Ghosts, gnomes, ghouls, even evil dwarves, for God's sake – they had discussed every creature likely to live in abandoned mines and grab hikers.
They still had no clue what they were hunting.
There was no sound but their labored breathing in the stifling air and the tock-tock of their boots on wooden sleepers.
Dean tried to ignore the memories assaulting him. The cutting and carving and pleading and cursing. The stench of blood and…
"You smell that?"
He froze.
Impossible. Sam couldn't …
His brother was scraping something from the wall with his knife, sniffing at the yellow substance.
Sulfur!
TBC