"Hey, Dean?" I call, running my flashlight over the jarred human organs.
"Yeah?" He asks from a few steps ahead of me.
"Maybe they're building their very own Frankenstein." I joke, pulling out the jar that has a brain and showing it to him.
"Oh, yeah. Hey, maybe you can be it's bride." Dean snorts, continuing forward.
"Not with your jealous ass." I mutter with a small laugh, setting down the jar.
"Damn, check this out." I move over to him and lift my flashlight to where he's pointing his. Dozens of polaroids are hung up like prized trophies on some chicken fence and in each picture there's two men posing in front of a dead person, the same way a hunter would after catching a deer or bear.
"Is that..." I slowly pluck one of the polaroids off the wire and look closely at it. My eyes widen and I flip it over to show Dean. "It's Jenkins." I state.
"Well, I'll say it again—demons, I get. People are crazy." Dean says, walking away. I toss the polaroid back onto the table and follow closely behind him.
It was almost impossible going up the basement steps without having it creek several times. They were probably ancient and Dean's heavy foot only made the wood whine louder.
Outside the basement door, piano music plays throughout the house, making it easier for our steps to go unheard. There's clanking in the kitchen and I try getting a peek at who's inside when I hear clattering right next to my ear. I snap my gaze to Dean where he's holding onto something dangling from the ceiling to stop it from making noise. Looking closer at it, it becomes clear that it's a jawbone and hipbone.
"What the..." Dean whispers. I gag and gently swat his hands away from the bones. We continue forward and the noise in the kitchen continues as well. I scrunch my nose when I start to hear a loud crunching noise, like something was being sawed down. My stomach churns.
Dean was able to snatch up a thin wooden post, that was about as tall as me, with a rusted nail sticking out of it while I grabbed a small rusted butter knife that was sitting on a table we passed by. The place was dirty and rotted—and the smell. God, I never smelt anything like it.
I spot a tray of keys on another table in what looks like the living room, but I don't know. Nothing about this house was normal. I think I would've felt more 'normal' in a fun house. While Dean creeps closer to the kitchen doorway, I reach out for the keys when my eyes catch a jar full of teeth. With curious eyes and furrowed brows, I pick up the jar to get a closer look at it.
"Gross." I mutter, scrunching my nose. My body stiffens when I hear light footsteps creeping up behind me. Dean's steps weren't light. Setting down the jar, I whip around in the direction of the quiet pitter patter, knife raised. A young girl, no older than thirteen, stands there in a dirty dress.
Her hair was clearly in knots, and her pale skin was covered in dirt and sweat, making me wonder when was the last time she showered. She was in a defensive stance, preparing my attack, looking frightened.
"Shh. It's okay. We're not gonna hurt you." Dean coos, walking closer to her after setting down the wooden post.
"Uh, Dean-" I stop my warning immediately when I see her pull out a knife.
"I know." She smiles evilly, showing dark yellow teeth, and flings the small blade at Dean, pinning him to the wall by his jacket. "Daddy! Daddy!" She calls.
"Oh, you little-" I huff as I start for her with a raised arm. Before I can get a good cut on her, someone grabs a hold of my arm from behind me and yanks it back in an uncomfortable angle. I wince, but quickly knock them to the ground by kicking the back of their knee in. I fall with him when he grabs a fist full of my hair.
"Not cool." I grumble, jabbing the knife into their calf. He howls and immediately let's go of me. I jump up only to be grabbed by the jacket and thrown into the opposite wall, causing a frame to fall off its nail and hit me in the head. In the corner of my eye I see Dean fighting off the guy I stabbed with difficulty before focusing back on the other man.
He's walking over towards Dean now, trying to tag team him. I guess he thought I was an easy fight and was already down for the count, but how wrong he was. Just as he's about to grab Dean, I wring my arm around his neck in a tight hold and stir him around before throwing him into the same wall he threw me in.
Once he's dealt with I turn around to help Dean with the other guy only to see Dean on the ground, unconscious, and a new man with a frying pan in his hand. My gaze jumps between the two psychos.
"Oh, I'm definitely gonna kick your asses for that." I point at an unconscious Dean. I hear steps behind me again and whip around just in time to see an ugly smile before things go dark.
.....
I slowly come back to consciousness when I feel someone's hot breath fanning against my face. It smelled like a dead animal—no—that's a compliment—it smelled like a dead animal that had been soaked in rotten milk and eggs. I groan, leaning away from the smell, only to not move far I realize since I'm tied down to a chair.
"She sure is a pretty little thing." My eyes snap open when I feel rough, blistered fingers run down the length of my bare arm. My heart jumps, and so does my eyes, towards the assailant. His skin was grimy, his teeth yellow as he grinned at me, and dingy clothes that didn't seem to have been washed in decades covered his body.
"You keep your hands off her, you son of a bitch!" Dean says angrily from behind me and I felt him shuffle in his chair, his hands grazing mine during the struggle. The guy all up in my face laughs, but pulls away from me, moving somewhere behind me.
"Dean?" I groan out, leaning my head back on his shoulder as the pounding in my head leaves my thoughts and senses scattered about. He tries his best to wrap his fingers around mine from where they were confined behind our chairs, showing me that he was there with me and that he was fine.
"Come on. Let us hunt 'em." One says.
"Yeah, these two are fighters. Sure would be fun to hunt. Maybe we can keep the girl around for extra." Says the other. My body goes rigid as another man laughs and I lift my head off Dean's shoulder at the mention of doing 'extra'. He senses my growing fear right away and tightens his hold on my hand.
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me. That's what this is about—you, you yahoos hunt people?" Dean asks them.
"You ever killed before?" A new voice asks, voice rich in a southern accent. They all had one.
"I can make that answer a yes if you get me outta this rope." I answer smartly.
"I've hunted all my life. Just like my father, his before him. I've hunted deer and bear. I even got a cougar once. Huh, boys?" The man says proudly. "But the best hunt...is human. Oh, there's nothing like it. Holding their life in your hands...seeing the fear in their eyes just before they go dark makes you feel powerful alive."
"You're a sick puppy." Dean states seriously. I snort, lolling my head to the side tiredly. I hear the man get up.
"We give him a weapon. We give him a fighting chance. It's kind of kind...our tradition, passed down father to son. Of course, only one or two a year. Never enough to bring the law down. We ain't never been that sloppy." I feel him crouch down next to me, but I don't look at him. I stare at the furnace straight ahead instead.
"Sorry to break it to you, but you're plenty sloppy." I spit. He squeezes my cheeks together tightly in one hand and turns my face to meet his. He was way closer than I would have liked, like 'only Dean's been this close' proximity.
"So, what, you with that pretty cop?" He breathes out quietly, and somehow, his breath was worse than his son's. I honestly thought I'd pass out and vomit at the same time. I try turning away from him, feeling nauseous, but his grip's tight. "Are you a cop, little prize?" He asks more quietly. I smirk, leaning closer to him, and he smirks back. Dropping the smirk, I spit right in his face which successfully gets him to release his tight grip and back away immediately. He stands up, looking infuriated now, and backhands me so hard, I hear a crack. I don't know if it was the chair or a bone, but by the white hot pain that follows, I assume it's the latter.
"Hey!" Dean shouts. I grunt in pain, leaning my head forward as white spots appear in the corners of my eyes. I squeeze them shut to ease the pain and bite my lip hard to stop myself from making any more pained noises.
"Only reason I don't let my boys take you right here and now is that there's something I need to know."
"Yeah, how about it's not nice to marry your sister?" Dean suggests smartly, tugging at the restraints again.
"Tell me...any of the cops gonna come looking for you?" The old man asks me.
"Oh, bite me. Wait, no, no, no, wait—you actually might and I don't want rabies." I chuckle, looking up. The older man is holding up a poker, the tip fresh outta the furnace, glowing orange. He walks closer to me and I feel someone else grab a hold of my face, one hand on my chin, and the other pulling my hair back. He crouches a bit and brings the poker close to my face.
"What are you doing?! Hey!" Dean shouts again, trying to turn his head around.
"You think this is funny? You brought this down on my family." He says to me slowly. I don't say anything to him, just give him the nastiest glare I can muster together. He starts to smile. "Alright. You want to play games? We'll play some games." He grins creepily, looking me up and down. I resist the urge to shudder, feeling the goosebumps rise on my skin. He looks up at his son, then back to his other, getting up. "Looks like we're gonna have a hunt tonight after all, boys. And you, little prize, get to pick the animal. The boy or the cop."
"Your bluffing." I scoff uneasily, my anxiety rising.
"If you don't choose, I will." He says to me straight in the eyes before pressing the red hot iron poker onto Dean's shoulder. He loudly groans in pain and the sizzling and burning smell of flesh makes my eyes widen.
"Dean!"
"Oh! Oh, you son of a bitch!" Dean grunts out.
"Next time, I'll take an eye." He says, still staring right at me. I panic.
"Okay, okay, the boy. Take the boy!" I cry out. He backs away, and sending one look at his son, the guy let's go of his claw-like grip on my face.
"Lee...go do it." He orders, handing his other son a key. "Don't let him out, though. Shoot him in the cage."
"What? I thought you were gonna give him a fighting chance!" I exclaim, my voice filling with panic, trying to turn my body to look behind me. My body screams at me when I twist at a certain angle and I wince quietly.
"Lee! When you're done with the boy, shoot the bitch, too. We gotta clean this mess up before anymore cops come running out here."
"Oh, you little fucker. I'm gonna kill you myself if you hurt that boy. I promise you." I say in a deadly tone. He only ignores me. It's silent for a minute or two, the air so thick I thought I'd choke on it. Then the gun goes off.
"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god." I repeat under my breath over and over again. If Sam dies, I'll never be able to forgive myself, Dean will never forgive me.
"If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you. I swear. I'll kill you all. I will kill you all!" Dean yells.
"Lee!" The dad calls out, but he gets no response in return.
That's a good thing. Maybe Sam got the jump on him. Maybe he's managing it.
"Lee!" He shouts louder.
Nothing.
"Judd, you come with me. Missy...you watch 'em, now." He tells her, then him and his son are gone and a small blade is being hovered right above my pupil.
"Awesome."