Sam tilted his head back and let the wind rush into his face through the open window of the impala. He let his eyes slide closed, letting out a soft sigh. It was at times like these that he could pretend that there was no deal, that Dean's life wasn't limited to a year, that he was just normal… his eyes opened and he slid them over to glance at Dean, who was tapping one finger on the steering wheel in time to his music. Dean acted like he couldn't care less about the deal that had sold his soul, but every so often his mask slipped and Sam would catch a glimpse of the terrified man beneath it. He only wished that Dean didn't feel that he had to put on a show, that he could be honest with Sam.

"Dude, I know I'm handsome but would you quit staring at me?"
Sam looked away quickly, as if Dean could read his thoughts just by looking at him. Normally, Sam would react with some kind of joke or sarcastic comeback. But now he just couldn't make the words come.

"Lighten up, Sammy, you look like you're on your way to a funeral," Dean said. "Well, technically you are but if you get all damp eyed over every poor bastared that wanders into a haunting you'll be blubbing all your life."

Sam shook his head, shrugging off Dean's words. He practically felt Dean raise his eyes to the heavens and shake his head.

"Fine, whatever. What's the deal with this one again?"

Sam looked down at the papers that were resting in his lap: missing persons ads he had found on the internet. "John Saunders and Rosie Holler, both reported missing last week. The week before that there was a Ross Elliot and before that Josie Ferdinand. It all started the beginning of this month, same night every time."

"So what're we looking at? Vengeful spirit?"

"Maybe," Sam murmured, his brow furrowing. "So far I haven't found any connection between the victims."

"Ah well, you're finally getting rusty in your old age," Dean teased, grinning. "So we'll go interview the families, get a rough idea of who they were. Whether they had any dirty little secrets."

Sam nodded and sifted through the sheets of paper before him. "Uh huh. Closest one's Jane Saunders, John's wife. Keep going straight on until we hit the roundabout in the middle of town…"

His voice trailed off as a loud whining sound rose up from the back seat. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. Sam twisted around in his seat and leaned over to paw through their bags. His hand closed on something that was vibrating madly, and he sat back down with it in his fist. He held it out so that Dean could see it too. The EVP. It was going mad. Dean slowed down and let the car roll to a halt on the curb, and the two brothers watched as the EVP flickered and whined loudly.

"Hey."

Sam looked up at Dean's voice and then followed his gaze. They were parked outside a second hand shop, its windows packed with bric-a-brac and tiny china tea sets. A woman was just walking into it, a large brown package clenched in her hand. As soon as she vanished into the shop, the EVP went dead. Sam looked at Dean. Then the brothers slipped out of the car as one and moved into the shop, the EVP concealed beneath Sam's jacket.

Inside the shop was cramped and dark. A teenage girl stood behind the counter, talking to the woman in a hushed voice. Sam inched closer, and the EVP went wild again. The women looked up, frowning, and Sam turned away quickly. He fixed his gaze on a candle stand, running his fingers over its wiry frame, and the women began to speak again.

"I just can't have it in my house any longer," the woman whispered to the shopkeeper. "It scares me. All those people… I don't know why John bought it. He kept looking at it, he was looking at it the night before he disappeared…"

"Please, Mrs. Saunders," the shopkeeper replied quietly. "You're talking about it as if it's alive…"

"Well, maybe I feel like it is," the woman snapped. "Just take it. I don't want my money. Just take it away."

"Mrs. Saunders–"

"Take it!"

The last words were so loud that Sam couldn't help but look up. The woman, Mrs. Saunders, was pressing the book into the shopkeeper's hands, her eyes wide with fear and hatred. The teenage girl was forced to take it, and Mrs. Saunders ripped her hands away as if the package were red hot. Without waiting for the shopkeeper to speak, she turned and strode quickly from the shop. Sam met Dean's gaze and Dean gave the slightest of nods. Then he turned and moved out of the shop after the woman.

Sam turned towards the girl, who was pressing her lips together hard. He turned on a smile and stepped forwards.

"Everything okay?"

She looked up, startled, as if she hadn't realized that he was there. "Yes, yes. Everything's fine."

"I couldn't help but overhear. Is that woman alright?"

"Oh yes. She's just lost her husband recently," the girl replied, turning to place the package beneath the counter. "She's overreacting."
"Of course. Just out of interest, what was it she wanted to give back?"

The teenager hesitated, just a second too long. Then, slowly, she retrieved the package and set it down on the counter. "Have a look, if you want. I've not been able to sell it to anyone for more than a week or so. It's like it's… cursed."

Sam waited for her to move away to tend to another part of her shop before laying his hand on the top of the package. Instantly, a cold, clammy feeling rushed into his fingers. He shivered, but didn't remove his hand. Instead, he pulled out the EVP with his free hand and held it close to the package. It went made, flashing and whining so loudly that the young girl on the other side of the room looked up. Sam shoved it back into his pocket, nodding to her, and reached down to open the package.

Abruptly, a second hand slammed down on top of the package. Sam jerked back, one hand automatically reaching down to his waistband where his gun was hidden. The cold, dark eyes of an elderly woman stared back at him, her gnarled hand clenching over the package.

"Stay back," she snarled, her voice cracked with age. "Do not open it! Never open it!"
"Grandma!"

The teenage girl ran over, grabbing her grandmother's arm. She shot an apologetic look at Sam as she struggled with the older woman, but her grandmother's hands only curled more tightly over the package.

"You do not understand!" she hissed furiously. "It must never be opened!"

"Grandma, please! We've got customers!"

"It must never be opened!" the elderly woman repeated, shaking her head.

Sam looked down at the package. It was obvious that he wouldn't be able to get it away from her without a fight, and there was no way he was about to hit an old lady. His only hope was that the girl would be able to get the package free and give it back to him. But, even as the thought lit up in his mind, the girl gave up and looked over at him again.

"I'm so sorry. She's very superstitious," she said as her grandmother clutched the package to her chest.

"Couldn't I just–"

"No one must open it!" the woman snapped, her voice rising. "No one!"

"I think you'd better leave," the teenager said, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

Sam opened his mouth, and then thought better of it. Instead of arguing, he stared down at the package. It was then that he noticed that a corner of whatever was inside had poked out of the brown paper wrapping, a small bronze rectangle clearly framing the words; Henry Hartford. Sam stared at the name, locking it into his memory. Then he smiled at the teenage girl and nodded.

"Sure. Maybe I'll come back later."

Then he turned and left the shop without a second look back.

Dean was leaning against the impala, his arms folded. He jerked his head to the right as Sam reached him, indicating the retreating back of the woman who had returned the package.

"Mrs. Jane Saunders. She's John Saunders' wife. Wouldn't tell me much just that she wanted whatever that thing was out of her house. Thought it was cursed."

"Yeah, she's not the only one," Sam said. "There was this old woman in there who wouldn't even let me touch the thing."

"So we don't know what it is?"

"Not yet. Henry Hartford."

Dean frowned. "Who's that, your new boyfriend?"

"Was on the package. C'mon," Sam said, moving around the car to get into the passenger seat. "I need my laptop."

"What you need," Dean replied mischievously. "Is a sex life."