CHAPTER NINE
Sam opened the trunk of the Impala and stared at the array of weapons, herbs, charms and general tools of the Hunter's trade which were stored in there. Not knowing what they were up against, Sam grabbed a gun loaded with silver bullets and canister of salt. Securing the car he sent out to begin a painstaking search of the immediate area for any tracks which might at least tell him which direction Dean had taken, or been taken.
Dean stared up at the figure which stepped into the pool of light.
"Hell in a hand basket! What are you? 6' 10? Ever thought about basketball as a career?"
The man gave no answer as he walked across to Dean, coming to a halt when he and Dean were virtually toe to toe. His personal space invaded, Dean began to cough and choke in response to the stench of mould and decay that permeated the man's old fashioned suit. Dean shuffled himself as far back on the daybed as he could, never taking his eyes off his new companion. He noticed how loosely the suit hung off the man's tall, gaunt frame, how translucent and delicate as tissue paper in appearance the man's skin looked to be. The man's eyes were sunk deep into their sockets, hidden so far in shadow that Dean couldn't discern the colour. He was completely bald headed, added to which Dean realised that the man had neither eyebrows nor eyelashes. There was no indication of any facial hair whatsoever. What there was, however, was a row of thick, black, untidy looking stitches completely sewing the creature's lips together.
"Sonofa…..what the hell kinda freak are you? Zombie?...Ghoul? You're so not human….not in decades anyway and, honestly? That stench? You reek of the old grave dude!"
The stitches around the creature's mouth appeared to pull, twist and stretch in a bizarre formation. Horrified, Dean realised the thing was attempting a smile.
"Oh man! That's so gross."
The creature dropped a pile of neatly folded clothing onto the bed next to Dean and pointed at it before taking a step back and crossing it's arms, waiting. Dean looked at the clothes, then back at his new friend, and decided that he didn't want to play. As he stood, adrenaline began coursing around his body, preparing for fight or flight.
"You want me to put those on huh? Ok, but you gotta turn away, and no peeking!"
The creature looked to consider Dean's request, then slowly turned his head away. With no clue as to the layout of his wider surroundings, flight won and Dean ran for the cover of dark.
Literally running blind, Dean had managed to traverse only a few yards when he felt a pressure descend, covering him completely and forcing him to the ground. Almost immediately Dean felt the whispered touch of many hands. They began to caress and stroke him, flinging Dean back into his own nightmare. Unintelligible whispers encircled him and Dean began to fight for breath as something without true form or structure wheedled itself into his mouth and nose. Others of it's kind tugged and pulled at Dean's clothing, trying to find a way inside as he lay helpless, unable to cry out, fighting to draw breath. Dean felt himself losing ground, his thoughts and movements slowing from the lack of oxygen, his eyes closing. Dean desperately hoped that Sam was ok. That his brother would survive longer than it seemed he himself was going to. Oxygen reserves close to depleted, Dean began to give in. In his final moments of awareness, something more solid felt as though it was grasping each of Dean's shoulders and he felt himself being dragged upwards.
"I'm sorry Sammy."
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