Scott McCall POVAugust 31 – September 1
Scott McCall realized he'd forgotten his phone about halfway down the street.
It hit him like a punch to the gut — that sudden, sinking feeling in his chest.
"Great," he muttered, slowing his bike to a stop.
He stared down at the handlebars for a moment, weighing his options. Home was closer. But his phone was still back at the clinic — the vet clinic — and if his mom tried calling him and he didn't answer, she'd worry. And when Melissa McCall worried, it usually ended with questions Scott didn't know how to answer.
He turned the bike around with a sigh.
The animal clinic sat quiet at this hour, the sign above the door dark except for the faint glow from the streetlight. It always smelled the same — disinfectant, fur, something faintly metallic. Scott had worked there long enough that it felt almost normal.
Almost safe.
He wheeled his bike around back, leaning it against the fence the way he always did, and slipped inside through the rear door.
"Hello?" he called out, even though he knew no one else should be there.
The lights flickered on overhead.
The clinic was silent.
Scott moved toward the counter where he'd left his phone earlier, his footsteps echoing softly on the tile. He spotted it immediately — right where he'd left it.
Relief washed over him.
Then he heard it.
A sound.
Low. Heavy.
Not mechanical. Not the building settling.
Breathing.
Scott froze.
It came from the back — from the area near the animal cages. A slow, deliberate exhale, followed by the faint scrape of claws against concrete.
"Probably just a dog," he whispered to himself.
The clinic sometimes kept animals overnight. Big ones, sometimes. Nervous ones.
Still… this sounded different.
Scott swallowed and forced himself to move.
"Easy," he said softly as he approached the back hallway. "It's okay."
The sound stopped.
That was worse.
The shadows at the end of the hall shifted.
Then something moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Scott barely had time to register the shape — large, black, towering — before it slammed into him. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs.
Pain exploded across his side.
Something sharp sank into his skin.
Scott screamed.
The creature snarled — deep, guttural, nothing like a dog — and Scott kicked wildly, panic taking over. His heel connected with something solid, and the weight lifted just enough for him to roll away.
He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might tear out of his chest.
The thing lunged again —
And then it was gone.
Just like that.
The hallway was empty.
Scott stood there shaking, gasping for breath, his hands trembling as he pressed them to his side.
It hurt.
A lot.
"Just… a dog," he whispered again, desperately. "Just a dog."
He didn't stay to check.
Scott grabbed his phone, ran out the back door, jumped on his bike, and pedaled home like his life depended on it.
Because it felt like it did.
That night, Scott barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw black fur and glowing eyes. Heard that sound — that impossible growl.
His side burned.
When he finally drifted off, his dreams were sharp and fragmented. Running. Falling. Heartbeats that weren't his own.
Morning came too fast.
Scott sat up in bed, breathing hard.
Then he froze.
His side didn't hurt.
Frowning, he pulled his shirt up and looked.
Nothing.
No blood.No wound.No scar.
Not even a mark.
Scott stared at his skin, confused.
"Maybe… it didn't bite me," he said aloud. "Maybe it just… scratched me."
He laughed nervously.
Yeah. That had to be it.
Just fear. Adrenaline. His imagination.
It was the first day of high school.
He couldn't freak out now.
Beacon Hills High smelled like fresh wax and nerves.
Scott locked his bike and headed for the entrance, trying to calm the tightness in his chest. He still felt… strange. Like his body was buzzing. Like he hadn't slept at all, but somehow felt more awake than ever.
He reached for the front door.
Pulled.
The handle snapped clean off in his hand.
Scott stared at it.
"…What."
The door swung open anyway.
Students around him stopped and stared.
Scott's heart jumped into his throat.
"I— I didn't—" he stammered, dropping the broken handle like it had burned him.
Someone laughed. Someone else whispered.
Scott backed inside quickly, face burning.
Okay.
That was weird.
Really weird.
He shook it off and headed to class.
But things kept happening.
He could hear people talking from down the hall. Not muffled — clear. Distinct. He could hear lockers opening, heartbeats, footsteps that shouldn't have been noticeable.
In class, he answered a question without realizing the teacher had even asked it.
At lunch, he smelled food from across the courtyard.
Something was wrong.
Then he saw her.
Allison Argent.
She smiled at him, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.
The way she dropped her pencil. The way he scrambled to pick it up. The awkward words. The too-fast heartbeat.
It all felt unreal.
By the time the final bell rang, Scott's head was spinning.
He walked out of the school, sunlight too bright, sounds too loud.
That's when he saw it.
A black car parked near the curb.
Low. Sleek. Expensive.
Completely out of place.
And leaning against it—
A guy.
Tall. Lean. Long dark hair tied loosely back. Calm, unreadable posture. He didn't look like a student. Didn't look like a teacher either.
He looked… dangerous. Not aggressive. Just controlled.
The guy lifted his head.
And their eyes met.
Something cold settled in Scott's stomach.