Supernatural: Carved in Flesh

by Tim Waggoner

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  SUPERNATURAL

  CARVED IN FLESH

  TIM WAGGONER

  SUPERNATURAL created by Eric Kripke

  TITAN BOOKS

  Supernatural: Carved in Flesh

  Print edition ISBN: 9781781161135

  E-book edition ISBN: 9781781161166

  Published by Titan Books

  A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

  144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP

  First edition: April 2013

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Copyright © 2013 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  SUPERNATURAL and all related characters and elements are trademarks of and © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  Cover imagery: Cover photograph © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  Trees 1 © Dreamstime. Trees 2 © Dreamstime. Biohazard ©

  Shutterstock.

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  With the exception of the characters from The CW’s Supernatural series, this publication, including any of its contents or references, has not been prepared, approved, endorsed or licensed by any third party, corporation or product referenced herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE

  This novel takes place during season seven, between “Time After Time” and “The Slice Girls.”

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the author

  ONE

  “I’m surprised they haven’t left for the winter yet.”

  Joyce Nagrosky glanced sideways at her companion. He stood at the edge of the pond, tearing small pieces from a slice of wheat bread and tossing them into the water. A half dozen ducks had gathered close to shore, and whenever a morsel landed close to them, they extended their necks, heads darting fast as striking snakes, and snatched up the snack in their rounded beaks. When the bread was gone, they stared at the humans, eager and alert for the next offering.

  “Not all ducks fly south for the winter,” Joyce said. “As long as it doesn’t get cold enough to damage their feet, they can make it to spring just fine.”

  Ted turned toward her, an amused smile on his face. “I thought you retired from teaching. Besides, you taught English, not biology.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Once a know-it-all, always a know-it-all, I suppose.”

  Even in his sixties, Ted Boykin was a good-looking man, with a full head of thick white hair, a trim goatee to match, and the most striking blue eyes. Back when he’d been principal at the school where Joyce had taught, he’d been clean-shaven, and while she was normally indifferent to facial hair on men, the beard gave him a roguish air that she liked. She’d worked alongside the man for more than twenty years, but while she’d respected him, even in some ways counted him as a friend, she hadn’t been attracted to him. But now here they were. Life sure was funny sometimes. In fact, it could be downright hysterical.

  It was dusk in early November, and although it had been on the warm side throughout the day, now that the sun had dipped toward the horizon it was getting cold. Ted seemed comfortable in his brown jacket, but Joyce had donned a blue windbreaker before leaving her apartment, and it didn’t do much to ward off the chill in the air, especially since she wore only a T-shirt beneath. She wished she’d at least thought to grab a hat or scarf before walking out the door.

  Why so addle-pated all of a sudden, my dear? she asked herself. Could it be that you were a wee bit nervous to rendezvous with Mr. Boykin down by the duck pond? She wanted to tell herself that it was a ridiculous thought. She was a grown woman, for god’s sake! Overgrown, truth be told, if not vertically then at least horizontally. And the pond was hardly lover’s lane. Even so, she had to admit to a certain uneasiness at being there. She’d been alone since her husband had died a few years back, and while she still missed him, in all that time she hadn’t felt the need to seek out a replacement. But then a week ago she’d bumped into Ted—almost literally. She’d been backing her Volvo out of the parking space in front of her apartment at the same moment Ted had been passing in front of her building. He’d barely managed to stop his Bronco in time to avoid ramming her rear end—And isn’t that a phrase rife with naughty possibilities?—and that’s when they’d discovered that after the deaths of their respective spouses, they’d both sold their homes and moved into Arbor Vale Apartments. In fact, Ted lived in the building next to Joyce’s, and had for almost two years, without either of them knowing the other was there. Small world, and all that.

  The next day they’d met for lunch, and the day after that, dinner. They’d seen quite a bit of each other over the past seven days, and in that time, Ted had been a complete gentleman, not trying to kiss her or even hold her hand. She was, quite frankly, getting tired of it. She wished he would go ahead and make a move already. She was far from shy and would have made the first move herself if he hadn’t been so tentative toward her. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him off by being too direct: Don’t you think it’s time the two of us had sex? It’s not like we’re getting any younger. Somehow, she didn’t think that would work.

  She brushed her black hair over her ear, even though there was no need. The air was still, and as short as she kept her hair, it rarely got mussed. Since childhood, she’d been something of a tomboy, and now that she no longer had to dress for work, that tendency had reasserted itself. She preferred simple clothes like T-shirts and jeans and wore no makeup. She’d recently taken to collecting jewelry that she picked up at auctions and estate sales, for reasons she couldn’t articulate clearly even to herself, but she rarely wore any of it. She wished she’d put some on today, though. Maybe
if she seemed more feminine to Ted, he wouldn’t keep her at arm’s length. Maybe he hasn’t gotten over the loss of his wife yet, she thought. Or maybe he still sees me as one of his teachers instead of a woman. She was surprised by how much this latter possibility depressed her.

  The pond lay behind Arbor Vale’s buildings, at the bottom of a gently sloping grassy hill. On the other side were woods of oak, elm, and ash trees, their leaves a splendorous mix of yellows, reds, and browns. Most of them hadn’t fallen yet, but Joyce knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they began drifting to the ground. A week, maybe two. Autumn was her favorite time of the year, partly because it was when school began, but mostly because of the energy that filled the crisp air. It was a delicious paradox that even as the world prepared for the temporary death brought by winter—to be followed by resurrection come spring—it seemed, at least to her, to be the most alive.

  To hell with it, she thought. Life is for living. She took a step closer to Ted, reached out, and took his hand.

  She felt him tense and feared he would pull away, but then he relaxed and clasped her hand firmly. Joyce didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at her, but they both smiled and gazed at the water. Ted tossed in the last of the bread, and once it was gone, the ducks milled about, hoping for more, but doomed to disappointment. Joyce admired the way the reflections of the trees on the opposite shore rippled on the water like shadowy ink.

  She was wondering what the chances were of Ted kissing her later, and perhaps doing more than just kissing, when she heard a low growling sound. Fear jolted her, and she tightened her grip on Ted’s hand.

  The ducks let out a series of alarmed quacks as they reared back, spread their wings, and one by one took to the sky, flapping with frantic urgency as they fled.

  The sound came again, a deep rumbling like a truck engine in dire need of repair, only it was louder this time. And closer. The sound came from their right, and when Joyce and Ted turned in that direction, they saw a large dark shape emerge from the woods and come toward them, walking on all fours.

  It moved with the slow, menacing deliberation of a predator, and at first Joyce thought it might be a coyote. In recent years, the animals had moved into Ohio, and while they were by no means common, there were more of them around than most people thought. Joyce had never seen one outside of TV and the zoo—not alive, anyway. The animals were masters of concealment that preferred to avoid humans whenever possible, and the only time she’d seen one was when it lay dead on the side of the highway after being struck by a vehicle. She had been surprised by how much larger it looked than she expected. Ohio coyotes had shaggier coats than their desert-dwelling cousins, which likely accounted for the seeming disparity in their sizes. But Joyce quickly discarded the possibility that this creature was a coyote. There was something wrong about it. The gloom of dusk cloaked it, rendering it a mobile shadow that moved with a lurching, uneven gait, as if it were injured. Its growls weren’t sounds of pain, though, but rather of hunger combined with almost human anger. Could it be a wolf? As far as Joyce knew, no wolves lived in Ohio, at least not in the wild. Maybe this one had been someone’s pet that had escaped or been turned loose for some reason. Yet its form lacked the feral grace of a wolf, and seemed more canine than lupine.

  Then the smell hit her, a thick miasma of musk and rot that made her gorge rise.

  Sweet Jesus, what was that thing?

  “It’s okay,” Ted said. His voice was shaky, but he didn’t hesitate as he let go of Joyce’s hand and stepped between her and the approaching whatever-it-was. Normally, she would have hated having a man—any man—treat her as if she were some delicate thing that needed protecting, but something about this... this creature triggered a deep atavistic fear in her, and she was grateful for Ted’s gesture. She thought, too, that perhaps his actions were as much for his benefit as hers. As a former principal, he was used to being in charge and dealing with problems head on. It was his default setting, a comfortable role that he could fall back on in a time of crisis.

  Still, as much as she appreciated what he was trying to do, her instincts told her it was a bad idea. Very bad.

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Please, don’t.”

  Ted gave no sign that he heard her. Instead, he took a step toward the creature and drew himself up to his full height, arms held away from his sides, hands balled into fists.

  He’s trying to make himself look larger, Joyce realized. More threatening. She wondered if he’d done something similar in high school when dealing with potentially violent teenage boys. But hadn’t she read somewhere that directly facing a canine and making eye contact was a form of challenge to them? In that case—

  The creature rushed forward, mismatched limbs moving with surprising speed, growl so loud it was nearly a roar. It moved so swiftly that in the dimming light of dusk Joyce could only make out the most basic details of its grotesque form: different-sized legs, a single ragged ear, bare skin alternating with patches of fur, and worst of all, a crooked muzzle filled with sharp teeth, far more than the mouth of a simple dog should have been able to hold.

  When it was within a yard of Ted, the beast leaped into the air, discolored tongue lolling from the side of its misshapen mouth. Its front paws hit Ted on the chest, its weight driving him backward, slamming him against the ground. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and she heard a crack that she guessed was the sound of one or more ribs breaking.

  Joyce had managed to sidestep in time to avoid being knocked down, and she now stood less than a foot away from Ted as he struggled with the freakish dog, which was roughly the size and bulk of a St. Bernard, although it didn’t resemble the breed otherwise. It snarled and snapped, intent on fastening its teeth around Ted’s throat, and Ted wrapped his hands around its neck in an attempt to hold it at bay. The dog-beast’s rear legs—one larger than the other—scrabbled at the ground as it fought to get close enough to sink its teeth into its prey. Ted grimaced, his arms trembling with the effort of trying to hold off the animal. Considering the massive size of the thing, it would have been too strong for most men to handle, and whatever physical strength Ted had possessed in his youth was long gone. He was relying on adrenaline and sheer force of will right now, but Joyce knew they wouldn’t be enough in the end. She feared he had only moments, if not seconds, before the monster dog overwhelmed him, fastened its jaws around his throat, and crushed his windpipe in a spray of blood.

  Part of her—the primitive animal part that was only interested in self-preservation at all costs—wanted nothing more than to turn and run away as fast as her less-than-svelte legs were capable of carrying her. In fact, without fully being aware of it, she had already half-turned and taken a step away from the pond. But she forced herself to turn back. She would never forgive herself if she ran off and left Ted to die. She had to do something to help him, but what? She wasn’t about to try and grapple with the damned beast, and the closest thing to a weapon she had was her sometimes too-sharp tongue, which had filleted many a lazy student over the years. So, without anything else in her arsenal to rely on, she drew in a deep breath and, using what one of her fellow teachers had once referred to as “The Voice of Irresistible Authority,” she shouted a single word.

  “Stop!”

  The word sounded harsh as a whip crack on the chill autumn air, and it echoed across the pond. The dog-thing stopped snarling and turned to look at her, confusion and perhaps a touch of fear in its eyes. Joyce had the feeling that with that one word she had reached something deep inside the beast, an inner core which recognized that humans occupied a higher rung on the evolutionary ladder, and thus were its masters. The creature lowered its gaze and its tail—a hairless appendage that looked like it should have been attached to a giant rat—drooped between its legs. It let out a soft whine.

  Ted, who’d been just as surprised as the dog by Joyce’s command, loosened his grip on the animal’s neck. Instantly, the grotesque canine’s upper lip curled away from its
teeth, and the confusion in its eyes was replaced by blazing fury. The creature tore free from Ted’s grasp and lunged forward with a snarl.

  Joyce screamed as the monster-dog sank its teeth into Ted’s throat and began shaking him back and forth, as if he were nothing but a toy. Ted’s eyes widened with fear and pain, but although his mouth gaped wide, no sound emerged. An instant later Joyce understood why, as thick blood geysered upward. It ran down the sides of Ted’s mouth and turned his white hair crimson before soaking into the ground beneath.

  She opened her mouth to scream again, but the sound died in her throat. Something strange was happening. She thought at first that it was a trick of the waning light, but Ted’s pale pink skin was losing its color, becoming a dull slate gray. More than that, his skin was drawing in on itself, tightening against his bones, muscle and fat shrinking as he transformed into an unwrapped mummy before her eyes. Crazily, Joyce was reminded of one of the last trips she’d taken with her husband before the cancer spread to the point where he was unable to travel. They’d gone camping in Hocking Hills, and instead of sleeping bags, they’d taken a king-sized inflatable mattress with a battery-powered fan that inflated it within moments. The fan had a reverse switch on it that also deflated the mattress, so that when it was finished, it was completely flat, curled slightly at the edges and crisscrossed with wrinkly lines. That’s what Ted looked like now: a deflated gray air mattress with a skeleton inside.

  The monster-dog held its grip on Ted’s throat a moment longer, and Joyce watched as the blood smeared on Ted’s face and the creature’s muzzle dried and flaked away. Like the monster had absorbed Ted’s life energy, drawn it into itself, and was determined not to let go of him until it had gotten every last bit. When it was finally finished, it withdrew its teeth from Ted’s desiccated flesh and turned its attention to her.

  She heard someone whisper, “Run,” and it took her a moment to realize she was the whisperer. Hearing her own voice broke her paralysis, and she turned and ran.