Grimm Wood

Chapter One: Strange

Strange

~

I got a call from Bobby Singer yesterday while I was in Missouri tracking a Vamps nest in the Ozarks. He had a case from me. It was a welcomed surprise to hear that salty old drunk's voice again. It had been too long.

"Now don't tell anyone I said this Birdie, but you're the only hun'er who can handle this." he grumbled.

My heart swelled "You're just buttering me up, Singer. What kind of backwoods nightmare you got for me?" I teased, reaching for my journal across the scattered papers on the atrocious motel bedspread.

"Well, it feels like your  kind of strange." he started.

"My kind of strange." I giggled. My Kind of strange is a rare brand of crazy. I specialized in hunting the Deep Woods monsters like Skin Walkers, Shrikes and other blood sucking woodland nasties. So if Singer was calling me directly about this case it's pretty serious. I listened closely and opening my journal to a blank page. "Shoot." I said, clicking my pen.

"Every few years a handful of hunters and hikers go missing from this private patch of land in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana. It's called Hookland Game Park. Three bodies have been found In the last few weeks just off frequently trafficked hiking trails. All drained of blood with theirs chests cracked open. Sometimes organs are missing and sometimes they ain't." He stopped to take a sip of something before clearing his throat. I could hear floorboards creaking under his feet as he dictated and paced around his library. I couldn't help but smile, I love that house. "The Coroner's report is where it gets strange. Says that they showed signs of exposure before they died. Now the locals are lost. They just keep chalking them up to animal attacks." he finished.

I was impressed by the extensive leg work. This won't be a milk run that's for sure.  Whatever this thing is, I needed to find it fast.

"That does sound like my kind of strange. Signs of exposure but the bodies were found close to highly trafficked trails, interesting. Thanks Bobby. I'll wrap up what I got goin' on here and I'll head over." I said checking my watch, 2:07pm. I could wrap this nest up now, while they're still sleeping and get to Montana by dawn.

"It's kind of out of the box crazy, right? Nothing like I've ever heard before." He mulled, more to himself than me.

"What do you mean? You'd be surprised what people do to each other in the woods. Pixies will drive you mad just for fun." I joked. Now, contrary to hunter beliefs, the Fairy World is very much a thing and it's not something to mess with. Most Faeries play tricks on you, like move your backpack to the other side of the campsite. But some are belly-to-the ground evil. Like demons, only worse.

"Alright." Bobby said longly, hinting at ending the call, "Be careful. Call if you need anything."

"You too." I said sincerely and flipped the phone shut and looked over my chicken scratched notes,

Hamilton Montana. Three dead. Bitterroot Valley. Hoolkand Game Park.

Puzzled By the gory details I reach in my duffle bag fishing for Jame's journal. I leafed through for any quick hints at what this thing might be.

That was nice, it felt like the universe was trying to remind me that I'm not as a lone as I think I am. My heart jumped against my chest remembering Dean.

I wished more than anything that I could call him right now. And just like that, I was back under the dark cloud again. He was gone two years now, he was the last one to go.  All I had left was a half-baked friendship with an old hunter.  Maybe I should head over to Bobby's after this for a little RandR. Take some time for myself, help him out. It was the least I could do. If I make it back.