… Lowman's Motel …

The door swung open and a man entered carrying a six-pack of Pabst Blue-Ribbon under one arm with two candy bars, still in their wrappers, hanging from his teeth.

"Oowwn nnnynng?"

Sam looked up from his laptop as his brother set his keys and the beer on the dresser and let the candy bars fall next to them.

"Well, have you?"

The man at the table blinked as his brother handed him a beer.

"Excuse me?"

"Have you found anything?"

Scrolling back to the top of the Peninsula Daily News webpage, Sam spun the laptop around.

"I think so. Forks, Washington. Mutilated animal carcasses."

His brother ran his hand over the track-pad on the laptop and quickly scanned the article, not really picking anything up before sitting on the nearest of the two beds.

"Cattle mutilations? Horses, maybe?"

"No, actually, mountain lions and grizzlies."

Dean frowned and waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

"Mountain lions … and bears," he muttered, twisting the cap off his own beer and sitting back against the headboard. "Oh, my."

Sam rolled his eyes and returned to the website.

"I don't see why it's our problem, Sammy. Animals maul other animals. It's just nature."

"Dean, they're not just mutilated. They're … dried-out."

"Dried-out?"

"Yeah, and fast, too. One of the lions was tagged, and was alive and well one day. They found his shredded carcass the next, completely withered. There are a couple also, though, that people have found dead and opened, but only dry in their extremities, as though whatever did it was interrupted or something."

"Are you really so bored here in beautiful," he paused to read the motel stationary, " 'Smithville' that you're asking me to investigate some "mysterious" cougar jerky in Washington? It's probably just some overgrown hillbilly, tired of the old lady's pot roast."

Sam navigated to another website and nodded, "Maybe, but maybe not, and … it's not just a couple, Dean. The Washington Department of Natural Resources has kept an ongoing investigation for almost five years. They've got nothing on this thing."

"This thing," the elder repeated with a measure of disdain.

"We've checked out less."

Dean finished his beer and tossed the bottle into the bin between the beds. Looking back at Sam, he was met with an inquisitive stare.

"So?"

"Forks, Washington," he grumbled. "Sure, I guess."

… Highway 110, North of Forks, Washington …

"Yeah, thanks, Bobby. Later."

Sam pocketed his cell-phone and twisted to reach into the backseat. He returned with a tattered leather journal and began flipping pages.

"What'd Bobby say?"

"He says he's heard of similar mutilations, but different animals and in Alaska; bison and brown bear … the occasional moose."

"Did he say who was doing it?"

"No. Alaskan conservationists aren't investigating anything openly and it seems to be more of a hotspot for paranormal groups."

"Great. A bunch of space-cases. What are you looking for in Dad's journal?"

"His entry on cattle mutilations. Here it is. And he references a 1923 article from a Wisconsin Wildlife journal about bobcat carcasses found drained of blood."

"What else does it say?"

"That's it. Guess he never gave it too much thought, either."

… Olympic National Park …

The skin was drawn tight; the mouth caught gaping open and the eyes wide and dull. The spine and ribcage were easily observed and a shriveled tongue hung from between its yellowed teeth. The head was posed at an awkward angle, presumably due to a broken neck.

Dean nudged it with his foot.

"Hello, kitty."

Sam ran his hand over the bristled fur on the animal's back. At his touch, the hairs broke away from the skin, dry and dead. He cast his brother a wary look, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"She looks a little underweight," Dean observed.

"He, you mean," Sam corrected, gesturing vaguely with a knife he'd pulled from inside his jacket pocket.

"My mistake." Dean studied the corpse and said, "I thought the bodies were ripped apart? This one seems pretty intact."

"Yeah," said Sam, standing. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking it starved to death."

Sam almost laughed and shook his head. "Dude, starved to death? Out here? In a forest?"

"It could happen."

"Sure, it could," Sam mumbled incredulously. "That, Dean, would be supernatural."

Kneeling beside the carcass again, Sam pressed the blade into the space between two ribs. There was a hollow tooft as the chest cavity was punctured. He opened a space big enough to look inside. When he withdrew his knife, a cloud of dust and the musty stench of dried tissue came with it. The knife had pierced through what used to be the cougar's right lung, but for all it looked now, it could have been an old sponge, forgotten and left in a dusty corner.

"I think he needs to wet his whistle," Dean mumbled, crouching low and examining the opening.

Sam frowned and stood up.

"I don't know of anything that dries a body out like this."

"And leaves the skin intact? You mean, besides aliens?"

Sam ignored him and went on, "It had to drain from somewhere."

Taking hold of one of the legs of the creature, Dean lifted it a bit to look at the underside of the body. Something caught his eye and he rolled the corpse onto its other side. There was a gaping bite wound just above the big cat's shoulder.

"I don't think it's a hillbilly."

When they returned to where they'd parked their car, they found a tall Native American man leaning against the hood. He stood straight when he saw them.

"Um, can we help you?" Dean asked as he approached.

"My name is Jacob Black. I saw you with the lion."

"You know anything about it?"

"There have been others like it; several, over time. A ten-minute hike through those trees," he nodded in the direction he indicated, but the two men didn't follow his gaze, "would lead you to a bear that met a similar fate."

"Have you seen who does it?" Sam asked. "What they look like?"

"Are you so sure it's human?" asked Jacob

Sam shook his head and shrugged.

"Just asking questions."

"Have you seen it?" Dean repeated.

The Native American smiled.

"I have seen flashes of them through the tress. They move pretty fast when they hunt."

The brothers exchanged a look just before a cell-phone started to ring. Dean fished it out of his pocket and said, "It's Bobby. Hello?"

He put a hand to his open ear and strained to hear.

"You're cutting out. I'll call you when we get back to town." He closed the phone and as he turned back to the car, said, "So, Jac—"

He was gone.