by Tim Waggoner
“Sure,” Dean said. “Knock yourself out.” He turned to the woman. “Okay with you, Ms.…”
“Melody Diaz. Editor, office manager, and head reporter.” She shook their hands. “I’m happy to help in any way I can. You two want to pull up a couple chairs? My sports guy is out covering a middle-school football game, so you can borrow the chairs from his desk.”
She pointed toward an ancient office chair and a simple wooden chair in front of an old metal desk. Neither looked particularly comfortable.
“Thanks, but we’re fine,” Sam said.
“I don’t blame you for passing on them,” Melody said as she sat back down. “As you can see, we put the small in small-town newspaper. We can barely afford the necessities, let alone upgraded office furniture.”
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” Sam said, “but I’d think things would be more… lively in here right now. A murder like Clay Fuller’s would be news anywhere, but in a small town—”
“It should be the story of the century, right?” Melody said. “I’ve got another of my people out looking into Fuller’s background. But, honestly, a story like this gets so much coverage from larger papers and television stations that we end up just covering the basics and trying to add a more local angle, like highlighting the problems our community’s been having with substance abuse. That kind of thing.”
Sam understood exactly what she meant. The cases he and Dean investigated were usually grisly and baffling, and because of this they attracted a good deal of media attention. This was one of the reasons why they tended to ditch their suits as soon as they could when working a case—so reporters wouldn’t recognize them as FBI agents and try to interview them.
“I take it you’ve already spoken with the sheriff?” she asked.
“He’s not exactly forthcoming, is he?” Sam added.
Melody laughed. “That’s one way to put it. You ever heard the phrase ‘Trying to get blood from a stone’? Well. That’s a hell of a lot easier than trying to get Alan Crowder to tell you anything useful.”
“The sheriff did confirm that Mr. Fuller’s heart was removed from his body,” Sam said.
“Removed is too neat a word,” Dean said. “How about ripped out?”
“Did he confirm the part about heart-stealing monsters too?” Garth asked. “I mean, whoever heard of anything more laughable?” He gave a too-loud and entirely unconvincing laugh.
Says the werewolf, Sam thought.
“I reported that aspect of Amos’s account because it was news,” Melody said, “and I figured his story would get out to the public sooner or later. I did my best to avoid sensationalizing it though. Unlike some media outlets in the area.” She scowled. “Damn ratings-chasing vultures.”
“Do you believe him?” Dean asked. “Or do you think he’s a couple toys shy of a kid’s meal?”
“We’d never met before I interviewed him.” When the three men looked at her, she said, “What? You think because we live in a small town everyone knows everybody else? Bridge Valley isn’t that minuscule. He seemed shook up by what he’d witnessed, but otherwise he appeared clear-minded. His story seems crazy, but he doesn’t. But still, heart-stealing wolf people?” She shook her head at the idea.
“Were you able to look at the body before it was cremated?” Sam said.
“I asked, but the sheriff told me I couldn’t see it until Fuller’s next of kin were notified. As near as I can tell, he has no kin in town, and the body was cremated before I could pester the sheriff again about letting me see it.”
“Do you have an address for Mr. Boyd?” Sam asked.
“Sure.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and consulted the notes app. “He lives outside town, twenty-four Edgewood Road. I’ve got his phone number too, if you want it.”
She read it out, and Sam dutifully wrote it down.
“Have there been any other strange deaths in town lately?” Sam asked.
“Real weird ones,” Dean added. “Mutilated corpses, severed limbs, heads torn off—that kind of thing.”
Melody looked at Dean as if he might secretly be a serial killer. “No, nothing like that,” she said.
“But there have been disappearances, yes?” Garth asked.
“It’s true,” she admitted. “We did a story on that last summer. Bridge Valley has a higher rate of disappearances than is average for a town our size. The sheriff says our drug problem is most likely to blame. People might leave town to avoid paying off debts they owe to suppliers. Some might be suppliers who end up in disputes with their competitors— disputes which turn deadly, and the bodies are buried in unmarked graves.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Dean said, his tone neutral.
“ Sounds is the operative word,” Melody said. “I believe there are too many disappearances to simply explain away. And there’s a definite pattern to when the majority of them have occurred.”
Garth glanced at Sam and Dean, eyebrows raised, smiling, as if to say, Wait for it…
“Around the time of the full moon,” she finished.
“Could be coincidence,” Sam said.
Melody sighed. “I know. But something about the whole situation feels hinky, you know?”
“We do have some experience with hinkiness,” Dean said.
EIGHT
Near Seattle, Washington. 1992
“I’m bored.”
Nine-year-old Sam Winchester sat cross-legged on one of the two beds in the small motel room. His brother Dean— thirteen—sat in a vinyl-covered chair in the corner, feet propped up on the other bed. The TV was turned to what network executives liked to call a “daytime drama,” but which their father always referred to as a soap opera. Sam thought the name was weird. He knew what an opera was—a play where people in costume sang loud songs in another language—but no one sang in these shows, and he had absolutely no clue where soap came in.
He’d seen this particular one before—it was called Heartbreak Hospital—but he could never keep track of the various storylines. Characters cheated on their lovers with other characters—Sam wasn’t exactly sure what cheating entailed, but it seemed to have something to do with kissing—and they experienced different medical conditions, everything from unexplained pregnancies to amnesia. Currently, a man who was a doctor was in his office embracing a woman lawyer who, up until a week ago, had been his mortal enemy. They were both married to other people who were, ironically, at that exact same moment lying in bed with each other in a house on the other side of town.
Dean hadn’t responded, so Sam turned to face his brother and tried again. “Can we see if something else is on? I don’t like it when they start kissing.”
Dean didn’t take his gaze from the screen as he answered. “You will when you’re older. Now shut up. I want to see if Dr. Martin realizes he’s really with Alexis’s evil twin Anika.” He grinned. “Anika is so much hotter than Alexis.”
Sam frowned. Weren’t the characters played by the same actress? How could one be hotter than the other? Sighing, Sam faced the screen once more. Dean loved to watch TV. It didn’t much matter what was on, just as long as it had a story to it. Once he started watching something, he was practically hypnotized until it concluded. Sam was the complete opposite. He liked to watch shows he could learn from, like quiz shows or science programs. He hated this mushy junk.
They were in Pennington, Washington, a small town not far from Seattle. Although really, they could have been pretty much anywhere. The inside of one cheap motel room looked the same as any other to Sam. Their father had brought them here because he’d gotten a lead on a warlock living in Vancouver who supposedly had a mystic artifact that could track demons. John Winchester hoped to use it to track the yellow-eyed demon that had killed their mother. Finding and killing the yellow-eyed demon was an obsession with their dad, and Sam sometimes thought there was nothing more important to him in the whole wide world—including his sons. He’d never say this out loud, especially around Dean.
Dean was always trying to explain why their dad left them alone so often and how the work he was doing saved people’s lives. Sam knew this was true, but he still couldn’t help missing their father, and sometimes—a lot of times—feeling abandoned by him.
At least he hadn’t left them alone this time.
There was a series of knocks on the door—three slow, three fast—then the sound of a key in the lock. The door opened and Bobby Singer stepped inside. He wore his usual baseball cap and khaki army jacket, both of which were wet, and he carried a pair of plastic bags full of snacks and soda. He kicked the door closed then put the bags on top of the dresser.
“Seems like it’s always raining in this state,” Bobby said.
Bobby locked the door, then went into the bathroom to dry off his face and hands. Dean got up to check out what Bobby had brought them. He pulled out a jar of peanuts, popped a handful into his mouth, and then offered the jar to Sam. Sam took a few, and as he was chewing, Dean took two bottles of pop from the second bag and handed one to Sam.
Bobby came out of the bathroom, tossed his wet cap on the small desk and hung his equally wet jacket on the knob of the door. He sat down and glanced at the TV. Dr. Martin and Anika were kissing so fiercely it looked like they were trying to eat each other’s faces.
“Is that Anika?” Bobby asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, grinning.
“Well, I hate to interrupt your afternoon Sex Ed., but I need you to turn off the TV,” Bobby said.
Dean’s grin fell away. He snatched up the remote and did as Bobby asked. Normally, Sam would’ve been thrilled to not have to watch any more of that show, but the tone of Bobby’s voice told him that something important had happened. Both boys put their pop bottles down on the nightstand and looked at Bobby expectantly.
Sam didn’t want to ask The Question, as he’d come to think of it, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Is Dad okay?”
Bobby smiled. “Far as I know, he’s fine. He called the front desk and left a message for me earlier. He said he’s still working on the warlock case but he’s making good progress. He told me to tell you he loves you both, and he hopes to get back soon.”
Dean smiled. He always loved hearing from Dad, even if the message was passed along by someone else. Sam was relieved. It was hard knowing that whenever Dad went on a hunt, he might not come back, and if he did, he might not be altogether human. But Sam wasn’t sure that Dad had actually told Bobby to say the other part. Sam figured Bobby added the “Dad loves you” part whenever he passed along a message from their father, but he appreciated it. Bobby was like a second father to them, and when he told them their dad loved them, it was like he was saying it too.
“What I have to tell you boys is that I’m going to have to work tonight. Maybe all night. Will you be all right if I do?”
“Sure,” Dean said. “I’ve watched Sammy by myself lots of times. We’ll just watch TV until you get back.”
“And eat a ton of junk food while I’m gone,” Bobby said.
Dean smiled but didn’t say anything. Sam clenched his teeth. He didn’t like it when Dean called him Sammy.
“What are you going to do, Bobby?” Sam asked. He always worried when Dad was on a case, and he worried just as much—if not more—when Bobby was too.
Bobby looked back and forth between the brothers, as if trying to decide how much to tell them. Bobby once said he believed it was better to face an ugly truth than believe a pretty lie. Sam wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but it sounded cool.
“The clerk at the convenience store told me about a murder that happened last night. Might not be anything supernatural…”
“But?” Dean prompted.
“Could be the work of a werewolf,” Bobby said. “The attack occurred in the parking lot of the local hospital. The police think it was the work of a serial killer. They might be right.”
“But you don’t think so,” Sam said.
“Whenever you come across a corpse that’s been torn to hell and is missing a heart, you’ve got to check it out.”
“Especially if the murder happened during the cycle of the full moon,” Dean said.
“Bingo.”
Dean grinned as if he were in class and had just given a teacher the right answer.
“I’m going to stake out the hospital parking lot tonight. Werewolves are creatures of habit, like any animal. They return to the same hunting grounds as long as the food supply holds out.”
The thought of Bobby out there in the night, alone, with a werewolf lurking somewhere nearby, frightened Sam. Bobby gave him a smile.
“Don’t worry. I’ll have my gun, and I got plenty of silver bullets. I’ll be all right.”
Bobby’s words reassured Sam somewhat, but they didn’t relieve all his anxiety. Still, he gave Bobby a brave smile.
Bobby pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Dean. “For dinner. There’s a pizza joint not far from here that delivers. Number’s in the phone book. I circled it earlier. You boys take care of each other while I’m gone, you hear?”
Sam nodded, and Dean said, “We always do.”
Bobby sighed and his shoulders sagged. He grabbed his cap and jacket—neither of which had dried much during the few minutes he’d spoken to them—and left. Once the door was closed, he turned the knob to make sure it had locked behind him.
Dean turned the TV back on, but Heartbreak Hospital was over—luckily—and he started surfing through the channels. Sam lay back on the bed and got comfortable. It looked like it was going to be a long night.
Finally, Dean found something that caught his attention. “Awesome!” he said.
At first Sam didn’t know what he was looking at. A woman in a thin floor-length nightgown was running barefoot across hilly terrain. It was night, and a full moon hung in the sky, casting the world in an eerie glow. The woman looked absolutely terrified—mouth open in a silent scream, tears falling from eyes wild with fear.
“What is this?” Sam asked.
“It’s a movie. I haven’t seen it since… well when I was around your age. It’s called Night of the Blood Moon. It’s a classic, one of a series of Italian horror films starring Paolo Mansetti. As far as I’m concerned, he played the best werewolf ever!”
Dean loved all kinds of movies—even mushy romance ones so long as they had pretty women in them. But his absolute favorite kind of movie was horror. He lived for scary movies, and he knew all about them. When they were made, who directed and starred in them, whether they were originals or remakes… Sam had never been able to figure out why. Given what Dad and Bobby did for a living, Sam would’ve thought Dean would get his fill of spooky stuff in real life. Dad had even taken them with him sometimes. Dad said he wanted to prepare both of them.
Sam knew Dean intended to follow in their father’s footsteps. It was obvious. Dean practically worshipped their father. If their Dad had remained a mechanic, Dean probably would’ve started fixing cars. But Sam wasn’t like their dad at all. He loved the man but sometimes found him a complete mystery. Sam wasn’t mechanically inclined or good with his hands. He liked to be by himself sometimes so he could read or just think. And he liked to plan things out instead of stumbling through a situation and hoping everything would work out in the end. He was more like Bobby than Dad or Dean.
Dad didn’t like horror movies as much as Dean, but they did watch them together on those rare occasions when John was at home. Dad and Dean would laugh at the on-screen monsters, and Dad would complain about how unrealistic horror movies were. Sam always tried to watch scary movies with them, but he hated horror movies. He always got scared watching them, and the thought that his father actually hunted things like the ones on the screen frightened him even more than the films themselves. Dad and Dean might laugh at a walking skeleton that was really a big puppet hanging from wires, but all he could think about was that his dad fought real ghosts—ones that were angry and could kill you.
> But this movie, Night of the Blood Moon, bothered him more than usual. This movie was about a werewolf, the same kind of monster that Bobby had just left to hunt. Sam really didn’t want to watch the film, but Dean did. And Dean was older and bigger and in charge of the remote. Plus, he had the pizza money Bobby had given him. Sam wanted to stay on his brother’s good side. So he sat and watched the nightgowned woman run through the darkness. But when a wolf howl emitted from the TV’s speaker, he couldn’t help jumping. He was glad that Dean was too absorbed in the movie to notice.
“Watch this, Sammy. This is our first good look at the so-called monster.”
A man—or at least a creature shaped like a man—leaped in front of the woman. Terrified by his sudden appearance, she tripped and fell. She looked up into his eyes and screamed.
The camera moved in for a close-up of the monster, and Sam gasped in fright. The werewolf’s face and hands were covered with wiry black fur. The creature’s nose was an elongated canine snout filled with sharp teeth. The fangs were especially prominent, so large Sam didn’t know how the thing could close its mouth. A terrible, hungry intelligence blazed in its bloodshot eyes, and it raised hands with wickedly curved claws as it snarled and lunged toward the woman. She screamed again, louder and higher this time, and Sam imagined that instead of attacking the woman, the werewolf was attacking Bobby or Dad.
That was enough for him. He ran into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and locked it. Then he sat on the floor with his back against the tub, closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to the woman’s screams anymore.
A few moments later, he heard a knock at the door.
“Sammy? You okay?”
Sam opened his eyes and lowered his hands. He didn’t say anything, though.
“Come on, don’t be such a baby! It wasn’t that scary!”
Still Sam didn’t respond.
After another minute, Dean spoke again, this time in a softer voice.