Stiles's Arc

Chapter 3 of 20

The field lights buzz overhead. Stiles grips his stick at midfield, sweat cold under his jersey. The scoreboard says one point. Twenty seconds left. Coach is screaming something he can't hear. Across the turf, the other team sets up for one last push. Then Stiles sees it. At the tree line past the bleachers, something tall stands in the dark. Two legs. A long, narrow head. Pointed ears. It does not move like a person. It watches him. The ball comes at him. He doesn't turn. A shoulder slams his ribs, the ball pops loose, and a player in the other jersey scoops it clean. Stiles hears the net snap before he hears the whistle. Coach throws his clipboard. The crowd groans and starts to leave. Stiles walks to the tree line while the stands empty. The thing is gone. In the dirt at the edge of the grass, he finds prints — four clawed toes, pressed deep, leading nowhere. He crouches and stares until his knees ache. A door bangs behind him. Scott crosses the field alone, helmet under his arm, and stops a few feet away beside the locker room wall. "You let them score," Scott says. Not angry. Just true. "You were looking at the woods. What did you see?" Stiles opens his mouth. The photo is still in his jacket inside. The coin too. He looks at Scott, at the prints, at the dark trees. "Come home with me after," he says. "I have to show you something." Scott nods once. The wall is down.