Chapter Text
There it is again. The twitch of a bush outside. Only a few explanations come to mind. Wind, animals, the natural shifting of a forest. But your feeling particularly raw today. Work sucked.
An old man had dropped a carton of milk and with his arthritis stricken hands that's to be expected. Accidents are expected, a forgivable accident akin to knocking a cup over. There is no reason to make a scene over it. That's exactly what he did when you had told him store policy, like every other retailer in the valley and likely the entire country that he needed to pay for the damaged goods.
It was a hole thing and a bunch of people gathered. Which meant a bunch of people were aware of you. The town is small. Everyone was in everyone else's business and there was no better business than your own.
Though the incident can be used in your favor. People now knowing where you work will keep away from you. When you put it like that you wouldn't blame your boss for firing you. Your suprised he hasn't. He made no promises to your parents to watch after you. He is under no obligation to keep you employed.
You have terrible work ethic and you both repell and attract unwanted attention. Joe is a saint for that. He hasn't treated you any different then anyone else which is better then the actual pastor on the corner. He hates you and you've never said a word to the man.
A sentiment carried by a lot of folks in this town. Not the point your trying to come to. With so much negative attention you'd think you'd be used to the staring but you are not. You always get this prickly feeling. A live wire too aware of everything that passes by.
You've started feeling like that on your way home.
Wouldn't be the first time solicitors have come to the house when your not looking. Wanting a glimpse at what happened there. Morbid curiosity to see if the blood is still there.
It's not. That section of carpet and subflooring was carved out as it qualified as a biohazard. They replaced the floor but left the rest untouched. They didn't feel the need to give a child a free renovation. You didn't feel cameras were necessary. You never felt your life threatened. Not like the poor fool who skipped town a while ago.
You have even been followed before. The local paper must have thought it would of been the scoop of a century to get the story straight from a middle schooler. They got the message when you slammed the door in their face and when you think back, extreme satisfaction now because they hadn't brought their van with them meaning they needed to walk the whole way with all their equipment.
Your amused huff dies in your throat when the bushes jolt again. The sound inaudible behind glass. The house doesn't make a sound as you sit on the floor staring out the window.
To understand your suspicion of the treeline, you have to go back a couple of hundred years. Right around when the first human animal hybrid appeared.
So, in terms of your life, it was a very long time ago, but it is new in the eyes of all of human history. Research is in its infancy stage.
There are countless branches of animals that can appear as hybrids and new ones appearing every other week. A hundred different breeds of dogs, countless sub species and like animals in the wild we just keep finding more.
You'd need experts on humans and the researchers for countless different animal species to collaborate to get the full picture on just one type. Hormone balances, medical care, new blood types, bone structures, other things need to be taken into account, and that's just the biological side. You haven't even thought of the behavioral side yet, which is what plagues you now.
The current you, who has no qualifications at all, is merely a high school dropout working at a local grocery store, can't even begin to explain what makes you think you're being stalked by one.
Animals stalk prey and perhaps that instinct carries over. Or your stupid which is a very valid interpretation.
Anyway. Shining a flashlight through the window is doing nothing but attracting moths to the glass. Carpet scratches under your soles, bringing to out of the living room and to the living room to pull out a pot.
You're not even sure of yourself, if that is any indicator of how bad it's gotten. Paranoia is a close friend of yours so you have a good idea when something should really concern you. Now? That's out the window. Something has to be watching you because your brain never sends you false flags.
You take the bus to work, your car having stopped working ages ago for reasons you don't know. Being an avid public transportation user when you were younger meant your employer was none the wiser. Except the countless times the bus is late, which makes you late. Again. Your work ethic isn't great.
Unfortunately, the nearest bus stop from your house is a good hour away on foot. You'd passed it countless times before without blinking when you drove. It was just the place the school bus picked you up and dropped you off. For a while it stayed that way until the car broke down.
You find yourself bone tired after work when you had to make your way back home on foot, you needed to adapt. Fast.
It's an hour walk if you follow the rules of cars, maybe two and a half miles if you stick to the side of the road. No sidewalk to guide you when you live so close to a highway and woods stretched out on both sides.
That's where you found your shortcut. Between sparse tree cover that got thicker the further from the asphalt you got. Thin, pale, spindly trees that dropped leaves when the temperature dropped. The path that could cut your commute in half.
That's where you think your problem started. Or it could be the anxiety of trudging through the dark alone to get home just makes you more paranoid then usual. Your audiobooks and music are not enough to stave off that feeling you get when the whole town stares at you.
Either way, that unease hasn't left you since. Even on days that you decide to take the long way, you still feel it. Something is breathing down your neck but there is not a soul to be seen.
Feeling uneasy in the woods is not a new experience for humanity. Maybe the one-time anxiety performs its original use to help keep you alert. You almost liked it before the new development, the brisk feeling you get walking. That boost of walking alone and taking in your environment. You can pretend you were anywhere else but here. Now you're painfully aware of the path and your place on it.
The heat coming from the stove is a small comfort. Warmth radiating up your side while you stare out of the kitchen window.
You saw something the other day, fast, the crunching of leaves, the lone indicator that something was there. Creeping around the treeline around your small, isolated home. You paid it no mind the first time, pulling out an earbud and rifling through your bag for your keys. Letting yourself in and planning out dinner.
Then a few nights later, you heard sounds from your kitchen window, you assumed it was raccoons getting into shit they're not supposed to. Easy enough to drag the can into the garage and prevent them from making a mess.
But there was nothing when you had gone outside. No evidence of little paws digging around or the cooing of animals shouting run! The recycling and waste bins were untouched.
The forest was dead silent.
Days later of phantom rodents scratching the house. You were so close to busting a hole in the drywall. Because if you couldn't see them then they had to be in the foundation. That night when you went to bed, a more chilling sound would keep you up.
Scratching. Loud enough to stop you from going to sleep altogether. You had legitimate thoughts that you were hallucinating, which would have both been a pro and a con. Because if it was in your head you could rest easy knowing nothing was eating away the homes foundation or shiting in the pantry.
You got up, and took a lap around the exterior of your house that ended in nothing but rustling bushes and crushed leaves under your own shoes.
Those scratches would get worse with time. Physical marks left near your bedroom windows, position changing when you move your bed away from them, marring the siding of your house that's close to reaching its intended life expectancy.
You saw the tail end of it on a random Thursday. You mean that in a physical sense. You'd stepped out for a grocery run. Those were far more frequent now that you couldn't load everything in a car. You had to be smart. Your reusable bags tucked over your arm, skin slathered in sunscreen, and the flash of stark white out of the corner of your eye in August when the leaves' hues were warming.
It was a white-ish gray color, big, and fuzzy. The only animal you can think of that could reasonably fit the criteria would have been a wolf, but it would have to be an arctic wolf due to its particular coloration.
Which feeds back to your theory of a hybrid. You just feel it in your gut.
You live life rationally. So your stuck on loop trying to figure out motive. You are unpleasant to most people and that is by design. So who the hell would want to follow you home and nothing more. Like they are making sure you get home safe everyday. A nice sentiment, tainted when you know for a fact that it can't be any of your friends watching you from the woods.
You only have three friends, even that's a strech. You befriended a brown rabbit from work. Arguably the only person at work that likes you, he's great. A bird with a love for theatrics that's been your friend since middle school and a big, fluffy black dog that you've known since you were a toddler. You ignore the pang in your chest at the thought of him.
This is someone you might have talked to once or twice, or a complete stranger. You don't know what would be worse.
You need backup. A fresh pair of eyes.
"This might come off as insensitive, and I want you to tell me off if it is. The internet isn't helping, and I don't really know what else to do." You preface, holding onto the strap of your bag. Keeping it snug on your shoulder as opposed to hanging it on your chair. You need that weight on your shoulder, like a hand. Caroline gives you a reassuring smile, her cropped hair swooping out in every direction and getting lighter at the ends. Looking like a cockatiel even in her human form. One of the good things to come out of middle school.
"Don't worry about it. I know you mean well." She hums, urging you to continue with the gentle wave of her hand. Her bangles caught the light coming from the restaurant window. She's so bright.
"Can I ask about- dating? I think? Just behavior surrounding it." You start, forcing the words out despite your nervousness. She nods, bringing her drink to her lips and shooting you a look. Almost glowing at the notion.
You let out a breath, catching a stray thread on your bag. Mangling it between your fingers. "Animals do mating ritual stuff, and courting. I wanted to know if that behavior carried over to hybrids? Got a bunch of unrelated answers when I tried... among other things." You say slowly, burying that weird website you clicked on without reading the url in the back of your mind. Her eyes light up with recognition but a different idea sprouts in her head than you intended. It was your fault for not setting the tone.
"Oh yeah. It's like something that happens in the back of our mind, like any other thought. Like feeling itchy. You either scratch it, or you don't." She explains. "It goes away no matter what you choose. Partially." She goes through, tracing her finger over the rim of her cup. Plates were cleared a time ago. Waiting for the early dinner rush to slow down and allow the waiter to come get our bill. Either way neither of you are complaining.
"Okay..." You say after a beat. Closing your eyes as you rack your brain drowning in its own thoughts. What species do you know rhat stalks their potential mates?
"Figured you'd be more flustered if a hybrid came up to you purring or something, but you look rough." She laughs out, eyebrows knitting together. "What's going on?" She asks, toning her voice down suddenly, concern ticking at her brows.
"I wish it were that." You snort. Having some big, fluffy thing come up to you wouldn't be as much of a headache. "I think I'm being stalked." You answer quietly. "By animal form..."
Her face makes a sudden drop from its curious, amused look to a more grim expression. Leaning across the table to hear you better.
"You sure it's a person?" She asks, not in an accusatory tone but just to be sure. You wouldn't be here is you hadn't put so much thought into this.
"It can't be any native animal or even invasive. Nothing in these forests should be as white as snow at the end of summer." You say, picking your words carefully. "It follows me home after work, and sometimes when I go out for groceries. Anytime the sun sets past the mountains and I'm still outside." You recount, tugging the loose thread out of your bag. Her face softens up, eyes lost, still lost in thought.
"You might be right. About the romance thing, I mean." She says slowly, bringing her hand off the table, resting a crooked finger on her chin. "Have you found any dead animals on your porch?"
"Uh... No, not yet." Your very sure you have not, but you still hesitate to answer. You didn't even think that was an option.
"You should look out for that." She says firmly. "Depending on the species, this person will try to take 'care' of you. That language changes depending on species, but feeding is pretty universal."
"Sounds like I'm being stalked by a cat." You snicker, trying to lighten the mood for both of your sakes. "Wouldn't it make more sense to drop food off on my porch. Like takeout? Since I'm... human?"
"I wouldn't rule that out either. Lots of hybrids have the urge to coddle those they hold close. We can probably learn a lot about them by whether they leave a sandwich or a rabbit at your door." She points out.
"If yours is leaning hard into their animal instincts, then you're going to get dead animals... unfortunately. Or if they are more traditional?" Pressing her lips in a line as she thinks. Your anxiety settles as she talks, at how well she handles it. You knew it would be a good idea to talk to her. Her bubbly personality doesn't stop her from taking you seriously. A thought crosses your mind.
"Can people get lost to their animal side?" You ask slowly.
"Oh yeah, but most people are lying when they say that. Just using it as an excuse to be territorial assholes when it's a very real disorder." She waves off, nose crinkling in annoyance. Personal experience twisting at her features.
"So we either have an asshole or someone who's losing touch with reality?" You relay, and she nods, sitting up and scooting her chair in. Leaning over the table to squeeze your hand. "I don't want to call the cops on someone having a mental breakdown. I know how that ends." You tell her, squeezing her hand back. The only glimpse your wiling to give her to your real concern. She winces, not from the pressure but from the event behind your words.
"Me too." She says softly. "That's why I'm giving you homework." She announces, leaning back and grabbing a napkin from the table. Fishing out a pen from the purse.
"What?" You blurt out. Head cocked and eyes squinted.
"There are services for hybrids for situations just like this. Run by and for hybrids." She mumbles while scratching something down. "Record as much as possible, every little detail, no matter how small, and update me wherever you go. Text me when you go to bed and wake up." She instructs, and you realize she's writing down the details you gave her earlier.
"Wouldn't it be better if I downloaded one of those apps that lets you see my location whenever you want?" You ask, not meaning it at all. She shakes her head.
"No. I want your physical input. If you fail to answer me in a timely manner." She explains, picking up another napkin and writing three phone numbers down. "Then I know when something goes wrong and I can act accordingly."
That's a reasonable request, if you valued your life more than you do now.
"Best you'll get from me is a text when I feel like somethings wrong." You respond, stuffing your hands in your jacket pocket. She glares, but quickly relents to the comprimise.
"I'm confident that if it is someone stuck in animal mode that they won't hurt you." She adds, placing the napkin to the side and scribbling on another.
"And if it's the other option?" You broach, and without looking up, she answers.
"Shoot them. You do have a gun, right?" She questions and your eyebrows jump.
"I have Mom's old hunting rifle... It hasn't been loaded in years. Just sits on the mantle next to their ashes." The words come from your mouth casually. She flashes you a dramatically sad look, lips arched into a frown, and eyebrows rounded like a kicked puppy.
"Don't make that face. It's fine." You try to ease her, but she still has that look in her eye.
"Makes me sad." She grumbles, sliding the brown napkin your way. You glance over it, recognizing it as names and phone numbers.
"Can I drive you home? Would make me feel better." She asks, gathering her things, the scuff of her chair against the ground bringing your eyes back up. Who would say no to a free ride?
"Yeah, you gonna explain who these are?" You ask, waving the napkin while standing up after her.
"I'll do it in the car."
That night, you started your new task, sending a cheeky 'I'm home' after she watched you walk down the sidewalk of your own house. Honking her horn at you in response after she saw it before looping her car around in the gravel driveway.
Then you'd have to work sending photos you took of the claw marks near your back door and bedroom windows. Anything to help her identify what animal is stalking you to narrow it down to those in town. She said she was going to ask a friend if anyone had dropped off the face of the earth recently or had started acting weird.
Police would be more likely to take you seriously if you can give them more evidence- if it comes down to that. But more importantly, the more info you had, the easier you could get help from other hybrids wanting to prevent one of their own from doing something stupid.
Caroline promised she wouldn't let anything bad happen. Even if it meant calling up every predator hybrid she has contact with to camp out in your yard till this is over. Going so far as to list your options on the car ride back.
'Ace will be in town again soon, you know he would love to stake out with you. You've met before so it won't feel as awkward having a stranger around your house.'
Met before is an understatement, but Carol wouldn't know of your shared history. She had his number though a friend of a friend and you had it because you've bathed in the same tub as Ace. Back when your Mom and Dad helped Rouge. She was alone in raising Ace, until the very moment she died.
Ace hates his dad for it but for you it meant Ace stayed at your house countless times. The two of you stashed things in holes in the back yard, caught bugs and slept on the same floor surrounded by blankets.
And your very hesitant at messaging him at all.
'I know Zoro through a friend of a friend, big tiger that I know will help as long as you pay him back in alcohol, more expensive but he knows kendo and is built like a brick wall so...'
'Kid is an actual brick wall. Problem is, he's an asshat, but if you can get him on board, you'll have a two-for-one deal. His partner and he are attached at the hip.'
You have no personal connection to these two, or three technically.
There are a few more names that she didn't go into detail about. But you can only think to make a mental note to apologize to Ace when you see him because you weren't joking when you would call him a big dog; you genuinely thought he was a dog hybrid on not a wolf all these years. Your eyes almost bugged out of your skull when she confirmed he was a wolf.
You've seen him transform before. Back then he looked just like a fluffy black dog. He'd nip at your hands and get too excited and knock you off your feet. Though you stopped seeing that past age ten? Which, yeah he could be a wolf and you'd never know. Other than the embarrassment of telling him you've been wrong all these years, you wouldn't mind Ace stayed on your couch every night.
But he is not available, and you wouldn't be caught dead trying to bring him back here when he's perfectly happy on the road.
So if something does happen, you've either gotta scrounge up some booze or start practicing your puppy eyes.
Maybe a tazer would be a wise purchace.
Though... There is another name and number scrawled on the napkin, crossed out poorly so you're still able to read.
Trafalgar Law
With your 'homework' photographed and sent. You had nothing left to do but send a bunch of awkward texts to people you've never met.
Zoro was the first messaged, but he didn't respond after an hour of waiting, so you moved to the next.
Kid, who told you to piss off and asked how you got his number. He got less pissy when you mentioned Caroline, but still said no.
Lastly, Ace. It felt weird messaging him. Your previous chat together was left abandoned. Your fault entirely.
He was always the kindest.
Being able to talk like no time had passed. Excited to hear from you, no matter the reason.
You sent him a simple 'when are you coming back?' text. A response coming quicker then you thought that led to back and forth messages for hours. Catching up, sending stupid images. He was good like that, forgiving, but he wouldn't be back for another six months.
He promised to keep sending photos from his current ski lodging gig. Washing dishes for the season. His coworkers have the same humor as him and caught a video of him on a snowboard for the first time. Let's just say he was not as graceful as he is on a skateboard. At least the snow was there to break his fall.
You didn't tell him why you reached out. He wouldn't hesitate to come back and that's exactly why you don't.
After that he went to bed and you were alone again. Going to work in the morning and walking home with a distant stalker. Becoming more paranoid as time progressed, every noise, shadow, and uneasy feeling fueling your natrually occuring insomnia. Using your accumulated vacation days to stay home more just to stop feeling eyes on the back of your neck. Finding that the more time you spend at home, the more that dread goes away.
Your life was normal apart from that.
Enjoying what little time you have watching animal documentaries and thrillers. An admittedly poor way to distract yourself from how dead quiet it was in your house all by yourself, and the time it stopped being quiet.
It came in the form of a singular knock on your front door, an instinctual glance at the clock reading thirty minutes past three in the morning. Quiet enough to think it was part of the show but becoming very real when it got louder, ringing through the room in a rhythm that was distinctly human. Five knocks, a pause, and then two. The room's temperature plummeted in spite of your heart pounding in your chest.
Nobody has knocked on your door since the incident. When Caroline picks you up, she honks or calls. It's far enough from the main road that you can't see the house even when you're halfway down the dirt road. You disappear completely into the trees, and anyone with common sense could see your light on in the window and announce who they were or why they were here instead of staying dead quiet. Maybe coming from a broken-down car on the highway and in need of a phone. Looking for a lost pet. Hell, even a hunting accident. Anything but the eerie silence that follows.
You turn your phone on and hit record before anything else. Voice echoing in your head. Record everything. Sitting stiff for another round of knocking that never comes. You creep to the door, silent as you peer into the peephole and find the unlit porch empty. You are not stupid. The door stays locked.
Shuffling back to the sofa, pausing the recording to wait until beams of light from the early morning spill from the curtains. Your eyes ache in your skull, keeping an eye on the door while the TV droned on behind you all night. The sound of your phone buzzing had destroyed any progress you had to sleeping.
'Didn't see this. Lost my phone.' Had flashed at the top of your screen. Distracting you for a few meager seconds.
'I can help, pay me back later.'
You will only use these people as a last resort. They know your address if something goes wrong.
You sit for a while before answering, thanking him. Eventually, standing to shuffle to the door. If by some stroke of bad luck someone was still there after all this time, then shame on you, but you do need to leave. Your boss is getting antsy with the coming holidays, and you can't stay home forever. You crack the door slowly, nob cold in your palm as you wince. The scent of iron fills your nostrils and burns your sinuses. You cover your nose, burying it in your sleeve as you look.
A lump in the arguable shape of an animal sat on your welcome mat, shredded beyond identification and oozing into the coarse bristles. An expert would need to rifle through to piece together what poor animal was sitting before you. However, that alone is not what scared you.
You lived in a densely wooded area near a road, your driveway half a mile long. Dead animals and roadkill were an average occurrence. What bothered you was the knocking. Animals can knock, rather knock into the door as they tear into prey, but no way they would recreate a song made by humans that evolved into a common rhythm for knocking.
A secret, not-so-secret code to fuck with you. Or a simple innocent knock to ring the dinner bell. But you are not an animal and you like to atleast know what animal your eating.
You took a breath and snapped a photo of the mash of red before closing the door. Heading to the shed out back for gloves and a garbage bag for cleanup. After tonight, you know with a hundred percent certainty that it is a hybrid.