Sitting here watching the news, listening to politicians blathering on; is it any wonder I'm preoccupied with grubby, slimy things?
So herewith, Sam, Dean and ... something slimy.
Word count: approx 100
Disclaimer: I own nothing, only my own disturbed mind
The brothers crawled along the narrow storm drain on their bellies, brushing aside masses of dangling roots and cobwebs .
"Why don't friggin ghosts ever haunt five star hotels?" grumbled Dean, cringing as his elbow sank into something soft.
"They reckon there's eels in here" Sam muttered nervously, glancing around the mud and crumbling brickwork.
"Ah what's wrong Samantha, frightened of little wormy fish?" Dean grinned at his scowling brother, making worm motions with his finger, "look Sammy, wiggly wiggly worm …"
Suddenly he felt something cold and slimy slither up inside his shirt.
The scream echoed spectacularly through the drain.