“Let’s have a look.” Dean followed the hall to the very end, where the secret bed was marked with a white spray-painted C. He felt around inside, grimacing as his fingers slid on slick moss and cold stone.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I’m going in.” He put the flashlight away and crawled into the tiny opening in the stone wall.

“Careful, Dean,” Sam said, shining the flashlight behind him so he could have a little light. Dean pulled himself along until his hands met the wall, and he felt along the stones carefully, thinking it might just be tucked away . . .

“Well, hello,” he whispered when his fingers met metal through the moss, and he carefully worked and pulled until he’d dislodged the dish. He ran his fingers over the inside — he could feel the embossed decoration in the metal, and he guessed when he saw it in the light it would be a picture of a knight with a battle axe. He tucked it inside his jacket and tried to crawl out, but the narrowness of the little bed and the weakness of his leg made it impossible. “Sammy? Give me a tug?”

“Hold on,” Sam said and grabbed his ankles, and yanked him out of the bed. Dean stumbled when his feet hit the ground, and Sam said, “Dean!” and grabbed him by the waist.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Dean began, and then held up his hand, frowning. He heard a sound outside, something low and plodding and steady, heavy enough to make the ground tremble.

Sam whispered, “Cynthie said people hear noises.”

“Does that sound like a ghost to you?” Dean said and Sam tightened his grip on the flashlight and took Ruby’s knife out of his waistband. They both barely breathed as the heavy footsteps grew closer, and then stopped right overhead.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, “whatever that is, it’s big.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Dean said, keeping his voice low, and faced the hall, salt in one hand and his silver knife in the other. The footsteps wandered back and forth overhead, and then they heard what sounded like hooves on the stones outside the oracle chamber. Dean made his way slowly to the bottom of the steps, and Sam turned off his flashlight and stood close behind him.

A great snout poked through the opening, and Dean stared and held his breath as it sniffed the air. The smell of the thing was overwhelming, gamy and rich like a cattle yard.

“I would kill for a shotgun right now,” Sam breathed.

“I don’t think salt rounds would help with this,” Dean muttered, and the snout pulled back and the heavy footsteps plodded away.

Sam exhaled. “What. The. Hell.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said, “I don’t care. Let’s get out of here.” He climbed up the steps and leaned against the opening pillars as the pain in his leg intensified, as if someone was poking into the wound with their fingers.

“Dean, you’ve gone white,” Sam said, wrapping an arm around him.

“I’m fine. Just hurts.” He exhaled, blowing out his cheeks, and straightened up. “Okay.”

“Dean?” Sam said softly. “Can I see it?”

Dean looked around. There was no one else in the complex, but he still felt his neck prickle as if someone was sneaking up on him. “Not here. Let’s get back to the hotel.”

Sam nodded and put the flashlight away, and they hiked back down to the visitors’ center as quickly as they could.

***

They say psychics and sensitives around the country paused in their business, felt a shiver down their backs, and couldn’t say why.

They say a million people’s dreams had a strange new image that night: a great beast, plodding along, poking its snout in to sniff around, plodding away.