Supernatural: Carved in Flesh by Tim Waggoner

the floor and bumped to a stop against Lyle’s feet.
    The two-headed man stood in the now-open doorway, all four arms held out ramrod straight, palms up.
    Guess those arms work after all, he thought.
    The creature lurched into the kitchen, double grins widening into twin leers.
    “Hun-gee!”
    Lyle heard someone laughing, and it took him a moment to realize that the sound bubbled up from his own throat. The whole thing was just too damned messed-up to take seriously.
    The creature reached Lyle, knelt awkwardly before him, and placed all fours hand on the sides of the man’s face. Lyle’s laughter broke off in a gasp. The monster’s flesh was cold—so cold it burned.
    Then a great heaviness settled on Lyle, and with it came a weariness more powerful than any he’d ever known. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but really, what was the point? His limbs felt as if they’d turned to lead, and although he tried to pull away from the monster’s quadruple grip, he was weak as a newborn. He couldn’t move, let alone fight. It would be simpler to just give in, let his eyes close, and allow himself to slip away.
    So that’s what he did.
    Just before the endless darkness took hold of Lyle and swept him away forever, he heard a pair of voices speak a single word.
    “Good...”
    * * *
    “Is it dead?” Dean asked.
    “How should I know?” Sam said.
    “Check it.”
    “You check it!”
    Dean had pumped every round his shotgun held into that damned dog, and Sam had emptied his Beretta’s clip, reloaded, and continued firing. Frankenmutt was down, finally, but neither of the brothers was sure it was permanent. During his years as a hunter Dean had encountered a lot of supernatural entities that were hard to kill, but he’d rarely run into anything as tough as this patchwork pooch. Frankenmutt lay on its side, its flesh a savaged, bloody ruin from all the damage it had taken. Dean almost felt sorry for the thing. Almost.
    “Give me a sec.”
    Dean reloaded his weapon, then stepped forward slowly, lowering the barrel until it was pressed against Frankenmutt’s head. He nodded to Sam, who walked over to the monstrous dog and prodded its belly with his foot. When the creature didn’t react, he prodded it harder. Still no response.
    “Doesn’t look like it’s breathing,” Sam said.
    “Since when does that matter in our line of work?”
    “True.” Sam leveled his Beretta and put another round in the beast’s side. Its body bucked with the impact, but otherwise it didn’t move.
    “I’m voting for dead,” Dean said.
    “I’m good with that.”
    Dean removed the shotgun from the creature’s head and waited while Sam retrieved the doll and his phone. Sam tucked the doll under his arm and turned off the crying baby sound effect on his phone, tucked the device into a pocket, and returned. The two of them then crouched down to examine the patchwork dog’s corpse. As ugly as the thing was, Dean expected it to smell like something that you’d find at the bottom of a slaughterhouse Dumpster, but it just smelled like a normal dog. He sniffed. Make that a normal dog covered in blood.
    “The sections all look like parts of regular dogs,” Sam said. “Except for the face. That’s pretty messed up.” He trailed a finger along the line of hairless tissue between the dog’s right front leg and its shoulder. Similar lines crisscrossed the beast’s body.
    “Doesn’t look much like scar tissue, does it?” Dean said.
    Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like it, either. It’s kind of... spongy.”
    A line of the strange flesh circled Frankenmutt’s neck, and Dean reached out and touched it. It was firmer than normal skin, and when he pressed it in, it remained that way for a moment before slowly returning to its previous shape. Weird.
    “I see what you mean. It’s almost like some kind of... I don’t know, glue or something.”
    “I was thinking the same thing.”
    Dean straightened, and the brothers regarded the