It kind of shrank in on itself around the place of the hit, as if burned. Regular bullets had little effect, but the lake monster had hissed and paused as soon as it was hit with the first volley of rock salt. They’d jumped to their feet and started shooting.
#CABIN FEVER TV TROPES SKIN#
It had surged up from the dark water, close to the shoreline, a scary ten-feet-wide shape of slimy skin and wriggling black tentacles reaching out to try and catch them. Killing the monster had proved to be ridiculously easy.
Sam had been counting on the monster wanting to feed one last time before going into hibernation, behavior suggested by his own painstaking study of the recorded disappearances by the lakeside over the past 3 decades, Monster Ecology 101 being sadly lacking from the biology curriculum. Their boots were waterproofed and they’d had the foresight to buy warm waterproof windbreakers, hats, and gloves ( we’re not doing this in just our jackets, Dean), but already before midnight their jeans had been soaked, and they had both been miserably cold by the time the monster had finally showed, around 3 a.m. It had started to drizzle in the late evening, temperature dropping to just above freezing as the night went on, and the rain eventually giving way to watery snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground. They had only the fuzziest idea what the monster might look like.
#CABIN FEVER TV TROPES FULL#
They’d stationed themselves with their binoculars and shotguns on a jumble of rocks close to the water’s edge, in full view of any monster but hopefully just out of reach of its appendages. They still needed to keep a low profile after that televised killing spree earlier in the year.
The supposed lake monster living there apparently only attacked at night, so they’d arrived at the edge of the state park yesterday in the middle of the afternoon, trekking uphill for 2 hours in the last of the daylight, over stone and mud on a little used side trail rather than using the main entrance. They'd finally chosen a gloomy weeknight in late autumn, when tourist visits would hopefully be nonexistent. They were walking down from the mountain lake they had been meaning to stake out since forever. "M fine Sammy, don't w-worry about me," Dean responded, voice tight and almost but not quite containing a shiver. "You all right?" he called over his shoulder. He was fine, or he would be soon enough, but Dean really wasn't. He was cold and bone-tired but the job was done, they were both alive, and Baby was waiting for them at the end of the trail. The mud made squishy noises under Sam’s boots as he slowly proceeded along the forest trail.
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