Supernatural... But Better (Vol. I)

Chapter Twenty Three

"So, you believe her?"

We were in a library, preparing to do research, as soon as we figured out what we were going to be researching. Since they were the ones with the most information at that point, I just sort of listened while they compiled their collective ideas.

"I do," Sam responded wholeheartedly.

Dean leaned forward, clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Yeah, I think she's hot, too."

I silently shook my head at the shameless way he acted around pretty much all women in general.

But Sam shook his head. "No, man, there's something in her eyes. And listen to this— she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car."

That gave me pause, and I looked up at him. "Wait, the body was suspended? That sounds like the—"

"Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend," Sam finished for me, a tiny bit condescendingly, which threw me for a loop. He'd never really been anything but kind to me, and I didn't quite know how to react— or, even, if I was just being overly sensitive about it. So, I resolved to simply remain silent.

"That's one of the most famous urban legends ever. You don't think that we're dealing with the Hook Man," Dean asked his brother, apprehensive.

He shrugged. "Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began."

Dean furrowed his brows, still not quite believing. "Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?"

Sam thought about it. "Well... maybe the Hook Man isn't a man at all. What if it's some kind of spirit?"

Spirits were my forte. They were my thing. Bloody Mary had been a spirit whose death had aligned perfectly with the urban legend, allowing her to become tied to her mirror and live out the myth in real life. She was a vengeful spirit, someone who was wronged and their afterlife was dedicated to helping others who had been, as well. But the story of the Hook Man... it sounded less like a vengeful spirit, and more like a violent one.

The story of the Hook Man had many iterations, but the most popular one was as followed: one day, a couple was out on a date at a lookout point in their car. Suddenly, they heard a scraping noise. The man got out to investigate, telling the woman to stay put. She turned on the radio, hearing a report of an escaped psychopath with a hook for a hand. Frightened, she looked around for her date, not seeing him anywhere. Hearing more scraping noises, she locked up the car, hiding inside until the noises were gone. She got out of the car, going to run away, then saw her date, his brutally mutilated body hanging upside down above the car. It fit pretty well with the kid's murder, actually.

But, in the story, no matter the iteration, the Hook Man was always a serial killer or escaped mental patient or something of the sort, which really did tie into the violent spirit aspect. They were people who had been horrible in life, inflicting pain onto others, and became so obsessed with it that they continued doing so after their deaths. If it was a violent spirit, that meant it was potentially unpredictable, but that largely depended on who the spirit had been in life. If it was a serial killer situation, they more than likely had an MO that would remain more or less the same between all of their killings, even after death. Which meant we just needed to figure out whose spirit the Hook Man was, and just like with Mary Worthington, we'd be able to figure out how to deal with it. And in order to figure out who it was—

"Annabeth?"

Pulled out of my thoughts, I looked at Dean. "Arrest records."

He gave me a confused look. "What?"

I caught myself, realizing I hadn't given any context for what I'd said. "We're looking for the spirit of a criminal. What sort of place do you look when you're trying to find a criminal?" I asked him.

He inclined his head towards me. "Arrest records."

A few minutes later, we were standing in front of the librarian.

She placed a few boxes on the table, and it just so happened that there was one for each of us. "Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851."

Dean blew some dust off the top of one, immediately starting to cough.

Rolling my eyes at him, I opened the first box. "Thanks."

She just sort of looked at me. "Okay," she said, walking away."

Dean looked at his brother. "So, this is how you spent four good years of your life, huh?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, opening his own box. "Welcome to higher education."