A/N: This is the first fanfiction story I ever wrote, so please don't hate me for it. I'm not really sure why I'm posting it, I just am. Hope it's enjoyed. (Remember, it's the first piece of crap I ever wrote, so be kind!)

Chapter One

Sam Winchester was in trouble. Serious trouble. He also knew that, at the moment, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't see or hear his current enemy, but he felt it, looming ominously around him, ready to attack at any moment. It had been three days, three very long days, the evil growing stronger with each passing moment. The evil that was infecting his brother. The evil that is called boredom. The boredom turning Dean Winchester into a potential powder keg ready to blow.

"Sam, you've had three days to find us another gig, are you telling me that you still haven't come up with anything yet? You've been trolling that internet like a blood-starved vampire in the tampon aisle!"

"Dude, that's sick. Do you ever think before you speak, or do you just have diarrhea of the mouth?"

"Diarrhea in the mouth? And you call me sick! Come on man, tell me you've found something. I'm going stir crazy in this town, and now that we're up and running again, I want to haul ass ASAP! Just give me a direction and I'm there!"

Stir crazy was an understatement for Dean Winchester. They rolled into Benton, Kentucky (population 435) three days ago with a bad alternator and even worse attitudes, a couple of bad hunts to blame. Not that Benton was all bad, just wasn't anything good for a Winchester. The town consisted of two gas stations, neither of which had an alternator for Dean's baby, four banks (why does a town of 435 need four banks?), one grocery store, one motel, two diners, and twelve churches (12?). That's the south though, church on every corner instead of a Starbucks. And the topper of it all, Benton was in a dry county. That means, no bars. Which means NOTHING to do, for a Winchester that is.

The gas station attendant had to order the part for the Impala. They don't keep any parts in stock, as Dean was told. They just had gas, and snacks, and cigarettes. That took two days, and by the time it was finally delivered, Billy Joe Jim Bob (or whatever the hell his name was) had already gone home for the day. To make matters worse, the next day was Sunday. Nothing opens up on Sunday in a town like this, except church. Dean was ready to kill something, anything by this time. He had no release of any kind, no hunt, no bars, no nothing. Just Sam. Bad news for Sam.

"I've been everywhere the internet has in the last three days, I swear, there's been nothing. Absolutely nothing." Sam stated, knowing that wasn't what his brother wanted to hear.

"You've got to be kidding me, come on GeekBoy, I know you can find something. I'm even willing to save wayward cats from trees at this point," Dean was obviously ready to blow any second.

"Dean, do you ever relax, some day, you're gonna have an aneurysm or a stroke or …….." Sam's comment broken up by the obnoxious sound of the laptop screeching "You've got mail" echoing through the small room.

"What, is it, sending you their latest videos to watch? Boot 'em up dude, I'm desperate."

"Ha, Ha, Ha. You're friggin hilarious. Thank God you can laugh at your own jokes. At least someone does." With that, Dean gave Sam the old one finger salute. And Sam gave it right back, double fisted to boot.

Sam clicked on the e-mail he'd received, trying to block out his brothers voice. He hated being around Dean when he was like this. Sam had a lot of patience, and only his brother could grate on his nerves this way.

"Hmm, this is interesting, Poplar Grove, Illinois, seems there are two men dead and two missing in the last four weeks. All under mysterious circumstances. The first one cut off his own head with a sickle, the second hung himself from the roof of an abandoned farmhouse."

"How the hell do you cut your own head off? How the hell is that even possible?" Dean had seen a lot, but never someone cutting off their own head.

"It says here that Andy Wright and his buddy Kevin Ratliff were screwing around cow tipping. They got separated in a corn field, both ended up wandering up to the same abandoned farmhouse. Kevin found Andy in the barn with the sickle in his hand, said something about some really hot chick with the long, black hair, told him to do it, and lopped off his head. Cops believe him because Andy had a death grip on the sickle and Kevin had no blood on him. They figured if he did it, there would have to be blood somewhere. Second guy, Mark Bruno and his friend Dan Burke, were riding four-wheelers when they also got separated. Mark ended up at the same farmhouse, but by the time Dan got there, he was already on the roof, screaming something about the bitch with the long black hair telling him to do it. The other two guys went missing within the same square mile of the two that did themselves in, although no evidence of them turned up at said farmhouse. Poplar Grove only has a population of 1734. All four of them were local residents."

"Sounds more like 1730. So, what do you think? Some pissed off spirit in the farmhouse wanting to do men in?" Dean's eyes lit up, maybe they actually had something to do now, something to kill. "And what the hell is cow tipping?"

"Cow tipping, you know, running up to a cow and knocking it over when it's sleeping. Jeez Dean, we've been in enough small towns for you to know that, haven't we?"

"Sounds like a lotta fun, remind me to try it some day, with some really heavy boots on. Back to business, any ideas?"

"The farmhouse has no evil, bad, or supernatural history, whatever. Last family that lived there sold the land to a real estate development company two years ago. They are trying to build new homes on the iste, much to the dismay of the locals. Besides, this guy Dan Burke thinks he may have seen the mystery woman. Police don' believe him though, thinks all the trauma was making him see things."

"Let me guess, physical description a little unbelievable?" Dean rolled his eyes. He would believe it, more than likely.

"From the desciption the guy gave, looks like a ciguapa."

"A who a whatta uh?"

"A ciguapa. It's a creature originating from the Dominican Republic. They are legendary women that live in the high mountains in the Dominican Republic. They are nocturnal, they come out at night to look for food. It says that these women's feet are backwards, so you can never quite tell where the footprints came from. In some cases, people believe that they bring death, and are warned not to look them in the eye. Ciguapa is a magical being, beautiful in appearance to some, yet horrendous to others. All say they are wild creatures. They are compared to a mermaid--beautiful and cruel, they are far from innocent. They are said to have brown skin and black eyes, with smooth glossy hair the length of their bodies, They wear their hair as their clothes. Extremely deceitful, she is said to be so beautiful that men follow her into the forest, even though following her tracks is very difficult as her footprints point in the opposite direction. She is followed because of the promise that a beautiful woman is waiting. They say that if you do come across a ciguapa and look into its eyes, she will bewitch you and you forever will be under her power. The legend also says that ciguapas used to seduce men to have sex with them and then kill them."

"Jeez Sammy, you get that all off Wikipedia? You sounded like an f'n encyclopedia there for a second. Now, speak to me in English, you think one of these is in Illinois? Come on, that's a little far-fetched, even for us don't you think? Naked Dominican chick wearing nothing but hair killing men in Illinois? Like a supernatural Lady Godiva. Who the hell sent you that e-mail anyway?"

"The same person that sent us the poltergeist in Cleveland, the vampire in Lake Geneva, the werewolf in Des Moines, and the gwyllion in Gary. That was all sound information, and probably the easiest hunts we've ever had. Finished those hunts without a scratch. We even knew who the werewolf was before we got there, we just had to go in and take it out."

"Yeah, and who is this person that seems to be looking out for our best interests? It isn't Bobby, he would just call, and there aren't that many people out there we can trust anymore. So, spill it Sam, who is our little informant?"

"Does it really matter. Says all we need to do is find it and decapitate it. End of story. You wanted a hunt, here it is."

"I want to know who keeps feeding us information on hunts Sam. Did the thought ever occur to you that they may be feeding us this information because they are setting a trap for us? Send us detailed info on a few so that they end up easy, we start trusting them, then send us one that isn't really a hunt at all. Only a hunter would know all that shit to pass along to us. And let's face it, the hunters aren't exactly on our side lately, are they."

"Dean, stop being paranoid. We can trust the information we're getting. I know we can."

"How do you know we can Sam. Speaking of that gwyllion hunt? You ever hear of one of those before, because I sure haven't. There was absolutely no information about that thing in dad's journal, and yet, someone knew all about that thing. I just went ahead and trusted that information because it came from you Sam. I didn't know it came from some e-mail. "Who, besides Bobby, can we really trust anymore?" Dean's ears were getting red now which was a sign that he was getting really pissed now. Sam wasn't answering a simple question that didn't require a lot of thought to answer. All Dean wanted was a name, and Sam of all people should live under the same mantra Dean did, TRUST NO ONE! Dean had had enough of this game, and in one quick move, faster than Sam could close the windows on his screen, Dean was behind him, grabbing the laptop off the table and out of his hands.

"What the hell Dean, what is your problem?"

"I wanna see who's been sending you all the 411 Sam, and since you won't tell me, I'm gonna find out myself. Let's see, the messages are from……..Lou. You've been talking to Lou? When the hell did you two start talking again?" Dean's hands were shaking and he was visibly shocked and angry now. Sam was starting to think he was going to throw the laptop across the room any second now.

"After Dad. I figured someone needed to deliver the news, and I thought it should be one of us. Since the two of you aren't on speaking terms anymore, I knew it had to be me."

"And you just couldn't let Bobby do it? It's not like we didn't have enough to deal Sam. And I bet the two of you've been talking ever since, right?"

"Yeah, we have. And I don't see what the problem is anyway. We practically grew up together, and you weren't exactly easy to talk to then, were you. You shut me out after dad died. You didn't want to talk about it, you didn't want to hear it. You even punched me when I brought it up. I needed someone to talk to that would understand. You vented to Gordon, I vented to Lou. Lou loved dad as much as we did, and was a pretty good hunter once. I could talk to Lou when we were kids, and I still can now. I'm sorry if you have a problem with that Dean. You two used to be close too. What the hell happened between the two of you, anyway. You just suddenly turned off the switch like Lou never existed. You may be able to do that, but I can't."

"We didn't practically grow up together. Lou was already grown up when met."

"Lou was 12, you were 5, and I was 1.. Only in your world is 12 grown up Dean. So I guess, I grew up with Lou. You did whatever your twisted Dean mind did then."

"Sam, you're pushing it…."

"Maybe I am, but you're problems with Lou aren't mine, so, unless you have a good reason why we shouldn't talk, shut up, start loading the car, and let's go. We've got a hunt."

Shocked look on his face, Dean just looked at Sam, threw the laptop on the bed, turned around, grabbed the door knob, and started out the door. "You load the fucking car, I'm going for a walk." And with that, he slammed the door, leaving Sam alone in the room.

"That went well."