A/N: Sorry for the longer time than promised for the update. This chapter is pretty long though, so hopefully it was worth the wait. Anyway, hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 9: The Lake Michigan Monster

Mike is silent as he helps me load the essentials into his truck. It has been a while since I have seen him so upset. Since we have no clue what we are going to be hunting, we pack a variety of weapons and other protection items. I have to load my most important items from the trunk of my car, as we decided to only take one car because of the distance. The constant silence is killing me, but I know that Mike needs some time to be in his own mind for a while. We finish packing the truck just as the sun is starting to set over the trees. I turn and walk back toward the house when Mike finally speaks.

"Hey, sorry I wasn't much company today."

"I am the last person you have to apologize to, Mike, you know that. He was your friend, you have every right to deal with that however you want."

We walk inside and stand in the living room.

"Besides, I have done a lot worse in my grieving than just being quiet all day," I say.

I am shocked that I am almost able to make a joke about that situation. I guess I have finally been able to move on, even if it's just a little bit. Mike seems slightly shocked by this as well.

"Lara-"

"Anyway, I'd better get back to at least a little more research. I don't know how much I will be able to find, but every bit helps, right?" I say, trying to change the topic before we get into a serious conversation.

"Yeah, don't stay up too late, though. You still need rest and we are leaving early tomorrow."

"I won't, I've got at least some of the ride to do more investigating."
"What, you don't think I can drive the whole way?" Mike teases.

"I didn't think you'd want to, no."

I sit back down on the couch with my laptop and try to get more information about this case. Mike disappears upstairs. After an hour looking into various news archives and other reports, all I am able to learn is that there are more disappearances and deaths date years back. All of these cases have to do with the lake and most are unexplained drownings. I don't like to jump to conclusions without more information in my hands, but it does seem like some sort of water spirit. I close my laptop and head upstairs, there is nothing more can learn tonight.

The next morning we are on the road a few hours before the sun rises. While we were making the last preparations to leave, Mike told me he had called ahead to the South Haven coroner's office. He wanted to take a look at Ethan Bunker's body himself, with a hunter's eyes. There could be many small details a regular coroner would overlook, details that are extremely important to a hunter. I spend most the drive looking through books about spirits, trying to find any information that could help us. I look through the files I downloaded on my laptop about the case and the others like it.

"There have been almost twelve drownings in this area in the past five years. People of all ages, all good swimmers as far as the reports go, and no good explanation as to why they would drown. I mean, there were four kids and now eight adults. Whatever this thing is, it doesn't care who it kills."

"Some spirits don't kill in patterns."

"I know. This one is still weird, though. The only thing they have in common is that they all seem to have drowned in the same general area of the lake. I guess that's something to start with."

"Yeah, it is. So, you never told me what all happened with the Winchesters," Mike says, giving me a side glance.

With everything happening so fast, I did forget to tell him the details of the hunt. I dive into the entire story, from the moment I got to Florida to the moment I left. For some reason, I leave out the part about my vision. I know Mike is the last person I should be afraid to tell, but still I keep it from him. After I finish my narrative, Mike and I switch seats.

By the time we arrive in South Haven and check into a motel, it is almost dark outside. The drive was pretty uneventful, and Mike was unable to find any more significant information. The motel isn't a complete disaster, it is certainly better than others I have stayed at. It is no Hilton either. Together, Mike and I form a plan for getting this case closed as quickly as possible. No one else needs to die if we can stop whatever it is that is killing people. We block out tonight for more extensive research using police databases and local public records. Tomorrow is off to the coroner's office and then we start talking to people in the town about things they may have noticed. Everything we do after that is determined by what we find in the next twenty-four hours. I just hope we are able to find the cause of these deaths before someone else falls victim to it. I have the slightest feeling that this hunt will not be as cut and dry as it appears to be. After unloading my bags from the car I sit down on one of the motel beds and open my laptop again. We both submerge ourselves into research, until I start dozing off while reading. Even when I decide to go to sleep, Mike stays up, flipping through a book on the small, lamp-lit desk. I know how much this case must mean to him and how emotional tomorrow will be for him.

We get an early start in the morning and leave for the coroner's office. Mike looks drained, he must have stayed up for hours looking through that book. The town is small enough that we are able to walk instead of taking the car. The morning air is freezing, but somehow refreshing. I prefer the crisp cold over the suffocating humidity of Florida. Even for late February, it had been unnaturally warm in Florida. Luckily, I am used to the cold weather of the north so I don't have to weight myself down with layers of clothes. Restricted movement, in any form, while hunting could get me killed. Mike walks ahead of me, determined and direct. I'll bet he doesn't even realize how far ahead of me he has gotten. His mind is only on one thing, getting vengeance for his friend. Hunters may not be quick to trust anyone, but once they do they are unerringly loyal. Almost every hunter I have known had at least one other hunter they were this loyal to. Mike is the only hunter I have known like that, I have never really been around other hunters long enough to form a bond with. I hardly notice I have let my mind wander so much until I almost run right into Mike's back, not realizing he has stopped.

We are standing right outside the town's police station. In such a small town, the buildings have four or five purposes.

"Alright, follow my lead," he says, flashing his fake FBI badge in front of me.

Since this town is so small, they are doubtful to look further into our credentials. Even if they do, we will still seem like real agents. I follow Mike into the station. We flash our badges, state our business, and are directed toward the back of the building. We go into one of the larger rooms in the building and see the coroner sitting at a desk in the corner. He looks up from reading a paper when we enter.

"Agent Smith, FBI, we talked on the phone," Mike says when we enter, pulling out his badge again.

It takes all the willpower I have not to smirk at Mike's fake FBI name.

"Oh, you're early," the coroner says, then gestures to himself. "Dr. John Daniels."

"So what have you found?" Mike asks.

"Well, the cause of death was definitely drowning. I've yet to determine whether the manner of death was homicide or an accident. So far it looks like an accident, just like all of the others."

I look at Mike, he looks back at me, we both know there is probably another cause. Homicide, yes, but not by a living person. Dr. Daniels pulls out the body and I see Mike stand up a bit taller.

"You're welcome to take a look yourself, see if there are an outward signs I may have missed. All these drownings, they just...they don't seem normal," Dr. Daniels says.

I look up at him when he says this, it is almost as if he did not mean to be so candid.

"What do you mean 'don't seem normal'?" I ask as Mike starts to look over the body.

"Everyone around here is a good swimmer, I mean the children are practically raised on the water. In the past years, we have only had a few incidents a year of near-drownings. Usually kids being stupid and running around pools or such, a couple boating incidents. But not many deaths, certainly not this many in such a short couple of years."

"How do you know about the near-drownings?" I ask.

"It's a small town, plus I'm a doctor up at the town hospital."

"Agent Waller-" Mike says.

"What is it? Find something?" I ask, turning to him.

He turns Ethan Bunker's right hand over so that his palm is facing up. On the pale skin, I notice a few faint, red marks that seem to form some sort of symbol. I pull out my phone and take a close picture of the marking. The marking resembles a circle with two teardrop shapes protruding on either side.

"Oh, yeah, that. I think he may have scraped his hand on a nail or something on his way into the water. Where we found him, I believe he might have fallen off the harbor docks late at night. It lines up with the time of death and the nice scrape on the back of his head," Dr. Daniels says.

As the coroner is speaking I notice a long piece of green, pant-like material wrapped around Bunker's wrist.

"What is that?" I ask.

"That is part of the vegetation that grows on the bottom of the lake. I called in some of my friends who do research at the lake. They say that stuff is only found on the bottom. Don't worry about trying to pull it off, though, we already tried. That stuff won't budge. We tried everything short of sawing it off. The oddest thing is, every drowning victim had that wrapped around some part of them," Daniels says. "I have no idea how it could have gotten so tightly wound around them. Not unless they went all the way to the bottom, struggled against something and then drowned. That is not probable either, to get to the bottom, you would be long out of oxygen before then."

I take note of every word, still wondering if it was a spirit that did all of this. Mike takes a few more minutes, thanks the coroner, and then we leave. I wait until we are outside before I say anything.

"So, what do you think?" I ask Mike.

"I don't know, but it wasn't a spirit," Mike says.

We walk back to the motel and change out of our suits and into more comfortable clothes. We are heading out to go talk to people in the town when I finally can't take it anymore.

"Hold up, how do you know it wasn't a spirit?" I ask.

"Because I saw photos they took at the 'crime scene'," Mike says. "There were enough salt rounds on that dock to take down a couple dozen ghosts. Obviously, Ethan thought it was a ghost, and threw all the salt he had at it."

"And it did nothing-"

"Which means, no ghost. It has to be something else."

"So what then, the Loch Ness Monster?" I tease.

"I don't think Nessie can fly coach, she's still in Scotland."

I laugh, shaking my head. We head over to a local restaurant, a busy one at that. I order some food for us while Mike walks around, questioning the locals. He still has his fake badge to keep suspicion low. I feel like for such an arduous and life-threatening job we should at least get paid. That is probably something every hunter has told themselves before. However, with not many people knowing the truth, there really is no one to pay us. We're basically supernatural vigilantes, no red tape. That's at least one good thing, we pretty much have no one to answer to. Mike motions me over to where he is talking to an older gentleman.

"Yeah, that young man was not from around here. It's a small town, everyone knows everyone pretty much. He was asking a lot of questions too. Really odd questions, about the lake and the drownings. It is so quiet here, it's hard to think anyone would want to hurt someone else. But, it does happen, I guess," the man says.

"Have you noticed anyone else that isn't from around here in the past couple of weeks? Maybe talking to citizens, asking them weird questions too?" I ask, thinking once again, demon may be the answer.

"Just you folks," the man replies.

"Is there anyone else we could talk to that might have seen something out of the ordinary?" Mike cuts in.

"I suppose you could talk to Hamish Muir, he's the dock master. He might have seen something down at the docks," the man says.

"Thank you for your help," Mike says.

Mike goes of to talk to more people and I return to the table. Our food arrives a few minutes later and I do not realize how hungry I am until it is in front of me. I am almost through when Mike comes back. I wait until he is done eating to ask him if he found out anything else.

"Nothing too important. Talking to that harbor master might give us something, though," he replies.

"I hope so because if not, we have no other leads to go on."

"We'll figure it out. I'm not letting this one get away."

The temperature seems to drop even more as we get closer to the docks. I look around as we walk, trying to see if anything seems off. What I see is just a normal marina, boats, docks, and birds looking for a meal. The boats seem to be more for recreation rather than fishing, sailboats and motor boats rather than big fishing rigs. Also absent is the overwhelming smell of fish, something I am grateful for. We make our way into the office at the head of the marina. A man in his late fifties or early sixties sits behind a wood desk. He has long, gray hair with a long, gray beard to match.

"How can I help you?" the man asks in a Scottish accent.

"Hello, I'm Agent David Smith, this is my partner Agent Christine Waller. We have a couple questions for you. One of your friends said you may have information about the drownings," Mike says.

"Aye, that'd be Thomas, always thinking I know things."

"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary around here? Especially around the nights of the recent drownings?" I ask.

"I'm afraid I haven't. Although, the other night, the night of that last drownin', there was a horrid fog that rolled in. I could barely see the light from the south lighthouse. I went home earlier that night, so I wasn't here when that poor man fell into the lake. You know, at first I thought it was just the wee ones who didn't know how to swim. But then these adults start drownin'...it's odd."

"Odd how?"

"I mean, I canane imagine a person their ages that dunno how to swim. I guess they could've slipped, hit their heads..."

My eyes are roaming over his desk when a small, slightly tattered children's book catches my eye. The book looks old, the cover is a dark blue, suede-type material. On the cover, a stitched picture portrays a blue horse with seaweed for a mane. The horse has a child on its back, in the background is some body of water. Muir notices me looking at the book cover.

"Ah, don't mind that, lassie. Just an old wives' tale they used to tell us wee ones back in Scotland."

"What is it?" I ask.

"Oh, it's just a story they used to keep us out of the water so those old women could gossip and not have to watch us," Muir replies with a laugh.

He soon realizes I wish to know more about this wives' tale.

"They used to tell us to stay away from the water's edge because kelpies lived in the lochs. The kelpies, they're these horse-type water spirits. They told us they would sometimes take the form of a young man or woman to draw people into the water. As soon as you touch one, or get close enough to it, the kelpie would drag you under the water. They told us stories about wee ones wanting to ride these horse creatures and once they touched their skin or their mane they would get stuck. Oh, we were petrified when we heard these stories, so we listened to them. As we got older we realized those old women just didn't want to keep up with us playin', but didn't want us to drown. This wee book is just a reminder of home, my mum gave it to me so many years ago."

"Sounds very interesting. Kind of dark for a children's story, but then again, aren't most of them?"

Muir laughs, "That they are."

"Well, thank you so much for your help. I'm sure you're very busy, so we'll be on our way."

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help. If anything comes to me, I'll be sure to let you know."

Mike hands him one of the FBI cards we have with our cell numbers on it.

As soon as we are back in the motel room I plop down on the bed and open my laptop. I immediately search for information on these kelpie creatures. Mike takes one look at me, shakes his head and sighs.

"Come on, Lara, I know what you're thinking."

"Yeah, that we just found our Lake Michigan monster," I say clicking on a Scottish mythology page.

"Yes, but you really think it's that easy? We have no proof that these things really exist."

"Yeah? Then why did he have that book on his desk? A grown man doesn't read children's books for fun."
"You heard him, it reminds him of home."

"Then it's a coincidence he just happens to reminisce about his childhood during all these drownings?"

"Fine, research your long shot of a 'lead'."

I read the entire page on kelpies, their abilities, myths, and most importantly, their weaknesses. Mike is right, it is a long shot, there is no hard proof that these things exist or that there is one here. Sometimes a hunch can be right and hopefully mine is. After I have read the page over once I give Mike the essential information I found.

"So, like Mr. Muir said, these things are Scottish water spirits that appear mostly in the form of a horse or sometimes a pony. Mostly, they lure in children with their horse or pony form, looking very benevolent. They're malevolent shape-shifters, though, and they can change form to appear as a young maiden or young man to draw in older victims. The myths all say that once the victim touches or mounts the kelpie, they are stuck. Their magical skin is so sticky, it is nearly impossible to get free of. One story tells of a child stroking the horse with a single finger and once his finger was stuck he was able to free himself by cutting that finger off. Anyway, once their victims are stuck they drag them under the water and drown them. Some accounts say that they eat their victims, but that isn't always the case. Still, I don't see how one got all the way over here, they are pretty much only found in Scotland's lochs or ponds."

"As interesting as that myth sounds, it still doesn't prove that there is one here."

"See, I knew you were going to say that. 'In their horse form, kelpies have water weeds in their manes, which help ensnare their victims. In human form, these water weeds can appear in or as their hair.' Sticky water weeds? Sound familiar? That bit of vegetation wrapped around the victims' bodies. Wrapped so tightly, the coroner couldn't remove it. They can also affect the weather around the water in which they live. That would explain the mysterious fog. Also, I looked up this," I say, holding up the picture of the symbol. "Turns out this is the Celtic symbol called a 'lover's knot' or a symbol for 'sailor'."

"What do 'lovers' have to do with this?"

"Some stories say the kelpie would come ashore looking for a mate, explaining taking the form of a young man or woman. It could be some magical brand of some sort."

"Okay, so you have some form of a lead here, but I'm going to need more proof before I go off looking for this thing. Does that info you got include a way to kill it?"

"It just says it can be killed by silver."

Later in the day, Mike goes out to get dinner for us. I stay back at the motel, looking through the history of the town for any clue as to how a Scottish water spirit may have arrived here. Luckily, for my theory, I find the town was partly settled by Scottish immigrants. In a rather detailed story about the town's founders I find out that, apparently, one of the Scotsmen who founded the town brought along with him a cursed box. This cursed box was said to be mysterious in its content, but a few years after arriving, Lake Michigan supposedly flooded higher than any year currently on record. I tell this to Mike when he returns.

"That is a lot of 'supposedlys' and 'apparentlys'. If you find some cold, hard proof that this thing isn't just another creature we haven't thought of yet, then I'll believe you."

His stubbornness is very annoying sometimes. As hunters, we should keep open minds about any myth we may come across. Besides, it's not like he has any better ideas. After we eat dinner, Mike informs me he is heading to the local bar to question more people. I know that is not all he will be doing there, so I decide to stay back, knowing one of us needs to stay sober. The sun is starting to set when I decide to go out and search for the "proof" I need to get Mike to believe me. I leave him a note on the bed, saying I will be down by the beach and the marina if he needs me.

The dusk air is brisk and frigid, far colder than it had been earlier in the day. I leave the motel with more layers on than I started out with. I take a handgun, loaded with silver bullets, for protection, just in case I am unfortunate enough to find the creature itself. I know Mike will be angry when he knows I did this, but I don't care. I am an adult, capable of making decisions for myself. I walk down toward the lake's beach first. I walk close to the water's edge, but not too close in case my hunch turns out to be right. There is enough light left in the day for me to see the various things along the beach. Most of it is just vegetation and old twigs, a few rocks. I bend down to look at an oddly shaped rock when movement a few feet up the beach catches my attention. I stand back up, hand on my gun, every nerve in my body standing on end. I walk toward the movement I saw, ready to attack or flee. When I get closer, I immediately move my hand away from my gun. It is a kid about nine or ten years old, skipping rocks in the lake. Up ahead I can see the lights of the marina. I slowly approach the kid, trying not to startle him.

"Hey, kid," I say. "It's getting late. You probably shouldn't be out here all alone."

I crouch down to be eye level with him, hoping to not appear scary. He skips one more rock into the water then nods his head. He walks closer to me and I smile.

"Okay, let's get you home, alright?'' I say, placing my hand on his left arm to lead him away from the water.

Before I even realize the massive mistake I just made, the ground recedes about seven feet below me. The child has disappeared and I am looking down at the muscled neck of a draft-sized horse.

"Oh, hell," I say, dread rising in me.

I sit behind the horse's withers, my left hand stuck to the hide of its neck. The horse's skin is the color and feeling of the nighttime water. Its muscles shimmer, looking like the movement of the wind-fueled waves that ripple in the lake. Great tangles of water weeds are woven into its black mane. It turns its head to the side to look at me, as if to check if its victim is secured on its back. Its eyes are a burning red. I have to hand it to the sources I looked through, pretty damn accurate. Of course that means I'm pretty much dead. The kelpie starts to walk into the water, slowly at first. Inside I am panicking, knowing that if I don't do something, I am going to drown like all the others. I push down my fear and try to think of something to do. There is nothing I can do to free my left hand, nothing short of cutting it off anyway, but I am not resigning to my fate. Careful not to let my right hand even get close to the horse's skin, I draw my gun out of my coat. Just as the water reaches the top of the kelpie's legs I aim the gun between its ears, right at its poll, surely a fatal shot. Right as I pull the trigger, the kelpie dives out into the deeper water, making my aim drop. The silver bullet strikes it in the neck instead and it jerks to the side, throwing me off of its back. My hand, however, is still stuck to it. I have just enough time to take a huge breath before I am pulled under the cold water.

A/N: I won't make any specific promises to when I will finish the next chapter because I can never seem to keep them. I will simply say, I am working on chapter 10 already and have it mostly planned out. Thanks for sticking around to read this fic :)