A Trickster's Daughter

Chapter 27: Quadruped?

Phone Company...

Sam

It was dark when Stewie finally exited the company to his car, ready to go home. Sam was certain he was the Crocotta and surprised him, holding a knife to the base of his neck and pinning him against his car. However, Stewie's protests and begging confused Sam. Usually by now the monster tended to reveal itself once it knows its been made.

He didn't see Clark coming up behind home with a bat. Sam just felt a blinding pain at the back of his head and everything going dark.

They were all in the basement section of the company with all the machines that held all the data the phone company collected. It wasn't long after getting knocked out that Sam started coming to with a throbbing head, only to find himself tied down in a chair with his hands bound behind his back by what felt like cable. He woke up rather quickly when he saw Clark circling a sniveling and bound Indian man with the knife Sam used to threaten the actually human Stewie.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Clark. I'm sorry for whatever I did to you. I'm sorry. Please," Stewie begged.

Sam could see the look in Clark's eyes as he circled the pleading man. A hungry look. "Wait! Wait. Don't do that," Sam ordered, even though there wasn't much he could actually do in his helpless position.

Clark stared at Sam from behind Stewie as he grabbed the sniveling man's shoulder and leaned over him, his head just by the man's ear. "You're awake," he said not breaking eye contact with Sam as he smiled and rested the tip of the knife on Stewie's upper thigh.

"You're not a killer, Clark. No!" Stewie whined, trying to appeal to something human inside of Clark. Not that he knew what Clark was to begin with and how very not human he was. Sam struggled as Clark turned his head to Stewie's ear, uncomfortably close. "There's a—there's a good man inside of you. I know it."

Clark looked back at Sam, "What do you think, Sammy? Am I a good man?" They both knew he wasn't a man at all.

"Just let him go," Sam said vainly.

"I would," Clark began as he straightened up. "I really would. If only I had more than a salad for lunch," he held the knife at head level with Stewie, causing the poor man to panic more seeing the instrument of his demise. "See...I'm starving," he held the knife up high and brought it down, and into Stewie's heart.

"No!" Sam shouted as he looked away, not wanting to see the moment Stewie was killed.

"Ugh!" was the last thing Stewie said as his head lolled back then tilted forward as Clark released his grip, blood dripped from his mouth. He was dead.

Sam's eyes flashed with regret then focused back on Clark when something weird happened. His teeth had become like stained, thick, yellow needles that were easily 2-3" long and bones cracked as he did an uncanny impression of a snack unhinging its jaw.

Clark turned Stewie's body to face him, gripping his shoulders, and began inhaling. A white smoke like wisp of light began leaving Stewie's nose and mouth, and into Clark's gaping maw. It even lit up the inside of Clark's cheeks. Once the last bit of Stewie's soul had passed Clark's lips, he closed his mouth, his jaw returning to place. The Crocotta straightened back up smacking his lips and wiping the back of his hand over them.

Sam's mind raced at how the Crocotta got the jump on him. It didn't take long to realize what happened. "My last call with Dean—" he huffed with a chagrined smile. "That was you. You led me here" he looked at the Crocotta in certainty. After all, they could mimic the voices of loved ones; they didn't necessarily have to be dead.