chapter two – this coming darkness…

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Travelling the one hundred plus miles to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, took almost twenty-four hours. Lisa didn't even bother with the highways, but still, all roads except for dirt tracks and scrub infested lanes were jammed with cars and people on foot – fleeing to, and from, God knows where.

Lisa kept a large can of pepper-spray and a loaded gun in her lap at all times. She knew how to use the weapon – a slim 22. calibre that wouldn't be very accurate from any kind of distance but was more than useful up close. It was the type of gun a single mother one her own should have. Small, light, and hours on the practise range had drained her fear of the loathsome things.

Even so, she was grateful that she hadn't had to fire it yet. On the two occasions she'd been accosted on the road, both times by drifter types looking for trouble, the very sight of it was enough to dispel any interest they might have in her.

Finding the place she wanted proved simpler than she'd hoped. A sign posted on the side of the underpass led her straight to it. A salvage yard on the outskirts of the town. The home of Bobby Singer.

Lisa only knew the name from a brief conversation with Dean when they first met. She'd asked him where he lived, and Dean had laughed, telling her his address was the open road. She'd called him an idiot who sounded like a character lifted from Kerouac. When she pressed him further, Dean had told her that if she ever needed to get hold of him, the best thing to do was leave a message with Bobby Singer, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

The gate, a huge corrugated iron monstrosity had been ripped off it's hinges. Her father had owned a salvage yard, once upon a time. As a child, Lisa had spent many happy hours clambering in and out of the husks of discarded cars – turning the metal heaps into ivory towers where she would wait for her own Prince Charming. He never came, of course, but it was fun nonetheless.

However, driving through the crowded lot in the dwindling dusk, Lisa felt like she was passing through a graveyard where the skeletons had been hauled from the ground and stacked, one on top of the other. There was an air of abandonment and… death… about the place.

She parked in front of the simple wooden house at the far end, and got out of her car. Holding the gun in one hand, and the pepper spray in the other, she mounted the steps to the front door. This too, had been wrenched from it's place.

The interior was choked with looming shadows. Passing through the living room, Lisa caught the pungent scent of sulphur in the air. The furniture had been overturned and, in most cases, ripped to shreds. Shelves and bookcases had been hauled to the ground, and the windows were smashed in.

A single wheelchair, it's back-rest sipped to shreds, lay on it's side in the corner of the room.

"Hello?" Lisa called out, without knowing why.

The place was almost certainly deserted. Still, this was her only link to finding Dean, and she'd lose nothing by having a look around.

Stepping through the living room into a cramped hallway, Lisa started to gag. There was a long smear of blood, dried over and cloaked with flies, on the wall. She hurried past and the flies took to the sky in a swarm around her head.

Turning at the first door she came to, Lisa found herself in the kitchen. Here, there was less evidence of the fight that had obviously taken place in the other room.

There were dishes, cleaned and stacked, next to the sink. On the table, a bottle of whiskey, half drunk, and a pile of scattered books. They looked old, with leather-bound covers and fading yellow pages.

Along one wall, next to a window, was a bank of phones. They had labels taped to them: Police. FBI. Fed. Marhsal.

Lisa wasn't even going to guess what the phones were for. Her interest was piqued by a note taped next to the phone marked Health Dept.. It bore a series of names, with phone numbers scribbled next to them. Most of the names, such as Daniel, Rufus, Ellen, John, had neat lines drawn through them. One name, though, didn't – Winchester.

Her heart suddenly pounding with excitement, Lisa whipped out her cellphone. Flipping it open, she swore.

Cell Service Unavailable.

"Dammit!"

Grabbing the nearest of the hard-line phones, Lisa punched in the number, hoping against hope that wherever Dean was, he would have cell reception. The phone rang for an interminably long time before she heard a click, and suddenly, Dean's voice.

"Hey, it's me. Talk when it tells you to."

Lisa heard a beep. She took a breath.

"Dean, it's me, Lisa," she said, "God, I hope you get this. I'm at Bobby Singer's house. I don't know what happened here. It looks like there was a fight, and… there's blood… Dean, please, wherever you are just… call me. Find me. Whatever. My number is 212-555-7717. Dean…" she broke off, biting her bottom lip, "I need to know that you're okay."

Her hands shook as she hung up the phone.

In making the decision to come here looking for Dean, Lisa had succeeded in pushing her own fears to the back of her mind.

Dean was caught in the middle of whatever was happening. She was sure of it. And judging by this house, it was violent, and deadly.

Lisa had to consider the possibility that Dean was dead. The last time she spoke to him, he'd sounded like someone who, while not making peace with it, had accepted that the end was near.

"No!"

Gritting her teeth and forcing herself not to think along those lines, Lisa crossed back to the table. She lifted a book off the top of the stack. The title was embossed on the cracked leather cover in gold leaf: Secrets of the Tribulation.

Opening it to a page marked by a slip of notepaper, Lisa started to read:

"And he shall lay to waste the land of plenty. The seas shall bubble, and the sky be rent asunder. He will stalk the fields, a devourer of nations, and all who hear his name shall tremble…"

What the hell? Sounded like a fairy tale to scare kids.

Lisa was about to move on to another book when she felt it.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and a slimy cold slithered up her spine. Caught in a sudden, irrational fear, Lisa just held her breath.

The presence grew stronger, sneaking over her, and it felt like she was slowly drowning in icy water.

She tightened her grip on the handle of the gun and spun around.

There was no one there.

Still holding the gun at eye level, Lisa swung left and right, squinting into the gloom, trying to find the source of the cold… the emptiness.

But there was nothing.

Lisa lowered the gun, and breathed out, berating herself for acting like a child jumping at shadows.

Shadows…

The shadow by the door moved.

At first, Lisa wasn't sure that she was seeing things properly, but then it moved again. Sliding up the wall was a… presence. A deep darkness that slowly took shape as it swelled above her.

It looked like some kind of animal –extending it's talons across the expanse of the ceiling.

Letting out a piercing scream, Lisa raised the gun again and fired three times.

Nothing happened for a second. Then the shadow detached itself from the wall.

It sprang forward, like a dark glob of paint peeling free from canvas. It arced into the centre of the room where it started swirling like a small cyclone, pressing in on itself. The shadow stretched, and expanded, like something inside was shoving against it until it took the same animalistic shape.

A brisk wind started whipping through the room, catching at her clothes and her hair and Lisa shrunk back until she hit the wall.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the shadow-creature. It was making a noise now. A high, keening sound that sounded like an urgent whisper. With infinite slowness, it's shape resolved until it hulked in the middle of the floor, larger than the doorway, letting off a hiss of steam that smelled like rotting flesh.

It opened it's eyes. Two glowing coals in the blackness.

It stepped towards her.

Lisa fired again. And again. And again.

The bullets seemed to get sucked into the thing's flesh, affecting it no more than a light bee sting. Lisa scrabbled sideways, trying to make for the door. Before she got two feet, she felt a stab of pain in her left side. Her flesh tore and she was hurled through the air, where she smashed against the edge of the sink.

She hit the ground and rolled to her back, her breath punching out in ragged gasps. She looked down. Her shirt was soaked in blood.

Blinking through her tears, she raised her eyes again. The creature was advancing on her. Kicking at the floor with the heels of her boots, Lisa pushed herself back against the base of the sink. She lifted one hand, and managed to clamp hold of the edge and heave herself up.

She'd dropped the gun and the spray, and now looked for anything she could use as a weapon. There was a bottle of water beside the basin and she made a grab for it. It was heavy, an old bourbon flask and, spinning on her heel, Lisa hurled it at the creature.

The creature expanded again and it's form wavered, like a heat haze. It seemed to dissipate, like condensation on fast-forward and suddenly it was weightless again, nothing more than smoke and shadow. The bottle passed straight through it, where it smashed against the chain bulb hanging from the ceiling. Water rained down, catching in the light fixture and sending out a shower of sparks. The crest of water hit the shadow and it suddenly, unbelievably, caught on fire.

The thing started screeching like a banshee as a cloud of angry red flames engulfed it. Lisa shut her eyes against the brightness and fell back, flinging an arm across her as she tried to ward off the expanding wall of heat that rushed from the creature like an angry wave.

She collapsed to the floor, trying to ignore it's cries and curled up into a protective ball. After a time that might have been seconds or minutes, she had no way of telling, silence descended.

Lisa waited as her heart continued to jackhammer against her ribs. The pain in her side was intense, but she didn't move. Only when the room started to cool, and the smell started to fade, did she dare to uncurl her body and look around.

The thing – whatever it was – was gone.

Lisa stayed on the floor, shock flooding her system with adrenaline and making it hard to breathe… hard to think.

What was it?

And why did it catch on fire when the water hit?

Deciding these questions could be saved for later, Lisa struggled to her feet. She cried out again as another jolt of pain lanced through her side, but she stayed upright. She found her gun in the corner of the room and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans.

Then she got the hell out of there.

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