Supernaturally Ridiculous

"Holy tits!" Hera cried as she stepped into the dorm shower booth beside Fenn's. "Did you not turn on the hot water?" she questioned her roommate as she scampered over to the switches by sinks. One could hear the green tile sticking to the pads of her damp feet as she ran and the heavy clank of metal as she activated the heater. "You really are an ice queen, babe..."

Fenn didn't have the energy to reply. Hera threw a small bar of soap at her, over the divider between the stalls, to which she responded by kicking at the girls ankle and making a short groaning sound. It had been a long Monday and she was buried deep in thoughts of homework (which bits of it she could ignore until the morning and which she would have to rush through before finally getting some sleep). Between her Diseases of the Middle Ages and Mythological Creature Studies classes, she had quite a load of writing to finish up by the end of the week as well. So she continued to scrub soap all over her body, as if she were washing away all the stress and activity of the day.

Just as she was about rinse the conditioner out of her hair, in the middle of Hera's horrendously out-of-tune rendition of Problems, the lights began to flicker. The following silence was almost sickening, as if the air around the two of them were pulsing with warning. Fenn hurried to get the oils out of her hair, hearing Hera turn off her own stream of water and pull back the curtain. "Hurry," the girl called to her as she wrapped her towel around her waist and gathered her things.

"It's the curse of long hair," Fenn muttered and sighed as she struggled with the tangled locks. Long, thick, and curly, she didn't mess with it much, generally keeping it out of her face with a hat was as much as she did. "Go on, I'll be out in a minute." The dorms were decades old and the wiring needed replacing, so this happened often. All the same, it's terrifying to shower in the dark. "Go find the lanterns?" she asked, hearing quick confirmation from her retreating roommate.

In less than a minute, the lights went completely dark. Fenn could feel her pulse rising very slightly, and slowed her breathing to keep calm. Finishing up her shower, she felt around the wall for the knob, switching off the water slowly. It was eerie just how quiet the room was. Pushing aside the curtain, she called out to her roommate. No reply was heard, so she stepped forward, attempting to find her towel sitting on a bench nearby.

Whimpering softly, she clutched her knee gently, having slammed it into the side of the bench. Leaning forward, she found her towel and clung to it tightly, not bothering to actually dry herself off. She picked up the canvas bag next to where her towel had lain, and quickly flung it over her shoulder. Turning in the direction of the door, she caught a glimpse of something where the mirrors where supposed to hang on the wall. Yellow eyes, glowing in the dark.


Head pounding, searing pain behind her eyes, Fenn opened them slowly, fighting the light pooling on her bed. Getting up carefully, she stumbled out into the common area she shared with her roommate and a couple others. "I don't remember..." she started, seeing Hera at the counter of the small kitchen. The girl rushed over to her, immediately fussing over her head.

"You shouldn't be walking around!" she frantically ushered Fenn back into bed. "You fell and hit your head on the bench last night. You could have a concussion." Fenn sighed and relaxed back into her pillows, pulling her laptop from the side table and onto her lap. "I'm so sorry I didn't get the lantern in time. I'm making some breakfast, and then we are going to the physicians office at the gym." Fenn smiled and thanked her roommate as she opened her laptop, trying to ignore the pain. She didn't remember falling last night. She didn't remember anything but the darkness.

"Stop! Don't come any closer boy," Sneered a man in a red trucker cap, his bare arms tight at his sides, fists clenched, "I know who you are... You Omen," the man spat the last world with disgust, the saliva impacting just before Ryker's boots. He grimaced at the display, and slowly raised his gaze to match the man's. The sun blazed overhead, rough short gusts kicked up clouds of dusty old soil. The rustling trees the only background noise in this isolated lot. The airfield was about 20 miles out from any cities or towns, nestled in a valley at the end of a pockmarked, abandoned service road. Not many people were even aware it was there, that was the intention of course.

Shielding his bluish-green eyes from the harsh sun, Ryker reached into the pocket of his well-worn jeans, "I have a ticket, here lemme' just-" , and the man shouted-

"Hold it! Hands where I can see 'em!" Quick as lightning on a dry day, two barrels of a side-by-side were leveled at Ryker's head. Simple, rugged, a good side-by-side will keep on trucking through the worst of it all. Even better, shells and slugs are easier to re-purpose for more.... creative uses.

"Easy! Easy, just- hold on O.K.? Just my ticket 's'all," Ryker held up the flimsy paper, and placed it casually on the shotgun's length. He wasn't one to frighten easy, and this isn't the first time he'd been held at gunpoint, hell third time this week. Mr. Trucker-cap sighed and inspected the scrap, placing his temple's in his hands. The large man shook his head, as if remembering something frustrating, and sighed again.

"Alright, alright, take your fuckin' ticket, get on the plane and shut the fuck up. Any funny business and I'm teaching you how to fly, got it?"

"Yeah... I get it already, shit," Ryker pushed the weapon down and away from his body, brushing past the hulk of a man, stepping on his foot, "Oh, sorry, my bad," he cracked, smiling cockily as he went. Trucker-cap shoved him, hard, nearly knocking him from his feet. With a crunch, he dug his heal into the cracked dirt, bringing about a quick fist to the ribs of his assailant. Winded, Trucker-cap fell to one knee, another fist slammed against his jaw, laying him out. "Sleeping on the job, huh? Not very professional of you..." Ryker knelt down, reading the man's name-tag: Theodore, "Really? Big ol' Teddy bear? This is a serious violation, I'm going to have to confiscate your weapon," he chuckled quietly to himself, snagging the shotgun, and searching Teddy's pockets for more shells, 8 of them plus two in the chamber. Strolling along the path to the runway, he smiled a bit to himself, but inside his mind the violence was triggering flashbacks to that night.

"Ryker! Run, you have to get away!"

"Mom! Mom no!"

The sound of blood spurting from a fresh wound, the gurgling of someone drowning in their own essence, the roars....

He fell to his knees, stifling a scream of agony, the migraine filling his head again. Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he smashes his fist on the ground, then pushes himself to his feet. Striding towards the idling plane with renewed purpose, he clenches his fist, gripping the shotgun tight. If Mitch knows something about my parents.... I have to find out, for them, for me... Stepping onto the small craft, he passes his ticket to the pilot and straps in. "Viva-la-fucking-Cali baby..." he remarks sarcastically, as his heart threatens to break free of his rib cage. The plane taxis down the runway, pulls into the sky, and he's on his way.

"Stop messing with it!" Hera whined at Fenn as she played with the edges of the band aid on the side of her forehead. They were walking arm in arm down the sidewalk, away from the physicians office. Fenn did not have a concussion but she was ordered to take it easy for a while, and given a note for her rugby coach and theater director. "And slow down a little bit. Starbucks isn't going anywhere."

"But what if they run out of the little sleevy things?" Fenn asked, doing her best to be as annoying as possible. "Then we have to hold our cups directly and be slightly uncomfortable. What worse happenstance could possibly befall us?"

Hera rolled her eyes and Fenn laughed. The two of them slowly made their way to the nearest food court, where Hera set Fenn at a circle of big, comfy, cracked leather chairs. In the middle of the circle was a little table. Fenn organized their things on one side of it, giving Hera her student ID card so she could get them their first caffeine fix of the day. Living in LA had it's ups and downs, but Fenn's favorite part of it all was the fashion. There were no guidelines, no trends, no basic attire. It was a giant mess of fabulous, which meant she fit right in with her cut up, home-distressed thrift store overalls and her mothers vintage Metallica teeshirt, tied up underneath the denim to show off the sides of her stomach and the sleeves rolled up as far as they would go. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid that hung over her left shoulder, and she donned the biggest, round black sunglasses that made her look like a bug. She wasn't one for makeup ever, and it was too hot for that anyway.

"All these girls look ridiculous," she muttered to Hera as the girl trotted up with a couple of small cardboard cups. She took hers and greedily slurped up some of the black wonderfulness. "Mascara bleeding down their cheeks, how can they stand themselves in this heat?" She set the coffee down on the arm of a chair before bending forward to slip off her shoes. She wobbled a little, and Hera caught her side, helping her regain her balance.

"Take it easy," Hera looked so upset.

"I'm fine," Fenn reassured her, settling down in the soft chair. "Don't you dare go blaming yourself for me being a clumsy moron." Hera perched on the arm of her chair and pulled at Fenn's braid.

"You don't take care of yourself, and someone has to," she made a face at the other girl before taking a sip of coffee. Fenn grabbed for hers as well and they enjoyed a moment of peace together.


Fenn had walked Hera to her first class of the day before heading off across campus to find her rugby coach. Her classes were scheduled Mondays and Wednesdays, so (it being a Tuesday) she would be able to get out of practices and have time to relax and catch up on homework. Feeling her head that pounded only slightly every so often, she tried to remember what had happened before she hit her head. As she was about to let her arm fall back to her side, she noticed something on her wrist; bruises. The first was just bigger than a quarter and in the middle of her wrist, with another larger oval on the outer side. She shrugged it off as having fallen on her arm when she hit her head.


Later that day, Fenn was laying on an old blanket on the grassy hill next to her dorm building. She had her laptop next to her, playing random music from pandora, text books piled in front of her, as she tapped her pen against a page half-filled with notes on greek myths. She excelled in mythology, theology, and folklore. However, her head was currently wrapped around a different subject. All day, no matter where she went or what she was doing, she felt as if someone was watching her. It left her uneasy and she knew for some reason it had to do with what happened last night.

She tried reasoning with herself. "The electricity in our part of the building goes out all the time," she whispered. "I was dripping wet and wandering around in the dark. I hit my knee, perhaps I forgot the bench was there and tripped over it?" She sighed. Logic wasn't comforting her at all. So she rolled over and changed the song on her computer.

Somewhere in Death Valley, early morning, a diner called Vulture's Nest

"What'll it be, pal?" asked the waitress, an older and tired looking woman. She stood with one hand on her hip, clutching a small pad in the other. The diner looked just as old and tired as its waitress, paint peeling in long frayed patches and tiles cracked and worn. It had obviously seen better days, but then, not many people make the trek out this far into Death Valley for no good reason. Ryker wondered what even kept the damn place open this long, as he was the only patron inside. Hell, he hadn't even seen anyone on the road the whole way in, having borrowed a Jeep from the Hunters at the landing site. They probably get most of their business from Hunters on missions, I suppose he thought to himself. "Ahem, well?" Encouraged the lady, tapping a finger against her pad, "You'll have time to daydream after you order," she added, with a less-then-genuine looking smile... more like a grimace actually, "I recommend the eggs Benedict, that's what most people get."

Ryker glanced up at her, disinterested, however he coughed lightly and said, "Sure, and I'll have an apple pie after, I'm on no diet." He let out an exhausted chuckle, and cracked his neck, it had been a long flight in that cramped little plane. The waitress, her name-card read Aileen, nodded her approval and shouted his order through the window to the kitchen, where a graying man smiled and began to cook. The scent of eggs wafted through the dusty air of the diner, making Ryker's mouth water. He idly played with the strap and clasp of his travel bag, bulging at the sides with his shotgun and other supplies.

Its been years, 7 years in-fact, since I last saw my Uncle. I still remember what he said that day... "Ryker, its your fault they died, my sister... my only sister is gone, and its your fault. I hope you always remember that, because I sure as hell will. I don't ever wanna see you again after today... You just couldn't leave well enough alone could you? Better hide that mark boy, people might start to wonder whose side you're on, and I won't be around to stop them... Adios Omen..." He winced at the memory, always that word 'Omen'... Why couldn't he remember more? That mark too, the black seal on the back of his left shoulder, what did it mean? "I gotta ask someone with a better grasp of symbology what the hell this thing means..." he whispered to himself, no need to be too open with it, Mitch always said it was "dangerous and going to get you killed one day, good riddance". That hurt, it really did, Mitch and Ryker were inseparable when he was younger, before the death of his parents. Whatever happened that night was enough to change everything, for good.

Some time passed, uneventfully, and shortly thereafter Aileen returned with Ryker's food. He thanked her and dug in, having not ate a full meal in ages. Bits of bacon and homefries clung to his beard and to his face. Looking nearly feral with his bagged eyes and disheveled hair, he quickly finished off the food and politely asked for his pie, wiping himself down with a napkin. Aileen smirked at his state, and fetched it, with somewhat of an eerie smile on her face. "What's that for," he cracked, disarmed by her sudden change in mood.

"What's what for? The smile? Heck, its been ages since Arnold in the kitchen has been asked to bake a pie, its his favorite thing to make!" She laughed and smiled more genuinely, and Ryker nodded and smiled back, thinking no more of the situation. However, after a few bites of the (admittedly delicious) pie, he started to feel a nauseating pain fill his gut.

"What the fuck.... is in... this... pie" he managed to stammer out, before passing out face first in his dish, Aileen cackling darkly in the outskirts of his memories.

Soft rain fell, pattering against the roof, painting the windows of buildings with crystal streaks. Fenn had moved to take cover in a creaky wooden gazebo just down the hill from where she had been laying on the lush grass. Pulling a big bottle of Swiss hemp tea out of her canvas tote, she twisted back the tiny plastic cap and sipped from it. Her books were already secure inside her backpack, her blanket and laptop aligned perfectly in the tote. She was just waiting to see if the rain would lighten for a minute before she trekked back up the hill and into her dorm. Looking over, she admired the copper roof. It was green from oxidation, and set in a pattern that looked a bit like fish scales. It complimented the dark red and grey hues of the brick siding well. The same vines that twisted up the sides of the building gathered around the posts and railing of the gazebo she was taking shelter in.

A sound, almost laughter but more of a short chuckle, came from behind Fenn. It sounded both distant and immediately behind her. Like a person across the street speaking to you through a cell phone and you can hear both mix together. Turning around quickly, the only thing she saw was the vines waving in some wind. Looking down past a small garden to the bottom of a hill, she observed the people milling around on the wide sidewalk. There was a couple sitting on a bench, the girl's legs dangling over the boy's lap. The wind must have carried some sound up here.


Lounging across one of the small couches in the common area of her dorm room, Fenn's fingers ticked away at the keys of her laptop. Text books and reference cards and piles of notes were scattered across the floor around her, signalling to everyone that she was deeply focused on a research paper. Sighing, she clicked the save button to back up her work and stretched her arms above her head. Small cracking sounds made her joints shiver before relaxing down against the rough grey upholstery. Setting her laptop on the floor, she rolled onto her side and cuddled against the big cushions.

Roughly ten minutes later, Hera was shaking her roommate awake. Their friend Lola was standing behind the couch, going through her phone. "I'm awake," Fenn grumbled, pushing away her tormentors arms. She looked up at her two friends and yawned loudly. "What's up?"

"We are going to dinner," Lola informed her without looking away from her phone. "What do you feel like eating? No spicy food though, Cassie still hasn't recovered from Jason's homemade chili." Hera smiled and helped Fenn off the couch before gesturing towards two dresses draped over an arm chair.

"Wear the pink one," Fenn suggested as she turned towards her bedroom to get dressed.

"It's dusty rose," Lola corrected her, inciting a laugh from Hera.

"Pink, rose, your mom's pussy," Fenn laughed shortly at her own joke. "Whatever you wanna call it, sugarcakes."

Leaving her giggly friends in the common area, she went to her overfull racks of clothing to look for something to wear. Fenn changed into her blue and teal flower dotted romper and leather gladiator sandals. As she was rummaging through her things for her Amon Amarth patched denim vest, she felt something on her shoulder. Turning she didn't see anything immediately behind her. Furrowing her brows, she searched the room with her eyes for a moment before returning to her previous endeavor.

The lights flickered. Before Fenn could have a flash of the same worry she felt last night, it was black in the room. She heard screams from the common area before a hard hit to the back of the head knocked her out.

A taste like salt and iron. WHAM The blow landed directly into Ryker's jaw. THUMP another to his chest, forcing him to cough up bloody saliva and gasp for air. THUD-CRUNCH An elbow to the sternum, cracking a rib and squeezing even more air from his lungs.

"This is fun, isn't in, little brat. So, Belari thought his precious little Omen could stop me? Pah! What a laugh... Listen boy, first, I'm going to break your bones, then I'm going to peel your skin, then I'm going to salt you and dry you in the sun for a nice snack later on. How's that sound?" Someone hissed through grated teeth, a sadistic laughter could be heard subtly in the voice, which seemed to come from both far and near simultaneously. Another blow to the side of Ryker's ribs left him doubled over in pain, gasping for air.

"Who.... what, in the fuck are you?" He exclaimed breathlessly, feeling like highway roadkill. "What did I ever do to you, huh?" He spat defiantly, not losing one ounce of bravado, even in his captivity.

"My name is not important, I am but a vessel under His command," A new voice, this one cold and robotic, as though devoid of all life, flowed through the air with all the grace of a brick.

"Yeah, well fuck you buddy-" Another jab, left right left, ribs and stomach assaulted over and over. "Alright! Fuck! Cut the shit, what the fuck do you want with me, asshole?" Ryker shouted. furious and frustrated and sick of being hit. "Fight me like a man! I dare ya', I'll whoop your ass, piece of shit!" The blindfold over his eyes was yanked off, fast enough to jerk his head forward and down. He slowly turned his gaze back upwards, head tilted and eyes glowering with hatred. What he saw however, was enough to turn his stomach, like the first glance of a roller coaster's drop. Aileen was standing before him, but it wasn't quite "her". Her hair was falling out in patchy clumps, blood dripped from the corners of her mouth and eyes, as inky smoke spewed from her open mouth. "What in the fuck are you!"

"I am that paranoid feeling you get as you walk down a dark alley way at night, I am your fears and sorrows. I am here to make sure you never get in the way again. Now, I leave you with my loyal servant, I have more important things to deal with." The smoke, tinged yellow, burst forth from the tortured human's body, and escaped, heading west. The being cracked their neck and said, "My name is Arlyss, servant to my Lord Azazel, you won't be leaving this diner alive."

Desmond opened his eyes just before dawn's light peered through his window. He sighed as he realized there was a note on his bedside table. "Looks like another hunt," Desmond said as he rolled out of bed. He reached for the note and unfolded it. The note had a picture of a forest attached to it and a brief description of the activity going on in it. From what the he tel, it was similar to a wendigo in nature, but had a few aspects that didn't add up. He turned the picture over and read, Tonto National Forest. Desmond got dressed and set off for Arizona to get this hunt on its way.


Dusty light filtered through the blinds on Desmond's window, reminding him once again that he never quite gets enough sleep at night. With a heavy sigh, he rolls over, scattering his blankets and grabbing a small note on his bedside table.

"Looks like I've got another request," he murmored, half intrigued and exhausted, as he scanned the message. Enclosed was a photograph of a dense forest, as well as some news clippings and police reports of missing persons, dessicated animal corpses and large clawed footprints. "Huh, is this some sort of Wendigo? That far west? What the hell is going on out there?" He asked himself, propping open a Hunter's Almanac on his lap and flipping to the Monster Glossary. The Wendigo was gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled tautly over its bones. With its bones pushing out against its skin, its complexion the ash gray of death, and its eyes pushed back deep into their sockets, the Wendigo looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave. What lips it had were tattered and bloody [....] Unclean and suffering from suppurations of the flesh, the Wendigo gave off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption. "Yeah, sounds about right, but they're Atlantic Coastal, not midwest.... Ok, now I'm curious," he laughs aloud, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. Double checking the note for a location, which he had skipped over before, it read Tonto National Forest, Arizona. Smirking, he got up from his bed, stretched, and began to pack for his long journey. The hunt was on!


~(Edited by Patrick, lemme know what you think)~

Fenn knew what cotton mouth felt like. She grew up in Alaska where there were more weed plants in her town than policemen in the whole state and goes to a liberal arts college in California. But this was different. She coughed and her senses filled with the faint metallic sting of slightly congealed blood. Spitting out the gooey blob of it that had collected in her mouth, her eye blinked rapidly. Her heart rate was slowly escalating. As her body slowly kicked in, her muscles tightened and her joints cracked. She felt bruised and beaten all over, especially the back of her head. She couldn't tell if it had been the blow to her head or a drug she had been given but she wasn't all there. She couldn't think straight and her eyesight was marred with flashing speckles of light.

Trying not to panic, Fenn closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Once she had lowered her heart rate slightly, she began to feel herself to find out what state she was in. She started with her legs. Moving up she was disheartened to find that she was not wearing pants or the romper she vaguely remembered changing into. Just a small piece of Victoria Secret lace and cotton covered her. Moving upwards still, she could feel every bruise that had accumulated but realized that she was in no way bound to...the couch she seemed to have woken up on.

After confirming that there was no permanent physical damage, she cradled her head in her hands for a minute, massaging her temples as she tried to adjust her eyes. It was dark. She was indeed laying on a couch. Though she was naked, she wasn't cold. The air was warm and dry, reminding her of the basement in her childhood home. It held an old, well kept, wood burning furnace. This was oddly comforting. Looking around the room, there were no windows and two doors (one of which had no handle). The walls were completely covered with shelves and shelves of books and the room itself was cluttered with couches and big recliner chairs.

"Ok," she sighed, pulling herself into a sitting position on the couch. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see that light was coming from underneath the one door to the left and from a very very dimly lit lamp hanging from the ceiling. "So I'm in some psycho serial killer's library?" she wondered aloud as she wrapped her arms around her upper chest. She felt like she was being watched.

After a couple minutes of repeatedly panicking and calming down she figured just sitting there and waiting for someone to show up was a bad idea. Gripping the arm of the couch to her right, she shakily forced herself to stand up. Her head didn't want this, but she refused to crash back down and blinked away the sparkly lights as quickly as possible. Moving slowly around the room, she looked for anything in the chairs, on the bookshelves, behind the couches that she could possibly cover herself with. Her search scrounged up nothing. Her instincts screamed at her to keep away from the doors and make as little noise as possible. They also told her to hide but she was having none of that.

Since she couldn't cover herself, she shoved her insecurities and fear down with logic. Chances are that anyone coming through that door would have either already seen her or be some sort of cop looking for her. She didn't allow herself to wonder why she was naked or what had been done to her while she was asleep. So her next task was to find something to defend herself with.

Looking around, there were many books she could use to smash someone upside the head with. But that wouldn't be very intimidating and the ones heavy enough to be a threat would be awkward for her hands to grip. Her eyes searching in a circle eventually gravitated upwards. Fenn smirked. This would be fun.

Moving the furniture in the room as quietly as she could, Fenn created a small mountain of chairs haphazardly stacked underneath the one dying lamp. She climbed carefully, trying not to disturb the structure too much, and she was soon at the top, level with the big iron structure. It was a small, rectangular encasing that looked like a beach lantern. Welded to the top securely was a chain from which it was suspended via a round disk fitted to the ceiling. Testing the weight of the lamp, it was roughly thirty or forty pounds. Pulling one of the chairs around her underneath the lamp to support it's weight, she reached up the foot and a half long chain and struggled to undo the giant screw that held it to the base.

Ten minutes and a couple scratches later, Fenn had brought the lamp down her small mountain, chain attached, and no superfluous noises made. The plastic wrapped wire had given her some trouble as she had not noticed it before, but it was what gave the whole contraption electricity. She had pulled out roughly ten or eleven feet from the ceiling before breaking one of the glass panels of the lamp with her hand and using it to sever the cord. Fiddling with her project, she used her piece of glass to completely remove to wire. Looking at her mountain, she had a wonderful idea for it.


A shelf fell over on the right side of the room. All of it's books crashed to the ground and the whole mess created a barrier on one side of the mountain of chairs. Voices from afar, a set of footsteps quickly approaching one of the doors. The one with light underneath it slammed open and a silhouette stood in it's place, surveying the scene before it. Moving cautiously inside, the figure examined the mountain of chairs that had been built. It began to walk around it, opposite the fallen bookshelf. From her crouched position behind a couple of couches, Fenn pulled at the wire she had tied to a chair in the middle of the mountain. The figure ran in front of her, reaching into the pile. She yanked the cord harder and that side of the mountain came crashing down around the figure. It screamed and cursed and began pushing it's way out of the pile.

Fenn screamed and jumped over the back of the couch, her weapon in hand. One hand on the lamp, the other gripping the end of the chain, she viciously whipped it at the intruder's head as it uncovered itself among the chairs. As far as she could tell, the figure went limp. She dropped her weapon and ran over to the door from which it had entered, shutting it and pulling a bookcase in front of it and then a couch in front of that.


Fenn was wearing a now-dead man's clothing, carrying his pistol in a back pocket, and gripped her lamp and chain tight as she kicked down the dark doorway. His boots were several sizes too big, and all the glass had shattered when she hit the man, sticking up out of his face, head, and neck, and leaving jagged edges along the sides of the iron panels of the lamp cage. She could hear voices in the distance, but didn't pay them any attention as she stomped down a dark hallway.

Desmond sighed as he finished his packing. He was still groggy due to his issues sleeping lately. As he was leaving the house he grabbed a bagel and locked the door. He glanced back knowing the house would be empty till he returned. As he entered his car he thought about how dangerous this hunt would be alone if it was a Wendigo.

Desmond started to plan out his course of action as he set off on the highway. He planned on interviewing a few of the victims family's to set up a perimeter of its hunting grounds. Then he planned to try to find survivors of the events and ask what they saw. He mumbled to himself, " after all that i have to equip myself with as much flammable objects to fight it as possible." He turned on his radio and tried to enjoy the last moments of peace before the hunt.