Just so's ya know: Sam and Dean are not my characters, I'm just borrowing them for this story. Names and locations are chosen at random; any connection they have to actual people are entirely coincidental. The views expressed by characters in the story are not necessarily the views of the author. Also: cuss words are blanked out a bit, though some minor profanities may have slipped past my censoring radar.


It was dark. The room was quiet. Outside, frogs croaked and insects chirped, but their melancholy chorus did not reach through the window.

Something else did.

The butterfly curtains fluttered as though coming alive, but what caused them to stir was far from living.

Melissa huddled under her blankets. She knew what was coming. She could feel it like ice creeping into her body, even as he crept into the room, melting through the closed window, soundless as snowfall.

A figure darker than the night and shifting like shadow slipped into the room. It was the third night he had come, but it would be the last. Tonight, he would take what he had come for.

Melissa felt the hand pull back her blankets. Her scream was lost before it ever touched the silence, and her eyes rolled back and closed as she tumbled into spinning black nothingness.

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The motel door banged shut and Sam jumped. He had been so focused on his computer that he hadn't heard the familiar roar of the Impala pulling up outside, or the jingle of keys as Dean opened the door. Sam watched as his brother sauntered over, a greasy paper bag in his hand and a huge grin on his face.

"You'll never guess what I found for breakfast," Dean said, plopping the bag down on the table next to Sam's computer.

Sam eyed the bag distastefully. "Something bacon-filled or bacon-wrapped and dripping heart-attack, going by the grease seeping out of it," he said dryly.

"That, my brother, is a pork sausage smothered in three different kinds of cheese, covered in bacon and stuffed inside a deep-fried pretzel log. The place I got it, they call it a breakfast torpedo. I call it a masterpiece." Dean sank into the only other chair at the small table, fished out the aluminum-foiled food and unwrapped it.

"Wow," Sam said. "My arteries are clogging just looking at it."
"Aw, that's just jealousy talking," Dean said, taking a huge bite. This thing was more than a masterpiece. It was legendary.

Around the mouthful, he mumbled, "Don't worry, I got you one too."

"Yeah, you mean you got a second one so you could have it when I didn't want it," Sam replied.

Dean swallowed and grinned, saying, "You know me so well," before digging back in. Mouth full, he asked, "So did you find anything about that missing girl?"

The words came out nearly unintelligible. Luckily Sam had become quite adept over the years at deciphering 'Dean-talking-with-mouth-full' speech, and he understood. Dean was referring to the girl mentioned in the newspaper they had picked up earlier that morning, suspecting it might be a possible case.

The Winchesters had just been passing through town, waiting for the road to lead them to a new job as it always did, when a quick stop at a gas station in Middletown, Maryland had convinced them to hang around awhile longer.

The bold letters of the word 'MISSING' on the margin of a newspaper's front page had caught Sam's attention on his way to the register. He grabbed a copy and skimmed the article. Another child reported missing… Seven year old Melissa Davis vanished from her bedroom without a trace…third child to go missing in the last few days…police have found no evidence of foul play in any of the cases….

It was enough; Sam bought the paper.

And so here they were, in another crappy motel room, Sam nose-deep in online reports, Dean nose-deep in fast food.

Shaking his head at his brother's barbaric eating habits, Sam carefully slid his laptop well out of range of the cheese oozing from the pretzel log."It's not just the one girl who's gone missing. And yeah, it sounds like our kinda job."

Dean raised his eyebrows in question, too busy eating for words.

Sam took the meaning and elaborated. "Including the girl mentioned in the paper, three kids have disappeared from Middletown in the past week. According to this article they were taken sometime during the night, right out of their bedrooms. Now this other report I found says the police aren't even willing to call them kidnappings yet because there's no evidence of breaking and entering; they think they're looking for runaways. But whatever's going on here, three kids are missing, all around the same age, all from security enabled homes, all gone with no trace whatsoever. It's not much, but I think it's worth checking out."

Dean balled up the empty aluminum foil and nodded. "Alright, so what're we thinking? Changeling? Shtriga?"

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Well, if it's a changeling, then it's kind of forgetting the whole 'taking the kid's place' part. And a shtriga wouldn't take the kids. It'd just feed off them right there and leave."

Dean tossed the ball into the trash bin. "So what you're saying is we have no idea what could've taken the kids, assuming something did take them, or what it might've done with 'em, or what it might be doing to them right now, so there's no time to waste sitting around eating breakfast torpedoes."

"Yeah, that about sums it up."

With a regretful sigh, Dean pushed his chair away from the table, leaving the uneaten deep-fried legend untouched in the bag.

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"Well that was a waste of time," Dean said. He and Sam were walking out of the sheriff's department all decked out in their 'fed threads,' having just finished talking to the local sheriff.

As usual, Dean had wanted to skip the formalities and go straight to questioning the families, but Sam, being the rule-abiding FBI impersonator that he was, had insisted they check in with the local authorities first. Going around asking questions as federal agents without the cops even knowing they were here would look pretty suspicious. Besides, Sam figured they might have more information on the missing kids.

But the didn't. Besides learning the sheriff's name (Sheriff Emily Reid) and that she thought it was a terrible shame what was going on, the police hadn't been much help. Like the report said, the cops thought they were dealing with a bunch of runaways, despite the fact that a over a week had passed since the first disappearance and there was still no sign of the children.

As they headed back to the Impala, Sam glanced through one of the files Sheriff Reid had given him. It was all the information they had on the first disappearance, a measly two pages: a report from the officers investigating the incident and a statement from the child's parents. But why would there be any more information? As far as the cops were concerned, no crime had been committed, and these kids would turn up when they got tired of their little game.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean said as they got into the car. "Maybe this isn't our thing. The cops seem pretty convinced nothing strange's going on." He started the engine and cranked up the air conditioning. It was already freakishly hot out, and the cheap suit wasn't helping.

"Yeah, I guess…" Sam said, but trailed off, distracted by what he was reading. "Huh," he said, finding something interesting.

"What?" Dean asked. Sam didn't answer, too absorbed in another file. Dean groaned. "Come on, man, it's freakin' hot as hell out. Are we ditching these sweat suits or what?"

"You tell me," Sam said. He handed Dean one of the files, the one for Clark Garner, the second kid to go missing. Sam pointed to a section of Mrs. Garner's statement. "Read that. It sounds like there's more going on here than anyone's willing to admit."

Dean wasn't in the mood to read anything. As far as he was concerned, this case was a bust. He was already looking forward to cruising out of this town, windows rolled down with the radio turned up. Anyway, reading junk was generally Sammy's thing, nerd that he was.

But even though he was pretty sure his brother was grasping at straws to avoid admitting he was wrong, Dean looked at the report anyway.

'I put Clark to bed like I always do,' the file said. 'There was nothing out of the ordinary. He asked to stay up longer, there was something he wanted to watch on TV.' Dean was already bored. He skipped ahead. That's when he saw what had gotten Sam's attention. 'Clark hadn't been sleeping well lately. He said he was scared of something in his room, something that came through the window while he was trying to sleep'

Dean sat up straighter. Something was coming into the boy's room at night? "Alright, that's definitely weird," he admitted. "But how do we know it wasn't just this kid's imagination? Is there anything like this in the other reports?"

"Not for Victor Burke, the first boy to go missing, but Melissa Davis's mom mentioned that Melissa had started having nightmares two days before she disappeared. If there really is something supernatural going on, I'll bet Victor's parents have a similar story that they didn't think to mention to the police." Sam took back the file and gave his brother a 'come-on-we-should-at-least-check-this-out' look.

Dean sighed loudly. "Fine. But if this turns out to be a wild goose chase, you owe me a breakfast torpedo."

"You seriously want another one of those things?" Sam said, then sighed. "Alright, but it's your funeral."

Dean grinned and put the car in drive. "Now where's this Victor kid live?"

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The Burke house was on the edge of the suburbs and was exactly the kind of house you'd expect to see there: two story, brick and white siding, two-car garage, yard neatly kept up to Homeowner's Association standards. A strip of lawn on either side separated it from the neighboring houses, which were built in roughly the same style.

This was the kind of neighborhood where everybody sees everything, Sam thought as they pulled up to the curb. You probably couldn't leave the light on in your kitchen at night without some neighbor noticing. So how did a seven year old just disappear without someone seeing something, especially with all the porch lights and street lamps around?

Hopefully they were about to find out.

The brothers climbed the three steps to the front door. Sam rang the doorbell while Dean pulled irritably at his shirt collar, wishing feds didn't have to be so dxxn well-dressed all the time.

Footsteps pounded inside the house and the door was flung open. A woman in her early thirties peered anxiously out, her dark hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and mascara smudged under her red-rimmed blue eyes. For a moment, hope flared in those eyes, only to die out as she realized that it wasn't her child waiting at the door.

Sam couldn't help but feel guilty; this woman had probably been desperate to hear the doorbell ring, and instead of her little boy finally returning home she found two agents waiting to tell her they had no idea where her son was.

"Mrs. Burke?" Sam asked.

"Yes?" she said, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of her t-shirt.

The 'agents' held up their badges.

"I'm Agent Stark, this is Agent Colson," Dean said (Sure, the names might be more easily recognized than the members of a rock band, but Dean thought it was totally worth it. Because come on; Iron Man was awesome.) "We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay."

Mrs. Burke's eyes darted between them. "I already talked to the police. What's this about?"

"Nothing to worry about," Sam assured her. "We're just looking for a little more information on what happened the night Victor went missing."

"You know, details that might help us find your son," Dean added.

Those were the magic words. "Of course. Please come in." Mrs. Burke stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

She showed them to the living room and gestured for them to take a seat on the couch while she dropped into an armchair. Sam glanced around the room, noting the various family photos. His eyes landed on a framed picture of a seven year old riding a pony. He recognized Victor from the picture in the boy's file.

Mrs. Burke followed Sam's gaze and smiled sadly. "One of Victor's friends had pony rides at their birthday party," she said. "Victor was so excited. He loves animals. That was just a few weeks before he… before…" Mrs. Burke covered her mouth, too emotional to continue.

"Mrs. Burke, we're going to do everything we can to find Victor and bring him home safely," Sam said gently, trying to reassure her. Under less serious circumstances, Dean would've had to stop himself from gagging. It wasn't that he was unsympathetic; he wanted to get these kids back to their families just as much as his brother. But Sam could be so sappy sometimes, it really was a little nauseating.

The distraught mother sniffed and wiped her eyes. "It's just been so hard, especially with the other kids going missing too. Clark and Melissa are friends of Victor's; they've spent so much time over here I feel like they're practically mine."

"Victor is friends with the other vic—uh, kids who went missing?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Clark Garner, Melissa Davis, Daniel Russell, Caitlin Jacobs, and a few others. They're quite the little bunch of troublemakers. I think that's partly why the police think they ran away, like the three of them made some plan to run off together."

"I hate to ask, but you don't think that's what could've happened?" Sam said.

"Of course not," Mrs. Burke said. "Victor would never just take off like that. I mean, it's possible the other two did, but not my son. Someone took him. I know it."

"We believe you," Sam quickly assured her. "That's why we're here. Now if there's anything you can tell us about the night Victor was kidnapped, it would help us find him faster."

She crossed her arms. "Like what? I already told the police everything."

"Think back," Dean said. "Was there anything strange about that night? Anything weird, maybe otherworldly, or, I don't know, supernatural?"

Mrs. Burke stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Sam shot his brother a look. "What he means is, did you notice anything unusual when you put Victor to bed? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No," Mrs. Burke said, shaking her head. "I mean, there was something, but nothing that could possibly have anything to do with…"

Sam leaned forward. "Anything you can tell us would help. No matter how unrelated it may seem."

"Well, it was just…Victor didn't want to go to bed. He begged me to let him stay up longer, and when I told him no, he ran to my bedroom and insisted that he sleep in my bed. I told him he was too old for that, but he wouldn't listen. I practically had to drag him to bed. If I'd known what was going to happen, I never would've…"

She broke off, trying to compose herself.

"I take it that wasn't normal for him," Dean said.

Mrs. Burke shook her head. "He outgrew the monster under his bed when he was four," she said with a tearful smile. "Until about a week before he went missing, he was this brave little boy, not scared of anything. Then out of the blue he started having nightmares, saying there was something in his room that wanted to hurt him. He was afraid to go to sleep at night."

"This thing, did he say what it looked like?" Dean pressed.

Mrs. Burke looked puzzled. "He said it was a 'shadow person,' I think, too dark to see its face."

"Just one more question, Mrs. Burke," Sam said. "Did Victor happen to say how the thing got into the room?"

"Um, yes. He said it came through the window every night once I left his room."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"But what does that have to do with anything?" Mrs. Burke said. "Why are you asking me these questions? You don't actually think-"

"Of course not, ma'am." Dean said quickly, giving her a convincing grin. "We just like to be thorough. You never know what might turn out to help the investigation."

Mrs. Burke didn't look convinced, but she didn't say anything.

Hoping to escape from her suspicious gaze, Sam said, "Do you mind if we take a look at Victor's room?"

"Oh. No, not at all," she said, surprised by the sudden change in subject. "It's just down the hall."

Mrs. Burke led them to Victor's bedroom and excused herself to make a phone call. Sam had a feeling she didn't want to face her son's empty room. This worked for them though, as it would have been hard to explain why the FBI was using electromagnetic frequency readers.

After double-checking that Mrs. Burke had left, Sam nodded to Dean, who pulled out an EMF reader and began walking around the room. At first, the device was silent except for a few blips of feedback, but as Dean neared the window, it went wild.

"Looks like you were right about this one after all, Sammy," Dean said as he bent to examine the window.

"No need to sound so surprised," Sam muttered. He was busy looking over the rest of the room. As far as he could tell, there was nothing strange or out of place to suggest what had taken Victor. Animal posters covered the walls, toys spilled out of the closet, plastic dinosaurs rode the dresser. Nothing weird at all.

Then he noticed the drawing on the kid's activity table. Among several doodles of elephants was a picture so black Sam wasn't sure at first what he was looking at. Then the frenzied lines took shape. The result was chilling: a human figure, darker than demon eyes, looming in scribbled black shadows. The drawing stood out from the others like a mourner at a parade.

Sam was starting to get a pretty good idea of what they were hunting. He was about to show Dean the picture when his brother called him over.

"Hey Sam, check this out."

Something dark and slick was smeared on the wall underneath the windowsill. Dean poked at it and grimaced as the slimy stuff clung to his finger. Ectoplasm. There wasn't much of it there, but it was enough to confirm Sam's suspicion.

Dean looked up at Sam over his shoulder and voiced what both of them were thinking. "Looks like we've got a ghost on our hands."


Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Next one's coming soon. All questions, comments, and constructive criticism are extremely welcome. (It also inspires me to write faster, so...hint hint ;)