KvsW- Casefile [002][First Call]

After almost a day of walking, Dave and Chris finally made their way out of the woods. They made quite a sight and caused some commotion when they stumbled into the nearest town dressed in bloody milsurp and carrying guns.

Dave was able to get some much needed medical care before sepsis set in, and Chris had gotten a prescription for some painkillers for her back. When the authorities came knocking, they passed the incident off as a brown bear attack. They most certainly did not want the men in black to come around, so they didn't so much as breathe the word "wendigo."

Dave was bedridden for a couple of days with his arm in a cast, and though Chris was free to go at any time, she stuck around. They used the time to get to know each other better.

"So, whereabouts do you live, anyway?" Chris asked, eating a spoonful of applesauce from a plastic cup. She was sat in a comfortable looking chair next to a bed with Dave laid out on top.

"My dad left me this five acre plot of land in his will, so I kinda decided to just start living on it. It's a couple miles outside of town."

"Really? For how long have you been there?" asked Chris, offering a spoonful to her bedridden friend.

"Uh, six weeks," he said, accepting the bite of applesauce.

"And you've been camping out in the woods for five of those weeks."

"Well, I was doing that STALKER challenge thing... and uh, got kinda lost. But I decided I'd make the most of it, so, yeah."

Chris chuffed. "Well, now that you've got your bearings again, maybe you can show me your place? I mean with us practically being neighbors and all."
"Yeah, sure. Considering the house has been empty for five weeks, it'd be a good idea to check in and make sure squatters or... 'bears' haven't taken up residence."

"Don't worry, I'll help you clear rooms," she said with a smirk.

A day later, they drove together up to his cabin. Chris was wearing a casual flannel shirt and jeans with cowboy boots, while Dave had on a simple t-shirt and camouflage cargo pants. They chatted about little things as Chris's old ass station wagon chugged along the country roads.

The whole place was densely forested, and the cabin itself looked like it was about to fall apart from termite damage.

"You've been living in that ramshackle thing?" she asked, a bit incredulous.

"What? It's not THAT bad, is it?

"That shit looks like it's going to fall in at any moment! You should have been less worried about skinwalkers and more worried that your damn roof was going to crush you!"

"Okay, okay, don't yell. You wanted to see it, so here it is." With some effort, he opened up the car door on his side and stepped out.

She got out as well, and followed him inside. It turned out that the place just looked ugly, but was somewhat structurally sound within. From what she saw, it had four rooms counting the main one, and an open loft in lieu of an attic.

"Hang on a sec," said Dave, eyeing a door that was slightly ajar. Chris pulled a Derringer from her boot and held it level as Dave crept over to the door and pushed it open slightly.

The door creaked open in a painfully slow manner, so much so that Chris accidentally discharged a round into it, almost causing Dave to jump out of his skin.

A small furry blur came rushing out of the room and out the front door, whimpering. A dog.

"Jesus jumping Christ, Chris!"

"Sorry! Sorry! Got too nervous..." Her face went red with embarrassment.

"You put a damn hole in my bedroom door..."

"I said I'm sorry, okay?"

Dave just rolled his eyes and sighed, going into the room. She slipped her derringer back into her boot and tentatively followed him in.

In the bedroom was a deflated air mattress, likely chewed up by the dog that had gotten in. There were a couple of rifle cases up on the table, and an ammunition box, as well as a couple of bags of milsurp BDUs. It seemed as if he didn't own any normal clothes besides t-shirts.

"Man, your living conditions are shitty. What are you even eating in this place?"

"Well, there's no electricity, so I bought a bunch of canned food that was on wholesale..."
"Oh, come on, I'm as lazy when it comes to housekeeping as anyone, but this is no way to live," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Well, it's what I got, so it's fine by me."

"No, no, this won't do."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen, you saved my life, and... I just put a hole into your door... and from the looks of it, the window behind the door... so how about this. I'll pay for the damage I just caused, you buy some furniture, and in the interim, maybe you can crash on my couch. It's the least I can offer."

"You're serious? You'd do that for a crazy guy you met in the forest?"

"Okay, first off, when you put it that way, it sounds like you're trying to talk me out of it. And secondly, don't get any ideas, alright? I owe you and that's the only reason I'll make the allowance." She folded her arms.

He just shrugged. "Okay, wouldn't want to impose, though."

"Just don't be creepy or anything and it'll be fine." Chris then helped him to load his guns into her stationwagon, since Dave only had one good arm.

Anyway...

Chris drove Dave back to her little apartment. It wasn't much, as could be expected of a small town in a little buttfuck town in the middle of nowhere, Michigan, but it was alright. And as Chris said, there was a couch.

"Hey Dave," asked Chris as she set down his gun cases on the coffee table, "Do you even have a job yet, considering you were out in the boonies for a month?"

"My dad was actually pretty rich, so no. He left a good sum for me in his will, along with the property."

"Sorry for your loss."

"Eh, he was always away all the time, didn't know him too well to begin with. It's alright." He sat down on the couch and rubbed his shoulder. His arm was still in a cast from the battle with the supernatural a couple days ago. "What about you?" he asked.

"Funny story. I actually sued some rich guy for like a million dollars. His stupid son hit me with his car. But hey, a concussion was worth it."

"And you're the one worried about me being the crazy person."

"Fuck you, man." She went over to her kitchen and cracked a beer, and started chugging like a champ.

Dave watched her with amusement, but then got to thinking about the whole situation. "So, you don't go to work, and I don't go to work... what are we supposed to do then?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I just order ammo and milsurp off the internet and shitpost on /k/ most days."

"Huh. Same."


Dave and Chris spent the rest of the day cleaning guns, shitposting, playing vidya, and boozing. Sometime past midnight, Dave ended up passing out on the couch.

In the morning, he awoke with a splitting headache. Chris was passed out on the floor of the kitchen, cradling her AK like a baby. Dave rubbed his head with his good arm, and got himself a glass of ice cold water.

Chris woke up a bit later, groaning and sitting up. Dave was in the process of holding an ice pack to his head and warming up some pop tarts. "Morning," he said, offering her an ice pack as well. "It's alright if I make poptarts, right?"

"Yeah, sure, help yourself." She held the ice to her forehead and stood up carefully so not to lose her footing. "So, uh, what happened last night? I feel like shit..."

"We got drunk and you ranted about how you wished you had a feminine penis so you could fuck your raifu, and then you passed out on the floor."

"Oh... uh..."

"To be fair you were browsing those lewd stories on the /ak/ threads. And you were pretty fukken drunk. Just forget about it."

"Probably for the best."

The toaster pinged, causing her to wince from her hangover. Dave pulled them out and scarfed them down while they were still hot, and washed them down with ice water.

"Hey, none for me?" she pouted. He shrugged and put a couple more into the toaster and went over to the couch to lay down.

Chris and Dave spent the next few hours lying around in the darkness and drinking large amounts of ice water to alleviate their hangovers. Around noon, out of boredom, Dave flipped on the television to the local news.

Weather reports, national news, local events. The local station reported an increase in reported bear attacks and advised residents to take caution when hiking or travelling through wooded areas. However, that story segued into something different.

"Some residents have come to start believing that bears are not responsible for the recent attacks," said the newscaster, leaning in a bit. "In fact, some are claiming that the fabled Dogman is responsible." The report covered a brief history of the legend, and how sightings had popped up as far back as colonial times. Then it went to an interview with a couple of old people claiming that they'd been attacked by a pack of them and that the beasts stole their dog.

"What do you make of this, Chris?" asked Dave, shifting the ice pack on his head.

"Hmmph... what?"

"Dogmen. Do you think that's actually what attacked us?"

"Naw... dogmen are different... they're like werewolves, but not... and they don't screech and have antlers..."

The news report on the dogmen attacks started to wrap up. "Some people are so invested in this theory," said the newscaster, chuckling, "that they're offering cash rewards for anyone willing to bring in the pelts of the legendary beasts. Authorities, however, are advising against this, saying that dogmen are not real, and that this is just a Halloween hoax." The news then turned to a farmer who'd grown an oddly phallic shaped pumpkin.

"Huh..." Dave scratched his chin with his good hand.