Free Supernatural Fresh Meat by Alice Henderson

off two chairs for them. Chief Ranger Willis McGovern was a tall, red-faced man with an impressive beard that rivaled Grizzly Adams’ and a bit of a gut starting above his belt. He smoothed back his balding brown hair and motioned for them to sit down.
    “We don’t get a lot of F.B.I. visits,” McGovern told them.
    “Our superiors believe this warrants a visit,” Dean told him in his best authoritative voice.
    Sam pulled out a little black notebook he kept for just such occasions. “We understand a man went missing this morning, and a large pool of blood was found, but no body.”
    McGovern nodded. “U-yep. Yep. That’s right. But you probably want to talk to the sheriff, not the Forest Service.”
    Dean leaned forward in his seat. “We’ve been there already. What we want to know from you, Chief Ranger McGovern, is if there have been similar animal attacks in the past.”
    McGovern fiddled with an imaginary speck of dust on his desk blotter. “Well, actually, yes. Some people think there might be a rogue bear out there.”
    Sam jotted down an imaginary note. “I see. And how many attacks have there been?”
    “Well, quite a few, going back a ways. I only took over last year. But I don’t take much stock in the bear theory. You ask me, some nut job’s out there.”
    “Why not a bear?” Dean asked.
    “Well, black bears are pretty shy. It’s rare for one to become predaceous on humans. They’re mostly vegetarians. Only about two percent of their diet is meat. When they do kill something big, they like to cache their meat and protect it aggressively. But a bear’s never been spotted around these… well… blood pools we’ve found. There have never even been bear tracks.”
    “So you think human, then?”
    “That’s my theory. Course no one takes me seriously. People hear ‘mauled hiker’ and they instantly think bear or mountain lion.” He leaned forward. “Let me tell you, humans do a hell of a lot more mauling of each other than those predators do.”
    “Can you show us where these blood traces have been found?” Sam asked.
    The ranger dug around in his desk drawer and pulled out a file folder. “I’ll do you one better. Let me make a copy of the reports.”
    He left the room and returned a minute later with a second folder. “Here you go.” He handed it to Dean.
    Dean stood up. “Well, thank you for your time.”
    Sam tucked his notebook into his inside jacket pocket and stood up. “Yes. Thank you.”
    They both shook his hand and left the office.
    “We have to hike out there again.” Sam took the folder, opening it to thumb through the files. “We just need to figure out the range of this thing’s hunting grounds.”
    Pooling the information from the police reports Bobby obtained and the Department of Fish and Game animal attack reports, they were able to pinpoint several areas of high activity.
    Bright and early next morning, Bobby geared up once again and headed into the Tahoe National Forest with Sam and Dean. It was getting colder every day, and his breath frosted in the air. They made fast time, hiking without stopping once. In less than an hour, they reached the site where the deer hunters had found their buddy’s rifle. A game trail wending through the area had been sealed off with tape where the pool of blood had been. Most of it had seeped into the ground. Located along the edge of a clearing, the spot offered a lot of places where a predator could sneak up on a man.
    Bobby knelt, looking for footprints, broken sticks, anything that would give them a clue.
    As he bent over, a thick red strand of viscous liquid dripped onto the shoulder of his shirt. He looked up into the trees. Some of the needles there had a rusty hue, others dripped with slowly drying bits of something.
    “It took him up into the trees,” Bobby said. He studied the trunk of the pine tree. It was untouched. “And it didn’t climb, either.”
    They stood staring up and suddenly a man’s scream rent the