Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Catfish Fever (#4255)
Author: Laurelin
Chapters: 8

Archive: Supernatural
Category: General
Description: When the mutilated bodies of noodlers resurface on the waterways of a small Oklahoma town, Sam suspects something more diabolical at work than some deranged serial killer.
Published: 10 Jul 2010
Updated: 23 Aug 2010
Warnings: Coarse language; mild sexual situations
Type: General
Characters: Sam; Dean


Chapter 1 - Prologue

This is my attempt at a short, lighthearted story set in the Supernatural verse. All Supernatural characters belong to Eric Kripke. All original characters are mine.

Rating due to coarse language, mild depictions of nudity and sexual situations, and mentions of mutilation, but nothing written in graphic detail.

Written as a thank you gift for my beta, Enki.



Prologue



The gleaming, black Impala rolled into the nearly packed parking lot at the Roadside Motor Lodge. Rumbling across the pavement, the car pulled into the vacant spot outside Room 26. The driver revved the engine, as if announcing his arrival before turning off both the motor and headlights. A moment later, the driver’s door creaked open. Out emerged Sam Winchester, carrying a grease-spotted brown paper bag, six-pack of beer, and a folded newspaper.

As he headed toward Room 26, the hunter quickly scanned his surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Sam curtly nodded at an older gentleman who was pulling his luggage from the trunk of his Buick LeSabre a couple of spaces away. Sensing that nothing was amiss, the young man shifted the items into one hand, as he shoved the key into the lock of the door with the other.

Upon entering the room, he announced, “I’m back,” to his brother, as he shut the door behind him with his foot.

Much to Sam’s surprise, Dean didn’t respond, even though he had ordered him on this evening’s food run. He tossed the bag containing his brother’s double bacon cheeseburger and onion rings on the table while Dean continued to peck away at the keyboard of Sam’s laptop, totally engrossed in whatever he was doing.

“What are you doing?” asked the younger of the two, setting the six-pack and paper on the table before helping himself to a cold one.

“Shush! Can’t you see I’m working here,” informed a preoccupied Dean, his eyes never leaving the screen. His fingers continued to peck angrily at the keyboard.

Sam twisted the cap off the bottle, and took a sip. His curiosity was getting the best of him. He edged closer to his brother. He leaned over Dean’s shoulder so that he could read whatever it was that his brother was typing.

“‘What kind of perverted sicko are you?’” Sam read aloud, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Dean, what the hell are you writing?” His eyes continued to scan the page.

His older brother stopped typing. “Isn’t it obvious?” he replied, reaching for a beer.

“Leave review for ‘In the Heat of the Night’,” uttered Sam, his eyes darting across the top of the page. “What the hell is that? Fan fiction?”

The older hunter twisted the cap off his beer and took several gulps. He then belched loudly, as his younger brother’s eyes continued to scan the computer screen.

“Fan fiction?” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re reading fan fiction!” he laughed.

“Not just fan fiction,” answered Dean, “Supernatural fan fiction.” The older hunter turned in his seat, facing his brother. “Dude, it’s about us. And it’s not like the stuff Chuck writes about.” He paused, a look of revulsion on his rather handsome face. “It’s nasty. It’s about us doing… the nasty.”

“Porn?” queried Sam, leaning away from the laptop.

“The pervs even named it Wincest,” added Dean with a derisive snicker.

“Wincest?” repeated the younger brother, his brows darting upward.

“Nasty stuff too, bro,” replied Dean, turning toward the computer again. “They got us doing some freaky shit. What kind of sick fucker comes up with this crap? I mean… it’s gross, and… and sickening. We’re brothers, for God’s sake.” Satisfied with his comments to the author, he then hit the ‘leave review’ button.

Sam’s eyes went back to the screen. He choked on his beer when he saw his brother’s screen name. “Cherry Forever!” he coughed.

Dean pushed the laptop aside, reaching for the brown paper bag containing his dinner. With a wry smile, he said, “Makes sense, don’t it? Loved the movie and the chick’s name describes my asshole - Cherry Forever.”

The younger hunter rolled his eyes. He stepped out from behind his brother’s chair, grabbed the newspaper and sank into the seat opposite Dean.

“If you’re finished playing - ” began Sam, before Dean cut him off.

“ - Hey! This is serious business. I don’t like any one writing shit like that about me. If it was just about you - I’d totally get it. But me! Pfft! I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” He then bit into his greasy burger.

Sam sighed in his annoyance, unfolding the paper clutched in his hand. He’d forego a verbal sparing match with his older brother, for now. “I think we’ve gotta job,” announced the young man.

With his mouth full of food, all Dean could do was look at the younger hunter, waiting for him to elaborate further.

“From what I read, it seems that a bunch of fishermen, um, noodlers have been disappearing in this town in Oklahoma.”

“What the hell are noodlers?” asked Dean, after swallowing.

“They’re people who fish without fishing poles. Apparently, it’s an old tradition in some parts of the country, mainly in the mid-west and south. Men comb rivers for monster catfish, using only their bare hands to snag their catch.”

“Why the hell would they do that?” queried Dean before sipping his beer.

“I don’t know. Does it really even matter?” answered the younger brother. “The article says that two men washed up on the banks of the Washita River yesterday, their bodies mutilated.”

“And you think some demon’s behind it?” asked Dean, biting into his burger yet again.

“Yeah, I do. The article states that thirty-seven men have disappeared in the last year alone. And some of these guys were great swimmers.” He stared at the article. “There’s definitely something supernatural at work here.”

Dean snatched the paper from his brother’s hands. He glanced at the article. “Okay, tomorrow we’ll head to Pauls Valley and check it out.”

Sam took a swig of his beer. “Yeah, alright, Cherry Forever.”


Chapter 2 - Chapter One: Every Case Begins with Interviews

The Impala pulled into the parking lot of the Garden Inn Motel in the sleepy town of Pauls Valley, Oklahoma. While Dean went to the office to pay for their room, Sam retrieved their bags from the trunk of the car.

The younger hunter yawned, having spent half the night researching the sport of noodling and the disappearances of the men that had started last summer. Sam’s gut told him that something evil had crept into the county’s waterways, something diabolical. And, deep down, he knew that the newspapers weren’t revealing everything. It was time to go undercover.

“Gotta room, Sammy,” said Dean, walking up to the Impala.

“Here.” Sam handed the older Winchester his bag.

Once they had settled into their room, they changed out of their jeans and tee shirts and into their suits.

“Let’s talk to the Sheriff first,” said Sam when they got back into the car.

Dean backed out of the parking space before peeling out of the parking lot and onto west Grant Avenue. They drove the nearly two miles to the Sheriff’s station.

When the brothers entered the building, they informed the clerk behind the counter that they were F.B.I. agents and needed to speak with the Sheriff.

A few minutes later, a deputy approached the two. “You the ones with the F.B.I.?” he queried, his hazel eyes doing a quick survey of the brothers.

“Yes,” replied Sam with a nod of his head.

“Follow me,” instructed the deputy, turning on his heel and marching down the hallway.

Dean remained frozen to the spot, ogling the buxom secretary behind the half-wall.

She smiled back, batting her eyelashes at the elder Winchester.

Before Dean could make his move, Sam elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” he said in a low hiss, rubbing his side.

“Not now, Dean,” Sam threatened in a mere whisper.

They followed the deputy into the Sheriff’s office.

Seated behind the cluttered desk was Sheriff Kyle Whitaker. He was a portly fellow, nearly bald. The only hair on his head was the gray strips that arched over either ear. A toothpick, which he chewed from time to time, dangled from his mouth. With the telephone receiver pressed to his ear, he motioned the two men to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

From behind, the brothers heard the office door close with a click. The deputy that had escorted them remained in the room, leaning against the back wall with his arms folded across his chest.

While the Sheriff finished his phone call, the two hunters looked around the room and at the many animal heads mounted on the walls. By the looks of it, the Sheriff was an avid hunter and fisherman. There were deer and wild boar heads affixed to the wall as well as a couple of large mouth bass.

“Sorry about that, boys,” said the Sheriff with an Oklahoman twang, as he hung up the receiver. “I’m Kyle Whitaker, Sheriff of Garvin County, but people ‘round here call me Sheriff Kyle.” He offered the two men a weak smile. “I hear you’re F.B.I.,” continued the Sheriff, reclining back in his chair.

Immediately, both hunters’ hands slipped inside their coat pockets, pulling out their fake I.D.’s.

“I’m Agent Blackmore, and this is my partner, Agent Gillan,” answered Sam, nudging his head towards Dean. “If you don’t mind, Sheriff, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Sheriff Whitaker nodded in reply.

Satisfied that the Sheriff wouldn’t question their identities or make that dreaded call to the Bureau, the Winchesters slipped their I.D.’s back into their pockets.

“I knew it was only a matter at time before the suits in D.C. showed up,” the Sheriff confessed with a heavy sigh. “That damned A.P. story’s brought all types of folks skulking about our little town here. Mostly reporters and the like. Act like I’m some dumb-ass hick, that I don’t understand the severity of the situation.” He shook his head dismally. “I just wish this whole thing was over.”

“The reports said that the bodies had been mutilated,” remarked Sam, very businesslike.

“Yeah, the ones that turned up, that is.” Sheriff Whitaker’s chair squeaked as he heaved his massive frame from his seat. He walked over to a bulletin board hanging between two deer heads. “Only twenty-one bodies have been found. These guys here,” he revealed, pointing to a group of photos of men tacked to the corkboard, “their bodies have turned up. But these fellows,” his stubby finger shifted to a separate set of pictures, “we haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em. My posse has been scouring the woods along the riverbanks in search of ‘em - ”

“ - And the rivers. Don’t forget, we’ve been doing sweeps of the rivers too, Sheriff Kyle,” interjected the deputy from the back of the room.

“ - But nothing.” The Sherriff shook his head yet again. “We’ve got some lunatic running around here, targeting fishermen. What the hell’s up with that?” he asked, fixing his troubled gaze on the Winchester brothers. “You guys specialize in profiling, don’t you? What kind of wacko are we dealing with here?”

“It’s hard to say,” answered Dean. “We need more info first.”

“Exactly how were the bodies mutilated, Sheriff?” asked Sam, eager to obtain as much information as possible in order to find the culprit behind the massacres.

The Sheriff didn’t immediately answer. He nervously chewed on his toothpick, his eyes shifting to the deputy. He slowly returned to his chair, easing down onto the seat, which groaned from the man’s weight. Rifling through a stack of files on his desk, he pulled one out and handed it to Sam. “Have a look for yourself,” he answered grimly. “But, I’m warning you - those crime scene photos are… well, disturbing, to say the least.”

Sam flipped open the file.

Dean leaned closer to get a better look at the pictures. “Jesus,” he muttered, his eyes wide from shock.

“Heinous, ain’t it?” commented the Sheriff, keenly watching the change in the Winchesters’ facial expressions. “All the victims had one thing in common: their sex organs had been cut out. The medical examiner seems to think that our killer has a medical background, that no average Joe off the streets could make incisions that precise.”

At the mere mention of genital mutilations, Dean had crossed his legs and placed his cupped hands protectively over his crotch.

“I think we’re dealing with some modern day Jack the Ripper,” suggested the deputy at the back of the room. “A copycat killer.”

Sam twisted around in his chair, fixing his gaze on the deputy. “I don’t think so,” he answered. “The m.o. isn’t quite the same.”

“Sheriff Kyle,” started Dean, “do you recall any strange or unusual happenings in the area before the killings started?”

“Like what?” queried the Sheriff, narrowing his baffled eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know. Any one, perhaps, move into the area around that time, someone that seemed a little… odd or reclusive?”

The Sheriff leaned forward in his chair, placing his clasped hands on his desk. “People come and go all the time. Most people moving into the area just want to be left alone, to try their hands at farming. I can’t imagine anyone coming here to slaughter noodlers.”

“Unfortunately, sir, someone has,” answered Sam.

The Winchesters finished their interview with the Sheriff, who graciously offered all his resources to the young men. Sam and Dean were anxious to speak with some of the victims’ friends and family and it was suggested that they go to Bob’s Pig Shack, a local barbeque joint that doubled as a hangout for noodlers.

“So what do you think we’re dealing with here, Sammy?” asked Dean as they made their way toward the car.

“I don’t know yet,” replied the younger Winchester.

“Well, to me, it sounds like we’re dealing with a deranged succubus.”

Sam looked at his brother, his brow raised in question.

“It’s possible,” answered Dean off his brother’s look.

“Yeah, well, maybe. Let’s see if we can learn anything from the noodlers themselves.”

The brothers then drove over to Bob’s Pig Shack.

Of course, all the talk inside the restaurant was about the two latest victims that had been found in the Washita River.

“So, both of you knew the victims?” asked Dean of the two men seated in the booth opposite himself and Sam.

“I’ve known Scott and Billy since we were young'uns,” answered the grief-stricken man, Carl Truluck. “I can’t believe they’re gone,” he added softly.

“And Sheriff Kyle’s fat ass is good for nothing!” spat Bob Barber angrily, adjusting the John Deere cap on his head as he spoke. “Thirty-seven have gone missing, and only twenty-one have washed ashore, dead. And no one knows crap!”

“The County Commissioners have called off this year’s tournament too,” said Carl. “Say they don’t want anyone noodling the rivers until the killer’s caught.”

“Did,” Sam glanced at his note pad, “Scott and Billy have any enemies?”

“Nah,” answered Carl with a shake of his head.

Yet the look on Bob Barber’s face said otherwise.

“What?” queried Dean, immediately honing in on the man.

“Well, Billy and Al Sutter got into a scuffle the day before he disappeared… ”

“Al Sutter?!” repeated an appalled Carl. “Al ain’t no murderer.”

“He was pissed off that Billy was fishing his hole. They did get into a knock down, drag out fight.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” remarked Carl to the man seated beside him. “Sometimes, I wonder why I’m even friends with you. How could you ever say a thing like that?” He turned his gaze back to the Winchesters. “Billy was at Al’s house for supper not two nights before he vanished. They weren’t enemies. Competitors, yes, but not enemies.”

“Then why did Al skip town?” asked Bob, accusatory in tone. “Tells me he’s guilty as hell!”

“Al Sutter left town?” queried Sam. “When?”

“I don’t know exactly,” answered Bob, adjusting his cap again. “Maybe a few days ago.”

“Al wouldn’t hurt a fly!” protested Carl. “Bob here’s just pissed ‘cause Al could out-fish him.” He turned his narrowed eyes toward the man seated beside him. “You still can’t get over the fact that Al beat you in the tournament last year. Man, just let it go.”

Bob’s face turned pink. He shifted his gaze out the window, brewing in silence.

Carl rubbed his stubbly chin and then continued. “Listen, we noodlers look after one another. This a dangerous sport. We’re all… we’re all like family. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that any of us are behind these murders. Hell, Sheriff Kyle even checked us all out. Every one of us was accounted for when the disappearances happened.” He paused, looking furtively at those seated nearby. Carl then leaned closer to Sam and Dean and said, “My boy, Sonny, says he saw something strange out at the Washita River - ”

“ - Aw, shit,” interjected Bob, screwing his face in exasperation, “don’t start that crazy talk again.”

“What? What crazy talk?” asked Dean, his interest piqued by what Carl’s son had seen.

Before Carl could answer, Bob continued with, “You can’t believe a thing that boy said. Hell, Dale Johnston said that he had caught Sonny in his pastures, picking shrooms off his cows’ turds. He was hallucinating off that stuff.”

Dean tried his best to conceal his amusement. He had tried psychedelic mushrooms once in his teens, and had vowed never to do them again.

“What did your boy see?” asked Sam in all seriousness.

With a look of disgust on his face, Bob barked, “You’ve gotta be kidding me. How could you take anything that kid says seriously - ”

“ - Sir, please,” interjected Sam, cutting off Bob’s sentence. He turned back to Carl. “Please, tell us what your son saw.”

Bob mumbled his discontent, as he took a sip of his iced tea.

“My boy is a noodler too. Third generation,” explained Carl. “Says he went out to the Washita River about a week or so ago to, you know, scope out a potential flathead hole - ”

“ - Flathead?” queried Dean, unsure of what Carl was talking about.

“Flathead,” repeated Carl. “Catfish.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Dean with a nod. “Go on.”

“Any ways, says he had no luck and was heading back up the embankment to the trail when he heard something break the water’s surface. He turned and said he saw… ” Carl paused. His face began to turn slightly red. He took a deep breath and then added, “He said he saw Nessie.”

“Nessie?” repeated Sam, his brows darting upward.

“Yeah, you know, that Loch Ness Monster, the creature in them waters over there in England or somewhere.”

“It’s Scotland,” corrected Sam.

“Well, whatever. Sonny said he just saw the tail end of it, slithering in the water. Said it was long, green and scaly.”

Bob burst out laughing, slapping his John Deere cap on the edge of the table. When he noticed that the two F.B.I. agents hadn’t joined him in his mirth, he exclaimed, “Surely, you don’t believe this shit! I told you the boy was on shrooms! There ain’t no such thing as a Loch Ness Monster. It… was… a… hallucination,” he enunciated his last sentence very slowly.

“Can we speak with your boy?”

“Sure,” answered Carl. “He’s working at our campground out on Longmire Lake. I‘ll give him a call and have him come to town. Where y’all staying at? I can have him meet you there.”

“Um, the Garden Inn Motel,” answered Dean.

Both of the local men cringed upon hearing that. “That place is a dump,” remarked Carl with disdain. “Why don’t y’all come out and stay at my campground. Got some cabins - hell of a lot nicer than those rooms at that shit hole.”

“We’ll consider it,” answered Sam, offering the man a quick smile.

“Well, excuse me, while I call my boy.”

Carl then slid out of the booth and headed outside, leaving Bob alone with the two Winchesters.

“Hey,” began Dean. “I’ve gotta ask. What the hell compels you to fish with your bare hands? That’s nuts, man.”

Bob’s eyes slowly narrowed. He was insulted by the agent’s comments.

“Let me tell you something, boy,” he answered back with a sneer. “It takes a real man to noodle. Fishing poles are for pussies.” He lifted his left hand, wiggling his stub of a forefinger. “You see that? That’s what you get when you do a man’s sport.”

“A catfish bit your finger off?” asked Sam in amazement.

“No, a beaver did.”

Dean couldn’t contain himself any longer. He broke out in laughter, his mind in the gutter where it usually was. “I didn’t know beavers had teeth,” he said in his amusement.

Angered by Dean’s response, Bob left the booth in a huff.

“That doesn’t help,” scoffed Sam, slipping over to the other side of the vacated booth.

“Dude, he walked right into that,” chuckled Dean.

Shaking his head, Sam shifted his gaze to the window. He could see Carl in the parking lot, talking on his cell phone and smoking a cigarette. “So what do you think about what Carl’s son claims to have seen?” he asked, looking back at his brother.

“Can’t rule nothing out, bro. Whether the kid was on drugs or not, his story makes more sense then some serial killer.”

“What about your succubus theory?” queried the younger hunter.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. I think we need to check out the rivers, see if there’s any clues. If it’s a succubus, we should be able to pick up some EMF readings.”

“Yeah,” replied Sam. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

A few minutes later, Carl Truluck came back into the restaurant and informed the Winchester’s that his son would meet them at their motel in about thirty minutes.

Sam and Dean then asked the man if he could draw a map of the area where the victims had washed ashore.

“Sure thing,” he answered. Taking a seat beside Dean, he grabbed a napkin and began to sketch the roads leading to the various places on the three main waterways in which the bodies had been found.

When he had finished, the Winchesters thanked him. Dean shoved the napkin into his pocket before all three vacated the booth. They continued talking, making their way outside.

Not a second later, the shrill sound of sirens rang out from down the street.

The men watched as an ambulance went zipping by on Ash Street. Five squad cars turned onto the road from a nearby intersection. While four followed the ambulance, the other veered off the road and into the parking lot. The car screeched to a halt before the three men.

Sheriff Kyle rolled down his window. His rotund face was etched with concern and glistening with sweat. “Another body turned up,” he announced to the men.

“Who is it Sheriff Kyle?” asked Carl gravely.

“I’m afraid it’s Al Sutter,” answered the Sheriff.

Carl turned away, overcome with grief at the loss of another close friend.

“I thought you boys might want to come along,” continued the Sheriff. “Examine the crime scene first hand.”

Sam looked at Dean. “You go. I’ll wait for Sonny at the motel.”

Dean nodded. “I’m right behind you, Sheriff,” he said, running toward the Impala. The elder hunter jumped in his car and sped off, following the procession of cop cars.

When the cars had disappeared from view, Sam started walking back to the Garden Inn Motel, knowing that he could now eliminate Al Sutter from his list of suspects…


Chapter 3 - Chapter Two: A Kid Named Sonny Truluck

By the time Sam reached the motel, he was drenched in sweat. The afternoon sun had beamed down upon him during his trek, and wearing a suit and tie didn’t help any. To the hunter, it seemed rather hot for a mid-June day. He stripped out of his clothes and jumped in the shower, the cool water providing him with instant relief.

Now dressed in more comfortable clothing, Sam was running a brush through his damp hair when he heard a knock at the door.

When he opened the door, he saw a scrawny kid standing there. The boy didn’t look any older than sixteen. He was dressed in a pair of tattered denim cutoff’s, a faded Marshall Tucker concert tee shirt and a pair of dingy high-tops. Tufts of dirty blond hair hung out from beneath his GOA baseball cap.

“Are you the F.B.I. Agent?” he asked in a pronounced southern accent, quite unlike his father’s Oklahoman twang.

“Yeah, Sam Blackmore,” answered the hunter. “You Sonny?”

“Yes sir. I am,” the boy answered politely. “My daddy said that you wanted to speak with me.”

“Yeah, I did. Come on in,” said Sam, pulling the door further open.

Sonny took a deep breath before stepping into the room. Remembering his momma’s words, he pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair.

Sam smiled. He already liked the boy. “Have a seat, Sonny,” Sam continued, pointing to the hideous colored, green upholstered chair at the table.

The boy sat down, fidgeting with the hat in his hands.

Sam took a seat opposite Sonny. “Your dad tells me that you saw something… strange in the Washita River. I’d like for you to tell me about it.”

“Well, it was no big deal really.” The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want to offer more details, believing that the F.B.I. agent would think he was crazy, or even worse, that he’d arrest him for ingesting hallucinogens.

Sam looked down at his notepad. “Your dad said that you saw something long, green and scaly,” he read from his notes.

Sonny’s cheeks flushed. He avoided making eye contact with Sam.

When the boy didn’t respond, Sam continued. “Bob Barber seems to believe that you were under the influence at the time of the sighting, that you had consumed psychedelic mushrooms. Is that true?” the younger Winchester asked in his most gentle voice.

The kid’s face went from red to pale. He stared down at the cap that he continued to fiddle with in his hands. His leg then began to shake. After a long pause, he looked Sam in the eyes and asked, “Are you gonna arrest me?”

“No,” snorted a smiling Sam, shaking his head. “I just wanna know what you saw.”

Sonny let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he mumbled gratefully. “I was half thinking that you were gonna throw me in the paddy wagon and haul me off to Boys Town or something.”

“Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. My only concern is stopping these murders.”

With his uneasiness abating, the boy kept his brown eyes locked on Sam. “You know, I’ve done shrooms a few times. It’s stupid, I know, but it helps pass the time,” admitted Sonny. “And it’s not like I see pink elephants in tutus or anything.”

Sam chortled.

“My perception might be slightly altered, but I know what I see. Mr. Barber,” he said, rolling his eyes, “he’s the last one to talk about anybody. He likes to hit the hooch a bit too much if you ask me. I’m a more credible witness than him, whether I’m on shrooms or not.”

“What did you see that day?” queried Sam yet again.

“Well, it’s like I told my daddy. I was climbing up the bank of the river when I heard something break the water. I looked over my shoulder and saw this long, green scaly thing slinking in the river. It was long. Real long. Reminded me of those pictures of the Loch Ness Monster.”

“What did you do next?”

“I got the hell outta there as fast as I could. Nearly peed my britches too.” The boy shuddered. “Scared me nearly to death.”

“How long would you say this creature was?” asked the hunter, taking Sonny’s words very seriously.

The boy’s brows shot up. “You mean you believe me?!” the boy exclaimed in disbelief.

“Why wouldn’t I?” responded Sam.

“‘Cause I’m a kid, and I admitted to being under the influence of hallucinogens.”

“Let me tell you something, Sonny,” began Sam. “I’ve seen things in my life that would probably blow your mind. The world’s a big place. There’s lots of unusual creatures in it - ”

“ - Like Bigfoot?”

“Yeah, like Bigfoot,” agreed Sam.

Sonny’s eyes then lit up. “Hey! You and your partner are like Mulder and Scully, right? Like on the X-files? Y’all investigate the unexplained - strange happenings like what’s going on here,” he said excitedly.

“You could say that,” answered Sam with a smile. “But for the record, I’m more like Mulder and my partner’s more like Scully.”

“Damn! That’s so cool,” said Sonny, looking at Sam in awe. “Though I don’t think your partner would like being compared to some chick.”

The younger Winchester leaned forward, am impish grin on his face. “Between me and you, he sometimes acts like a chick.”

Sonny laughed.

When their laughter had died down, Sam said, “Getting back to business… ”

The smile left the boy’s face.

“You said this thing reminded you of the Loch Ness Monster.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Sonny with a nod of the head.

“The million dollar question is, how can a creature that big hide in a river? The Scottish lake is pretty big in comparison, and I haven’t heard of any sightings of this thing other than from you.”

“That’s easy enough. In the caves.”

“Caves?”

“Yeah. There’s caves in our rivers, but they’re deep underwater. Only divers can get to them,” revealed Sonny.

“Have you ever been to these caves?” queried Sam, concealing his excitement at this revelation.

“Sure. I’m a certified cave diver. Got my certification last year when we went to Florida. I’ve checked out the few caves we’ve got in the Washita loads of times, but not lately.”

“Hmm,” sounded Sam, leaning back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest. “You think you can teach me how to dive?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” shot back the kid with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “All my gear’s at the house. If you want, we can start now. Daddy gave me the rest of the day off.”

“Um, I don’t think I can do it today. My partner’s got the car,” remarked Sam.

“I drove my truck. I can drive,” offered the boy.

“Alright,” answered an appreciative Sam. “By the way, you can call me Sam.”

The two then left the motel room and walked over to Sonny’s 1968 Ford pickup.

Noticing that the truck was painted primer gray, the hunter said, “Nice truck. You restoring it?”

“Yeah, slowly but surely. She’s my pride and joy. Came with a 352, but I put a 428 Cobra-jet in it when my cousin totaled his Torino. She’s fast, man.”

The two climbed into the cab. Against the back window hung a rifle rack, complete with a shotgun and a .22 rifle. However, Sam’s eyes immediately went to the laminated pencil drawing dangling from the rear view mirror. It was a sketch of a large catfish chomping on a forearm. Droplets of blood splattered below the picture, forming the words, “Catfish Fever.”

The image made Sam chuckle.

As soon as Sonny turned the ignition, ZZ Top’s, Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers blared through the speakers of the cab, causing Sam to jump with a start.

The boy grimaced and quickly clicked off the tape player. “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “I didn’t think anyone would be riding with me, and I like to hear my music loud.”

“My brother does too,” answered Sam, as the pickup pulled out of the parking lot. “So, you a big fan of ZZ Top?” asked the hunter in an attempt to make small talk.

“Oh, yeah,” answered Sonny. “I love all the old hard rock bands. These new bands around nowadays suck.”

“I know what you mean,” answered the hunter.

“You a fan of classic rock?”

“Yep,” replied Sam, looking out the windshield as the truck rolled along the brick street.

“Thought so.” There was a moment of awkward silence, then Sonny said, “Did you know you share the same last name as The Man in Black?”

“The Man in Black?” repeated Sam, his heart beginning to pump faster at the kid’s question.

“Yeah, you know, Richie Blackmore. He’s a killer guitarist. Played with Deep Purple and Rainbow.” Sonny glanced at Sam. “You wouldn’t happen to be kin to him? I know he lives in America now. In New York, I believe.”

“Nah,” the younger Winchester answered. Worried that the boy would blow his cover, Sam needed to change the conversation quick. His eyes darted around the interior of the cab, looking for something to talk about. Once again, his eyes stopped on the “ornament” dangling from the rearview mirror.

“You draw that?” Sam asked, pointing to the laminated drawing.

“Nah, my sister Katie did. You can probably tell that she’s a huge Nugent fan. Says he’s the all-American man.”

“She’s very talented.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sonny answered with a shrug.

Wanting to keep the conversation from straying back to Sam’s choice of last names, the hunter looked for something else to talk about. His eyes stopped on the boy’s forearm, which was draped over the top of the steering wheel. Several long, thin scars wrapped around Sonny’s arm.

“Looks like Freddie Kruger got a hold of you,” Sam remarked, nudging his head toward the boy’s scars.

“Nope. That’s from a forty-one pound three ounce flathead,” Sonny answered, showing off his scars with pride. The scar tissue ran from his knuckles to midway up his arm. “Damn fish nearly drowned me. Thank God daddy was with me. While the fish was pulling me down, daddy was yanking me up. That bitch’s teeth raked down my arm. Man, it felt like razor blades slicing my flesh. Thought she’d get away, but daddy was able to whip his net through the water and helped me snag her. She’s mounted on the wall in the living room.”

“Seems like a dangerous way to fish for a kid your size.”

“Pfft,” sounded Sonny. “Noodling turns a boy into a man real fast, as my granddaddy always says.”

“And your mom, she doesn’t mind that you… noodle?” queried Sam.

“She don’t mind it.” The kid paused. “Well, she does now with all the disappearances and all. But we noodlers are a tough breed of folk.”

“I’m sure all the victims thought the same thing too,” remarked the hunter. “You really need to avoid the rivers until this thing’s caught.”

“Can’t do it, Sam. It’s in my blood. I’ve gotta hunt. Gotta fish. The big one’s out there, calling out to me. And I’m gonna get it too. Mark my words.” He glanced at the agent seated beside him, grinning. “In a way, I guess I’m no different than you. You’re a hunter, a different sort of hunter, but a hunter just the same. We’ve both got our jobs to do. And we’ll see it through to the end, come hell or high water.”

Sam smiled. The kid’s comments were more accurate than he knew. “Exactly how old are you?” Sam asked, thinking that he was dealing with no ordinary kid.

“Fifteen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. Sonny wasn’t even old enough to drive, legally.

“But I’ll be sixteen in August. That’s just two months away,” he quickly added.

“You shouldn’t be driving,” Sam said, though he had been guilty of the same thing when he was Sonny’s age.

“Shit, Sam, I’ve been driving since I was nine. Never wrecked. Never gotta ticket. I know what I’m doing. Wouldn’t be doing it otherwise.”

For the remainder of the drive, the two mostly spoke of noodling and cave diving. Sam gathered additional information about the sport of noodling, more than he had been able to glean from the internet alone. He filed that newfound knowledge in his brain, hoping that it would prove helpful in solving this latest mystery.

A large sign stood at the intersection where the Ford pickup left the pavement for a gravel road. It read, “Truluck’s Lakefront Campground.” Beneath the name, was listed all the amenities the place offered. Before reaching the gated entrance to the campground, Sonny turned right, following a grassy lane that would take them to his house. On either side stood majestic oaks, their leafy limbs stretching across the drive, forming a canopy that shielded them from the afternoon sun.

The second gate they reached could only be opened electronically. Sonny pushed the button on the remote clipped to the sun visor of his truck, and slowly the gate swung open, allowing them entry.

“Daddy likes his privacy. Doesn’t want the patrons of the park to wander up to the house at all hours of the day and night,” explained Sonny.

Once the pickup had rounded the last curve, a beautiful two-story log home came into view with Lake Longmire in the background.

Sam was instantly impressed. Sonny was living the life that the hunter could only dream of. Sam, like Dean, would have liked nothing more than to settle down, to have a “normal” life. But that’s not the hand that fate had dealt him. Instead, he had spent his entire life moving from city to city, living in ratty old motel rooms, and subsisting off fast food or canned crap.

But it was those hardships in life that had made him the man he was today - self-reliant, smart, and quick to act on his feet. His sole purpose in life was to save as many people as he could, to rid the world of diabolical demons and monsters that sought death, destruction and mayhem at every turn. Sonny was right about one thing - that Sam was a hunter and that it was in his blood.

“Sam! Sam!” The boy nudged Sam’s arm, pulling the hunter out of his reverie. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” answered the younger Winchester, opening the door and following Sonny.

“My diving equipment’s stored in the garage. We’ll practice in the lake, first. I don’t want you hitting the river until you’ve got the basics down pat.”

Sonny spent the remainder of the afternoon teaching Sam how to dive. While lake diving was quite different from cave diving, the kid felt that it was important that Sam become comfortable with all the equipment before he took him to the river. The lessons emphasized safety first, and how to counteract potential problems related to the equipment.

By the time they had finished, the sun was sinking over the horizon, and it was suppertime. Mr. Truluck insisted that Sam join the family for dinner, an offer he couldn’t refuse. It’s wasn’t too often the hunter was offered a hearty, home-cooked meal.

It soon became obvious that Sonny had picked up his southern accent from his mother, whom everyone called Peaches, because she had been born and raised in Savannah, Georgia. And there was no doubt that their dinner was influenced by Peaches’ southern heritage. The meal consisted of fried catfish fillets, sweet potato fries, hushpuppies and coleslaw, all homemade by Peaches and her daughters, Katie, Misty and Savannah. The food tasted far better than anything the Winchesters ever ate while on the road.

The oldest daughter, Katie, kept eyeing Sam throughout the meal. Every time their eyes met, the girl’s cheeks turned pink and she shifted her gaze elsewhere. Sam thought it was cute that the eighteen year old appeared to have a crush on him.

After they finished eating, Sam thanked the Truluck’s for their hospitality before Sonny drove him back to the motel.


Author’s Note: GOA = Gun Owners of America


Chapter 4 - Chapter Three: Take Me to the River

The Impala raced along the open stretch of road, whipping past vast fields of corn, wheat and soybeans. Deep Purple’s Highway Star blared through the speakers of the car. The current tape in the cassette player had been the inspiration for Dean’s and Sam’s latest choice of identities.

Dean loosened the knot of his tie, feeling that it was too restraining. He pulled the strip of fabric from his neck, tossing it on the seat beside him. He then wrestled with the topmost buttons on his crisp, white shirt, no longer wanting anything binding around his neck.

Now, more comfortable, he continued to follow the Sheriff’s car at speeds approaching one hundred miles per hour. Though he was on his way to a crime scene, he was delighted to open his baby up without risk of getting ticketed.

The procession of county vehicles began to turn off the paved road. A plume of dust immediately engulfed the Impala from the tail end of the cars before him. Dean’s visibility plummeted to near zero. If not for the whirling blue lights on top of the car in front of him, the hunter probably would’ve driven off the road.

He was relieved when they left the dusty road, to drive on what looked like ruts through tall grass and weeds. Up ahead, at the end of the field, stood a tall stand of trees, and a lone man.

One by one, the cars came to a halt at the forest’s edge.

Dean exited the Impala, stepping into nearly waist high weeds. He made a point to walk on the area where the tires from the vehicles before him had knocked the grass down.

The Sheriff stepped out of his car, and placed a cowboy hat on top of his bald head. He waited for Dean to approach, as the rest of the deputies and two paramedics disappeared into the woods.

“We’ve gotta trek about a quarter mile through the woods,” announced Sheriff Kyle once Dean had joined him.

Both men set off, following the same path as the others.

“What do you know about this one, Sheriff?” asked Dean, trudging alongside the hefty man.

“Henry Ledbetter spotted the body from across the river,” began the Sheriff. “Wasn’t sure what it was, so he climbed into his canoe and paddled over. Turned out it was Al Sutter.”

“How long had he been missing?” asked Dean.

“Not even a week,” answered the Sheriff. “Al was a family man. A good Christian. I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like there’s some type of black cloud looming over my town, killing good people.”

The two then entered the woods. Due to the density of the trees and underbrush, Dean had to walk behind the Sheriff instead of beside him.

“You know, Agent Gillan, this past Sunday at church, I prayed to God… Truth be told, I begged Him, I begged Him to help us, to put an end to this craziness that’s going on around here.” He glanced over his shoulder, sweat already dripping down his chubby face. “I have a feeling that God answered my prayers by sending you and your partner. I’ve got a good feeling about you, Agent. I really do.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, Sheriff,” answered Dean with a forced smile. A mosquito was buzzing around his ear, slightly distracting the hunter. “Me and my partner are pretty good at solving cases like this, that’s why the Bureau sent us. Hopefully, we’ll put this nightmare behind you soon.”

“I hope so, Agent. I hope so.”

Dean whacked his neck. Pulling back his hand, he saw a splatter of blood with the flattened villain in the center. “Little bastard,” he mumbled, rubbing the corpse of the mosquito from his palm.

Throughout the rest of the trek through the woods, the elder Winchester attempted to wave away the army of mosquitoes that seemed to swarm only him. He now wished that he kept a can of Off in the car, and vowed to buy one once he got back to town.

Several men stood at the edge of the embankment, shouting instructions to those below.

“No! No!“ shouted one of the men, who happened to be the lieutenant. “Get pictures first!”

Before Dean actually saw the body, he could smell it. The rank, putrid stench of decomposing flesh wafted into his nostrils, threatening to expel the burrito he had wolfed down earlier in the day. He chose to breathe from his mouth, but it was too late, the rotting particles were already trapped in his nose hair.

The deputies and paramedics stepped aside, allowing room for Sheriff Kyle and Dean. The two men squeezed through the dozen or so people at the top of the embankment.

At the bottom of the clay slope, about two yards upstream, was the naked body of Al Sutter. His corpse had become entangled in the skeletal limbs of dead tree that had snapped, nearly in two, at the top of the bank. The body lay face down in the water. One of the deputies snapped pictures from the bottom of the embankment.

From behind, Dean heard someone gagging, before hearing the sound of vomit splashing against the layer of shriveled leaves that formed part of the forest floor.

“Get him up, boys,” the Sheriff ordered.

The Sheriff turned away from the morbid scene and began to question Henry Ledbetter. Dean listened to the Sheriff questioning the man who had found the body, while watching a deputy’s attempts to lasso the body with a coil of rope.

“Don’t do that!” yelled one of the paramedics. “The medical examiner will have kittens if you mangle the body.”

“Well, what the hell do you expect me to do?” shouted the deputy with the rope.

“Use the damn canoe, Wiley!” the paramedic answered, pointing to the boat only a few feet behind the deputy.

“I’m not gonna touch that thing!” complained the deputy, his face wrinkled in revulsion.

“That thing, as you call it, is Al Sutter,” spat the lieutenant angrily. “It’d do you good to show some respect for the dead! Now get your ass in that canoe and retrieve his body. Wayne! Carson! You two help him!”

Dean watched as Wayne and Carson carefully got into the canoe that was moored by the jut of earth that extended out into the river.

“Careful now,” said Carson, as Wiley climbed into the vessel, his weight causing the canoe to rock dangerously from side to side.

The last deputy that entered the craft then untied the rope attached to a gnarled stump at the water’s edge.

One of the men, Wayne, then paddled the canoe over to the corpse.

Once they had reached the body, arguing broke out, as each deputy felt that his idea for hauling the corpse was the best.

“For God’s sake, stop with the damn bickering,” moaned the lieutenant from atop the embankment. “Y’all are acting like a bunch of nincompoops.”

Apparently, the trio decided to go with Wiley’s idea to float the body alongside the canoe. Wiley snapped off branches of the tree to get better access to the corpse. Terrified to touch the bloating body, he grabbed an old wet towel from inside the canoe and used that to grip the arm of Al Sutter. He then started to tug on the body.

“It’s stuck!” he cried out.

“Well then, un-stick it, moron,” groaned Carson, using the oars to keep the boat steady.

Dean shook his head, doing his best not to laugh. It almost seemed like he was witnessing a scene from the Three Stooges.

“Watch it! Don’t tip the canoe over!” barked Wayne.

“Shit!” grumbled Wiley, struggling with the corpse. After several long seconds, the body came free.

“Show some respect, Wiley, and flip the body over.”

The deputy glanced up at the lieutenant standing on top of the embankment. “Are you serious? Can’t we wait until we bring him ashore?”

“Are you questioning my authority?” queried the lieutenant, a tinge of warning to his tone.

“No, sir,” he answered dejectedly. Wiley then reached for the far side of Al Sutter’s body. He stretched out the old towel on the man’s rotting flesh before gripping his side. In one swift motion, he heaved the body over, causing a domino effect that Dean found rather comical.

A turtle had been eating at the man’s flesh and went flying toward Wiley when he flipped the body. Wiley, in turn, let out a blood-curdling shriek as he jumped back, away from the turtle. The sudden shift of weight caused the canoe to capsize, sending all three deputies into the water.

The freed corpse then began to float with the current.

“God damn it!” shouted the lieutenant, tossing his hat to the ground. “If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.” He then slid down the slope and waded into the water. “You assholes! That water ain’t even deep.” He reached out and grabbed Al Sutter’s foot, pulling the body to the shore.

The corpse was then wrapped in a sheet of canvas. It took eight men, including Dean, to get the body up the embankment.

Once on flat ground, the covering was pulled back so that the Sheriff and Dean could more closely inspect the body. Just like all the other victims, Al Sutter’s genitals had been removed. One could not tell whether or not the flesh had been cut, as turtles had been eating away at that part of the man’s body.

But something caught Dean’s eye. He looked at one of the paramedics. “You gotta another pair of those?” he asked, motioning to the man’s latex gloves.

The man reached into his pocket. “Only got one,” he answered, offering Dean the one glove.

“Thanks,” he said, wrestling the glove onto his hand.

“You see something?” asked the Sheriff, who stood beside Dean.

“I think so,” answered the elder Winchester, squatting beside the corpse. Lifting the man’s hand, he took a closer look at his fingernails. “You see that? Looks like something’s under his nails.”

Both the Sheriff and paramedic leaned in closer. “Yeah, looks kinda green,” observed Sheriff Kyle.

“Probably just some algae or something,” remarked the paramedic. “River’s full of stuff like that.”

“Maybe,” answered Dean. His eyes darted to the pen protruding from the Sheriff’s shirt pocket. “Can I borrow that for a sec?” he asked, eyeing the pen.

“This?” replied Sheriff, his fingers on the device.

The hunter nodded.

“Sure thing,” answered the Sheriff, handing him the pen.

Dean then slid the pen under the man’s finger nails, digging out the green-colored flake. “Hmm. Looks like some sort of fish scale.”

“There ain’t no fish in these waters that have scales like that,” remarked Sheriff Kyle.

Dean let the man’s hand fall back down, as he continued to scrutinize the scaly looking thing at the end of the pen. “No, that definitely looks like some type of scale, Sheriff.”

The paramedic picked up Al Sutter’s hand that Dean had dropped. “He’s got it under all four of his fingernails. Maybe the medical examiner will know what it is.”

Dean wanted to keep a sample for himself. He pulled out a little Ziploc baggie from the interior pocket of his jacket, flicking the green scale inside.

“There you go, Sheriff,” said Dean, offering him back his pen.

The Sheriff cringed. “Oh, no. You keep it.”

Dean was happy to have his first clue, although it pretty much put the kibosh on his whole succubus theory. He still wanted to take some EMF readings, but he couldn’t with so many people around.

Standing back up, the elder Winchester said, “Yeah, well, ah, I’m gonna check out the area upriver. See if I can, uh, find anything.” He scratched at one of the many mosquito bites on his neck.

“Er, um, I’d come with you,” said the Sheriff hesitantly, wiping his sweaty face with a handkerchief, “but I need to speak with the medical examiner… If you’d like, some of my deputies could tag along.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to the three drenched men that he called Larry, Curly and Moe in his mind. “That’s a generous offer, Sheriff Kyle, but I’d prefer to go on my own.” He looked back at the man and gave him a smile.

Sheriff Kyle gave a quick nod of his head. He couldn’t blame Agent Gillan one bit, especially after the agent had witnessed the ineptness of his deputies. “Well, if you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Absolutely.” Dean then turned and headed north, following the course of the Washita River. Chuckling to himself over the whole debacle with the deputies, he now had a better understanding of why these people couldn’t solve these crimes. And it had nothing to do with the supernatural element to the case, only the incompetence of the people involved. Yep, these people needed him and Sammy. If they didn’t find the monster responsible for these killings, then the entire noodling population would end up dead.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled, slapping another mosquito dead on his neck. “I know I’m sweet, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Despite the infestation of mosquitoes, Dean continued to plod on. Part of the conversation he had overheard between the Sheriff and that Ledbetter guy mentioned that Al Sutter had a small fishing camp a couple of miles upriver. From what Dean recalled, the victim went there when he needed to get away from the wife for a bit.

Probably an overbearing bitch, he thought.

Nevertheless, Dean thought he’d check the place out, even though the deputies had gone there after Sutter’s disappearance. Chances were there was some type of clue there that the Barney Fife’s of Garvin County might have overlooked.

Perspiring like crazy, Dean pulled off his jacket, and threw it over his shoulder. He’d give anything to feel a cool breeze against his damp skin, or better yet, to drink an ice-cold brewski.

The elder Winchester had come across a couple of homes during his hike, but they were much too nice to qualify as a fishing camp. The third place he stumbled upon had to be the place. It was an old, run-down seventies model RV with a faded red and white striped awning on the back. Two green plastic chairs sat on either side of a rock circle fire pit.

“Looks like a fishing camp to me,” mumbled Dean as he headed toward the camper. He was surprised to find the place unlocked. The hunter slung his jacket over the metal hand rail of the steps before entering the RV. The padlock that he assumed normally secured the place, sat on the counter just inside the door.

“You’re my kind of Christian, Al,” chuckled Dean, as he picked up the latest issue of Playboy that lay beside the padlock. He flipped through the pages, stopping at the centerfold. “Ooh, Miss June - you’re definitely a hottie.” The hunter’s attention was diverted from his mission, as he continued to ogle the nakedness of the Playboy Centerfold. Feeling his blood pressure rise (among others things!), Dean forced himself to close the magazine. He then resumed his search of the place, looking for any possible clues.

Checking out the mini-fridge, he nearly cried tears of joy when he saw three cold Pabsts on the otherwise empty shelf. “Not my first choice, but it’s cold.” He popped the tab on the can. “Here’s to you, Al.” Dean then took a long swig, downing nearly half the can.

Belching, he decided to investigate outside, which felt much cooler than inside the RV. With his beer in hand, the hunter strolled toward the river where a set of wooden steps led to a floating dock below. He descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he looked up and down the dark, murky river. An old log slowly drifted by, but other than that, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

He stood there, taking a minute to enjoy the rest of his cheap beer. Dean then noticed something twinkle in the river, beside the dock. He shifted his head, but lost sight of it. Trying to move his head back to its original position, he spotted what looked like a glimmer of silver in the sunlight.

He dropped to his knees, uttering, “Please, don’t be a body. Please don’t be a body.” He reached his hand into the warm water, his fingers wrapping around something hard and thin. The silver ring was attached to something else. He started to pull it up. It appeared that the silver thing he saw was actually a ferrule of a fishing pole. The line was still intact and had some slack in it. But there was something on the other end of the pole that seemed to weigh it down.

Dean repeated, “Please don’t be a body. Please don’t be a body,” as he heaved the pole up, hand over hand.

It appeared that something had gotten caught around the reel of the fishing pole. It looked to be clothing of some sort. He placed the pole on the dock, and then began to untangle the soaking wet garments. Dean’s first guess had been wrong. The clothes had deliberately been wrapped around the pole. The first item he untangled was a red flannel shirt with the arms cut off.

“How stylish,” he mumbled, tossing it to the side.

The hunter could feel something hard in the pocket of the denim shorts he was unwinding from the pole. When he got the shorts free, he reached in the pocket and pulled out a wallet. Water dripped from the brown leather as he flipped it open. Immediately, he saw a driver’s license.

“Alvin Robert Sutter,” he read aloud. He rifled through the contents of the wallet. Everything appeared to be there including cash and credit cards. Dean was flummoxed. Why was the man’s clothing, including his wallet, hidden in river? No serpent-like creature was capable of doing something like this? Could it be that the deputy in the Sheriff’s office was right, that they were dealing with some sick, Jack the Ripper wannabe?

Dean wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked out across the river with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he queried softly to himself.

The elder Winchester got back on his feet, and headed toward the camper with the wallet in hand. He slipped the wallet into his jacket pocket before securing the RV.

Before he left, he checked the area with his EMF counter. Nothing abnormal showed up. Puzzled, Dean then set out for the trek back to the Impala, trying to piece together the clues he had collected, as he went along. He was eager to talk with Sammy, to see if he had had any luck with that Truluck kid.

As soon as Dean got back into town, he drove to the nearest drug store and picked up a can of Off and some Benadryl spray. By the time he climbed back in the Impala, he had doused the many mosquito bites on his face and neck with the topical analgesic. He then headed back to the motel, eager to get out of his sweat-drenched suit and take a nice, cool shower.

By the time he finished dressing, Sam had still not returned. He called his brother, and ended up leaving a message. With his stomach grumbling, Dean took off to get a bite to eat.



Author’s Note: In no way am I implying that the Sheriff’s Department of Garvin County is made up of a bunch of bumbling incompetents. The characters in this story are a work of fiction and are not based on any real people. I mean no disrespect to the noble and courageous men (and women) of the Garvin County Sheriff’s Department.


Chapter 5 - Chapter Four: When You Think with the Wrong Head...

Later that evening, when the brothers briefly reunited, they shared what information they had gleaned from earlier that day.

“So, what do you think it is, bro?” asked Dean, intently watching his brother study the green scale with a magnifying glass under the light of the lamp.

“It’s definitely some type of scale.”

“Well, duh! I thought with that brain of yours, you’d have more to say than, ‘it’s some type of scale’,” remarked Dean sarcastically. “And they call you the smart one,” he grumbled derisively under his breath.

Sam’s eyes darted to his brother. “You expect me to figure out what species this thing belongs to when all I have is a fucking magnifying glass? Don’t be an ass!” He looked back at the green scale. “It smells fishy.”

“So you think that Truluck kid’s right, that we’re dealing with some type of Loch Ness Monster?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “Does Nessie smell fishy?”

“Don’t have a clue,” answered Dean, antsy to leave the motel room for one of the local bars. “I’ll leave you to it then. Call me if you find out something.” He pulled out his car keys and headed for the door. “See you later.”

“Dick,” mumbled Sam when the door had closed behind Dean. He put the scale back into the baggie before taking a seat at the table. With his trusty laptop at the ready, Sam began the tedious task of research, something his brother detested with a passion.

The younger Winchester believed that something had invaded the waterways of Garvin County. Since the disappearances hadn’t begun prior to the year before, he thought that whatever the creature was had come into the area at that time. If that was the case, then, perhaps, similar mutilations could have happened elsewhere within the state.

He pulled up a map of Okalahoma and noted which counties the Washita River flowed through. He then searched the missing persons reports for each county, finding that there had been some disappearances on the river, but that no mutilated bodies had been found. That is, until he began his search of similar instances along the Red River, the waterway that the Washita emptied into and that formed the boundary between Okalahoma and Texas.

Sam hacked into the Cooke County Sheriff Department’s computer system, eager to read the reports on the victims found in Texas. He was astounded to read that the information contained in the reports matched those in Garvin County. All the victims had been male and their reproductive organs had been cut out.

The hunter toggled between the pages on his computer screen, looking at the various maps he had pulled up. He decided to search the areas west along the Red River for other similar incidents. When no similar deaths showed up west of the Washita and Red Rivers, he began searching county by county to the east.

“Jesus,” he muttered, finding that the mutilations crossed over into another state - Arkansas. The more he continued with his investigation, the more disturbing the results were. Similar cases were reported in the rivers in Arkansas near the Texas border. Searching county by county along the waterways, he found more and more cases that matched the same m.o. as that in Garvin County.

Sam’s heart started to race when he realized that the mutilations had begun four years ago, in 2005, along the Gulf of Mexico, in Louisiana.

“What the hell happened in 2005 in the Gulf of Mexico?” he uttered to himself.

He’d Google the answer.

The younger Winchester gasped at the result - Hurricane Katrina.

Was it possible that the storm surge brought some type of sea creature to the coast, which then made its way into the nearby rivers? he thought to himself.

He rose out of his chair, anxious to get one of the books that was housed in the trunk of the Impala. He had nearly made it to the door when he realized that Dean had taken the car.

“Damn it,” he groaned, whipping out his cell phone and dialing his brother’s number.

“Yeah,” answered a distracted Dean.

“I think I found something,” reported Sam. “I need one of the books in the trunk.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sammy. I’m kinda busy right now, if you know what I mean,” he said, slightly slurring his words.

“Dean, it’s important,” insisted the younger Winchester.

“So is Mandy!” argued his older brother. “She’s as sweet as candy.”

A woman in the background giggled.

“Just get your ass back here!” demanded Sam, disconnecting the line before Dean could further voice his protests.

Annoyed with his brother’s flippant attitude, (which Sam should have been used to by now, but wasn’t), he started another pot of coffee, knowing that his brother would need sobering up whenever he got back.

He glanced at the digital clock beside the bed. It read 12:36 a.m..

Sam was stunned that the hours had swiftly slipped by him unnoticed. That would explain the stiffness in his limbs. Knowing that it would take Dean a while to get back, he decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would do him some good.



Dean returned about fifteen minutes later. “Hey! Captain Egghead! I’m back!” he announced upon entering the room. He tossed his keys on the dresser, his glassy eyes scanning the room. “Sammy? You in the bathroom?”

No answer.

Finding the room deserted, Dean wandered over to the table and rummaged through the sheets of paper upon which Sam had scribbled notes. He picked up one of the pages, trying to decipher Sam’s hastily scrawled writings. From the looks of it, Sam had ruled out sea serpents as the cause behind the deaths. Instead, he listed possible human-monster hybrids that could be responsible for the murders. Amongst them were listed Scylla, harpies, lamias, Nereid and sirens.

Dean snorted. “You’re grasping at straws, Sammy,” he uttered. Throwing the paper back down on the table, the elder Winchester yawned. Though he hadn’t scored with Mandy, the elder Winchester was suddenly overcome with the desire for sleep. Not five minutes later, he was out like a light.

Sam was excited to see that the Impala was back. He entered the room, only to see Dean sound asleep. Grabbing the car keys, he went back outside and popped open the trunk. He then retrieved his book, Monsters that Prowl Both Sea and Land from the hidden compartment. Shutting the trunk, he then returned to the room and fell back into research mode.

After referencing his book, Sam definitely believed that the creature was half-human, or at least, human-like. He thought that he remembered Bobby telling him of a fellow hunter in Florida, he believed, that had run into some mermaids or some equally notable mythological creatures.

He glanced at the clock. It read 2:12. Grabbing his cell phone, he stepped into the bathroom so as not to disturb his brother and dialed Bobby’s number.

After several rings, Bobby answered the phone with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Hey, Bobby. It’s Sam,” the younger Winchester said.

“Sam?” repeated Bobby sleepily. Repeating Sam’s name immediately jolted the hunter awake. Worry replaced weariness. “You okay? Dean?” Bobby asked in a tone that reflected his concern.

“We’re fine.”

There was pause in the conversation before the older hunter came back with, “Damn it, boy! You know what time it is?”

“Sorry, Bobby, but we’re working this case in Oklahoma and I needed to ask you about something.”

Bobby made a grunting sound on the other end of the phone, a sound that meant that Sam had best not beat around the bush, but get on with his question.

“I remember you telling me about some hunter in Florida that ran into some mermaids or something. Do you remember that?”

“Mermaids,” repeated his surrogate father. “What the hell do mermaids have to do with Oklahoma?”

“Dean and I are working on this case in Pauls Valley. Looks like a bunch of noodlers have been disappearing in the waters here, only to resurface days or weeks later with their… um, genitals cut out.”

Bobby didn’t reply.

“Um, I think that there’s some type of mythological creature at work here,” Sam continued to explain. “One kid I spoke to said he saw some type of serpent, but I’m beginning to have my doubts about that. Dean discovered one of the victims clothing hidden beneath a dock. And that tells me that we’re dealing with something that has more human-like features, you know, since serpents don’t have hands… ”

“You sure you ain’t dealing with a human killer, Sam?” asked Bobby.

“Pretty sure. One of the victims had green scales under his fingernails. It looked and smelled fish-like. My guess is that the victim was fighting off his attacker and his nails skimmed across the thing’s… well, scaly flesh.”

“Hmm,” Bobby sounded. “I can see how that would point you in the monster direction.”

“And I found a pattern too, Bobby. Similar killings have taken place in Texas, Arkansas and Louisiana and date back to 2005, the same year Katrina hit. That’s when all this started.”

“So you think the storm brought something into the Gulf, I take it,” deduced Bobby.

“Yeah. And I remember you telling me a few years ago about someone that had a run in with mermaids or something - ” started Sam before Bobby cut him off.

“ - Nah, you’re confused, Sam,” interjected the older hunter. “I told you about Wendell Robinson and he heard the story second-hand. Let me think,” said Bobby, pausing for a moment. “If I remember correctly, Wendell said that he was investigating some case down in Miami. Some Cubans escaping their homeland said that they encountered some mermaids while at sea. From what he was told, and he heard this from his buddies in the Coast Guard, the mermaid sang this enchanting song that lured some guys in another boat over to her. Next thing they saw was a whole school of mermaids descending upon the men, pulling them off their boat and under the water. Never saw ‘em again.”

“Do you think it’s true, that mermaids exist?” queried Sam.

“Son, after all the creatures we’ve encountered over the years, can’t rule out nothing, can we?”

“Good point,” replied Sam. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s okay. If you need me, I’m only a phone call away.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam then snapped his cell phone shut.

The younger Winchester hoped that tomorrow he’d be able to find the mermaid’s lair with a little help from Sonny. They would explore some of the area caves. Thinking he had better get some rest, Sam decided to call it a night. He took a shot of Nyquil to help shut down his brain.



Dean’s eyes blinked open to a still dark room. He glanced at the clock, which read 5:27. He tried to go back to sleep, but found himself wide-awake. Crawling out of bed, he took a leak and brushed his teeth before dressing quietly. He didn’t want to wake Sam.

Having learned that dawn was one of the best times for noodling, Dean decided that he’d head over to the river to check things out. He jotted a quick note for his brother, telling him where he was going, before placing it on the pillow beside the younger Winchester’s head. He then fished the napkin map from his jacket pocket and grabbed his keys from the dresser before leaving the room.

The Impala had already rumbled to life when Dean realized he had forgotten something. Leaving the engine idling, he crept back into the room. Smiling, he snatched his can of Off before leaving for a second time.

On his way to the Washita River, Dean made a quick pit stop at a local convenience store for a cup of coffee and a couple of doughnuts.

With Ted Nugent’s Wang Dang Sweet Poontang blaring through the car’s speakers, the Impala roared down Highway 19, zipping past fields still swathed in darkness.

Referencing his map from time to time, Dean headed to an area of the river where the first body had washed up. The Impala turned off the highway and onto a dirt road. The elder Winchester did his best to avoid the gullies in the road, cursing whenever his beloved baby hit one too hard.

By the time he had reached his destination, the sky was beginning to lighten, turning from black to a dismal gray. A light fog lay about the land, giving it a creepy vibe. Exiting the Impala with his can of Off, Dean sprayed himself from head to toe before tossing the can back into the car.

Using his trusty napkin map as a guide, he followed the trail through the woods to the river. He walked along the bank until he came to a game trail that led to the water’s edge. An old broken concrete slab lay partially submerged at the brink of the river, conveniently doubling as a seat for the hunter.

Dean sat there, waiting, watching as the fog slowly rolled along the water’s surface, gradually dissipating. He hadn’t been there long when he heard something rippling the water. He shifted his gaze toward the sound, listening intently.

He thought he heard someone faintly humming. His eyes narrowed in an attempt to pierce through the haze. He definitely heard someone humming. He then caught sight of a beautiful woman several yards away, slowly swimming against the current. His jaw dropped. His eyes widened. Dean Winchester was instantly captivated by the gorgeous woman.

The woman’s long red hair was slicked back from her face, the locks fanning out behind her on the water’s surface. Her skin looked milky white, contrasting with the murky brown water.

As the woman neared Dean, her humming turned to singing, her voice riveting the hunter further.

“If I say to you tomorrow,
Take my hand child come with me
To a castle I will take you,
Where what’s to be, they say will be… ” *

As she fixed her gaze on Dean, seated at the edge of the river, she stopped singing.

Clearing his throat, he smiled, saying, “Zeppelin fan, huh?”

The woman didn’t answer. She kept her almond-shaped, green eyes locked on the elder Winchester. She then tilted her head, parting her lips slightly, as if inviting the hunter to kiss them.

“Kinda early for a swim, don’t you think?” he remarked. “Not to mention dangerous.”

“A girl’s gotta exercise, keep in shape,” answered the woman in the sweetest voice.

“What’s your name?” Dean asked, mesmerized by the graceful motion of her white arms in the water.

“Cherry,” she replied, licking her lips.

“You’re shitting me,” uttered the hunter under his breath.

“You’re cute,” she continued, disregarding Dean’s comment altogether. “If the water’s so dangerous, why don’t you join me? I’d love a strong, handsome man like yourself to… to protect me,” she said suggestively, making a point to rise a bit out of the water, revealing her ample naked breasts to Dean.

Before the elder Winchester realized what he was doing, he had begun to hastily remove his clothing. “I don’t need asking twice,” he answered excitedly, tossing his garments behind him.

Once nude, he dove into the river. His head popped out of the water in front of Cherry. “Ooh, the water’s cold.”

“Let’s see if I can warm you up,” she replied, gliding closer to the hunter. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him closer. She then pressed her mouth against Dean’s, kissing him deeply.

Thinking that this was his lucky day, the elder Winchester wrapped one of his arms around the woman’s shoulders while the other reached for her breast. As he kneaded her soft mound with one hand, the other slid down her back, eager to feel her behind. Her skin went from smooth to scaly, causing Dean’s eyes to pop open in alarm. He tried to break away from the kiss, but found himself unable to pull away from Cherry.

She then yanked him under the water.

Dean attempted to struggle until he lost consciousness.



*lyrics by Robert Plant


Chapter 6 - Chapter Five: ... You Always Get Screwed

The incessant banging on the door roused Sam from his deep sleep. Somewhat dazed, he raised his head from the pillow, wiping the drool from his mouth.

“Coming!” he shouted, crawling to the edge of the bed. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and slipped them on before making his way toward the door. He stopped at the window and pulled the curtain back, the sun momentarily blinding him.

Sonny waved.

Sam flicked on the light switch then opened the door. “Come on in, Sonny.”

“Good morning, Sam,” said the boy cheerfully as he entered the room. “You still sleeping? Man, it’s nine o’ clock. You said to be here at nine, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” mumbled the hunter, still half-asleep. “I didn’t get to bed until late. Give me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Sure thing,” the boy replied, his bright eyes scanning the room.

Sam took off for the bathroom while Sonny wandered over to the table blanketed in sheets of paper. He was looking at some of the notes Sam had jotted down the night before when the opened book lying next to the laptop caught his eye. He leaned closer, surveying the pages about mermaids. He snickered.

“You think we’re dealing with mermaids, now?” he queried loudly so that the agent could hear him through the bathroom door.

“I’m beginning to think so,” answered Sam.

“Hmm,” the boy sounded. He shook his head, finding it bizarre that he and the F.B.I. agent were going to search out a mermaid’s lair instead of some sea serpent. Nonetheless, he found the whole idea much more appealing.

Turning away from the table, Sonny’s eyes did another quick survey of the room. Both beds were unmade, clothes strewed over the floor. His momma would have a fit if he kept his room that messy.

“You might wanna wear shorts unless you wanna go diving in your skivvies again,” the boy suggested.

On the floor, between the two beds, he spotted a piece of paper. Thinking that the air conditioner had blown one of Sam’s notes to the floor, Sonny walked over and picked it up. He quickly read the chicken-scratch writing as Sam stepped out of the bathroom and began to brush his teeth.

“Hey Sam! Looks like your partner left you a note,” Sonny said, taking the note over to the agent.

The younger Winchester took the paper and read it. He then leaned over the sink and spit the saliva-toothpaste mixture from his mouth.

“Shit,” he groaned, wiping his mouth on the hand towel. “Dean should’ve been back by now.”

“You think something’s wrong? That the serp- er, mermaid got him?” asked Sonny, concerned that Sam was so concerned.

“I don’t know. If it was nighttime I wouldn’t be worried. Dean’s kinda the night owl.” Sam perused the note once again. He then shifted his hazel eyes to Sonny. “You know where this place is?”

“Yeah, of course,” answered the boy. “Hurry up and get dressed and we’ll go check it out.”

Sam grabbed a pair of shorts and a tee shirt from his bag before heading back into the bathroom.

“We’ll probably need to swing by the house, first,” continued Sonny. “I only brought my diving gear and a couple of knives.” He turned his gaze to the opened book on the table. “If you think we might have a run in with mermaids or something, I think we’d be better off if we’re better armed.”

Once Sam had finished dressing, he and Sonny took off in the boy’s pickup. Sam called Dean, but there was no answer.

“Something’s wrong, ain’t it?” asked Sonny after the younger Winchester snapped his cell phone closed.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he answered, slightly annoyed by his brother’s impulsiveness. Surely, Dean would be prepared if he encountered a mermaid, wouldn’t he? The sinking feeling in Sam’s stomach said otherwise. Dean was notorious for thinking with his dick. Yeah, groaned the hunter in his mind. Dean’s in trouble.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, they reached Sonny’s house. Sam followed the boy into the home and up the stairs. He hadn’t gone up to the second level yesterday. The boy’s room was at the end of the hallway. On the outside of his door hung a sign that read: ‘Estrogen Free Zone’ in big bold letters. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You got sisters?” Sonny asked him, as they entered the room.

“No, I don’t,” answered Sam.

“Count yourself lucky then. They’re whiny, bossy and hog the bathroom - not to mention that they turn into beasts once a month. Only have to deal with momma and Katie right now, but, hell, it won’t be much longer before Misty and Savannah join that club. Woe the day when that comes.”

Sonny headed toward his closet as Sam scoped out the room. It looked pretty much like the typical teenagers bedroom except that everything was neat and tidy and in its proper place. Each wall represented a different passion of the kid. One had framed rock posters adorning the wall, another had pictures of classic cars and trucks, and, most typical of a teenage boy, the third was covered in posters of bikini-clad women. The fourth wall had mostly hunting and noodling paraphernalia on it.

Over the headboard of the bed hung a deer head, gold chains dangling from the deer’s rack. There were several large, glossy framed photos of Sonny over the years holding his various catches - flathead catfish. Yet it was the two gun cabinets that flanked the nightstands on either side of the bed that caught Sam’s attention.

Sam knew that the Truluck’s were avid hunters - you got that vibe as soon as you walked into the house. But, beyond the glass door of the cabinets stood several military rifles, not the kind of weapons one would normally hunt with, at least, not animals. The hunter noticed an SKS, M1 Garand and AR 15 among others.

“Damn, you’ve got quite the arsenal here,” remarked Sam, doing a visual inspection of the weapons housed inside the case.

“Well, it’s all legit, just so you know. Technically they’re daddy’s, but when I turn twenty-one, they’re mine,” answered Sonny.

“You don’t use these for hunting, do you?” queried Sam, looking at the boy with a puzzled expression.

“Of course not. Wouldn’t be no meat left!” laughed the kid. “That’s for the war,” he added matter-of-factly.

“What war?” asked Sam, furrowing his brow.

“The one that’s gonna hit this country, soon. Daddy says he doesn’t know whether a civil war will break out, or if the commies are gonna invade us - says it’ll be one or the other. You know that China already said they were gunning for us, don’t you?” he queried, before quickly adding, “They best not come around here. We’re ready for ‘em. Got twenty thousand rounds for each rifle. And I’m a pretty good shot too. We all are. As soon as we were old enough to get a bit of sense in us, Daddy gave us our first rifle - a .22. Got mine when I was seven. Killed that eight-pointer on the wall there when I was nine,” he said, proudly pointing to the deer head over his bed.

Sonny then disappeared into his closet.

“Hey, Sam,” Katie drawled huskily, having slipped into the room unnoticed.

The hunter turned around.

Dressed in black short-shorts and a tight-fitting pink tank top, Sonny’s eldest sibling leaned against the wall, smiling provocatively at the younger Winchester.

“Oh, hey, Katie,” he answered, giving her a warm smile.

“How’re you doing today?”

“I’m okay,” he answered politely.

Sonny sprung out of the closet with a spear gun in hand. “Can’t you read?” he barked, pointing the weapon at the sign on the door. “Get your estrogen ass outta here!”

“Don’t be so rude,” Katie snapped back, her face twisted in anger. She looked back at Sam, her facial expression instantly softening. “We’ve got company.”

Sam scratched his head and turned away, stifling his laughter. He thought it was cute that he was the recipient of Katie’s infatuation, though the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Girl, you best get out of my room - ” threatened Sonny before his sister cut off his sentence.

“ - Or what? What the hell is your punk ass gonna do? Hit me? I dare you,” she hissed back with her hands on her hips, looking coldly at her brother.

The boy took a deep breath. “Why don’t you go shine your tiara or put on some more make-up?” he shot back. He stepped closer to his sister. “And don’t think I ain’t noticed that you’re wearing your push-up bra! Sam’s not impressed by those boobies of yours.”

Katie’s face turned beet red. She turned on her heal and stormed out of the bedroom, screeching, “BASTARD!” at the top of her lungs.

Shaking his head, Sonny turned to Sam, who was no longer muffling his laughter. “Embarrass ‘em,” said the boy with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Works every time!” He then handed the spear gun to the agent. “I’ve got two of these,” he stated, returning to the closet for the additional weapon. “Gonna bring this too,” the kid added, waving a flare gun in his other hand. “Alright, I think we’re set.”

Sam followed Sonny out of the room. The hunter could sense Katie slinking in the shadows of the corridor behind them.

A few minutes later, both young men were back in the truck, heading to the place on the Washita River where the first body had been found the year before…



Dean was beginning to regain consciousness. The throbbing in his shoulders increased in intensity as his senses awakened. He groaned softly, feeling groggy, his mind fuzzy. The hunter felt as if he was coming off a major bender, or had had a roofie slipped into a drink that he had no recollection of drinking.

The pain receptors in his arms were now going off, amplifying his discomfort. He tried to clamber to his feet, but had difficulty finding his footing. Ropes were digging into the flesh of both his ankles and wrists. As he became more alert, he could feel that his arms were raised above his head. He tried to lower them, to relieve the stress on his shoulders, but they wouldn’t budge.

He had to get on his feet. That was the only way he would be able to lessen the pain. Dean’s eyelids felt like heavy weights. At that moment, he didn’t have the energy to pop them open. Instead, he focused his attention on his feet. The floor was quite slippery, making it extremely difficult to find his footing. After several attempts, he was able to stand, easing the tension in his shoulders.

Now that his physical pain had lessened, the elder Winchester couldn’t help but notice the sickening stench that invaded his nostrils. He knew that smell all to well - rotting flesh.

Dare he peek an eye open?

No, not yet, he answered in his mind.

Dean held his breath, listening intently. He could hear the sound of what he perceived to be droplets of water splashing in a pool. The sound seemed to echo around him.

He shivered. Goose bumps covered his naked flesh. Breathing quickly, his mind racing, his heart thumping madly, he worked backwards in his mind, trying to figure out how he had landed in his current predicament.

“That bitch,” he growled, remembering the hot, redheaded chick, Cherry. His voice bounced from wall to wall.

Anger replaced fear. His eyes darted open. Dean found himself in a cave, standing on a flat ridge of rock that encircled a rather large pool of water. The only light came from the nearly two dozen torches bracketed to the rock wall. The flames cast the hollow in a dim glow.

His eyes lingered on the pool. Dozens and dozens of what looked to be some type of whitish-yellow islands of gooey substance floated on the water’s surface. Due to the dimness of the chamber, he couldn’t clearly make out what they were. Droplets of water fell from the stalactites above, rippling the pool and gently rocking the islands of glistening goo.

The elder Winchester’s gaze left the pool, searching for some obvious escape route. His hope was quickly shattered when he spotted many bodies in various stages of decomposition.

His eyes stopped on the corpse of a man nearby. His body leaned against a stalagmite. The face had already become hollow, sunken. Only a thin, decaying layer of skin covered his skull. One of the man’s skeletal hands rested between his legs, his gonads gone.

“Fuck me!” Dean groaned under his breath, realizing how dire the situation was. He was to be the next victim! The bitch was gonna take his junk!

“Not if I can help it,” he answered aloud, his voice echoing within the cave.

With his determination renewed, Dean’s eyes went to the metal ring to which his bound hands were attached. He began rubbing the nylon rope against the metal, hoping that maybe a slight imperfection in the metal would help snap the rope in two, one fiber at a time.

After a couple of minutes, his arms ached so badly, he stopped.

Panting, he then called out, “Cas! Cas! I need you! Help me, man! Please! Pretty please with sugar on top!”

His pleas merely bounced against the cave’s walls, seemingly mocking him.

“Damn it! There’s never an angel when you need one,” he grumbled in discontent.

Refusing to give up hope, the hunter focused his attention back on the rope and the ring. He convinced himself that if he didn’t stop, the friction would eventually cause the rope to break.

Though his arms ached in protest, he continued to rub the bindings rapidly against the metal. He growled from the pain, forcing himself to continue.

Then he heard it. He turned his eyes toward the pool. Bubbles began to rise to the water’s surface.

“Shit!” he said, grimacing. Trying his best to ignore the pain, his bound hands moved faster and faster. Sweat streamed down his naked body. His eyes constantly darted from the ring over his head to the pool, knowing that that bitch was about to break the water’s surface.

Cherry shot out of the water, so much so that Dean could see her where her human form met her fish-like lower extremities.

“Hello, cutie patootie,” she said sweetly, effortlessly gliding across the water amid the floating islands of goo.

“Drop dead, mer-bitch!” shot back Dean, still attempting to free himself from the ropes.

“Now, now, that’s no way to talk to the future mother of your children,” she answered.

Her words shocked the hunter so much that he stopped moving. Attempting to protect his loins, he twisted his lower body toward the wall, and snapped back with, “The hell you say!”

“Oh, I say, darling.”

Just then, the water bubbled in several more places. Dean’s eyes scanned the bubbling spots on the pool, knowing that more of the creature’s companions were about to join them.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, his eyes widening in panic.

“Oh, no, sweetie. Our bodies aren’t compatible for sex. I just need your seed to fertilize my eggs,” she answered with a smile, waving a hand toward the gooey floating islands.

“Shit!” he whimpered, as a dozen of the mermaid’s companions’ heads popped out of the water…


Chapter 7 - Chapter Six: Heroes Come in All Shapes and Sizes

“There’s Dean’s car,” Sam proclaimed, as the pickup neared the end of the lane in the woods.

“Sweet ride,” remarked Sonny. “What is it, a ‘67? ‘66?”

“Um, ‘67,” answered the slightly distracted hunter, his thoughts now revolving around his brother.

“What’s she got, a 396?” queried the kid, as he eased his truck beside the Impala.

“Huh? What?” asked Sam, shifting his gaze to the driver with a baffled expression on his face.

“What size engine?” he repeated, enunciating each word slowly.

Sam shook his head, answering, “I don’t know,” before bolting from the truck.

Sonny remained seated behind the wheel for a moment, finding it strange that Sam had no idea what was under the Impala’s hood. He was now getting the impression that Sam wasn’t a man’s man. “I hope he ain’t no dainty boy,” he mumbled as he exited the vehicle.

While the younger Winchester checked out the car, Sonny went to the back of the pickup and started to unload their gear. “Could use a little help here,” he said loudly, carefully lifting an air tank from the bed of the truck.

Sam went over to the pickup, his face a mask of concern, and helped the boy unload the gear.

“Listen, Sam,” began the kid. “I can see that you’re worried about that partner of yours, but he went through training, right? He’s encountered weird things before. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right,” answered the hunter, not wholly convinced that Dean was okay.

“We’ll probably have to make two trips,” advised Sonny. “And you best be careful with that tank. Don’t go hitting it against something or you’ll risk blowing yourself up. And I sure wouldn’t want to explain that to your bosses at the Bureau. They’d probably arrest me for reckless endangerment or something.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Sonny,” replied Sam, eyeing the remaining gear. “I think we can take it all in one trip. I can carry a little extra.”

“If you say so. But watch out for that - ”

“ - Dude!” interjected Sam, somewhat annoyed. “I know about the damn tank. I’m not gonna hit it against anything.”

Sonny looked up at the agent. “Safety first,” he answered coolly, irked by the tone in Sam’s voice.

With their arms laden with gear, they followed the trail into the woods.

“I’m sorry,” apologized Sam, trudging behind the boy. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just worried about Dean. My gut tells me something’s wrong.”

“Well, you gotta trust your gut, daddy always says. If you think something’s wrong, then we’ll make it right. We’ll find your partner, Sam. And if this mermaid has him, then we’ll get her ass too.” He chortled, adding, “We’ll have us one hulluva fish fry.”

The hunter chuckled at Sonny’s comments.

When the boy reached the edge of the river, he stopped. “Oh, man, this don’t look good. This don’t look good at all,” he said.

“What? What is it?” queried Sam, still a few paces behind.

The kid pointed to the bottom of the bank. “That look familiar?” he asked.

Sam sidestepped a cluster of palmettos and joined Sonny. Looking down at the bottom of the bank, he saw Dean’s clothes piled on a concrete slab.

“That’s Dean’s,” the hunter remarked, his face turning pale. He placed his gear on the ground, looking up and down the river for any sign of his brother. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, “Dean! Dean!”

Sonny pulled on Sam’s arm. “What the hell are you doing?” he said with disdain. “You trying to scare off our prey? You can’t go around screaming like that! That thing will hear you.”

The younger Winchester didn’t reply. His worried eyes continued to scan the waterway, hoping beyond anything that he’d see some glimpse of his brother.

Sonny prodded Sam on. They followed the slope down to the river’s edge before readying themselves for their dive. The kid tossed a buoy with a dive flag into the river. “This ain’t much of a boating river, but there’s some people who run their john boats up and down here. We sure don’t want no propellers hacking us to pieces. Like I said - safety first.”

As they put on their dive gear, the boy explained how dark the Washita’s waters were in comparison to the lake where they had dove the day before. The boy wanted to take special precautions by running a guideline from above the waterline to the cave itself.

“The nearest cave is about three hundred yards down river. Once we go stirring up the water, the silt can be a nightmare,” he explained. “The entrance is near the river bottom, but the tunnel ain’t that long. Should anything happen to me, you can use the line to find your way out.”

The gravity of the situation then dawned on Sam. He didn’t want to risk this kid’s life. “Maybe I should go alone. This could be dangerous and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Pfft,” Sonny sounded, rolling his eyes. “I’m a noodler. Can’t get more dangerous than that!”

“I’m serious, Sonny. This thing has already killed - ”

“ - I’m not some stupid idiot. I know what I’m doing. You need to worry about your own ass, not mine. This is my playground, my turf. I ain’t afraid of nothing in these waters, even if it’s a god-dang mermaid!” the boy protested. “Now, stop pussyfooting around. Let’s find this thing and kill it, once and for all.”

Sonny placed the flare gun and a couple of extra flares into the waterproof pouch attached to the belt around his waist. As he tightened the chord of his flashlight around his wrist, he said, “We’ll let the current take us downstream. We won’t go under ‘til we near the entrance. I wanna secure my line to a tree above ground first.” He then grabbed a coil of rope that he had painted bright orange in one hand, while the other grabbed his spear gun. “You ready?”

Sam tightened his grip on his weapon, nodding in reply.

The two then leapt into the murky water. Sonny grabbed hold of the buoy as the current eased them down stream.

When they reached their destination, the boy swam over to the bank where an old oak tree grew out of the side of the ridge. Years of erosion had exposed several thick, gnarled roots. Wedging his spear gun into one of the roots so that he could freely use his hands, Sonny then tied one end of the rope to one of the tree’s anchors. Once he had determined that his knot would hold, he prepared to go under, motioning for Sam to grab hold of the rope as he followed. The two then disappeared under the water’s surface…



“Ooh, you’ve got a pretty one, Cherry,” said a blonde mermaid.

“I want him!” whined another with long black hair.

“NO! I want him!” screeched yet another.

Despite Dean’s precarious predicament, a smug smile came to his face. Of course, all these ‘women’ found him desirable - he was Dean Winchester after all, notorious lady’s man.

“I found him! He’s mine!” proclaimed Cherry, as an argument broke out amongst the mermaids over who had the right to the hunter’s sperm.

“ENOUGH!” yelled a mermaid with long white hair.

Dean thought she must have been the leader, since the others immediately stopped bickering.

“What I say goes,” she continued. “And I say: he’s mine!”

She then glided over to the side of the pool where Cherry waited, only feet from the elder Winchester.

Cherry spun around. “Oh, no you don’t, Nelya!” she spat back in defiance. “I found him! I captured him! He’s mine!”

“I’m the oldest here, and I say he’s mine,” the mermaid called Nelya snarled in reply.

“If you want him, you’ll have to go through me,” warned Cherry, staring coldly at the white-haired mermaid.

The mounting tension was so thick; you could cut it with a knife. The rest of the mermaids remained frozen, apprehensively watching the scene unfolding before them.

Even Dean Winchester paused, wondering what would happen next.

Nelya slapped Cherry across the face, sending the mermaid’s head reeling to the side.

Cherry reached out and grabbed handfuls of Nelya’s hair. She wildly slung the older mermaid’s head about. Not a second later, most of the other mermaids joined in, fighting over the sperm of their captive.

One mermaid cried out, “The babies! The babies!” as she swam around, gathering the clusters of eggs in her arms, steering them away from the fighting women. Another one quickly joined her, moving the eggs to the far side of the pool.

“Oh, man. Catfight!” said Dean excitedly. He stared wide-eyed as the mermaids fought one another. Even though they had the bodies of fish below the waist, his eyes remained fixed on the upper half of their mortal-shaped bodies. Amid their flailing arms, their glistening breasts bounced in the shadowy light.

“Ooh,” he sounded, seeing one of the mermaids whack another with her tail, leaving the recipient dazed.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Dean found himself highly aroused by the fighting women-fish. He looked down at his growing member and growled, “Stop that!” Yet, his penis had a mind of its own, and refused to obey that order.

His eyes went back to the women, watching as their long, wet hair slapped against their naked skin.

Man, this is better than porn, mused the hunter.

“Look!” shouted one of the mermaids, pointing out Dean’s erection. “He’s ready! He’s ready!”

The women stopped their thrashing.

“We can share him,” suggested the mermaid that was pointing at the elder Winchester. “We’ll preserve his body until he fertilizes the last of our eggs.”

Seeing that the attention was now back on him, Dean twisted his lower extremities toward the wall, trying to hide his engorged member.

“That’s a great idea, River,” said Nelya delightedly. “He’s young, and buff. There’s plenty of him to go around.” She then turned to Cherry, whose chest was still heaving from their brawl. “You can have the first go, sweetie.”

All the mermaids then glided through the wavy pool toward Dean.

The hunter frantically tried to think un-sexy thoughts, hoping his dick would go limp before the mermaid reached him. He continued to try to protect his package by keeping it close to the rocky wall.

“Don’t be so shy, honey,” said Cherry, ogling Dean as she drifted closer.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, thought the elder Winchester, now rubbing his bindings against the metal ring with a renewed intensity.

“We’ll make beautiful babies together,” the mermaid continued, as she pulled herself up on the rocky ledge. Licking her lips provocatively, she flapped her tail on the slick surface, inching closer to the trapped Winchester.

The return of Dean’s fear diminished his desire - his manhood was rapidly shrinking. When the creature was within striking distance, he mustered all his strength and kicked at her. Yet, Cherry was unnaturally fast, and merely bent her body backwards as his bound legs went swishing before her.

“Now, now, violence isn’t the answer,” she cautioned.

Her sisters-in-fish gathered tightly around the edge of the pool, as Cherry once again neared Dean.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise,” the redheaded mermaid said. “In fact, I think you’ll quite enjoy the ex- ”

The words died on her lips. Dean’s eyes widened as a long, pointed metal object penetrated the flesh between her breasts.

There was a moment of shocked silence, followed by gasps, then cries of anguish as several mermaids attended to Cherry while the others spun around in search of intruders.

During the earlier ruckus, Sam and Sonny had popped into the pool, unnoticed. While the mermaids were busy fighting, the pair had swam over to a darkened section of the cave where they had climbed upon the rock lip and prepared to make battle.

Sam pulled the trigger on his weapon, sending another bolt whizzing through the air. An unsuspecting mermaid got nailed in the throat. Her gurgled cries were lost amid the echoing screams of the others.

Sam then took off, running along the perimeter of the pool.

Nelya’s mouth dropped open abnormally wide, as she let out a high-pitch screech that threatened to burst the mortals’ eardrums.

“That’s it, bitch. Open wide,” mumbled Sonny, as he aimed his flare gun at her mouth. The boy pulled the trigger, sending the fiery projectile at his intended target. The flare zipped through the air so fast that the mermaid had no time to react. The flare lodged in her throat before bursting, frying her insides. “Burn, bitch, burn,” he chortled.

Another mermaid then shot out of the water by Sonny’s feet. She grabbed hold of his ankle, yanking him toward the pool. The boy dropped onto his butt, leaning forward in an attempt to prevent his air tank from colliding with the rock. As he slid into the water, he lost his grip on the flare gun, which fell onto the rocky ridge with a clatter. Sonny then grabbed the knife strapped to his calf. Reaching down toward the creature’s hand that firmly gripped his ankle; he slashed the sharp blade across her flesh. A plume of crimson escaped from the gash. She cried out, bubbles engulfing the two. The strike was enough that she released her hold on the boy.

Sonny then shot out of the water, his blade at the ready.

“Damn, bro, what took you so long?” asked the older Winchester when his brother finally reached him.

“Just be glad we found you,” answered Sam, feverishly cutting at the rope.

“My junk thanks you,” answered Dean. “I was almost the father of a thousand tad poles, man.”

“Sam! Behind you!” shouted the boy from across the pool.

Before Sam could spin around, another mermaid had leapt onto his back. He lost his balance and fell to the stone floor, as the creature wrapped her arms around his neck, choking the young hunter.

With his hands now free (but his feet still tied), Dean grabbed handfuls of the creature’s long, dark hair, and pulled.

The mermaid wailed in pain, easing her grip on Sam. She then lunged for Dean, who merely caught her in his arms. Lifting her over his head, he body-slammed her on top of a stalagmite, the rocky spike penetrating her midsection.

While down on the ground, Sam worked on the bindings around Dean’s ankles.

Another flare lit up the cave. Missing its intended target, the flare ricocheted against the cave’s wall before sputtering out in the pool.

“Damn it!” barked Sonny, angry that he had missed one of the beastly women.

Eight mermaids remained. However, one by one they began to disappear under the water’s surface. Only one stayed, protectively guarding the eggs.

Sonny perched himself on the edge of the ridge, re-loading his flare gun.

“Get her, kid!” shouted Dean.

By the time Sonny pointed his weapon, the mermaid had slipped under the water.

Dean and Sam began to make their way around the pool toward Sonny.

“We need to destroy the eggs!” warned Dean, pointing to the gooey floating islands. “If they hatch, we’ll have mer-bitches everywhere.”

“Sonny, see if the flare will burn the eggs,” suggested Sam to the kid.

The boy got to his feet, and went around the pool to where the Winchester brothers stood.

“Man, this ain’t gonna kill ‘em,” he said, eyeing the disgusting, gooey-looking eggs. “They’re too wet. We need something flammable, like gas or something.”

“What about one of the tanks?” asked Sam.

“And just how would we get out with only one tank and three people?” answered Sonny. “No way, man. We’ll have to come back for the eggs. Right now, we need to get the hell outta here. There’s still eight more of those things swimming around here.”

“They’re probably waiting for us,” said Dean, eyeing the pool with trepidation. “They’ll try to drown us as we escape.”

“Yeah, probably,” answered Sonny. “We’ll just have to kill the bitches when we come across ‘em. Don’t know what else we can do.” The boy turned his gaze toward Dean. “You got yourself in one hell of a mess, you know that,” he said with a shake of his head.

Dean shrugged it off.

“Well, there ain’t nothing we can do now but find our way out,” he continued, placing his flare gun back in its waterproof pouch. “You can share my air since Sam here is new to diving,” he said to Dean. Sonny then pulled off the mask that dangled around his neck. “You can use this. I don’t need it.”

All three then turned toward the pool. Three of the dead mermaids floated on the water’s surface. Sonny gave Dean a quick run down on how they’d share the respirator.

“Keep your knife handy, Sam. I have a feeling that you’ll probably need it. If you see something move, stab it.”

“Just make sure it’s not one of us,” chimed in Dean. “Hey! Wait a second.” The elder Winchester pulled one of the torches from the wall. He dunked it in the pool, extinguishing the flame before using it to drag one of the corpses toward the rock ledge.

“What are you doing?” asked Sam, watching his brother.

“I need a weapon. Might as well reuse one of the spears, right?”

“Good idea,” answered Sonny, looking apprehensively at the pool. “No doubt them bitches are gonna ambush us. The more weapons, the better.”

After Dean had plucked his weapon free from the mermaid formerly known as Cherry, all three slipped into the water.

They then disappeared beneath the surface of the pool, swimming lower and lower toward the cave’s exit.

Sure enough, a couple of mermaids were waiting for them at the mouth of the cave, barring their exit. All three men tightened their grips on their weapons, anticipating combat in unfamiliar territory.

The creatures thrust upward from the bottom of the pool, stirring up silt, which further obscured the trio’s already poor visibility. Both Sam and Sonny lashed their knives at the mermaids, but the beasts were prepared. They swiftly swung their tails around, striking the men’s arms in an attempt to dislodge the weapons from their grasp. Sonny lost his, the blade spiraling downward, disappearing into the cloudy particles that engulfed them.

Dean then pushed himself forward. He drove his spear toward one of the mermaids. She flung her tail as she had done with Sonny, hitting the elder Winchester’s arm. Instead of dislodging the weapon from the elder Winchester’s grasp, she increased the spears momentum, driving it upwards, through the bottom of her chin. Blood and bubbles spewed from the mermaid. Dean continued to clutch the weapon as she thrashed around, trying to free herself. Only a few seconds later, she stopped moving altogether.

Sam caught the other one by the hair, wrestling with her underwater. He stabbed at the fishy portion of her body several times.

Sonny tapped Dean on the shoulder, before switching the respirator from the hunter’s mouth to his own. With his arm still clinging to the elder Winchester, he dove a bit deeper, feeling around on the floor for his blade.

Dean watched Sam. At opportune moments, he’d kick at the mermaid, making a point to strike her where streams of blood rushed from her scaly green flesh.

The actions of the elder Winchester helped to divert the creature’s attention, allowing Sam to run his blade along her throat. Dean watched as his brother’s face became hidden by a curtain of blood and bubbles. Sam then pushed the body away and gave his brother a thumbs-up in gratitude.

With Sonny now having retrieved his knife, the trio began to make their way through the tunnel. The other mermaids were nowhere to be seen. Both Sam and Sonny shone their flashlights around, searching for the remaining six creatures.

Dean, seeing the sunlight shining above on the river’s surface, pulled free from Sonny’s grasp and swam, soaring upwards.

Both the boy and Sam followed.

They then saw something splash hard into the water above. As the bubbles settled, they saw that it was a mermaid. Amidst the blood, small fragments slowly spiraled down in the murky water.

The guys moved their legs faster, knowing that the mermaids were lurking somewhere close by, waiting to attack when the men least expected it.

Dean’s head was the first to pop out of the water. He gasped for breath, treading water, his head spinning in all directions for any sign of the enemy. He was stunned to see two mermaids floating down river, apparently dead.

Bubbles rose up beside him. Dean knew they were coming from one of his companions. Seeing the orange rope floating on the river, he grabbed hold of it and began to pull himself toward the bank. Suddenly, a mermaid sprang up from behind and jumped on the hunter’s back, sending him under the water.

BOOM! A shot rang out, echoing along the banks of the river.

The creature flew off the elder Winchester’s back. Dean darted out of the water, coughing up the liquid he had swallowed. Quickly turning, he watched the mermaid fall forward, face first, onto the water. The back of her head was missing, chunks of brain matter and bone rained down onto the river before sinking into the murky water.

He looked around for the sniper, as Sonny and Sam broke the water’s surface.

“Did you hear that?” shouted Dean, frantically searching the woods along either side of the waterway. “Did you hear that gun shot?”

Just then, the three remaining mermaids popped out of the water, several feet away from their prey, in need of air.

Before anyone had time to react, three rapid shots were fired. The guys watched in shock as the back of all three creatures’ heads blew out, splattering bone, brain and blood onto the river like chum.

They then turned toward the sound of the gun blast. Wisps of smoke rose from the leafy limbs of the oak tree that protruded from the embankment. Concealed behind the branches was Katie, lying on her belly on the trunk of the tree with her Kalashnikov clutched in her hands. She was still peering through the scope, making sure the mermaids were dead.

“Y’all alright?” she then asked, pushing the branches aside to get a better look at the guys.

“Katie?” said an out of breath Sonny.

The girl scooted down along one of the roots, making herself visible to the others.

“Girl, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” said her brother gratefully.

“Y’all alright?” she repeated. “Sam?” she queried, fixing her eyes on the handsome hunter.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” answered Sam, as he began to swim over toward the tree with the others.

“How many more of them creatures are there?” she asked, her eyes scanning the surface of the river.

“I think that’s it,” answered Sam. “We killed several of them in the cave.”

Katie nodded, then shifted her gaze to her brother. “Sonny, you best go get them bodies before someone else sees ‘em. Don’t know how the hell we’d explain that!”

Before Sonny took off, he cut the rope attached to the tree’s root, figuring that he could use that to aid him in towing the corpses back. He then floated off down the river, gathering the mermaids’ remains.

Katie slung her rifle to her back, helping Sam onto the tree.

Dean remained in the water, clinging to a branch.

“You coming?” she said to Sam’s partner.

The elder Winchester looked awkwardly at his brother. “Dude! I’m naked here.”

Sam smiled. It wasn’t too often Dean was overcome with modesty.

“Please!” spat the girl. “It ain’t like I’ve never seen a pecker before.”

“Come on, Dean,” the younger hunter chuckled. “It’s not like Katie’s never seen a pecker before.”

The girl shook her head, and turned away from the older agent. She crawled along the trunk of the tree to the top of the embankment. Once on land, she turned and looked upon Dean’s nakedness as he climbed up on one of the roots of the tree.

“Damn, now I see why you’re all embarrassed. You’ve got a small pecker.”

“Hey!” shot back Dean defensively. “The water’s cold. There’s shrinkage involved here.”

“Yeah, shrinkage,” Katie sniggered in amusement. “Whatever you say.” She shook her head, keeping an eye on her brother, as Dean muttered angrily under his breath.

When the brothers had reached the top of the bank, Katie told Sam to take his partner to the spot where his clothing still remained. She’d wait where she was until Sonny had collected all the bodies.

Dean bitched throughout the trek through the woods. The underbrush and thickets were murder on his bare feet and legs. He had pleaded for Sam to give him a piggyback ride, but there was no way the younger Winchester was about to allow his naked brother on his back.

When Sonny had retrieved the dead mermaids, Katie followed along the bank as her brother swam close by. By the time they reached the game trail where the Winchesters waited, Dean was fully dressed. They lugged the bodies up the slope before placing them in a pile. The creatures’ bodies were then dowsed with gasoline before being set ablaze.

Popping open a cold beer, Dean did his best Ian Gillan impersonation, singing, “Smoke on the water, fire in the sky.”

He then offered the two Truluck kids a beer.

“Dean, they’re minors,” remarked Sam. “You can’t go around giving them beer.”

“Aw, come on, Sammy,” answered his older brother. “We’ve been fishing. Beer and fishing go hand-in-hand. One beer’s not gonna hurt ‘em.”

“Yeah, Sam. One beer’s not gonna hurt us,” said Sonny, taking the can from Dean’s hand.

The elder hunter dug into the cooler and pulled out another cold beverage. “Here you go, little lady.”

“Thanks,” Katie answered, taking the Miller from the agent.

“I’ve gotta say you’re one helluva shot,” said Dean impressively. “Not too often I run into a hot chick with sniper skills.”

“It’s all in a day’s work,” she answered, popping the can open, and taking a sip.

Sam then said, “How’d you find us, Katie? I mean, your timing couldn’t have been any better. How’d you know where to find us?”

“Well,” she began, locking her eyes on the handsome agent. “Simple deduction, I guess. I couldn’t help but notice that Sonny was getting his diving gear together, so I figured y’all were probably gonna go hunt that creature in the water. Any dumb ass would’ve figured out that a spear gun ain’t gonna cut it. So, I thought that I better follow with some real fire power, and brought Special K with me - ”

“Special K?” queried Sam, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“Yeah, my Kalashnikov. My rifle. Don’t much care for commies, but I sure do like their weapons. They make a mighty fine rifle.”

“A toast,” Dean then said, raising his can. “Let’s drink to Katie and Special K, who came in and saved the day.” He then paused. A wide grin came to his face. “Hey, that rhymed.” The hunter chuckled. “I guess I’m a poet and didn’t know it.”

The others rolled their eyes.

“I guess I don’t need to tell you two to keep this whole thing… quiet,” said Sam, all business-like.

“I think we kinda figured that out for ourselves, Sam,” answered Sonny. “I’ve been ridiculed for what I thought I saw… Ain’t no way I’m gonna mention anything about mermaids - they’d probably lock me up in some insane asylum or something. Nope, mum’s the word.”

Sam’s eyes then turned to Katie, who watched as the flames licked away at the flesh of the creatures.

“Katie?” the younger Winchester said, fixing his eyes on the petite blonde. “What about you? Can you keep this secret?”

She looked up at Sam, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I’d do anything you ask of me, Sam. Of course, I can keep this secret.”

Once the bodies were burned to their skeletal remains, the foursome sunk them in the river. Sonny dove back down into the cave, and destroyed the eggs before they could hatch.

With their mission accomplished, it was then time for Sam and Dean to leave little Pauls Valley, Oklahoma.

The Trulucks walked with them back to the vehicles.

“I guess this is it,” said Katie miserably, sad that Sam was leaving so soon.

“Yeah, I guess so,” answered Sam, his discomfort obvious.

“Do you think… ” the girl paused, biting her lip, having second thoughts about what she was about to ask the agent.

“What is it?” asked the younger hunter, quite interested in what she was going to say.

Katie took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Do you think I could have a kiss, for saving your life and all?”

Dean burst out laughing on the other side of the Impala, finding it highly amusing that his brother had a groupie.

“Ah, er, um,” stammered Sam in response.

“Oh, come on, Sammy. Give the girl a kiss. She did save our asses, after all,” encouraged a smiling Dean.

“Uh, um, okay,” answered the younger hunter.

Puckering his lips, Sam leaned down to give Katie a kiss on the cheek. When he neared the girl, she placed her hands on his cheeks, forcing his lips to meet hers. She then rammed her tongue into his mouth, catching Sam off guard. He couldn’t believe that a girl who weighed in at around a hundred pounds soaking wet had possessed such strength to pull off a stunt like that.

Dean cracked up, finding the scene amusing and quite entertaining.

When Sam finally managed to pull himself away, he was left breathless. “Yeah, see ya,” he said quickly before jumping into the Impala.

“Don’t be strangers,” said Sonny, as Dean started the car. “Come by and visit us whenever you pass through this neck of the woods.”

“We’ll do that,” answered Sam, wiping his mouth. “Take care.”

Katie stared dreamily at Sam, as the car backed up, then turned, and headed down the lane to the sound of Ted Nugent’s Cat Scratch Fever, which blared from the Impala’s speakers.

“Well, that’s that,” said Sonny, watching as the car rounded the corner and disappeared.

“I’m in love,” said his sister with a sigh.

“Damn, Katie. You don’t even know him!” replied Sonny in disgust.

“Sam’s my soul mate,” she responded in a faraway voice.

“You know, you always have to ruin what should’ve been a good brother-sister bonding moment. Them hormones are gonna get you in trouble one day,” he chastised, heading back to the driver side of his truck.

“Sonny Truluck - you don’t know a dang thing about love,” his sister snapped back.

“I know I love to embarrass you any chance I get,” he said as he opened up the door to his pickup. “You do know that you have a booger hanging out of your nose, don’t cha?”

“What?” Katie exclaimed, dashing to the driver’s side mirror of her Jeep.

Sonny chuckled as he started the engine of his truck. “Gets her every time,” he laughed, backing the vehicle out as his sister beat on the side of his truck, cursing at him for lying to her.

The events of that day left quite an impression on both Sonny and Katie. Their eyes were now opened to a world that they had never known existed. Little did the Winchesters know when they stopped over in that small Oklahoma town, that they would affect the lives of many, especially those in the Truluck family…


Chapter 8 - Epilogue

Three Years Later - Dothan, Alabama



The Impala came to a halt outside the deserted Homes of Merit manufacturing plant, a few miles out of town. From the intel that the Winchesters had been able to gather, all signs indicated that the large steel-framed building was the current lair of a hostile vampire gang that had been terrorizing the inhabitants of the small, southern town.

The doors of the car creaked open, as Sam and Dean exited the vehicle. They went to the trunk. The elder brother popped it open, and grabbed two machetes, one for the each of them.

“These are some bad-ass vamps, Sam. Let’s stick together,” said Dean in a take-charge voice, handing a weapon to his brother. “No hero crap, okay?”

“What do you mean ‘hero crap’?” answered the younger hunter in mock outrage. “If it hadn’t been for me, your sorry butt would’ve been ripped in two.” He paused. A thoughtful look came to his face. “Which reminds me - you never thanked me.”

Dean grabbed their last jar of Dead Man’s Blood before slamming the trunk closed. “What? You need validation now?” he replied with a sneer. “Gainesville was a long time ago.”

“It was two days ago!”

The elder hunter stopped, shoving the jar of blood into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Fine! Thank you, Sam for saving my ass,” Dean proclaimed, bowing before his sibling. “Happy, now?”

“Yeah, I think I am,” chortled Sam.

“Now that you’ve had your fun, it’s time to get down to business,” began Dean, as both brothers headed toward the warehouse. “These fuckers are bad news. We need to - ”

Several gunshots rang out, stopping Dean mid-sentence. The two hunters froze, their eyes scanning the empty parking lot and the shadows that lay beyond.

“They have guns?” whispered Dean, his eyes shifting to the machete clutched in his hand. Its blade was sharp, but it was still only a machete.

“Sounds like it,” answered Sam. “You think we should get the shotgun?”

“And do what? Shoot rock salt at ‘em?” replied Dean sarcastically.

“Why do you have to be such a dick?” complained the younger hunter.

“Who? Me?” queried Dean, his brows raised in question. “You’re outta your mind, Sammy. I’ve got my pistol,” he continued, pulling the weapon from the waistband of his jeans. “The bullets may not kill ‘em, but it’ll sure slow ‘em down.”

Dean then took off, motioning for his brother to follow.

Sighing heavily, Sam went after Dean, heading toward the seemingly vacant building.

The elder Winchester stood against the building, next to the door. With a nod of his head, his brother whipped the door open. With his gun at the ready, Dean leapt into the doorway, his eyes doing a quick survey of the immediate area.

They stealthily entered the former offices of the mobile home manufacturer. The area was dark except for a stream of light coming through a partially opened door at the end of the hall.

Believing that the immediate area was clear, the two men then followed the worn carpeted path of the hallway that lead to what they assumed was the warehouse part of the structure.

Sam gingerly opened the door at the end of the hallway, spilling light into the darkened hall. Two light bulbs, which only illuminated the immediate vicinity, dangled from the broken fixture above the doorway. Once again, Dean jumped onto the threshold with his weapon at the ready, scoping the area for any sign of vampires. Several single and doublewide mobile homes, in various stages of construction, filled the enormous room.

The Winchesters then proceeded into the warehouse, trying to stick to the shadows of the cavernous chamber. They quietly walked between two partially built homes, listening intently for any sounds.

They then heard a noise, but couldn’t clearly make out what it was. They stopped in their tracks, waiting and listening.

A severed head rolled out from underneath the home, striking Dean’s foot. He yelped, jumping backwards into Sam, startled by the sudden sight of the severed head.

Not a second later, a small figure appeared, standing in the shadows between the homes, opposite the Winchesters. A red beam of light hit Dean squarely between the eyes, a light that he knew was mounted on a rifle.

“Drop your weapons. NOW!” commanded a female voice.

Normally, Dean Winchester would attempt to talk his way out of such a situation, vampire or not, but knowing that that laser beam was fixed on him, on his head, turned him into one compliant puppy.

“Alright, alright,” he answered, slowly placing his gun and machete on the concrete floor. Sam mirrored his movements to a T.

“Keep your hands where I can see ‘em!” she demanded.

Both men raised their open palms over their heads.

Sam thought the voice sounded oddly familiar. Though her voice was coarse, venomous even, there was an underlying sweetness to it.

“Take it easy,” said Dean cautiously. “We’re unarmed.”

“Step back! Back!” she continued, slowly stepping forward with her weapon trained on Dean. “Hey, Sonny!” she then shouted over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving her captives. “Got two more over here!”

“I know that voice,” whispered Sam, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I said back!” the woman ordered yet again, the red dot still fixed on Dean’s forehead.

“Katie?” Sam then said. “Katie, is that you?”

The woman tensed up upon hearing her name. “Who the hell are you?” she snapped back.

“It’s me. Sam. Um, we fought the mermaids together, a few years back.”

“Sam?” she repeated.

“Yeah, it’s me and Dean.”

“Well, I’ll be,” she chuckled, lowering her weapon. She turned on a penlight flashlight, blinding the two brothers, who gave her an uncomfortable wave. “It is you.”

They could hear Sonny’s footfalls echoing through the warehouse, coming nearer. A second later, he rounded the corner behind the brothers. In his hand, he clutched a Kaiser blade, prepared to deliver a fatal blow.

“Hey! It’s okay, Sonny. It’s Sam and Dean,” announced his sister.

“No shit,” the boy answered breathlessly, lowering his weapon.

“Hey, Sonny,” said Sam, facing the kid and offering him a quick smile.

Katie then approached the two. “I can’t believe we’ve run into you after all this time. What are y’all doing here?”

“I think we should ask you the same,” said a relieved Dean, checking the young woman out. “What are you two, hunters now?”

“Damn straight,” replied Sonny proudly. “Y’all opened our eyes to a whole new world. We’ve been hunting all types of crazy creatures since that day on the Washita.”

“Yeah, we started out hunting mermaids along the rivers and then ran into all sorts of other… freaks of nature along the way,” chimed in Katie. “We took out a hundred and sixty-nine of those fishy critters. Tracked them all the way down to the gulf coast.”

“And now you’re hunting vampires,” commented a stunned Sam.

“Vampires, demons. Whatever crosses our path,” responded Sonny.

“Nice bayonet,” said Dean, admiring the wooden spike at the end of Katie’s rifle.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “Made it myself.”

“Yeah, out of my old little league bat,” added Sonny with a smirk.

Katie pushed Dean to the side, stepping before his brother. “So, how you doing, Sam?” She looked him over with her flashlight. “Mmm, mmm, you are looking mighty fine these days.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks. You too,” he answered, nervously scratching his neck. “So, you guys got everything under control here. Any vamps left for us?” asked Sam, trying to change the conversation.

“Nope. Every last one’s dead,” boasted Sonny. “Still gotta burn the bodies, though.” He then noticed the head. “Ah, there you are,” he chuckled, lifting the head from the floor by its hair. “You was one bad son of a bitch,” he said, staring into the lifeless eyes.

“Ew, Sonny. Just leave it alone,” said his sister in a disgusted voice. “Let the rats eat ‘em. I’m in no mood for dragging corpses around and burning ‘em.” She then turned her attention to Sam. “Hungry? Why don’t y’all let me cook you some supper?”

Sam’s eyes darted to Dean, warning him to keep his mouth shut.

“As tempting as that is, Katie, I think we need to get going - ” started Sam, before Dean interrupted him.

“ - Nonsense, Sammy. I’m starving.” Dean gleefully rubbed his hands together. “What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” answered a beaming Katie. “We got our fifth wheel over at KOA. Y’all can follow us over there.”

“But what about the bodies?” asked a grimacing Sonny. “We can’t just leave them here.”

“Just put the head down. Let the rats eat ‘em. They need nourishment too,” ordered his elder sibling.

Disappointed, Sonny flung the head down the aisle like a bowling ball.

“Rats eat vampires?” asked Dean, somewhat bewildered.

“Rats will eat anything, don’t you know that?” answered Katie, looking at Dean as if he were stupid. She shook her head. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of this place.”

“Y’all follow us,” said Sonny, slinging his weapon over his shoulder. “The campground’s only a few miles up the road.”

The four of them then left the warehouse. Sonny’s pickup, now painted in camouflage colors, was parked on the opposite side of the building. He and his sister climbed into the truck and headed out of the parking lot with Sam and Dean following behind in the Impala.

“I can’t believe you did that, Dean,” said an annoyed Sam.

“Oh, come on, Sammy. What’s the big deal? So the chick’s got the hots for you. I bet you could score.” He slapped his brother on the leg. “She wants you, man. Go for it!”

“You’re sick, you know that.”

“I’m a lot of things, Sam, but sick ain’t one of them,” laughed Dean, turning up the radio. Van Halen’s Ain’t Talking ‘Bout Love blasted through the speakers of the car. The elder hunter sang along, playfully nudging his brother whenever David Lee Roth belted out the chorus of the song.



“Come on in, come on in,” said Katie once she had unlocked the door to the fifth wheel. She opened the door, flicked on the light switch, then headed straight for the kitchen sink to wash her hands.

Sam, Dean and Sonny followed behind.

The elder Winchester let out an impressive whistle. “Man, you got some nice digs here.”

“Go on in, and make yourselves comfortable,” said Katie while lathering her hands.

Dean made a beeline for one of two recliners located at the far end of the camper. “It even has a fireplace!” continued the oldest hunter, as he sunk into the comfortable chair. “I didn’t know fifth wheels were this nice.”

“The newer ones are,” answered Sonny, who stood at the kitchen sink beside his sister, waiting for his turn to wash up. “It sure beats staying in old dumpy motels.”

The Winchester’s exchanged awkward glances. Dumpy motels had been home to the brothers for most of their lives.

While Katie busied herself preparing dinner, Sonny went to the living area of their home on wheels, carrying three beers.

“Here you go,” he said, handing each brother a cold one. He then plunked down on the couch.

“How do you guys pay for all this?” asked a curious Sam. “I mean, do your parents know what you’re up to?”

“Well,” started Sonny, his face flushing. “Yeah, I reckon so. I know you told us not to tell anyone about the whole mermaid incident, but after a few weeks of prodding, daddy finally got the story out of us. Him and momma were kinda shocked by what we had told ‘em.

“Any way, momma went to church to pray about it, and confided in Pastor Dave - he’s the head of the Methodist Church in our town. He prayed on it too, and then told her that the Lord had spoke to him in a dream and told him that we were chosen to do God’s work, to kill the wicked, the unholy, the children that the Book of Enoch talks about. You know about the Book of Enoch, don’t cha? That’s the one that the mainstream religions decided to remove from The Holy Bible ‘cause it talked about angels mating with mortal women and producing giants. Well, good ol Pastor Dave says that other creatures came about from those unholy unions - demons and whatnot. Says that this world is meant for man alone, not demons and monsters.

“So the Methodist Church decided to fund our ‘expeditions’.” Sonny’s fingers formed quotation marks as he said the word, ‘expeditions’. “We travel around the country, killing unholy creatures and the like. It’s been a trip.”

“You mean the church pays for this stuff,” said a dumbstruck Dean, wondering how to get in on that deal.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he answered. “Instead of the church building a new fellowship hall, they bought us this fifth wheel. There’s a select few in the congregation that know what me and Katie do, and they help out too. You know, modify our rifles and ammo, stuff like that.”

Once Katie had her pots on the stove, she joined the guys, taking a seat beside her brother on the couch.

“I’m impressed,” said Sam. “Hunting’s a tough gig, especially when you’re young. Don’t you guys want a normal life?”

“This is our destiny,” answered Katie. “It’s like we’re Buffy, except without the super-duper strength - ”

“I ain’t like no Buffy,” interjected Sonny indignantly. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” said his sister. “You’re more like Xander without that whole demon magnet thing going on.” She shifted her eyes to the Winchester brothers. “I swear, Buffy made it seem so easy to kill vampires. First time I tried to stake one - I couldn’t even penetrate his chest bone. Damn thing bit me too,” she added, pulling her blonde hair back and revealing the two little scars on her neck. “Hurt like hell.”

An amused Dean then said, “You know Buffy’s a fictional character, right?”

A frown came to Katie’s face. “Yeah, and the same thing can be said about vampires too, eh? There may be no Buffy Summers in a literal sense, but I’ve picked up the cause. I am Buffy. I’ve gone from Soybean Queen to Killer Queen,” she chortled. “But unlike her, I prefer shooting the bastards to fighting ‘em.”

Both Sam and Dean forced themselves not to laugh.

“You gotta forgive my sister,” remarked Sonny. “She’s a huge Buffy fan, as you probably noticed. She likes to hunt vampires, in particular. We’ve done a lot of our vampire research by watching old movies. Had to learn the hard way to separate fact from fiction.”

“Oh yeah,” said Sam, desperately trying not to burst out laughing. “Like what?”

Sonny thought for a moment. “Well, them crosses, for one thing. They don’t work on non-believers. I mean, if a vamp wasn’t a Christian in his former life, then crosses don’t work in his undead life.”

“Yeah,” answered Katie, nodding in agreement. “We even came across a Jewish vampire gang and thought that maybe the Star of David would repel them.” She let out a heavy sigh. “It didn’t.”

Sam and Dean burst out laughing upon hearing that. Sonny and Katie joined in, thinking how ridiculous their conversation would seem to anyone that happened to overhear them.

Once the laughter died down, Sonny said, “You know, I never thought we’d see you fellas again. Never thought I’d be sitting here drinking a beer with the infamous Winchester brothers.”

Sam’s brows shot up. “You know who we are?” he asked.

“You can’t be a hunter and not know who the Winchesters are!” proclaimed Katie with a smile. “Y’all are famous, in the underworld, at least.”

Dean smiled smugly. “Check it out, Sammy, we’re famous.”

“We hooked up with Stevie Gorman about a year ago,” added Sonny.

“Yeah? Stevie?” remarked Dean, surprised by that revelation. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“He was quite a fellow. Taught us a lot,” answered Sonny with a sigh.

“Was?” queried Sam.

“He’s dead,” added Katie somberly. “Two months ago, outside Toledo. A demon literally ripped his head off.” She closed her eyes. “I never saw so much blood,” she whispered with a shudder.

“Oh, man,” said a stunned Dean. “I didn’t know.”

“We burned his body on a pyre, as is custom with hunters,” said Sonny. “Even played his favorite song - ”

“ - Shooting Star,” interjected Dean sadly. “Stevie always loved Bad Company. That sucks that he’s gone. The world lost one hell of hunter.”

“That it did,” answered Sonny. “That it did.”

“A toast - to Stevie,” Dean then said, lifting his bottle of Michelob. “To Stevie. He’ll be missed.”

“To Stevie,” repeated the others before taking drinks of their beers.

The hunters spent the rest of the evening eating and exchanging stories of past battles. They all made a vow to help one another should the need ever arise.

Later that night, in the wee hours of the morning, the Winchester’s and Truluck’s parted ways, each sibling team doing their part to protect humanity from the evil that roamed the earth.
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