Chapter 3

"Boy, you better have a damn good reason for callin' me this late." Bobby's irritated voice was heavy with sleep.

"Sam's gone, Bobby."

"Aw, hell. What happened?"

"That thing took him. I found drag marks and a little blood. Looks like he was dragged about half a block and then shoved into a vehicle. His bag and phone were just sitting there on the ground, and there were little piles of dirt around. That thing's got him, Bobby. I should'a been there. I should'a protected him. That's my job. The kid had no business being out there by himself."

"Don't do that to yerself, Dean. Ya can't change what happened. Now fill me in. What're ya huntin'?"

Dean sighed heavily and started talking.

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"So Sam thinks it's a golem?" Bobby asked.

"That's what the papers in his bag point to, yeah." Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. The long night of worrying was catching up with him.

"Well, okay. I've never hunted a golem before. These things are pretty rare. Hasn't been a true sighting in decades. My understanding is that they're really hard to make."

"Make, right. 'Cause these things are created out of dirt. Ritual stuff, right?"

"Yeah. They're usually only as dangerous as the person controlling them, but when they go wild, you've usually got a slaughter on your hands. Which means bodies, blood, and all kinds of nastiness. Why would a golem simply take people? What's the intent of whoever created this thing? Do the victims have anything in common?"

"Not much, really. Just that, except for Fiddler on the Roof and his son, they're all exceptionally good-looking. One thing confuses me, though. If this golem nabs lookers, why'd it take Sam?"

"What're you sayin', Dean?"

"I mean... Why not me? I'm good looking. Right?"

"Can we just concentrate on finding your brother?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll go see what else I can dig up on the two rabbis."

"Sounds good. I'll see what else I can find out about golem. Call ya as soon as I've found something. And Dean? Get some rest, ya idjit. You're not gonna be any good to Sam if you're exhausted."

"Yeah, Bobby. I'll try."

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Sam woke up to a pounding headache. His fingers came away sticky with blood after he gently prodded the lump on the back of his head. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. The only light spilled through the open door at the top of the stairway. In the near darkness, he could make out a large, unfinished basement. By the shapes of the shadows, items were stacked along the walls and in the corners of the large room, but the center was cleared of all clutter.

By the pounding in his skull and the haziness of his vision, Sam was pretty sure he had a concussion. He had no memory of how he'd gotten here, wherever "here" was. He gauged the distance between his position and the open door, deciding that he would be able to make it on his own if he took it carefully. Keeping his ears open for any sound of his abductor, Sam supported his weight on the wall behind him and edged himself up on his feet, swaying slightly for a few seconds.

The effort of trying to stand made him realize that his feet were bare and his outer shirts had been stripped, leaving only his thin, short-sleeved t-shirt. A metal cuff connected to a chain circled one ankle; the other end of the chain was attached low on the wall he was using for support. Sam bent to examine the lock on the chain more closely, but the movement made his head swim. He put his hand back on the wall and closed his eyes, trying to regain equilibrium.

A rustle from the far corner of the room drew Sam's attention. One of the shadows detached itself from the others and came toward him. Even in the room's minimal light, Sam could make out a human form in loose clothing. The figure slipped forward slowly, its gait awkward and clunky, stopping just outside of arm's reach.

They regarded each other silently for a few moments. Sam locked his knees, which began to quiver, to keep from sinking to the ground. Yep, definitely a concussion. He blinked furiously to keep his mind focused.

"You are beautiful." The voice grating from the shadow-enshrouded figure tore Sam from his daze.

"Uh, I... what?"

"I want to be beautiful." The thing took a hesitant, shuffling step forward.

Sam's fuzzy brain kicked into focus, racing to find some way to distract the creature in front of him long enough to get away. "I know what you are. You're a golem."

Yatzee. The shuffling-steps stopped. "I am ugly. I want to be beautiful. Like you." Soil sifted from the dull gray arm as the thing reached a hand toward Sam.

Sam shrank back as far as he could, the rough concrete wall hard against his back. "Wait! No. I understand, but you don't have to do that. We can find another way to... uh... make you beautiful."

The hand froze but didn't drop. The creature cocked its head to one side, listening carefully. Sam stood still, not even daring to breathe as his mind raced to come up with options.

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It moved toward the man very carefully. It did not want to hurt the man. The last one had been very pretty with long nails. She yelled and kicked and scratched. It hadn't meant to, but it had broken her arm, felt the bone snap under its hands. She cried and cried before it finished taking her form. Then she never cried again.

This man was more beautiful than any of the ones before. It liked to watch the man sleep. Liked to watch the man's strong muscles. It would have those muscles soon. When the man spoke, it listened closely. Tried to imagine that voice coming from its own mouth. It wanted to have that voice.

It grabbed the man's arms and began to take what it needed. It felt the man collapse in its arms but did not stop, not until it took all it could for now. When it was finished, it laid the man gently on the ground and walked up the stairs. It would go away, let its new form grow. It would come back later and take more, and again and again, until it was beautiful again. The man would be safe here until it came back.

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After an eternity spent worrying, pacing, and searching fruitlessly through Sam's notes, Dean felt exhausted and useless. He couldn't help thinking about what that creature might be doing to his brother. He had no idea where to find Sam or how to stop the golem. He intended to interview the remaining Levy family for further information as soon as possible, but morning was still hours away. Not knowing what else to do with himself, Dean stretched out on his bed. Bobby was right; he couldn't help Sam if he was running on empty.

He lay there listening to the cheap motel alarm clock ticking away the seconds, each one pounding louder and louder inside his skull. Every second that clicked by emphasized his failure to find his brother. Giving up the pretense of trying to sleep, Dean pulled out Sam's bag, sifting through his brother's research again. He even pulled the laptop open and reviewed Sam's search history. He didn't know what he was looking for exactly, but hoped that something in Sam's research would shed some light on where he might have been taken.

Finding nothing helpful, he moved on to researching the rabbis Sam seemed to think were the key to figuring this thing out. He found an article praising Rabbi Chaim Levy as an expert in Hebrew folklore and legend. Apparently, the rabbi was more than just a university professor. If the thing they were hunting really was a golem, it's possible that the old rabbi had enough knowledge to complete whatever ritual was required. But why?

Moving on to the old rabbi's sons, Dean found nothing interesting about the older son, Mordechai. Since Mordy was missing just like his dad, Dean assumed he was also a part of whatever had happened. The younger son, Nachum, was admitted to the nuthouse shortly after his father and brother disappeared. Dean would bet his baby's front bumper that old Nachum knew something. It was his wife, Judith, that Dean hoped to interview later that morning.

Dean patted himself on the back for his mad hacking skills when he managed to find a copy of Nachum's medical records. According to the documentation, Nachum Levy was released from the psychiatric ward mere months after being admitted. A note from his doctor indicated that he had been released into the care of his wife against his doctor's advice. The drugs his doctor prescribed told Dean that Nate was more than a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Dean wasn't sure how much he'd learn from the interview, but it was the only lead he had.

Dean dragged his tired, burning eyes from the computer screen and stretched the kinks from his back. Early morning light streamed through the one dingy window. Sighing with relief that the long night was finally over, Dean closed the laptop and prepared to leave. He'd grab some strong coffee before dropping in on the younger Rabbi Levy's wife.

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Sam woke up in shadowy gloom, the cold of the concrete floor seeping through his single layer, making him shiver. It took a moment to remember where he was. He ached all over and a steady rhythm beat in his skull. He felt drained, his head fuzzy, like something important was missing but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The events of the last few hours came back to him in a flash of recollection. He checked his pockets for his cell phone, grimacing when he found nothing helpful. Stifling a groan, he assessed the room for escape options. A shaft of light shining from above him indicated the existence of a small window. When he craned his neck to look at it, he realized it was much too small, barely a slit in the concrete wall, and would never accommodate his bulk.

He also noticed the familiar stench of rotting flesh. The light from the small window did not reach beyond the space directly in front of him, casting the room's various objects in shadow. Though he couldn't see what caused the different shapes on the floor outside his circle of light, he guessed from the smell that he'd found the missing victims. He just hoped he wouldn't be joining them.

Using the dim light, Sam explored as far as his chain would allow, looking for anything he could use to free himself. The floor around him proved frustratingly free of clutter. He was about to give up hope and consider other options when his searching found something. He held the rusted, curved pipe up to the light, then hefted it in his hand. It would make an awkward weapon at best, but would do in a pinch. Meanwhile, he had to get out of there, and he couldn't just wait around for Dean to rescue him... again.

Sam followed the chain on his leg to the metal plate where it was fastened to the wall. He scraped at the concrete around it, elated with how readily the old concrete wall crumbled. It would be slow, tedious labor, but Sam was sure it would work. He lost track of time as he sat in the semi-dark scraping away at the wall. He managed to make a decent furrow before he heard footsteps on the floor above him. By the time the door at the top of the stairs opened, slashing the gloom, Sam was already on his feet with the pipe hidden in his hand behind his back.

The creature made its way down the stairs, its steps more sure than they had been the day before. It crossed the dark room, stopping within the light shaft to watch Sam silently. Sam stood poised, primed to spring at the right opportunity.

The creature wore a hooded sweatshirt, the hood part up over its head. Its shaded features seemed not quite formed, reminding Sam of melting wax.

Suddenly, the creature shot across the remaining distance and grasped Sam's forearms in a crushing grip. Sam struggled to get a good swing at the thing with his pipe but the creature held him immobile. His mind became woolen and fuzzy, drifting away as the pipe clanged to the floor. Though he didn't pass out this time, he was still completely unaware when the creature laid him back down on the floor and went back up the stairs, closing the door behind it.

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