Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
single_man_tear) wrote2024-08-27 08:30 am
single_man_tear) wrote2024-08-27 08:30 am
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Balsam Mountains, North Carolina - Wee hours of Tuesday Morning
Dean had come across some strange stories in his time, but the tale of the Boojum was one of the oddest. He’d been passing through a quiet town deep in the Appalachian Mountains when he overheard some locals at the bar talking about it: a hairy, humanoid creature that supposedly lived in the mountains with a treasure hoard. It sounded like the kind of tall tale you’d hear after a few too many drinks, but there was something in the way the locals spoke that made Dean pay attention.
The stories were all over the place—some said the Boojum was a lost miner, others claimed it was a spirit, and a few even swore it was just a bear that had learned to walk on two legs. But there was one common thread: people had been going missing in the woods, and that was enough for Dean to check it out.
He drove the Impala as far as the road would take him, then set out on foot, the mountains looming overhead. The forest was dense, and the deeper he went, the more he started to pick up on the signs: broken branches, strange footprints. It wasn’t long before he found an old, overgrown path leading up to a cave nestled in the side of the mountain.
He approached cautiously, flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. The entrance to the cave was partially hidden by a thick curtain of moss, but as he got closer, he could make out the faint sound of something moving inside. Dean stepped into the cave, the light from his flashlight casting long shadows on the walls. The air was damp and cool, with a faint, musty smell.
As he ventured deeper into the cave, he began to see what the locals had been talking about. Scattered around were piles of old broken toys and electronics, rusty tools, and other random objects—a hoard of sorts, but all of it crap.
The Boojum stood at the far end of the cave, its tall, hairy figure hunched over as it rummaged through its collection. It was humanoid, but there was something undeniably wild about it, with long arms, matted fur, and glowing eyes. It let out a low growl as it noticed him, straightening up to its full height.
Dean didn’t wait for it to make the first move. He fired a warning shot into the air, hoping to scare it off. But the Boojum didn’t retreat. Instead, it lunged at him with surprising speed. Dean fired again, this time aiming for the creature’s chest. The bullet hit dead center, and the Boojum let out a pained roar, stumbling back.
But it wasn’t down yet. The creature swung at him with one of its massive arms, knocking Dean off his feet. His flashlight skittered across the ground, leaving him in near darkness. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the gun with both hands, and fired again. The cave echoed with the sound of the gunshot as the bullet hit its mark.
The Boojum staggered, and with a heavy thud, it collapsed to the ground. Dean stood there for a moment, waiting to see if it would get back up. When it didn’t, he cautiously approached the fallen creature, shining his flashlight on it. The Boojum lay still, its once-glowing eyes now dull.
Dean exhaled in relief. He took one last look around the cave, at the piles of junk and the lifeless creature, before turning to leave.
As he made his way back down the mountain, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this hunt had been different. The Boojum hadn’t been evil, just… lost. But it was done now, and the people in the town below could sleep a little easier.
Dean emerged from the forest as the first light of dawn began to break over the mountains. He was tired, sore, and ready to get back on the road.
And of course his phone started ringing. The one he had given Jody for his “Jim” persona.
“Yeah, this is Jim,” he said, answering the phone and walking the trail back to the car. The guy on the other end of the line started talking. Strange case out of Colorado. Dean listened for a minute and rolled his eyes. Clearly this guy was new. “Scratch marks, livestock missing and a sulfur smell? Sounds like you’re dealing with a Wendigo. You got to light that sucker up. Molotov cocktails work well if you can make ‘em. Or, if you’ve got any flare guns lying around, that’ll do the trick too. Just make sure you burn the whole damn thing to ashes.”
Dean thought that would be the end of the conversation but now the guy was gushing and talking gibberish. Dean rolled his eyes as he got into the car. “Venmo? What the hell is a venmo?”
He started the Impala and pointed it in the direction of Greenville. One more stop to make and then home.
[NFB. Open for calls, texts, etc.]
The stories were all over the place—some said the Boojum was a lost miner, others claimed it was a spirit, and a few even swore it was just a bear that had learned to walk on two legs. But there was one common thread: people had been going missing in the woods, and that was enough for Dean to check it out.
He drove the Impala as far as the road would take him, then set out on foot, the mountains looming overhead. The forest was dense, and the deeper he went, the more he started to pick up on the signs: broken branches, strange footprints. It wasn’t long before he found an old, overgrown path leading up to a cave nestled in the side of the mountain.
He approached cautiously, flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. The entrance to the cave was partially hidden by a thick curtain of moss, but as he got closer, he could make out the faint sound of something moving inside. Dean stepped into the cave, the light from his flashlight casting long shadows on the walls. The air was damp and cool, with a faint, musty smell.
As he ventured deeper into the cave, he began to see what the locals had been talking about. Scattered around were piles of old broken toys and electronics, rusty tools, and other random objects—a hoard of sorts, but all of it crap.
The Boojum stood at the far end of the cave, its tall, hairy figure hunched over as it rummaged through its collection. It was humanoid, but there was something undeniably wild about it, with long arms, matted fur, and glowing eyes. It let out a low growl as it noticed him, straightening up to its full height.
Dean didn’t wait for it to make the first move. He fired a warning shot into the air, hoping to scare it off. But the Boojum didn’t retreat. Instead, it lunged at him with surprising speed. Dean fired again, this time aiming for the creature’s chest. The bullet hit dead center, and the Boojum let out a pained roar, stumbling back.
But it wasn’t down yet. The creature swung at him with one of its massive arms, knocking Dean off his feet. His flashlight skittered across the ground, leaving him in near darkness. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the gun with both hands, and fired again. The cave echoed with the sound of the gunshot as the bullet hit its mark.
The Boojum staggered, and with a heavy thud, it collapsed to the ground. Dean stood there for a moment, waiting to see if it would get back up. When it didn’t, he cautiously approached the fallen creature, shining his flashlight on it. The Boojum lay still, its once-glowing eyes now dull.
Dean exhaled in relief. He took one last look around the cave, at the piles of junk and the lifeless creature, before turning to leave.
As he made his way back down the mountain, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this hunt had been different. The Boojum hadn’t been evil, just… lost. But it was done now, and the people in the town below could sleep a little easier.
Dean emerged from the forest as the first light of dawn began to break over the mountains. He was tired, sore, and ready to get back on the road.
And of course his phone started ringing. The one he had given Jody for his “Jim” persona.
“Yeah, this is Jim,” he said, answering the phone and walking the trail back to the car. The guy on the other end of the line started talking. Strange case out of Colorado. Dean listened for a minute and rolled his eyes. Clearly this guy was new. “Scratch marks, livestock missing and a sulfur smell? Sounds like you’re dealing with a Wendigo. You got to light that sucker up. Molotov cocktails work well if you can make ‘em. Or, if you’ve got any flare guns lying around, that’ll do the trick too. Just make sure you burn the whole damn thing to ashes.”
Dean thought that would be the end of the conversation but now the guy was gushing and talking gibberish. Dean rolled his eyes as he got into the car. “Venmo? What the hell is a venmo?”
He started the Impala and pointed it in the direction of Greenville. One more stop to make and then home.
[NFB. Open for calls, texts, etc.]