Vacancy - Ch1
A neon sign blinks irregularly in the gathering dusk. There are several reasons the Sherelyn Motel is practically empty; for starters, the neon sign announcing the name of the dilapidated building reads only "Sh tel," and in the darkness it's difficult to make out the remaining, unlit letters. The building itself seems like it hasn't been painted or cleaned in years, and the parking lot is full of cigarette butts, beer cans, and used condoms. There are only three cars in the entire parking lot, including the owner's pickup truck.
It is this scene that greeted the eyes of Dean and Sam Winchester as they pulled into the motel in their trusty '67 Impala. Dean had been singing along with the radio, but he fell silent when he caught sight of the rundown motel.
Sam turned to his brother and opened his mouth, about to say something, but he just shook his head instead.
"This place looks cozy," quipped Dean.
"You know we have to be here," Sam returned. "These sightings of this axe-weilding spirit could turn out to be something important."
"I know," said Dean. "Still... look at this place." He pulled the Impala smoothly into a parking spot near the office. "Whoever owns this... no, I can't even call it a motel. Whoever runs this building should be ashamed."
He turned off the car and the two brothers got out. Dean kicked a beer can away from the tire of his beloved car and shook his head. He put his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and walked up to the door, followed closely by his brother.
"Do we have to stay here?" he tried one final time before pulling on the handle.
"Dean-" Sam warned.
"Sorry," Dean groaned. He tugged open the squeaky door and walked into the office of the motel. A dying cactus sat on an endtable beside a couch with a rusted spring poking through the seat. Dean flicked the spring as he walked past, and it broke in half. Without missing a beat, he tucked it into his jacket pocket and kept walking.
They reached the desk at the same time. An old man wearing a trucker's cap sat behind a cash register, smoking a cigar. The smoke curled around his head and Sam coughed.
"Help you?" the man grunted.
"Uh, yeah, we'd like a room," Sam said, trying not to breathe in the bluish cigar smoke. The man's eyes opened wide.
"Ooooookaay," he said.
"Brothers," Dean snapped, rolling his eyes.
"Whatever," the man said, taking a key off of a hook on the wall next to him. "That's none of my business."
Sam and Dean shared a look before Sam took the key from the man. It had a large plastic card that hung from the key ring, announcing their room was number 7. "Just for the night?" the man behind the counter asked.
Sam nodded, but Dean said, "Better make it three nights. Just in case."
"In case what?" Sam asked.
"In case we like it here so much we just have to stay," Dean replied, affecting a lisp.
The trunk of the Impala closed with a loud clang. Dean hoisted a bag full of various hunting weapons onto his shoulder and handed Sam another.
"I can't believe we have to stay here for three nights," Sam complained, settling the strap of the bag on his strong shoulder. He walked toward Room 7, reaching in his pocket for the key.
"You're the one who said we had to STAY here, Sammy," Dean said. "I wanted to stay in the Holiday Inn up the street, but NO..."
"If we're going to catch this thing we have to be here. Otherwise we're going to get arrested for trespassing around the motel for no good reason," Sam replied. He slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open. Sam stepped into the room and backed out again immediately, coughing.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked, looking mildly concerned. He strode forward to help his brother.
"Cigarette smoke. Lots of it."
Dean passed Sam and walked into their room. He was gone for a few seconds, and Sam heard a clatter as Dean threw down the bag of weapons. He came back outside, chin tucked into the white shirt he wore under his jacket.
"We need some serious Febreeze."
Sam gave the bed a good long spray with the can of Febreze he'd gotten from the motel owner. The white mist from the spray can hit the sheets and rolled off again, falling to the floor and sliding under the bed.
He turned the can to Dean's bed and did the same, finally dousing the rest of the motel with the air freshener. Soon he was choking on not cigarette smoke but Summer Breeze.
"Geez, Sammy, enough already!" Dean scowled from the doorway. "We can't hunt this spirit if we're high!"
Sam laughed and tossed the can on the counter. "Much better," he said, inhaling loudly.
"About time," Dean said. He came into the room carrying a suitcase full of clothes on his back. He swung it onto his bed with a grunt. "So, what are we going to do to get this bitch?"
Sam lay back on his bed and put his hands behind his head. "The newspaper I read online said this spirit's been appearing to motel guests every other night for the past month. There was no sighting last night."
Dean smiled. "So, we wait." He bent down and began unpacking their clothes, stowing them in the dresser that was missing several drawers. Sam sat up.
"I wonder if this place has room service?" Dean said as he folded a pair of boxers and shoved it into a drawer. Sam looked at the endtable and saw a piece of paper. He picked it up and saw it was a menu for a pizza place just down the road. He showed it to Dean. "Well there you go!"
"Thanks," Sam said, taking the pizza box from the pimpled teenager who came to the door. He handed the delivery boy a ten and closed the door. "Dean! Pizza's here!"
The door to the bathroom opened and Dean came out wearing a pair of flannel pants and a tight, white undershirt. His hair was missing its usual gel and hung flat against his head.
"You can't go to sleep," Sam protested.
"Trust me, I'm not," Dean said. "While we're waiting for this spirit I figured I might as well be comfortable.
Sam brought the box of pizza over to the formica table that stood in a corner. He set it down and opened the top, and the motel room filled with the savory aroma of pepperoni and cheese. Sam took a slice and brought it over to his bed, leaving Dean to get his own.
"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said.
"Any time," Sam shot back. As he passed the TV, he picked up a brightly colored card that had been lying on top. It showed a topless woman lying on a bed with the letters "XXX" floating over her head. Below the picture it said "Only $.50 per hour."
"Look at this," Sam said, tossing the card to his brother. Dean caught it with one hand, holding a slice of pizza in the other.
He looked down at the card and then back up at his brother. He took a bite of pizza and spoke around the mouthful of food. "You know, Sammy, I'm not really comfortable watching this with you. You want me to leave, that's one thing, but..."
Sam rolled his eyes. He too took a bite of pizza and chewed before replying. "I don't want to watch it, I thought maybe you-"
A scream shattered the stillness of the air around them. Their eyes opened wide, and without a word they dove for the bag of weapons, pizza forgotten. Dean pulled out a pistol and loaded it with rock salt, and Sam selected a pre-loaded shotgun.
They ran out of their room as another scream came from the direction of the office. A car was parked out front of Room 1, so they sprinted to that door. "What's going on?" Dean shouted as they heard yelling from inside.
Sam banged his fist against the door, holding the gun upwards with his other hand. "Hey! Open up!" Dean lifted his foot and kicked the door, and to their surprise it flew open. The two brothers looked at each other for a split second before leaping into the room.
A handsome teenage boy dressed only in a pair of boxer briefs and a white undershirt sat huddled in corner with his hands covering his eyes. Advancing slowly toward him was a semi-transparent thing dressed in a beige hunting jacket and hiking boots. It carried a huge axe over its shoulder, poised to strike the boy.
A girl lay in the single bed, a sheet clutched around her neck. She was sobbing. When she saw the two men jump into the room, she screamed again, as much embarassed as afraid for her boyfriend's life. A fifty-cent XXX movie played on the televisioin.
The thing with the axe turned to look at the brothers, and they saw with surprise that its face was marred with ugly lacerations. Its eyes flashed red, and it hissed. Without warning it was right in front of Dean, who fell backwards in surprise. The pistol clattered across the motel floor. "Sammy!" Dean managed to choke out as the thing stepped toward his prostrate body.
Sam Winchester leveled his shotgun at the spirit and pulled the trigger. When the rock salt connected with its shoulder, the thing howled but did not vanish. "Son of a bitch," breathed Dean.
Sam was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to do; they'd been convinced the thing was a spirit, but the rock salt should have repelled it. Instead, it was very much still here.
"Oh my God!" shrieked the girl in the bed as her boyfriend joined her. The axe-weilding thing raised its weapon over Dean's head.
"Sammy, do something!" Dean gasped, pleading. He tried to back out of the thing's range but found he couldn't move his arms or legs. The thing had cast some kind of spell over him. Before Sam could move to his brother's aid, the axe came whoosing down at his Dean.
"No!" Sam shouted, leaping forward. He was too late. At the exact instant the axe connected with Dean's chest, both the deadly weapon and the thing holding it disappeared.
Sam sighed with relief and ran to his brother's side. "You ok, Dean?" he asked.
Dean shook his head, and Sam looked down at his brother's chest. To his utter shock, Dean's undershirt was covered in blood.
SUPERNATURAL