David Reed - Supernatural: Bobby Singers Guide to Hunting

Supernatural

Bobby Singers Guide to Hunting

David Reed

SUPERNATURAL created by Eric Kripke
Art by Anthony Diecidue

DEDICATED TO

MY MOM AND DAD,

FOR BUYING ME ALL OF

THOSE ACTION FIGURES.

Contents

I THOUGHT I'D DIE BLOODY .

Just seemed the likeliest way, given my line of work. Ive looked Death in the face (literally... hes actually an alright guy), and, to be totally honest, I thought my ticket was gonna get punched a long time ago. I always figured thered be some meaning to it... that my mark on this world would be more permanent than my blood stain on the floor. Instead, Im gonna go out a gibbering turnip, mind so far gone that I wont be able to work a door knob, much less feed myself. Now theres a sobering thoughtIm gonna starve to death with half a cow in the freezer.

I should back up. This wont do any good if it doesnt make sense.

Three days agohell, maybe more, I cant be sureI was in a place called Ashland, in northern Wisconsin. So far north, might as well be Canada. Town had a slew of disappearances and no leads. There was plenty of evidence, but the local PD just couldnt put two and two together.

Wait. Ive gotta back up further.

My names Bobby Singer. (At least I still remember that.) In all likelihood, you dont know me... because just about all my friends are dead and buried. As I said, it comes with the territory. If youre new to the game, Ill give you the basics: you know all that stuff that you were terrified of as a rug rat? The truly heinous stuff thatd send a chill from your ass to your elbows? Monsters, demons, the boogeyman under your bed its all real . Ive seen it, Ive hunted it, Ive killed it. Therere more people like mehuntersbut not as many as there used to be. Not near as many as there needs to be. Thanks to recent events, were a dying species, and Im the old breed. Ive learned everything I can about every damned critter that walks, crawls, or flies, and Im not gonna let that all be for nothing.

Back to Wisconsin. What seemed like an open-and-shut case... well, it must not have been. Last thing I remember, I had Ashland in my rearview mirror, heading west for Sioux Falls, where I planned on taking a long bath and watching as much trashy television as I could before the next catastrophe found me. Then, I woke up at home. Actually, woke up might be too gentle a phrase, as if I opened my eyes to the tweeting of birds as the sun roseno, I scared myself awake, screaming bloody murder, damn near falling off the couch when I came to. Now, I wont lie to you... alcohol may have been a factor. Wouldnt be the first time that rotgut had done me wrong, but this felt different. The stabbing headache was present and accounted for, but something important was missing: memories .

It was random things, at first. Went to the kitchen, itching for a little hair of the dog, and the damnedest thing happened... I couldnt remember which one was the liquor cabinet. Again, you may not know me, but thats a big deal. Didnt take long to find it, but for that minute and a half the world was not right.

Taking stock of things, it was hard to ignore the grenade launcher lying on my living room floor. Not where I usually keep it. Must have been some bender. While trying to remember how it got there, I tidied up, carrying the guns and gear that were strewn all over the house to their proper places. The launcher belonged downstairs, in the basement armory lockup. As much as I wanted to keep it out as a conversation piece, house guests had a tendency to overreact to it. Its not like I used it for deer hunting. I have a semi-auto crossbow for that. Spinning the tumbler on the armory lock, my mind went blank. Id opened that locker every day for over a decade, and suddenly couldnt recall the combination. Somebodys birthday, maybe? I tried my own, no dice. Tried a few other things, but lets skip to the punch linetwenty minutes later, I was down there with a blow torch and bolt cutters.

Something was wrong with me. I couldnt remember where I left my car keys; I couldnt even remember where I left my car . The driveway was empty. Whatever happened between Ashland and Sioux Falls had left a hole in my brain, and I was leaking memories. In my old life, when I was just Joe mechanic, the diagnosis woulda been Alzheimers. But I aint just Joe mechanic anymore, and everything Id learned in twenty years on the job told me that this wasnt natural.

Only one thing to do: call the Winchester boys. Those two delinquents have a knack for getting out of messes when theyve got no right to; seemed fair that theyd help me out of one for a change. Of course, to help me, theyd have to answer their friggin phones. Those boys have more numbers than a Chinese phone book, but my calls went straight to voicemail on all of them. Itd be a hell of a lot easier to track them down if I could remember what direction they were heading last time I saw em, but lifes not that easy. For all I knew they were upstairs, passed out themselves. After that occurred to me, I had to check every room of the house to make sure it wasnt trueI wasnt about to let those idiots sneak up on me if this was some kind of prank.

Turns out, it wasnt. There was no sign of the boys anywhere, no sign of my car anywhere, no clues as to where Id been between Ashland and my house. In case youre not catching on to where this is going, I still have no friggin clue. And its getting worse. I tried to picture my moms face this morning... couldnt.

Heres the rubI dont know what happened to me. I dont know if I can fix it. But what I know for damn sure is that Im not going down without a fight. Im not letting everything Ive learned disappear. So thats what youre holding in your handseverything I know. Anything thatd be useful for the hunters that come after me... and that includes you, Sam and Dean. Its every hope I have of fixing the leak in my grapefruit. Its a guide to hunting.... Its a guide to me . My last will and testament.

YOU KNOW THAT FEELING YOU GET when youre telling a story, and you know youre leaving the best parts out? Thats my life now, 24/7. So I apologize in advance if I skip a juicy bit. I cant remember the things I cant remember, if you get my meaning.

Let me start by laying out my typical morning routine: wake up with the sun, give myself a once-over with the beard trimmer (next to godliness, and all that), get half-way done making breakfast... and then somebody calls with a catastrophe. You can set your watch to itas soon as the eggs start scrambling, some fool needs my help. Often as not, its Sam and Dean. They seem to get in more scrapes than most, which is saying something in this line of work. Up till a few months ago, Rufus Turner was the next most likely callerrest his soul. The remainder of the calls are from other hunters across the countryacross the world, now, if you count my buddy Eli in Budapest. Chased a vamp there, liked the food so much he never came home. Or was it the women? Either way, his appetite is being satisfied. Most of the time, the caller just needs some lore. What do you use to kill a ghoul? What kind of critter sucks the salt right out of ya? That sort of thing. Other times, a hunter needs more... direct backup.

It came as absolutely no surprise, then, when I got a call last Thursday a.m., wondering if Id come check out the disappearances of four men in Ashland. Who called me, that part is a blur. Must have been somebody I trust, though, or I wouldnt have made the drive. Believe me, there aint much worth seeing north of Wausau. I got in the Chevelle, went east on I-90.

As I got close to Ashland, I started getting nervous. The Chequamegon forest just south of town is haunted, everybody knows that. What they dont know is that EMF is useless in the forest. For you baby hunters, EMF (electromagnetic field) meters are handheld doohickies that can sense when a ghost is present, or has been nearby recently. Theyre a hunters best friend, saved my bacon more times than my butcher. As soon as you cross into the forest, the EMF meter lights up like Christmas, and not because of the spiritsbecause of the U.S. Navy. They got a transmitter at Clam Lake that talks to nuclear submarines, messes up our gear but good. That means youll get no warning when the spirits get close, so watch your back. I wonder if thats why ghosts congregate there... because they like the friendly vibrations? Damn it, Im getting sidetracked. Ashland...