Chapter Four
John stared down at the first body lying out cold on the morgue table.
The body was that of an elderly man, in his late seventies, his hair grey, his skin wrinkled, eyes closed so that he looked as though he were asleep.
"Has he been identified?" John asked the coroner and the woman nodded.
"Thomas Burleson," she told him, reading from the medical report in her hands, "Aged seventy-nine."
"What was the official cause of death?" the hunter asked.
"Officially, dehydration and malnutrition," she answered, the tone of her voice conveying her thoughts that the deaths weren't as cut and dry as they seemed.
John nodded and drew the white sheet up to cover the late Mr. Burleson's face.
He had already read the Police Report and M.E. report so he knew exactly what- officially- had happened to the two corpses now in the morgue.
Now he made his way over to the female body laid out on the table beside the one the elderly gentleman rested upon.
"This one is Yvonne Clarkson," the coroner told him, "Twenty-two, cause of death dehydration and malnutrition, same as Mr. Burleson over there."
John sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
"Do you mind if I take a closer look?" he asked and the woman shook her head.
"I'm about to go on my lunch, Agent, but feel free to take a look," she offered, "You know the way out?"
John nodded and watched as the coroner left the room.
Reaching over to the coroner's desk and grabbing a pair of Latex gloves, the hunter slipped them on and proceeded to pull down the blanket covering the late Mr. Thomas Burleson.
John had already read the crime scene reports and the coroner's report on the two deceased. They had been found by a bunch of teenagers wanting to get high and have sex in an abandoned house in the town. At first, the kids had thought the two had had the same idea as them and were just asleep. But their attempts to wake the elderly man and young woman failed and an ambulance was called.
After a medical examination, it was confirmed that both Mr. Burleson and Miss Clarkson were in comas and suffering from dehydration and malnutrition. They lingered in the hospital for a handful of days before passing away- the elderly gent one day later and the young woman three days after being checked into the hospital- despite the ministrations of the doctors and nurses.
The circumstances surrounding their deaths were strange, even though no signs of foul play were found on or inside the bodies. It was baffling, and to John Winchester, extremely suspicious.
The list of monsters that killed their victims without leaving a mark was a short one but even so John needed to be thorough.
Since there were no physical marks on the two bodies, John could rule out vampires, ghosts and djinn. There was no trace of sulfur on the bodies with ruled out demonic possession. But what about shtriga? No, they only went after children, victims whose life force was the strongest.
Then what?
Sighing, John covered the bodies back up and pulled the gloves off his hands before reaching into his pocket and dialing Bobby Singer's number.
W
"Sounds like you have a Murraue on your hands," the grizzled hunter told John after listening to all the evidence the younger man had gathered about the victims and their cause of death. It had also taken Bobby a serious few hours of research before he'd called John back, forcing the younger man to wait impatiently for his news.
John frowned. He was sitting at the desk in the motel room he'd rented, having returned from the morgue after calling Bobby to see if he could help him figure out what had killed two people. His sons were seated side-by-side on the bed they were sharing, Dean looking eager to know more about the monster they would soon be hunting and Sam looking rather sick to his stomach.
"Murraue," Bobby repeated, "It's from northern Germany; also called a Mårt or Mara. It's where we get the word nightmare from."
"That's fascinating," John grumbled, "But what I need to know is how is it killing and how do I kill it."
"Like shtrigas, they feed on a person's life force," Bobby told the younger man, "And for them, it doesn't matter the age of their victims."
John nodded, thinking about the two bodies in the coroner's office that were clearly not children.
"That explains why they never recovered," the eldest Winchester said, "Their life force was so drained."
"Mmhm," Bobby mumbled, "Now, when a Murraue catches a victim, she puts him or her into a coma and the person experiences horrible hallucinations- visions- like a nightmare, so she can feed at her own convenience."
John looked to his sons as his friend spoke and he noticed that Dean had wrapped a protective arm around his thirteen-year old brother's shoulders.
"Alright," the father said brusquely, "How do I kill this thing?"
"Sunlight will turn 'em to ash," Bobby said, "Though the Murraue hide at daybreak."
"Is there a weapon we can use?" John pressed.
"Anything made of steel will deter a Murraue," the veteran hunter answered, "So a steel knife should kill her."
"Should?" John asked, "Bobby, I don't want a maybe, I need a definitive answer."
"I've never come across one of these things!" the older man snapped, "I am just giving you what I've found in the research!"
John sighed and ran his fingers through his black hair, glancing once again at his sons.
"Alright," he murmured, "Thanks for the help."
"Let me know how y'all make out," Bobby commented before John ended the call.
Dean jumped off the bed and approached his father, his hazel eyes sparkling with anticipation. Sam remained where he was, looking much less enthused.
"Do we have anything made of steel we could use?" John's seventeen-year old asked and pointed at his father's duffel bag.
The eldest Winchester shook his head, "We'll have to get something."
"Can we go now? What are we going to get? Can I come with you?"
John almost smiled at Dean's excitement, almost. They were preparing for a hunt, not a party, and although he appreciated his son's zeal, the teen also needed to keep his wits about him, especially going up against something completely new.
Deciding that they should go after the Murraue while they still had the element of surprise- and before the creatures took any more victims- John grabbed the keys to the Impala and looked across the room at his youngest son.
"Come on, Sam."
Slowly, the thirteen-year old slid off the bed, pulled his sneakers on and followed his father and brother out to the parking lot.
SPN
Sam followed his father and brother through the aisles of the local K-Mart, feeling sick to his stomach.
It wasn't nerves that were making him feel so unwell; Sam hadn't been feeling good since that morning, which was unsurprising since half of the kids in his seventh grade class were away with the flu.
The thirteen-year old pulled his jacket tighter around himself, careful not to let Dean see, as he continued after his family.
John found the aisle he was looking for and stopped in front of a row of shelves containing various items of cutlery.
"Look for anything that says its made of steel," the eldest Winchester instructed his sons, "Knives especially."
Sam didn't move as his father and brother searched for weapons they could use to kill the Murraue with.
"Will these work?"
The thirteen-year old looked over at Dean, showing their father a box of steak knives- six in all- with black plastic handles.
John nodded and took the box from his eldest, setting it into the metal basket he'd picked up by the door as they entered the superstore.
W
Several minutes later Sam was following his father towards the checkout area, John's basket containing a package of steak knives, a butcher's block complete with different sized knives for cutting meat and a file for sharpening them.
Dean was walking beside Sam, a bounce in his step, clearly itching to use anyone of those knives on the Murraue they would hunt tonight.
Sam sniffed and surreptitiously wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his hand-me-down jacket. Glancing out the large plate-glass window in front of the store, Sam saw the first few leaves of fall blowing on the chilly autumn breeze.
They had only been in town for four days and already they were soon to be moving on again, Sam forced into being the 'New Kid' at yet another school.
Whatever, Sam tried not to let it get to him. He mostly kept to himself in school anyway, knowing that at any time John could pack them up and they'd be halfway across the country by that evening.
Thinking about it, Sam didn't think he knew any of the kids in his class by their name- it just wasn't important to him- and he doubted if they knew his.
"C'mon Squirt!" Dean's voice jolted Sam out of his thoughts and he looked up to see his father and brother ready to leave the store.
As they walked across the parking lot, John spoke.
"I'd like you both to get some rest before night falls," he said in a tone that told the boys that it was an order and not a suggestion.
"But Dad-" Dean began, a whine in his voice but John stopped him from continuing with a look.
"I know I don't ask this of you normally," he began, "But we've never come up against something like this before and we all need to be on our toes tonight."
Dean, pouting a little, nodded.
Sam smiled at his brother acting like a child but was secretly grateful to his Dad that he was going to let them sleep for a while; it might help him shake the crappy feeling.
SPN
Dean gripped the long butcher's knife tightly in his hand as his father tore down the yellow police tape crisscrossing the front door to the abandoned house and jimmied the door.
Making sure there was nothing laying in wait for them, John took point and stepped inside, quickly followed by Sam and Dean, brining up the rear.
The thirteen-year old closed the door silently and as one, the hunters moved forward, John holding a flashlight to illuminate their way.
Dean glanced all around, ready to spring into action, heart pounding in his chest and sending adrenaline coursing into his bloodstream.
Sam snorted from behind him and Dean glanced over his shoulder at his sibling, "You okay?"
The younger brother nodded and Dean returned his attention to the interior of the house.
They were making their way through the foyer and into the living room. Illuminated by the beam of the flashlight, Dean could see the walls were coated with layers and layers of graffiti. The floors had been striped of the hardwood and carpets, leaving only plywood. Debris of cigarette buts, newspapers, soda cans, beer bottles and used condoms littered the floor.
Moving into the living room, Dean saw that there was a pile of crusty blankets shoved into one corner but no Murraue.
Turning, John led his sons further into the derelict house.
SPN
"I think its moved on," John told his sons and Sam couldn't help the feeling of relief rush through him.
The thirteen-year old's father sighed, "We'll have to look somewhere else."
Sam looked up sharply.
"Where do you think it could be?" Dean asked and John suggested they head into the urban area of town, "It's probably going to stay away from houses right now. We can try looking through some of the old warehouses."
Sam's shoulders slumped and he sighed. He should have known his father wasn't going to give up. John was like a dog with a bone when it came to getting his monster. He wouldn't move on until he knew the creature was dead and people were once again safe.
"C'mon boys," John said and Sam followed his family out to the Impala.
SPN
By the third factory even Dean was growing tired of chasing this wild goose.
"Maybe it's not even here," he suggested as John pulled up to the deserted automotive factory, "Maybe its moved to a different city altogether."
John just shook his head and cut the ignition.
"You don't know that," he said, "And until I know for certain this thing's dead, we are not leaving."
Dean set his jaw and tried to gather up as much energy as he could- his adrenaline rush having wore off a while ago- and told himself that this time they'd find the Murraue and kill it.
The car factory was surrounded by a security fence but John found the gate and pushed it open as far as it could go- the door attached to the gate itself with a thick chain- and ushered Sam through first.
Dean's thirteen-year old brother slipped inside the grounds easily, stepping back and waiting patiently on the other side.
"Dean," John said and the seventeen-year old held his breath as he shimmied through the gap, pleased that he was able to make it through with little trouble.
John squeezed through next, his broad shoulders and barrel chest making the fence shake.
Dean smirked as his father struggled through the opening.
"Maybe you should lay off those cheeseburgers next time, Dad," he commented and John glared at him.
"Smarten up," the eldest Winchester ordered, "We have a job to do."
Dean sobered quickly and once again brought up the rear of the group as John crept towards the factory.
W
Inside the automotive factory, Dean could see large, smeary windows set high into the walls and pointed them out to his father; the Murraue was certainly not going to be on the first floor.
Nodding, John motioned his sons to follow him as he made his way across the factory floor, silent metal skeletons of machinery looming over them, as he searched for a staircase or elevator shaft.
Dean heard his brother sniff and then sneeze, causing John to freeze where he stood.
"Sorry," Sam muttered and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.
The Winchesters moved silently towards the far end of the factory floor and Dean smiled when he saw two elevator doors set into the wall.
"Think it still works?" the seventeen-year old asked his father and John jabbed the downward facing arrow button.
Surprisingly the button lit up and there came a grinding, groaning sound from the other side of the elevator doors.
"Maybe we should use the stairs," Dean suggested but then the doors slid open with a rusty sound and John stepped into the elevator.
Reluctantly, the seventeen-year old followed his father into the lift, Sam entering last.
The doors slammed shut and John stabbed at the button that indicated they wanted to go to the basement level. The elevator groaned and slowly began to descend.
Dean stood in a corner, his heart starting to beat fast in his chest, not with excitement but with fear. He could just imagine the cables snapping away from the elevator to send them plunging down to the shaft.
The elevator however, held steady, and staggered to a halt on the basement floor, the doors opening only halfway.
John moved forward first, shouldering his way through the doors and into the basement.
Dean and Sam quickly followed their father, both boys blinking in the dark.
John swept the flashlight in a tight arch around them to give an idea of where they were before he started off, his footsteps silent.
Dean made his way forward, his eyes focused on the back of his brother's head.
The Winchesters had walked about twenty or thirty paces forward when suddenly Dean heard his father cry out in pain and the flashlight fell to the floor, smashing against the cement and going out.
"DAD!" Dean shouted and slashed out with the knife, panic overtaking all the training his father had taught him and he heard Sam grunt and a thud of his falling body followed.
"Sammy!" Dean gasped, fearing that he'd hurt his brother.
There was no response and Dean blinked furiously, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
From behind him, the seventeen-year old heard a rustle of clothing and then he felt a soft, cool hand touch the back of his neck and consciousness fled, plunging him into a darkness deeper than that of the basement.
Author's Note:
Thanks to Shannon Makayla Smith, Kas3y, oldercousin, Vestlana, icedragonfirebird, franjane91, reannablue, SamDeanLover28, scootersmom, jensensgirl3, BranchSuper, SPN Mum, YesteryearGirl, MysteryMadchen, spn fan, Mistycat and Guest for reviewing.
Sorry for the really long wait. I was working on "School's Out" and trying to finish that before continuing with my other works-in-progress. Also, a bit of writer's block affected this story but I have a solid idea of where this is going now.
Please take a moment to review, Constant Readers.