"What do the autopsies say on how she died? What were her injuries?" John questioned the Junction City sheriff, Rick Olman.

"Who did you say you were again?" The large, red-faced sheriff tilted his hat back as he took a good look at John. His eyes flickered to the window above John's head as a tree branch clicked against the pane in the moonlight. It was around eight PM. Rick had taken extra time before running home for the night just to speak to John.

"Detective Jimmy Wagner from Magnolia Police Department. Just passing through and wanted to see if I could help with the case. Saw some of this a couple years ago when I was living up in Milwaukee." After a few years of this, infiltrating the police and government officials was something that came easily for John.

"Is that so?" Olman gave him a skeptical glare.

"Sure is. Now, what was so special about this case? Why did it draw your attention?"
"A woman in our town of six-hundred was murdered. Throat ripped out. This kind of stuff—it doesn't happen in our town. Why do you think it drew my attention?" Olman snapped, his bulbous nose growing redder as he grew more frustrated. John stayed calm.

"That's exactly what drew my attention when I read about it. Pretty, single mother in a small town. Shouldn't have died like this. No one should have. Anyway, how do think she died? Was she well known? Did she have enemies?"

"Mary Schuster was well-loved in the community." John winced as the woman's first name shot a pain through his heart. "She was the president of the PTA. Her children were star pupils in the school district. She was an amazing English teacher. I don't have a clue who would want to kill her. Um, autopsy report states that it looks as if an animal of some type did it, but they can't necessarily rule out a human, or an animal urged by a human."

"Why can't they rule out a human? Was DNA found?"
"Not exactly, but a hair was. A human hair. DNA is still being tested, but you know, with our technology…there's just no way. That stuff's difficult to track. They're working on it, but there's not guarantees."

"Of course. Did anyone report anything suspicious around the Schuster home recently?"

"Not that I was told. Some coyotes in the farm yard across the field, a wolf or two. Nothing in particular that could get into someone's home. Especially not to do the damage that was done. Her head was almost severed off her neck. A dog or wolf's jaws are strong, but they aren't capable of something like that—not a lone one anyway. A pack attack would involve multiple body parts. The injuries were limited to her neck alone. I can't imagine an entire pack getting into her home. " John could. If this was something paranormal, there could have easily been a phantom attack—an entire pack of ghost-like wolves or dogs getting into a home without invite. The silence was almost eerie as John's pen scraped across the lined pages of his notebook—taking detailed observations on everything that came out of the man's mouth. The phone in between the men shook as it almost rang off the hook, causing both to jump a bit. Olman picked it up.

"Sheriff Olman…how can I help you?" After a few moments of his face contorting into confused and angry expressions, he responded, "Shit, Garrison, not again. I'll be on scene in 10."

"Everything okay?" John asked as Olman slammed the phone down. He put his hand over his face.

"That was one of my deputies. It happened again. Shawna Graham, mother of two boys found with her throat ripped out in her own kitchen. I gotta end this now; you're welcome to come with. Don't touch anything."

"Agreed." John leapt up after the heavy-set officer as he grabbed his gun belt and satchel and waddled out the door of the office.

"Dean? Where are you going?" Sam whined as his older brother threw on his jacket.

"Dad promised I could help him hunt. I'm going to find him. I'm going to hunt tonight." Dean stood up straighter to show that he meant business and his little pip-squeak of a brother wasn't going to stop him from sneaking out to do whatever it took for him to get his first hunt.

"Dad said stay put. He said don't go anywhere. What am supposed to do all night?"

"Dad said stay put," Dean mocked in a high pitch voice, "I don't care. I'm getting my first kill. Tonight. And I don't care what you do tonight. Just don't go anywhere. Don't open the door for anyone. Don't answer the phone." The door slammed, and Sam was left alone in the dim motel room to occupy himself for the rest of the night.

It didn't seem to occur to Dean that he was only twelve years old and shouldn't be wandering around by himself at odd hours of the night. He was so high on the excitement. So intoxicated by the opportunity of killing his first paranormal entity, he wasn't aware he had no idea what it was he was after, or even how to kill it for that matter.

As Dean approached the sidewalk outside the small, dimly lit motel parking-lot, a blur of red and blue lights raced past him, ruffling his light brown hair. The glint in his eyes radiated off the street-lamps, as he burst at the seams with anticipation. Dean was grateful it was night, and the ambulance, while traveling quickly, was easily traced. Dean did not have to walk very far down the road to find the home that was under investigation.

Dean ducked behind a large oak tree in the neighboring yard and watched as a corpulent police office headed into the home, followed closely by none other than John Winchester. Dean smiled to himself. He had used his own skill to get here. He had known there may be trouble when he spotted the ambulance. He had known that trouble may be caused by abnormalities. He had known if anything weird occurred, his dad would be on the scene in a heartbeat.

He stayed with the shadows as he crept closer to the home. Finally, Dean was close enough to see into the living room window, which showed the kitchen in the distance. His father and the police officer, who he recognized at this angle to be the town sheriff, were huddled with two other police officers at the side of a shape crumpled on the floor. Dean's stomach churned as he realized it was a woman—blood caked across her neck and pooled upon the floor around her. He looked away, and caught movement in the corner of his eye. He spun completely around, coming face-to-face with his little brother.

"Sam!" Dean hissed under his breath, capturing Sam by the collar of his jacket and shoving him into a nearby tree. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the motel!"

"Jerk! Let go of me! Dad—Dad told you to stay put! I came to get you! I followed you! Go back!"

"You go back! I'm sick of what Dad says! Now go back to the room, and don't you dare tell Dad where I went!"

"No, Dean! I won't! I don't want to be there by myself! Come back with me!" Sam whispered back, getting louder.

"Shut your mouth, Sammy! I'm not getting in trouble!" As Dean spun Sam around to push him back toward the sidewalk, Sam's eye caught the scene unfolding in the house. He fought Dean to get a closer look.

"What—what's going on? Is that Dad?" Sam finally unlocked himself from Dean's grasp and he ran over to the window to get a closer look. Sam and depth perception at night never did get along very well. A loud, echoing crack! was heard as Sam hand hit the siding of the house. Everyone inside froze, as Dean caught Sam by the waist and pulled him under the window ledge.

"Jesus ,Sammy, now you've done it!" Dean punched Sam's arm.

"What the hell was that?" Sheriff Olman gripped his gun in his hand. John shook his head, motioning for the sheriff to be quiet. Olman kept his hand back, pushing John out of the way and together they crept toward the front door. It creaked on its hinges as they slunk through the door way and on to the porch, guns drawn.

"Run!" Dean yelled at Sammy. There was a gun shot into the darkness. Dean looked back; Sammy had frozen in the yard, unable to move. He realized he was okay, not harmed in anyway, but the gunfire had scared him so badly. As Dean grabbed Sammy's hand, they rounded the corner house and ran smack into their father.

"What the hell are you kids doing out here?" Their dad roared. Sammy backed down on the grass and immediately started crying.

"It—It's Dean's fault! He came—he came to follow you to see if he could hunt tonight! I followed because—because I didn't want to be at the motel alone!"

"Dean!" John spun around and grabbed Dean by the scruff of the neck as he tried to get away. "You're not going anywhere! Are you trying to get yourself and your brother killed?"

Dean shook his head. "No, Dad. I just—I just—I'm so sick of this! I just want to hunt!"

"Well, that's not happening tonight, and you're going to be damn lucky if it ever happens! Now, you both are going to get into Sheriff Olman's cruiser and come with me to the station so we can go over details about tonight. I'm not letting you out of my sight!"

"Yes, sir." Dean had immediately morphed into an obedient child under the influence of his father's anger. John picked Sam up off the grass.

"Come on, Sport, let's get you in the car. Stop that. Stop crying, now. It's okay."

As the four shadows crawled into the police cruiser, no one seemed to notice the large animal prints disappearing in the mud next to the tree. No one had felt the warm air of the creature's breath as it chose its invisible form to take careful note of its next victims. No one had heard the low, powerful growl the creature made in her chest as she took one last whiff of their scent and got back down on all fours before trudging back into the woods behind the home.