THIRTY-TWO
The air smelled crisp and wet, and Dean's breath frosted in the air as he labored onward. He reached the part of the creek where he thought he should angle off for the cabin. Eyes searching the forest, he tried to spy smoke from the chimney, but could only see the low cloud layer.
He sniffed, detecting wood smoke, and followed the scent, but the wind tugged and pushed him, blowing the smoke wildly in all directions, and Dean had a tough time pinning down where it came from. He walked in a large semicircle, trying to keep the scent in front of him, losing it from time to time in the gusts.
Finally, he saw the cabin appear out of the ethereal grey haze. He stood next to a tree for several minutes, studying it for any hint of movement. The door was still closed, smoke still billowing out of the chimney. If the aswang had returned, it wasn't walking by any of the windows.
He walked toward the front door. The smear of blood still covered the wood. He pushed it open, finding the place as empty as before.
Dean took up a seat by the fire, pulling out the spice concoction to keep it at the ready. He could feel the heat stealing over his skin, thawing out his blood. He watched the door, tensed for a confrontation. Slowly, as he warmed up, the tension spilled out of him. His eyelids grew heavy. He jerked himself awake a few times, then sank into an exhausted doze.
He started awake at a loud pounding noise and sprang up, hand tightening around the vial of spices. He glanced around the room, his heart hammering. Waiting for the sound again, he became aware that darkness had settled in and the fire had died. Now just glowing embers, it cast long eerie shadows around the room.
The sound didn't repeat. He wondered if he'd dreamed it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd startled himself awake with a terrifying nightmare. He waited a few more minutes, then patrolled through the bedroom and bathroom, ensuring he was still alone. When he didn't find anything, he returned to the fireplace and threw more logs on the embers. They caught quickly, brightening the room.
Dean sat down again. He considered going outside and checking the perimeter, but decided that being lured out wasn't the best idea. If he was going to fight the aswang alone, he may as well do it where he'd be warm.
Five minutes later, something heavy landed on the roof. There was a pause, then the sound of something heavy slamming down. Dean supposed it could be clumps of snow falling off tree branches onto the roof. Then came another thump and another. Something was walking up there.
Soot sifted down the chimney, raining over the fire.
Dean moved away from the hearth, gripping the bottle of spices. There was a scrabbling sound and more black char scattered downward. The thing was coming down the chimney like some kind of perverse Santa Claus.
Dean backed up, leaving plenty of room to launch the bottle. He only had one shot and hoped a little went a long way. Taking a stance in the center of the living room, he braced himself for combat.
A big clump of ash smothered the flames in half the fireplace. Scrabbling erupted inside the chimney, pieces of mortar and brick cascading down.
Then a sudden crash rang out to Dean's left, and the aswang came smashing through the window. A hooked wing caught Dean in the side of the head and he went down, falling against the edge of the couch. Ash and cold wind spiraled in a gale around the room. Dean jumped up as it darted at him. Hooked claws gouged a wad of stuffing out of the couch.
Dean dumped some of the concoction on the aswang's chest and it howled, the first sound Dean had heard it utter.
The creature whipped around, fixing glowing coppery eyes on Dean. Primal fear washed over him, but he stood his ground. He'd never seen anything like it in all his years as a hunter, and now, in the gleaming firelight, he got his first good look. It was muscular and huge, more than six feet tall, with membranous wings that pulsed with veins, recalling the shells of its eggs. Each wing was tipped at its joint with a fearsome four-inch black chitinous claw. Its head was slender, with tremendous bat ears that quivered at every sound. A long, snaking proboscis emerged from a hole where the mouth should be, which sucked and pulsed, revealing a ring of serrated teeth. The eyes were vertical black pupils in orbs of copper. It stared at Dean with seething hatred.
