Haunted

Chapter 1: Too Late

It was late Sunday evening by the time Clark and Derek eventually made it to Beacon Hills. At one point Clark had been almost certain that they would never reach their final destination; not only did the plane look really unsafe but the journey had felt never-ending. Derek had wasted no time in getting their lack-of-a-car situation sorted out. Soon enough Clark found himself staring at the house which had haunted his dreams every night when he was ten years old.

The version of the house in his nightmares was a lot more destroyed than the one in front of him. His childhood memory had created the unreliable image that the entire house was all-but burnt to the ground. The reality was that from the front, the house could almost pass off as having been abandoned and unloved for a few years. It was only as he looked towards the side of the house that he could see the true extent of the damage from the fire.

Clark turned back to the car to see Derek approaching him, both of their bags in his arms. "Whoa, hold on a minute!" Clark exclaimed, his eyes widening upon realising what Derek was planning. "We're staying here?"

"It's free," Derek simply said as his dropped Clark's bag onto the floor in front of his feet.

"Yeah. It's also the place where the majority of our family were murdered," Clark countered bitterly.

"Making it one of the final places anyone wanting to murder us now would expect to find us," Derek responded without missing a beat as he dropped his own bag on the floor next to Clark's. Clark wasn't entirely sure he agreed with his brother's reasoning but Derek was already venturing off towards the woods.

"Wait!" Clark called after him, leaving their bags unaccompanied as he took a few steps after his brother. "Where are you going?"

"To check the surrounding area," Derek answered as he continued to walk away. "Make sure we don't get any unwanted visitors or surprises."

"I'll come with you," Clark decided, hurrying after him.

With that statement, Derek stopped in his tracks and rounded on Clark, "I don't need you right now. Go face your fears."

Clark sighed but knew that he wouldn't be able to win that argument with Derek. He was fully aware that his older brother thought that Clark returning to his childhood home and the location where their family were murdered would be too much for him. He also knew that this belief stemmed from the fact that it had affected him on the other side of the country. Clark turned back to the house alone. Derek was long gone into the woods.

Clark returned to the two bags and grabbed them, throwing his over his shoulder and carrying Derek's in his other hand. His brown eyes fell on the door of the house and he let out a shaky breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. 

"Pull it together," he muttered to himself in frustration as he began the short walk from the car to the steps leading up to the house.

"It's just a house," he continued to mutter to himself as he took the steps up to the front door. As his hand reached out to push the door open, the images of walking into a graveyard that had haunted his dreams for years flashed before his eyes. "That isn't real," he growled to himself, pushing the door open with force to reveal the entrance of the house, complete with the staircase leading to the first floor and a lack of a creepy graveyard. "See."

Clark took a purposeful step across the threshold, determined to prove to his mind that the house was safe; that there wasn't a pack of half-burned zombie werewolves ready to remind him that he wasn't there. "We're fine," he said decisively after pushing the door shut behind him. "And tired," he realised as a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. He dropped the bags on the floor right by the door and managed the few steps into what was once the living room. He fell onto the remains of a burned couch and his eyes closed within seconds, succumbing to sleep.