Chapter 4 – First Hunt
814 Words
Emily wasn’t sure what she expected when she agreed to tag along with Sam and Dean the next morning. Maybe more long stares, more half-answers. Definitely not this: the Impala parked outside a faded farmhouse, the air heavy with silence, and the Winchesters slipping shotguns out of the trunk like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Wait,” Emily said, gripping her guitar case before realizing how ridiculous that looked next to the gleam of a sawed-off. “You’re seriously taking me with you?”
Dean arched a brow. “We told you last night, sweetheart. Monsters are real. Consider this… a field trip.”
Sam shot him a look. “Dean, she’s not ready.”
“She’s tougher than you think,” Dean countered. “Besides, it’s a simple salt-and-burn. If she sticks close, she’ll be fine.”
Emily’s heart pounded. Part of her wanted to run back to the motel, slam the door, and pretend none of this was happening. But another part—the stubborn streak that had carried her through too many lonely nights—refused to back down.
“I’m coming,” she said firmly.
Dean smirked like he’d expected nothing less.
They moved across the yard in silence, flashlights cutting through the gloom as they pushed into the abandoned house. The air inside was colder, tinged with mildew and something sour. Floorboards groaned beneath their boots.
Emily followed close behind, her pulse thudding in her ears. She watched the brothers move with practiced precision, Sam scanning each doorway while Dean checked corners. They weren’t just tough guys—they were hunters.
Something flickered at the edge of her vision. Emily froze.
“Sam,” she whispered.
He turned just as a shadow darted across the hall. The temperature dropped, her breath misting in the air.
“Spirit’s here,” Dean muttered. He pumped his shotgun, salt rounds loaded. “Sammy, you take left. Emily—stay behind me.”
Her knees shook, but she nodded.
The first attack was sudden. A figure surged from the wall, face twisted, eyes hollow. Emily gasped, stumbling back as Dean fired. The blast of salt lit the room, and the spirit shrieked before vanishing into smoke.
Emily’s chest heaved. It hadn’t been a story. Not a metaphor. A real, furious ghost had just tried to kill them.
Sam’s voice cut through her shock. “Basement. That’s where the body’s buried.”
They raced down the stairs. Cobwebs clung to Emily’s jacket as she stumbled after them, clutching the strap of her guitar case like it could protect her. In the dirt floor, Sam’s flashlight caught the edge of something: a shallow grave.
Dean didn’t hesitate. He thrust a shovel into the earth, dirt flying with each motion. Sam joined in, working fast. Emily’s hands twitched at her sides. She could just stand there, terrified, or—
“Give me one,” she blurted.
Sam looked up, surprised. “Emily—”
“I can help,” she insisted, stepping forward.
Dean hesitated, then tossed her the spare shovel. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The three of them dug. Sweat slicked Emily’s palms despite the chill. The grave gave way slowly, revealing bones wrapped in rotted cloth.
The air split with a scream. The spirit materialized again, fury blazing in its eyes. Emily’s shovel slipped from her grip as cold fingers closed around her throat, lifting her off her feet.
“Emily!” Sam shouted.
Her vision blurred, panic flooding her chest. She clawed at the spirit’s grip, gasping. Dean fired again, salt tearing through the apparition, and Emily collapsed to the dirt, coughing.
“Burn it now!” Dean barked.
Sam doused the bones in gasoline, striking a match with shaking hands. The flames roared to life, and the spirit shrieked one final time before vanishing in a burst of smoke and silence.
The basement went still.
Emily sat in the dirt, chest heaving, her body trembling from head to toe. Her throat burned where the spirit had grabbed her. Sam knelt beside her, worry etched across his face.
“You okay?” he asked.
She managed a shaky nod. “I… I think so.”
Dean offered a hand, pulling her to her feet. For once, his sarcasm was gone. “You held your own. Not bad for a rookie.”
Emily’s lips curved in a weak smile. “Rookie, huh?”
“Don’t get cocky,” Dean warned, though there was the faintest trace of pride in his eyes.
Sam steadied her as they climbed back up the stairs. Emily’s body ached, fear still coiled tight in her chest, but something else burned beneath it—something fierce.
She had faced the impossible and survived.
And she knew, without a doubt, that she would never look at the world the same way again.
- Writer
