Season Two

Episode Four: Measure of a Man

By Thru Terry's Eyes & Tree

Part Two

Lakehurst Road – Pine Barrens

Richard Anderson reached for the knob on his stereo, twisting it clockwise to crank up the volume, Korn’s Freak on a Leash blaring even louder from the truck’s speakers, anything to keep him awake during the long drive home. He then reached for the handle and lowered the driver’s side window allowing the cool night air to whip into his face as he pressed the accelerator, hoping to cut any amount of time off the trip. Physically exhausted from having worked a double shift at the factory and mentally drained from fighting with his girlfriend earlier on the phone, Anderson popped the top on a can of beer and slugged back a huge gulp. He emptied the can with the next swallow and tossed the empty through the cab’s sliding rear window into the bed behind him.

Opening a second can, he sipped slower now, knowing first hand that fatigue, anger, and alcohol was not a good mix.

“Been there, done that, paid the ticket!” he mumbled aloud.

The night was particularly dark, the moon obscured by heavy cloud cover signaling another storm pulling in off the coast. In the distance, Anderson saw the flash of lightning and knew the impending rain would likely be on him before he reached home.

“Great!” he groused. “Bet Angie left the damn windows open when she left!"

Another flash of lightning lit up the night, momentarily blinding him, but illuminating the road well ahead of the range of the truck’s headlights. In that brief instant, Anderson saw a large shape hunched over in the lane just ahead of him.

Darkness enveloped the truck once more and Anderson strained to make out the figure. He flicked on the high-beams and saw what he assumed to be a large animal feeding on road kill at the edge of the road. Reducing his speed slightly, he continued on, afraid of startling the thing and having it run towards him instead of away. Pulling closer, he nearly spilled the remnants of his beer as he caught sight of the creature ahead in the truck’s path.

The animal was large, larger than anything Anderson would have expected to see in this part of New Jersey. As the truck’s lights landed on it, the creature looked up. A chuck of dead possum hung from its jaws, blood seeping from between its teeth and matting the fur that hung from its head and upper torso.

Anderson tossed the partially emptied beer can to the passenger side floor, adding it to the heap of left-over fast food wrappers and other assorted trash. He eased his foot off the accelerator allowing the truck to slow as he pulled over to the shoulder.

Ripping another piece of meat from the carcass, the creature continued chewing, never taking its eyes off the approaching vehicle. It stood upright suddenly; rising to its full height in preparation for flight should the approaching machine pose a threat.

As the truck came to a complete stop, Anderson saw the creature rise. Never one to be accused of having more brains than balls, Anderson reached behind the seat, his hand closing around the wood Louisville Slugger that he kept there for "emergencies". He flung open the door and paused to gauge the creature’s reaction. When it froze in place, Anderson moved forward, the bat held in his hands ready to swing.

At twenty five feet, the creature began snarling, teeth bared, claws possessively holding its meal. It took a slight step back, reluctant to leave the remainder of the carcass on the road yet prepared to escape the human threat.

At ten feet away, Anderson gasped, the stench coming off the creature filled his nostrils and threatened to bring back up the Qwik Mart burrito and beer. To say that the thing reeked was an understatement, the combination of rotten meat and something akin to body odor assailed him making his eyes begin to tear.

The creature dropped its meal preparing to dart to the safety of the nearby woods. In the last moment, it raised its head, sniffing the air. As it did, its eyes met Anderson’s, creature staring into the soul of the man. Meeting the gaze, Anderson suddenly lowered the bat. He was close enough now to see the wild fear in the creature’s eyes and expected the thing to bolt off into the darkness.

Abruptly, the creature looked up and over Anderson’s head, the look of fear now replaced with a look of relief? Anderson sensed the mass behind him long before the unearthly howl assaulted his ears. He spun around, the baseball bat raised defensively.

Towering above him, glowing yellow eyes looked down on the man. Featherless wings, each tipped with a curved claw on the end, spread open like a giant pterodactyl as an elongated head dipped down revealing a mouth full of long jagged teeth.

The thing howled once more and Anderson drew back the bat preparing to swing. Before he could release, the large wings enveloped him, wrapping him in a leather-like cocoon. His scream broke through the darkness as the thing’s claws pierced his chest and back. Anderson screamed again and again, but his cries were muffled within the thing’s winged embrace. Blood coursing down his chest and dribbling from his mouth, Anderson could do nothing more than wait to die. Fortunately for him, the monster that held him alleviated his agony as it lowered its head and ripped out the man’s throat.

Thunder echoed in the distance as more lightning flashed like a strobe in the darkness. As the rain began to fall, Anderson’s dead eyes stared up into the starless sky, his body left on the road like litter tossed from a car as the two creatures disappeared into the night.

* * * *

The Next Day

Dean looked away from the road, twisting his head sharply to the left and then the right, working out the kinks in his neck that nearly ten straight hours of driving had put there. Ten hours of being held in the hard steel embrace of his beloved Impala was never a problem for Dean, but ten hours of trying to ignore Sam’s occasional looks of concern or the dead silence that hung oppressively within the old car was more than he could take. Thankfully, most of the drive was spent in darkness. Dean decided that driving at night served several purposes: It got them to New Jersey faster, saved paying for a night’s hotel room, and most importantly, provided him a way to hide his eyes away from Sam in the darkness.

Now, as the sun broke through the remnants of last night’s rainstorm, Dean’s cover was lost. He nonchalantly reached for the dark sunglasses that were tucked into the visor and casually slid them onto his face. It wasn’t that sunny out yet and he hoped that Sam wouldn’t call him on the move.

Internally, the all-too-familiar tingling fluttered within his abdomen, insidiously rising up into his chest. He inhaled sharply and swallowed hard, "Back down you bastard", then carefully let the breath out slowly and quietly, fearing his brother would notice.

Stealing a glance to his right, he breathed more easily seeing that Sam’s face was turned toward the passenger side window, apparently watching the passing scenery. He considered for a moment saying something, anything, to break the overwhelming quiet inside the car, but as Dean’s mouth opened, the demon inside him stirred viciously, again sending a tremor throughout his body and forcing him to bite back the first syllables.

It was enough however to capture Sam’s attention and he turned away from the window to look at Dean. Having feigned sleep for most of the night, Sam was struggling to keep his eyes open and restrain the yawn that was threatening. Despite having grown accustomed to interrupted sleep, the recent weeks since Dean’s rescue had given him more insomnia than he had in his entire life. He spent nearly every waking moment scouring the web for any information on how to help Dean and when Dean slept, Sam kept a watchful guard, fearful that his brother’s prediction of waking up "something else" might come to pass.

“You say something?” Sam asked finally.

Dean paused before speaking, his mind scrambling for a source of deflection; a convincing lie that would keep his brother from recognizing the slip of control. Demons lie! The thought barged into his head, reminding him, accusing him, and condemning him in two tiny but powerful words.

Luck was finally on his side as the large road sign loomed up in the distance.

“Atlantic City, dude! Up for a little detour? I mean, come on, can’t get you to Vegas, so this is the next best thing, right?” Dean blurted, eyebrows waggling above the rim of the sunglasses.

“Can we just focus on the job at hand?” Sam replied, not amused.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy! You’re psychic, I’m possessed, we could make a killing there! Get rich, go to Tahiti, sit on the beach with naked chicks hanging off us all the time.”

Dean’s attempt at humor missed its mark and instead of the usual Sam smirk he found an angry brother glaring at him from across the seat.

“That’s not funny, Dean. Neither one of us can afford to give in or lose control, not even for a split second. Or …” Sam’s voice trailed off but his mind finished the statement silently. Or I might lose you forever.

Dean shrugged, there was no winning with Sam lately. Despite his best effort to hide the internal struggle and maintain his usual snarky humor, his brother’s seriousness had reached an all-time high. All his life, Dean had been able to reassure his younger sibling with a confident smile and a simple “It’ll be alright, Sam,” but lately those tactics were ineffective. Not only was Sam’s trust in Dean gone, but apparently his faith in his older brother was wavering too.

As the Impala continued speeding down the highway, the heavy silence returned once more. Sam flipped open his laptop and powered the computer on, time for his daily research routine. Dean in turn reached forward and twisted on the knob to the radio. The antenna immediately picked up a local rock station and it took only a moment for both young men to register the words to the song that was blaring from the speakers.

Here come the world
With the look in its eye
Future uncertain but certainly slight
Look at the faces
Listen to the bells
Its hard to believe we need a place called hell

The devil inside
The devil inside
Every single one of us the devil inside

The devil inside
The devil inside
Every single one of us the devil inside

Both Sam and Dean reached for the knob at the same time, the INXS lyrics striking closer to home than either of them cared to admit. Dean’s hand grasped the dial first, and he quickly spun it until the next clear station came in, not caring if the music was Black Sabbath or the Black Eyed Peas so long as whatever was playing didn’t stick another imaginary knife into his heart.

Instantly, the deep baritone of a DJ boomed from the speakers, his voice devoid of emotion as he began reporting the local news. Dean was just about to twist the dial again when Sam’s hand snaked out and caught him on the wrist.

“Dean, wait,” he commanded, tilting his head to concentrate.

“… the brutalized body of thirty-seven year old Richard Anderson was found not far from his truck on Lakehurst Road late last night. Authorities say that Mr. Anderson may have been killed as a result of a car-jacking that went wrong. The victim sustained numerous stab wounds which led to his death. In other local news, many in the Pine Barrens community are concerned that a black bear in the area may be responsible for the deaths of some local pets. New Jersey Game and Fish Commission officials are investigating, but state that there is no need for public alarm. The forecast for today …”

Sam turned the volume down as the DJ continued to drone on about the weather. He shifted his attention back to the laptop, quickly pulling up the local newspaper online. As he scrolled down the article, more details than what the radio announcer had divulged appeared in the newspaper report. Excitedly, Sam turned to his brother.

“Dean, I think the Jersey Devil killed this Richard Anderson dude,” he announced enthusiastically.

“Yeah, and how’s that Sammy? The radio said that the police think it was a car-jacking or something,” Dean replied, not hiding his disinterest.

“Because,” Sam continued, “the newspaper article says that Anderson’s body was ripped to shreds by what appeared to be the claws of an animal, his throat was torn out as well. There isn’t any mention of a stabbing.”

“So, maybe it’s the bear that they’re talking about,” Dean countered. “Or maybe somebody got a little carried away with a knife when the guy didn’t give up the car. People can do some pretty crazy things, Sammy.”

“No way, Dean. It wasn’t a car-jacking 'cause they never took the truck. Besides, look at the picture of the truck: who car-jacks a piece of crap like that? Plus, no way does a bear get a guy out of his vehicle, maul him and then just take off again not leaving a single sign behind. I’m telling you Dean, this was the Devil,” Sam insisted.

“Okay Sam, but in three hundred years, this thing has never killed a single person. Why is it stepping up its game now?”

“I don’t know, but with all the sightings and now this? Something’s up. I can just feel it. How much further is it?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed anxiously as he continued to stare at the image on the computer. In the back of his mind, something told him that this really was more than a sadistic slaying or an animal attack. Now, he just had to convince Dean.

* * * *

Outside Pemberton Library

They arrived in Pemberton, New Jersey around 10am, having stopped for breakfast and after checking into the only motel the small town offered. They decided to split up, Sam suggesting that there might be more information at the library and Dean more than happy to talk with the locals if it meant that he had time away from Sam.

Just a tad after noon, Dean walked back to the library and took up a post outside, waiting on his brother. Sam trotted down the steps a short while later to find Dean leaning against the front fender of the Impala, arms crossed, his faced covered in a scowl. Coming up to his brother’s side, Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“So, what did ya find out?” Sam asked.

“Well,” Dean began, “the diner has decent coffee and one of the ugliest waitresses I’ve ever seen in a short skirt, yeesh! There outta’ be a law or something.”

“Dean!" Sam’s voiced warned, his patience with his brother’s obvious avoidance of anything to do with the hunt was beginning to frazzle.

“Okay, okay. Well, everyone around here seems to have an opinion about the Devil, but I actually found one old-timer over at the gas station, hey, can you believe that the place is still full service? The old dude still pumps the gas, checks the oil, the whole works.”

“DEAN!” Sam shouted. “What did you find out about the Jersey Devil?”

“Calm down Samantha, before you have a stroke or something. The old guy at the station says he actually saw the Jersey Devil back when he was younger. Said that he saw it in the woods behind his house when he was a teenager, not ten feet from him.”

“What else did he say, Dean?” Sam asked excitedly.

“Well,” Dean continued, barely able to stifle the laugh in the back of his throat. “The old geezer said that the thing has a head that sorta looks like a horse, huge wings with claws on the ends, long, sharp teeth and …” The older hunter stopped, outright laughter breaking through.

“And what Dean? This is good, a confirmed sighting.” Sam paused as his brother’s laughter subsided. “Why the hell are you laughing?” he then asked, suddenly feeling like he not only missed the punchline but the whole joke as well.

“Dude.” Hazel eyes feigned seriousness. “He said the thing was like four foot tall. Our killer creature is four friggin’ feet tall. I’m telling ya Sammy, you better keep a low profile, cause if the locals are terrified by a midget monster, then your freakish height will probably have the villagers lighting torches and coming after your ass.” Laughter began again and Dean did nothing to contain it, amused as much by his teasing of his brother as he was about the old man’s description of their quarry.

Sam rolled his eyes. As tempted as he was to retaliate and toss back some comment about his brother’s vertical shortcomings, Sam was briefly pleased to hear the easy laughter coming from Dean, considering everything the man had been through lately.

“Okay Dean, you had your laughs. Now try and use those few working brain cells you have and listen to what I’ve found,” Sam began as Dean shot back a glaring look.

“There was a ton of information on the Jersey Devil in there, some of it going back a hundred years or more. Hell, they have a whole section of the library devoted to the thing, local lore and all. Most of it was stuff we already knew, but I did find one reference that talks about the Devil being a portent of war.”

“And that matters to us why?” Dean interrupted.

“The appearances, Dean. The Jersey Devil was sighted right before the Civil War in the mid 1800’s, and again before the Spanish American War. The ‘week of terror’ during 1909 was right before World War I, and how about the documented appearance on December 7th in 1941. Even you should know the significance of that date. It goes on and on Dean. Almost every cluster of sightings occurs right before any serious conflict, even right before September 11th,” Sam finished solemnly.

Dean absorbed his brother’s information quietly. He was still skeptical about even being here to begin with, but Sam was so determined, almost strangely eager to go on this particular hunt. He was certain that there was more to Sam’s fixation than his brother was letting on, but as he’d done nearly all his life, he decided to humor his baby brother.

“Okay Sam, so what is it warning about now?” Dean asked.

“Think about it,” Sam continued on. “If this thing really is evil incarnate and with Haris and his legions running rampant lately, maybe it’s all tied together. We keep hearing that there’s a war coming, more and more demons are all around. Maybe this time it isn’t about guns and bombs, maybe this time it’s about good and evil. Maybe the Jersey Devil appearing now is a foreshadowing of that war.”

Dean sighed deeply; unsettled by the mention of Haris or his troops and suddenly, albeit reluctantly, admitting that just perhaps Sam was on to something.

“Alright, Sammy, the old guy at the gas station also told me about this deserted house outside of town. He said that many of the recent sightings have been out near there on Lakehurst Road, same place that the Anderson guy was found. There’s plenty of daylight left, let’s go check it out,” he suggested. The broad smile that spread across Sam’s face was answer enough as the two moved toward the waiting car.

* * * *

Old McGregor House – later that afternoon

“Shit,” Dean commented, squinting up at the rundown two story structure, squatting in rot and decay at the top of a shallow set of stairs that doubled back on themselves and led up to a sagging front porch. “Dude, I thought they tore down the set for Psycho.” He brought the car to a stop and got out, closing the door behind him with its familiar screech.

He slid the sunglasses off his face. They didn’t obscure his vision in the slightest but he knew they bothered Sam, especially on an overcast day like today, late afternoon, when it was just too dark to wear them. Another added twist to the list of things he knew Sam was subconsciously creating in his mind.

Another change…

Every time Dean acknowledged something beneficial in this bizarre parasitic existence he felt a thrill of seduction that scared him. It was like swimming at the edge of a whirlpool and trying not to get sucked in. The anticipation of the power that lay so easily within his reach was so intense sometimes that he almost shuddered at its relentless pull.

Sam joined him in studying the broken down building. It did look something like the house from Alfred Hitchcock’s thriller. He couldn’t stop a glance at the upper floor windows where torn curtains fluttered through the broken glass, just in case Norman Bates' mother might be watching. So much for a peaceful shower when they got back to the motel that night.

“So where do you want to start?” Sam asked, glancing around at the overgrown, trash-filled yard. The house had obviously been empty for a long time. The ground around the house was wet and he could feel his feet squishing into the mud.

“I dunno, “ Dean replied with a shrug. “The old man just said that this place was a pretty popular spot for sightings of your Devil.” Your Devil Sam, not mine!

Sam gave him a dirty look which Dean actually seemed happy to get and smirked back in return. “Let’s look around outside first, I guess.” He started off toward the rear of the house, mostly just scanning the surrounding area.

The grass under the windows was trampled flat and the windows themselves had been used for target practice judging from the broken shards littering the ground. Windowsills revealed air gun pellets embedded within the frames and the wood casements bore the scars of small caliber bullets.

Poison oak, honeysuckle and ivy intermingled indifferently across the ground, climbing the walls and tumbling through the shattered windows to continue the relentless overtaking of the property.

Sam could smell the damp rot of the wood, mildew and moss thickly patching the walls, it was a sickening smell. The smell of desolation and loss.

He made a face and backed away from the window, being careful to keep away from the vines.

“See anything?” Dean asked, watching from the side. He stood with his arms hugging his chest in the cool air, trying not to shiver.

Sam glanced at him. ”You cold?” he asked, wiping his hands on the denim covering his legs.

“No,” Dean said shortly, dropping his arms. “Let’s get going.” He moved quickly up the narrow front steps, overgrown weeds pushing through the cracks brushing his legs, and across the rickety porch to the sagging front door, also bereft of glass. Torn, dirty curtains spilled through the jagged opening and moved sluggishly with the cool breeze.

Sam joined him, standing to one side as Dean shoved the door, which opened reluctantly, and stepped inside.

They both coughed as the smell of mildew and rot rolled over them, much worse than it had been standing outside.

Sam gagged. “God, what is that?” he covered his mouth and nose.

Dean turned his head, unconsciously scenting the air like an animal. Rain, rotten wood, wet fur, neglect, death…

He shook his head to rid it of the images that floated unbidden into his head at the rank odor. “I dunno. C’mon.”

There wasn’t much to see in the dark room, even with Sam’s flashlight bouncing around to illuminate the interior.

A few pieces of broken, moldy furniture, some crates and miscellaneous bits of junk littered the space.

Sam stumbled suddenly as his foot hit a wet cardboard box, knocking the meager contents across the floor. Several colorful objects went sliding over the dirty wood.

Sam knelt down and held the light on them for a better look.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, coming over at the sound of Sam tripping.

Sam fingered a filthy brown object he finally recognized as a teddy bear missing one arm and an eye. A battered red toy truck and a handful of stubby broken crayons were scattered among a few other toys.

“Toys,” Sam replied, poking the truck and moving it slightly forward. He made a face. “Kinda creepy.”

Dean had just knelt to have a look for himself, when a crash from below them spun him back to his feet, gun drawn, eyes fastened on a door at the end of the hall.

Sam, also at ready, moved forward at Dean’s nod. Standing at the closed door, they could hear clumsy shuffling sounds, as though something were being moved around in the basement.

Sam carefully grasped the knob and slowly pulled the door open. The first telltale creak brought the sounds from below to an instant halt and silence fell over the black hole of the basement stairs. A fetid odor that made the first smell pleasant by comparison hit them like a physical blow.

Dirt, sweat, hair, blood…. Dean’s mind sorted the different strands without thought, nostrils flaring, unaware he was doing so, missing the fact that he could.

Dean stared into the blackness below them and then entered quickly, vanishing down into the darkness.

Sam grabbed the flashlight from his pocket and thumbed it on, frowning after Dean and following more slowly down the old steps, his light trailing Dean’s boots as he moved across the floor with seeming indifference to the lack of light.

“Dean!” he hissed. “Be careful!”

As Sam's feet touched the floor, the words barely out of his mouth, an earsplitting screech deafened him. A blow shot out from the darkness and ripped into his shoulder, sending him sprawling into a broken-down pile of furniture and slamming his temple against a jutting corner. Sam dropped with a limp thud to the floor.

Even as Dean whirled to meet this unexpected foe, gun lifted, he clearly saw the blood stained ball bat sailing at him but couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the explosion of pain as it smashed into his skull sending him crashing into deeper blackness.

The smell grew even stronger as shuffling footsteps paused between both men. The ball bat dragged along the ground, fresh blood slicking its surface. It was lifted, the blood sniffed by a wet, exaggerated snort, then allowed to fall with an echoing bang as it bounced across the floor.

The darkness was shattered once more by a screaming howl as Dean’s body was suddenly kicked across the floor, coming to rest silently against the cold, wet bricks of the basement wall.

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