes him leave the doll again, because hell if he’s sending that thing to his dad’s house. 

Amaia does not appear to like that. 

Stiles taps his fingers on his knees while the phone rings in his ear.

“Stiles.” Cora’s voice on the other end is groggy but suspicious. “Wha’s wrong? It’s... 5 in the morning.”

“1 in the morning for us. Cora, where did you get that doll you sent to Herald?” Stiles asks, tapping his fingers faster. 

“Is that Derek growling I’m hearing?” she asks. Stiles can hear rustling on the other end of the line as Cora sits up. The phone buzzes in his ear as the connection weakens. 

“Yeah, that’s Derek. There’s a little girl standing at the foot of our bed.” Stiles rubs Derek’s shoulder to try and keep him from launching himself at whatever is standing there and staring at them. “Or, I think there is. She’s suspiciously featureless in the shadows.”

“What the hell?” Cora sounds fully awake now, and Stiles will at least have the petty satisfaction of dragging her up at a horrible hour on a Saturday after all fo this bullshit.

“Yeah. The light has been unplugged somehow and there’s a little girl standing at the foot of our bed in the dark. Staring at us,” Stiles repeats. He can’t see her eyes, but ohh, it’s easy to feel they’re being stared down. “Presumably here to kill us because Herald is away.”

“What the fuck kind of doll did you send our son?” Derek growls, not taking his eyes off the still figure facing them. 

“I mean... it was just a doll,” Cora protests. “Lots of the women around here sew and make kids’ toys.”

“Are they all in a cult or something?” Stiles hisses, trying to toe the line of belligerence. He’s not sure if it’s possible to piss this thing off and he doesn’t really want to find out either. Not when he’s only wearing boxers and he’s carelessly moved his bat to the closet after It tried to use it to beat a hole into the wall. (He wanted to go into the crawl space. Stiles absolutely did not ask why.) 

“No. They’re just a bunch of old grandmas who make clothes and toys,” Cora huffs. “I know what a cult looks like.” 

“Then why is there a demon attached to the doll they made?” Stiles asks. Because they still have no explanation for what’s at the foot of their bed.

“I don’t know! I showed one of them a picture of Herald and said I wanted something he would like. That’s it, I swear.” 

“And... then what?” 

“She crossed herself. Which people do a lot when I show them a photo of Herald.” Cora sighs and Stiles can hear her tapping her nails on some surface as she thinks. “And then she sold me the doll. Simple as that.” 

“Great. I think your grandma friend was some kind of vigilante trying to rid the world of our creepy kid.” Stiles holds the phone away from his ear as the static hisses and distorts the line. 

The shadow at the foot of the bed flickers and appears on Stiles’ side of the bed. Derek lunges for her and the shadow makes a sound like static on a dead television channel that makes Stiles’ ears hurt. 

“Oh, thanks Cora! Send me the replacement doll so I can burn this one,” Stiles says loudly into the phone. 

The shadow shrieks angrily and vanishes just in time for Derek to pass through her and land on the floor. 

“Stiles?” Cora’s voice is faint as Stiles drops back against his pillows and sighs in relief. “Stiles, what doll? What are you talking about?”

“Where did she go?” Derek snarls, eyes blazing blue in the dark room, whipping his head around. 

Stiles groans and rubs his face. “Bye, Cora,” he says, hanging up the phone. “Come back to bed, babe.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do about that thing?” Derek growls, climbing back into bed. 

Stiles pulls the blanket up to his shoulders, hunkering down under it. He’s still getting his goddamn child-free night of sleep, and no haunted doll is going to stop him. “We order another creepy-ass doll from Amazon and use it to keep her in line until she gets too strong and we have to exorcise her. Obviously.”