#kira's tail should have had more impact on the story

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [3/6] creatures -> kitsune

There are thirteen kinds of Kitsune: celestial, wild, ocean, thunder... But there is one, a dark Kitsune. They call it void, or Nogitsune.

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 20 The Wasteland

           The Beacon Hills Animal Clinic had a sterling reputation, and that was just among the supernatural folk. The animal clinic where Scott McCall worked part-time as he ventured closer to his goal of becoming a veterinarian had often been the only place that helped tend to, revive, and often save the lives of those with extranormal powers who had been wounded by means both supernatural and human. It had even served as refuge for those seeking to avoid the same. The reason the clinic was seen as a safe haven was the man who ran it. Dr. Alan Deaton was of strong build without seeming overbearing. His bald head and trim goatee were complimented by kind and caring eyes. Dr. Deaton, besides being an exceptional vet, also had a druidic background. His unique knowledge and skill set made him an invaluable asset to Scott and his friends. More than once, Deaton’s knowledge of obscure creatures, legends, rituals, and remedies had been the saving grace for Scott’s pack. His clinic was also a splendid place to bring your ailing Labradoodle.

           Deaton opened the doors to Scott, his pack, and the three kids he’d never seen before. Deaton trusted Scott implicitly. He knew Scott would never arrive unannounced like this unless it was a dire emergency. This was. Lydia, Malia, and Kira found places for the trio to sit, doing their best to make them comfortable. Stiles moved from window to window, keeping a sharp eye for any recurrence of the monster, but so far nothing. All the same, he remained on high alert in case that status changed. Scott rapidly brought Dr. Deaton up to speed and then returned to the side of the three traumatized teens.

           Deaton watched with discerning eyes as the young people he had grown to respect so much tended to the three newcomers. None of them were particularly happy with the situation, in that they’d all been disturbed by Erin’s death, but they understood that Freddie, Kaitlyn and Aadesh had suffered the worst. As they made sure the three teens were alright, Scott, Lydia, and Stiles exchanged silent looks of empathy. They had been through this kind of thing enough times to know how to force their focus onto helping others before allowing themselves to feel the full impact of the situation. It is a disconcerting thing to realize you may be growing accustomed to chaos and death.  Deaton waved Scott over. Stiles accompanied him.

           “I appreciate you having the presence of mind to bring your new friends here to see to their well-being”, Deaton told him. “But it would be far better for them if they were with your mother at the hospital. Having everyone crowded into a veterinary clinic’s treatment room is not the best location to treat teenagers in shock.”

           “It wouldn’t be the first time”, Scott remarked. Then, more seriously, “But I’m worried that if we leave them alone, that thing is going to come back for them. Dropping them off at the hospital could put them and anyone near them in danger. Including my mom.”

           Deaton frowned, considering that. “I’m not sure they’re in any immediate danger. I suspect that if this creature is as powerful as you describe, if it wanted these three dead they would be already.”

           “Do you think it’s gone?”, Scott asked. “For good?” He knew he was grasping at straws when he said it, but he had to hope.

           “No”, Deaton replied. “I think we’re far from being out of the woods yet. I have no doubt that it will come back. I just have my suspicions that it won’t right now. Kira wounded it. I think it hesitated in killing Stiles after incapacitating his jeep because to do so would have kept it there too long. Long enough for Kira, or you, or Malia, to strike at it again.”

           “So what it did by striking the road with its tail before flying off—was that some kind of threat?”, Scott asked.

           “A warning, to be sure”, Deaton said.

           “So what is this thing?”, Scott asked the animal physician.

           “I confess that I have no idea”, Deaton admitted. “This is unlike anything I have ever encountered. And I’ve been in Beacon Hills a long time.”

           “I thought you knew everything about supernatural beings”, Scott said.

           “Would that it were so”, Deaton lamented. He paused in that moment, and Scott could see both sides of this man, the veterinarian as well as the druid. Both healers, protectors, and caregivers. In either role, not being able to arrive at a quick and painless solution always stung. “But we can certainly do our best to find out”, Deaton then said with greater confidence. “Starting with what this trio may know.”

           “I don’t think they know a whole lot, to be honest”, Scott said.

           “They may know a lot more than they think—and just don’t realize it.” Deaton crossed the crowded room to address Kaitlyn, Aadesh, and Freddie. They were slowly recovering. Kaitlyn appeared to be the most collected at that point. Aadesh was not far behind her, although he still had a case of the shivers. Freddie was the worst off, his usual constant stream of patter and smart remarks now silenced by fear and grief.

           “I want to assure you”, Deaton said with as much confidence as he could project, “that this is currently the safest place you could be. This building is designed to protect against supernatural attacks. Mountain ash is infused into its very materials. As are other wards.”

           “D-do you think those will hold off the monster?”, Aadesh asked.

           “As I said”, Deaton reiterated, “I believe you are safe for now. But that condition is by no means permanent. We need something from you if we’re to have any hope of defeating this creature.”

           “What’s that?”, Aadesh asked.

           “Information.”

           Kaitlyn sighed. “We already told Scott and all them everything.”

           “But you haven’t told me”, Deaton pointed out. “So please do so. From the beginning.”

           So she did. Kaitlyn relayed their entire story, with Aadesh adding his comments and input where he could. Freddie said nothing. Deaton learned of how the four young misfits with the miserable pasts met at a halfway house. How their lives were irrevocably altered once the visions of the young heroes of Beacon Hills came to Kaitlyn. The rest, as the saying goes, is history. It was now history of which Deaton had a better understanding.

           “The things you did to emulate your heroes”, Deaton said, his voice low with exasperation, “The extremes you went to go beyond merely being dangerous. It was bad enough that you dabbled in sorcery with no training whatsoever. But to delve into the Dark Web online…” His voice trailed off as he considered how many threats this could have exposed them to, and may yet, for all they knew. “Supernatural agencies, the various entities, are frightening to be sure, but in the end there are certain natural laws—and unnatural ones—they must follow. Human threats can be every bit as dangerous as any monster you can imagine.”

           “Sometimes they can be worse”, Scott said. It was only too recent that a legion of assassins was unleashed on the town in a hunt for him, his friends, and a host of others.

           “Still”, Deaton continued, “we can at least try to turn some of your mistakes to our advantage. You admit to patronizing various black markets online, I presume this was where you procured the different spell incantations and the ingredients to perform them.” Kaitlyn nodded. “I think we should start there.”

           “So what do you want?”, Kaitlyn asked, totally drained but willing to do anything to bring this ordeal to an end.

           “We could use some more of the powder stuff you used on it, for starters”, Scott said.

           “A lot more”, Stiles agreed. “Like a dump truck full.”

           Kaitlyn sighed. “We can’t.” This garnered the attention of the others, who stopped seeing to the needs of the young trio.

           “What do you mean you can’t?”, Scott said, an edge coming to his voice.

           “I mean that we can’t. We used it all up out there.”

           “So get some more!”, Stiles shouted. “What, do we have to think of everything?”

           “We can’t get more because there isn’t any more!”, Kaitlyn shouted back.

           “What are you talking about?”, Scott asked.

           Kaitlyn took a breath and then continued. “I was always the one who used the spell powder, the poultices. It had something to do with my visions. My abilities made it easier for me to make them work.”

           “That’s actually not unprecedented”, Deaton remarked. “Many Native American shaman who were able to make use of supernatural tools found in herbs and other natural ingredients often displayed precognitive or telepathic abilities. Those who could harness their skills became masters at protecting their nation. They trained their successors by guiding them through vision quests.”

           At Deaton’s confirmation, Scott was willing to give Kaitlyn the benefit of the doubt on that point, at least. “That still doesn’t explain why you can’t get any more.”

           “I’m not the one who got the stuff”, Kaitlyn admitted. “That was Erin’s department. She found the stuff, made the spell bags, and I was the one who used them.”

           “She’s telling the truth”, Aadesh insisted.

           “Of course your word is worth so much”, Malia sneered.

           “So why can’t you just go to where she got the stuff?”, Scott asked.

           “Because I don’t know where that is.”

           “Okay”, Stiles said, “I’ve had just about enough of your bullshit. No more with the schemes and incessant lying! This isn’t a game. This is very real. Real monsters, real death--!”

           “It’s true!”, Kaitlyn shouted back. “It was part of our arrangement…our system. Erin did the buying. She found the ingredients, most of which were illegal or less than welcome in this country.”

           “Why is that not a surprise?”, Lydia said.

           “But once she had made the orders, she always covered her tracks. Deleted her browsing history, only ever used public computers when possible, like at the library or cafes, and never told us where she found the components to the spell bags or how.”

           “Plausible deniability”, Aadesh said. “We couldn’t tell anyone what we didn’t know.”

           “Erin said it was safer that way”, Kaitlyn said. “She felt we were better off not knowing. Comes from having a shady past, I guess.”

           The spent spell bag had been dropped on a metal examination table. Deaton picked it up with a pair of tweezers. “So you honestly have no idea what was in here?” Kaitlyn shook her head. “I could examine it, check for residual traces of whatever it was, but that will take time. There’s also no guarantee I’d be able to identify every ingredient, given how obscure Kaitlyn’s story indicates they most likely were. Even at that, I have no way of knowing the measurements used of each one.” He looked at Kaitlyn. “Erin never wrote anything down?”  Again, she shook her head.

           “So our only weapon against this thing is literally in the wind”, Stiles said. “Splendid.”

           “I don’t know that it would’ve made that much difference anyway”, Aadesh lamented.

           “Meaning?”, Deaton prompted.

           “That bag was meant to bring the creature down if we needed to. Completely incapacitate it. But…remember that this thing is not the one we sent for; the one we tried to summon up. So all we did was maybe hurt it a little.”

           “And piss it off a whole lot”, Stiles said.

           “Yeah”, Aadesh conceded.

           “Okay, just clear the room, you guys”, Stiles said. “The grownups need some talk time. We need to figure something out and you’re obviously of no help, so vamoose. Go in the other room and wait for us—and don’t forget that if you try to make a run for it, a giant glowing monster will most likely swoop down and eat you. So there’s that to think about.”

           “Stiles”, Scott cautioned, “ease off.”

           But Stiles wasn’t listening. He moved to Freddie and nudged his shoulder. “You too, ginger boy. Get going.”

           This was the first moment that everyone present realized that Freddie had remained uncharacteristically silent. He sat hunched over, eyes on the floor, his fingers clutching at his curly mop of red hair. There was a long enough pause in the discussion at that moment to make out the soft sounds of the usually jovial boy’s sobbing.

           “Just…”, he said meekly, “just…give us a minute.”

           “We don’t have a minute…Robin”, Stiles scolded. “We have to clean up your mess and time’s a-wastin’. The primal, frightening, murderous mess that you—“

           “I know!!!”, Freddie screamed. His voice came out high pitched and frightening, like a boiler that had suddenly burst. “I know what I did! I was the one who pushed them to do it!” He pointed at Kaitlyn and Aadesh, who were already on their feet. Aadesh began to speak, to reassure his best friend that they all shouldered the blame equally, but Freddie continued before he could.

           “Erin’s dead!”, he cried. “I as much as killed her myself because of what I did!” His face was streaked with tears, his eyes were red and puffy and frozen in an expression of fight or flight. He looked directly at Stiles. “I just watched someone I care about die in front of her friends at the hands of some creature that I helped bring into this world! Do you even know what that’s like?!!”

           Everyone else in the room held their breath. Freddie knew his harsh words were a terrible mistake, but the realization came after he’d said them. Stiles stared back at the panicked redhead but said nothing. He had no quip, no joke, no smartass remark to come back to that statement which hung in the air like an accusation. Stiles’ mouth was a tight thin line. His teeth bit down hard behind his lips. Unconsciously, his right hand curled into a fist and the muscles in his arm clenched. Scott was between them in an instant.

           “Enough”, he said. He looked his best friend in the eye and repeated his command, but in a softer tone. “That’s enough.” His eyes moved to Stiles’ right. Stiles glanced over to see what Scott was looking at. Stiles had not even been aware that he was raising his fist to throw a punch. Once he did, he exhaled slowly and let his arm lower gently to his side.

           Scott rested a caring hand on Stiles’ shoulder and looked back to the three kids. “You really should wait out in the main lobby”, he said. “We’ll call you if we need you. Try to collect yourselves. You’ve had a shock. We all have.”

           Malia opened the door to the waiting area and said, “I’ll keep an eye on them.” Scott nodded in appreciation. Kira followed them out as well, her eyes forward but her mind focused somewhere else. Stiles looked Scott in the eye.

           “How the hell can you trust them, Scott? After all the crap they’ve already pulled, after the deceit and the—“

           “Stiles. I was listening before when they told their story. I was listening now. I think we can believe them.”

           “Well, I was listening too, and that’s why I think we can’t—“

           “No”, Scott said. “I was really listening. To everything. Their breathing, their heartbeats. They were telling the truth. At least about Erin and the spell bags, anyway. And most definitely about them wanting to be like us.”

           Stiles was exasperated. He trusted his friend implicitly but at the same time wanted nothing to do with his friend’s usual proclivity to help the helpless. Stiles was tempted to begin a new argument against helping the three remaining misfits, but Deaton spoke before he could.

           “Gentlemen, Lydia, I have something that I think you should look at.”

            Deaton had taken a large book from a shelf within a cupboard on the far side of the room, relatively hidden by large shelves of medicines, blankets, and other assorted veterinary miscellany. Scott saw the shelf and reacted as if he was seeing it for the first time.

           “How long has that been there? I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

           “That’s because there are some things I have no desire to burden you with. But in this case, it appears compulsory.” Deaton set the heavy tome down on the metal table and opened it. It gave off a faint smell of must and age. Its pages were yellowed and foxy, but not yet brittle. They were filled with handwritten notes, sketches, diagrams, a number of clippings, photocopies, and even sleeved sheets of microfiche, all boasting a variety of secrets and stories of Beacon Hills better left untold. Deaton flipped through the pages which held so much dark history, looking for something specific. He found it.

           “This is it”, he said. “It occurred to me that the creature you’ve been talking about may have been here before.”

           “Here”, Scott queried, “on our world?”

           “Here”, Deaton responded, “in Beacon Hills. Or very near to it, in any case.”

           Deaton turned the book slightly so that everyone could see the pages he was now referencing. “There was something familiar about your new friends’ story that was lingering at the back of my mind. It was something that was mentioned in this article from decades ago about a disaster that struck not far from here.” Deaton took half a step back so the others could read the headline of the article he’d pointed out.

           UNKNOWN BLIGHT KILLS CROPS, COMMUNITY

Lydia leaned in and read aloud what was written beneath it. “‘Tragedy struck Orchard Ridge when over the course of less than 36 hours, the farming community, already close to barren by drought, was ravaged by a freak wildfire.’”

           “Orchard Ridge”, Stiles repeated, pondering. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

           “Keep reading”, Deaton urged.

           Lydia continued. “’The source of the fire has yet to be determined, but its affects spread throughout the area, destroying homes, fields, equipment, and leaving 81 residents dead.’”

           “Holy cow”, Scott murmured.

           “’Fire Marshalls said they had never seen this kind of destruction. Some of the bodies were so damaged by the fire and heat that a number of them have yet to be identified. It was opined by some officials that the fire may have been started by some kind of chemical experiment, possibly while concocting a new type of fertilizer to combat the drought. The supposition is supported by a number of survivors who claimed to have seen a massive winged creature made from the fire itself, a sure sign that there were chemicals in the air that caused intense hallucinations.’”

           “Or they had a visit from our winged monster”, Scott offered. Deaton nodded solemnly. Lydia looked fearful.

           “Who says ‘opined’?”, Stiles asked.

           “You think what these people saw is the same thing we’re facing now?”, Scott asked.

           “It’s certainly possibly”, Deaton answered. “I keep track of all unnatural happenings in this area as best I can, both present and past. I have a few other sources I’ve made note of that mention a winged monster, death by fire, and people bursting with light after coming in contact with the creature.” Deaton opened a small manila envelope taped to the page opposite the article clipping to reveal a collection of handwritten notes in faded pencil and ink now brightly discolored, citing interviews with locals who survived the so-called wildfire. The interviews provided the kind of accounts that don’t make it into the newspaper. Not today, and certainly not in 1927. “Some notations indicate that those who were set alight—or whatever happened to them—remained upright for some time, possessed of superhuman strength before the light they gave off finally consumed them. The only records and accounts I’ve found all trace back to this place and time. Orchard Ridge, 1927.”

           Stiles snapped his fingers. “That’s where I’ve heard it!” He turned to Scott and said, “I know exactly where this place is. It’s not even all that far from here.” Scott looked perplexed, but Deaton saw that Stiles was on the right track, so he let him continue. “It is smack-dab between the Beacon County line and Bluffton Hills.”

           “There’s nothing between the county line and Bluffton Hills”, Scott said.

           “Sounds like there used to be”, Stiles countered.

           “What Stiles is saying is true”, Deaton said. “Orchard Ridge was once abundant with pastoral life of every variety.” He produced a handful of clippings and a brochure from the large book, just behind the page they were reading. The slim collection was held together by a large metal paperclip, whose rust from years of neglect had rubbed onto what it held. Photos from the brochure showed a lavish farming community rich with flowering trees, verdant fields, picturesque homes, and of course, colorful orchards. The brochure was a garishly-colored affair, even having had years to fade, and welcomed one and all to the annual farmer’s market and county fair. A magazine article secured to the brochure declared that Orchard Ridge took first prize in both vegetable harvest and floral displays for the fifth year running. Scott took it all in, but he still hadn’t made the connection. Deaton said, “Of course, nobody calls it Orchard Ridge anymore. And they haven’t for some time. Now it has a different name entirely.”

           A light of realization came to Scott’s eyes. “The Wasteland.”