Monachopsis

Chapter XLIX: Another Creepy Cabin In The Woods

It was after nightfall when we reached Daniel Elkins' home. It was secluded, on an out-of-the-way road in the mountain woods. Snow blanketed the ground in a thick layer of white, mounding around the trunks of trees and against the walls of the cabin.

I shivered and pulled my jacket tighter around me as Dean picked the lock. He swung the door open slowly, his flashlight sweeping across the dark interior. He stepped inside cautiously. I followed close behind. Sam took up the rear, standing so close to me I could feel the heat of his body on my back.

"Do you have to stand so close to me?" I hissed.

"Sorry," he whispered. He backed off.

I swung my flashlight around the tiny kitchen and living room. The cabin was equipped with only the bare necessities: a small gas cooking stove, a fridge, a tiny chair and table. In the living room, a wood stove sat dark and cold in front of a sagging couch.

"Looks like the maid didn't come today," Dean said. He was on the other side of the cabin, entering another room.

Sam was crouched in front of the front door, picking at something on the welcome mat. He rubbed it between his fingers. "Hey, there's salt over here, right inside the door."

"You mean, like, protection-against-demon salt or 'oops, I spilled the popcorn' salt?" Dean called.

"It's clearly a ring," Sam answered.

"I doubt this man ate anything besides deer jerky and beer anyway," I said, joining Dean in the other room. "The kitchen's nearly empty. Nothing useful in there unless you like canned beans and salt."

"You think this guy Elkins was a player?" Sam asked.

Dean was pouring over a notebook, muttering to himself as he read. I took in the room, which was a bedroom. It was plain, with a simple bed and nightstand with a joint bathroom. Thick curtains blocked out any outside light.

"Definitely," Dean said. Sam had joined us then, and was looking at the journal over Dean's shoulder.

"That looks a hell of a lot like Dad's," he murmured.

"Except this dates back to the 60's," Dean said.

We went on to the next room. It was completely trashed. Debris was spilling out of the doorway into the bedroom, mingled with shards of broken glass and dark stains that made my skin crawl. Inside the room was even worse. I guessed it must have been an office or den of some kind. There was a desk hidden under spilled papers and shattered glass. Bookshelves were toppled over, their contents scattered. Any surface that wasn't covered in debris was covered in blood.

"Jesus..." I gasped. Glass snapped and crunched under my boots as I walked in. The shadows cast by the trees outside shivered on the walls.

I stooped down to inspect the wreckage of a bookshelf. I shifted carefully through the splinters and picked up a book. "'Grimoire of Occult Objects and Magicks Throughout History'  These are lore books. This guy, he was no joke. This whole thing is annotated in Latin and Hebrew."

Sam and Dean aimed their flashlights skyward. I focused on the broken skylight right above us. It must have been the source of all the broken glass.

"Whatever attacked him, looks like there was more than one," Sam said.

"Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too," said Dean.

"Whoever this Elkins guy was," I muttered, sifting through the notes and papers on the desk, "he must've gotten on something's bad side. Monsters usually don't go out of their way to attack hunters like this."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

The three of us were quiet as we went about sifting through the room. Sam began looking through the pile of papers on the desk. Dean shuffled broken glass and books out of the way with his foot. I made my way to the windows, carefully moving the curtains out of the way. Outside, the picturesque snowy landscape was quiet and still. The only movement came from the trees as their branches swayed in the wind.

As I pulled away, a glint of white caught my eye. Down by my foot, a small sliver of ivory stuck out against the stark dark wood. I picked it up. It was long and odd-shaped, not exactly ivory but too opaque to be any type of crystal or glass.

"Sam," I called. He looked up from the document he was reading. "Come take a look at this."

He picked his way over to me. I dropped what I'd found into his palm. His eyebrows furrowed. "What is this?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Tell me it doesn't look odd to you."

"Yeah," he agreed, pinching it between his fingers to examine it. "It kinda looks like some kind of tooth."

A few feet away, Dean crouched to examine something on the floor. Sam returned the sliver to me, and I tucked into my pocket.

"Got something?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. Some scratches in the floor." Dean's flashlight exposed the torn up floor at his feet. Around the scratches were streaks of blood.

"Death throes maybe?" Sam suggested.

"Or he tried getting away," I said. I lifted a shoulder. "Man's a hunter his whole life, he's not gonna go down that easy."

"Maybe..." Dean didn't look convinced. He snatched a small piece of paper and a fallen pencil from the desk. Flattening the paper onto the floor, he used the flat edge of the pencil lead to color over the scratches. The injuries to the floor left marks in the graphite. After he was done, Dean tossed the pencil aside and unstuck the paper from the blood. He looked at it for a second, then said, "or maybe a message. Look familiar?"

He held the paper up to Sam. Sam took it from him. I stepped closer, looking at it over his shoulder.

"Three letters, six digits--the location and combination of a post office box." Sam looked at me. "It's a mail drop."

"That's just the way dad does it," Dean said.

"You think he's connected to this somehow?" I asked. 

Dean stood. "Well, there's only one way to find out. Come on."

The drive into town was tense. Finding the local post office was easy enough, and we were eager to find out what Elkins had left behind. My heart was beginning to pick up speed as Dean slowly entered the lock combination. Watching him slowly turn the number knob was maddening. Sure enough, the lock popped open.

Dean whipped the box door open, freezing at the sight of a single envelope sitting inside. I snatched it, reading the recipient's name and the sender's after that. The boys waited impatiently. 

When I flipped the letter over to show them, they frowned. The three of us shared a look.

We didn't dare discuss it until we got in the car. There was no way to tell who might be listening.

"J.W.--you think?" Sam asked once we were safe inside the Impala. "John Winchester?"

"I don't know," Dean looked sickeningly uncertain. "Should we open it?"

"That envelope's thick," I pointed out. I reached out to squeeze it. "Whatever Elkins wrote in there must be important. He would've counted on whoever came snooping to know what to do with it."

Dean looked at me. "Dad?"

I shrugged. "Elkins' name and number was in his journal. But who knows? Man was hunting a long time. Enough time to make plenty of friends."

A fist pounded against Dean's window. We jumped. Dean jerked away from the window as I snatched up my pocket knife. My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the face grinning at us.

"Dad?" Dean asked in disbelief.

John fucking Winchester.