Bored out of my gourd, I am. So I'm going to throw this down and see what I can beat out of the bushes. Thanks for giving it a shot.
Inspired by games such as Haunted Mansion, Silent Hill 2 and the 'Can You Escape?' genre.
Takes place sometime in the seventh season. Enjoy.
5:07 PM
~1~ Padlock
Corvus Manor looked to have been plucked from eighteenth century Europe and dropped on the edge of the suburbs of Kingsport, Tennessee. It was the offspring of an English castle and an Italian villa, built of pale yellow stone and stretching over three hundred feet from one end to the other. The middle section was three stories tall, with the two projecting wings on either side reaching four. The façade was plain, punctuated by white window frames and quoins, and crowned with a parapet. There were at least six chimneys, none spewing smoke. Sheltering the front door was a portico, supported by twin fluted columns. Ivy had long since devoured the western wing, swarming every brick and window, and was now creeping towards the middle section of the building, like dark veins through pale skin.
A long stretch of overgrowth before the manor might once have been called a garden. The white gravel pathway was riddled with weeds while fountains were black with lichen and slime. Swollen hedges rimmed lawns of dandelion and thistle. Drooping willows rippled in the breeze. A tall slate wall surrounded the entire property, the only notable entrance being at the foot of the walkway. The twisted, wrought iron gate, stained with age, depicted a twin set of crows, wings splayed, a mirror image of each other.
The black '67 Chevy Impala sitting before those iron gates purred and grumbled, and did not release its passengers. The sun was a silvery haze behind stone clouds, the wind heralding the coming winter. It was not inviting to the Winchesters.
"Oh yeah, this place has got haunted written all over it," said Dean flatly. "What's the story?"
Sam picked up a file from between his feet and riffled through the papers. "Built by the Corvus family in the early nineteenth century after they made their fortune in lumber and trade. Whole family lived there. Well respected for their employment rates and generosity. But the place was abandoned a hundred and fifty years ago after disputed claims. Possession has since fallen to a descendant of the family, but she doesn't live there."
"So what's weird about it?"
"Local lore says the place was cursed, making it uninhabitable, and driving most of the family insane," said Sam. "But there's no real record of anything like that happening. Only that the family nearly went extinct."
"How does that not make the papers?"
"When Garth called he said he'd combed the library, and the historical society. Everything they should have about the estate and the time...just isn't there. It's like a hole in history. All that's left is local lore."
Dean's eyes flicked from one dark distant window to the next. "Alright. I get it. It's creepy. But we don't do creepy. We do creepy and dangerous."
Sam raised a finger. "And that's why we're here. Garth also mentioned that earlier this week, three people went missing. Two were found right here, before these gates, belly-up. Autopsies suggested that they were – get this – scared to death." He picked up a newspaper next and tossed it onto Dean's lap. "The third missing person eventually showed up. He was running around town two days ago. Clothes torn, bare footed, with half his hair ripped out. There was still some in his hands."
Dean grimaced, scanning the article. "Yikes."
"Yeah. Jogger had seen him running away from the estate, so she assumed that's where he'd been. When the police caught him, he was muttering something about music and long fingers."
Cold tendrils spread from Dean's spine. He blamed it on the wind slipping in through the cracked window. He rolled it up.
"So what are we thinking is in there?"
Sam shrugged. "Ghost. Cursed object. Maybe nothing."
Without needing to say it, they both knew that this was not nothing. If naught else, it was the lingering presence of the maddened Corvus family.
"...Let's get this over with." Dean got out first, turning up his collar. As he straightened, pushing the door shut, he scanned the area around him. The main road was hidden some ways back up the drive, and surrounding them were barren trees. Flat, mouldy leaves breathed underfoot as he made his way to the trunk. Sam joined him, hands in his pockets and glancing around furtively. Dean decided not to mention how not-so furtive he was appearing.
Armed with iron, silver, shotguns, pistols, and enough rock-salt to blast an army of ghosts, the brothers moved to stand before the gates, which loomed over two stories tall. The padlock and chain barring the way were old, and untouched.
Dean slipped bolt cutter jaws around the padlock's shackle and pushed the handles together, expecting the ancient steel to snap apart. It resisted. He frowned and tried harder. Tendons bulged in his neck and grunts worked their way out of his throat.
"Need a hand?" said Sam, mockingly sweet.
He gasped as he relaxed. "Shut up." Dean pulled the cutters free and drew his pearl-handled gun, shooting the padlock twice. The blasts startled dozens of crows out of the surrounding trees. Satisfied, Dean put the gun back, but then froze, staring at the undamaged padlock.
"...You must have missed," said Sam, no longer mocking, no longer sweet.
"Impossible." Dean grabbed the lock, turning it this way and that. The cold brass bit his fingers. He let it fall in disgust. It rattled against the chains.
"Up and over." Sam swung his bag to his back and started to climb the gate. Just as he gripped the foot of the iron crow, he yelped and dropped back down. Dean grabbed his shoulder to steady him.
"What the hell was that?"
Sam stared at his hand, opening and closing it, looking at it back to front. "I...I don't know. I thought I touched something sharp." He looked back at the gate, then slowly reached out with his left hand, tapping a picket as though it were hot. Then he grabbed it firmly. "Just be careful what you— Ouch!" He yanked his hand away.
Dean saw blood. He grabbed Sam's wrist before he could withdraw, turning his palm upward. A cut opened up the tip of his finger. No, not a cut. A puncture.
Sam bared his teeth at the gate. "Dammit." He yanked his hand back, licking off the blood before pressing the wound with his thumb.
"I think we can agree a little bit of extra weird has been thrown in," said Dean, frowning.
"You think?"
"Well if we can't climb the gate or break the lock, we'll just have to find another way in." Dean looked up and down the slate wall stretching into the woods in either direction. He chose a side and forced his way into the thicket. As the going didn't get easier, he pulled out a machete from his bag and began to hack a path through, wary of where he set his feet. Sam followed close behind, scowling when he was struck by recoiling branches or snagged by foliage.
"Sorry, what?"
Sam froze. "Hey?"
"...Thought you said something."
Sam shook his head, and Dean shrugged before continuing.
Fifteen minutes later they were still following the slate wall, and they hadn't even turned a corner.
"Large property."
Dean stopped to rest his arm, which hadn't stopped hacking and slashing the entire time. Panting softly, he looked up at the top of the wall. "Hey. There's some missing spikes here. Maybe we can climb over. Give me a leg up, Sasquatch."
Sam rolled his eyes but knelt, back to the wall, fingers interlocked. Dean gripped his shoulder and stepped onto the makeshift stirrup. Taking measured breaths, Sam stood, grateful when his brother made efforts to grab any jutting pieces of slate to pull himself up and relieve some of the weight. But Dean couldn't reach the top.
"Stand still!" he ordered as he tried to step onto Sam's shoulders. The younger hunter grumbled, grimacing, but obeyed as best he could. Wasn't always easy being the taller of the two.
A sound of triumph notified Sam of their success, and the weight was lifted from his shoulders as Dean pulled himself up with arm strength alone.
"...Um, Sam?"
"What?"
"How long have we been walking?"
"...Fifteen minutes, give or take. Why?"
Dean's foot slipped but managed to find another outcrop of slate to hold him. "The house is... We're still right in front of it."
Indeed, it was as though Corvus Manor had turned to face them as they walked along the perimeter, keeping only the façade in plain view.
"Can you climb over?" called Sam.
"I...think I—" Suddenly Dean felt a slicing sensation through his palm. Crying out, he bailed, hoping Sam wasn't standing underneath him as he fell. With nowhere to roll, he had to let his feet and legs take the impact, sending a painful jolt through his body. "Ow."
Sam was at his shoulder in an instant. "The hell?"
"Get off, I'm fine." Dean stood shakily, and put his cut hand to the wall to catch his balance. The slate was coarse and cold under his fingers. But then he felt what could only be described as a wiggle squirming through the stone. He yanked his hand away, staring at the wall with wide eyes.
"...Dean?"
He whirled around. Sam glanced between him and the wall, face lined with concern.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, just, um..." He made to turn away, but Sam grabbed his arm and turned his wrist up, just as Dean had done to him. He grimaced at the two-inch cut splitting the meat of Dean's thumb.
"Doesn't look like it needs stitches, but it should be cleaned."
"Speak for yourself. You'll be dead from tetanus before the week is out." Dean pinched the cut closed as Sam fished out a bandage from his duffle, then wrapped up his brother's hand. Dean snorted.
"Look at us. Hurt before we even started."
Tying the bandage off, Sam pounded him on the shoulder. "Maybe this will be the worst of it."
Dean scoffed, then picked up his machete. "This isn't working either. Go back."
It had taken the hunters fifteen minutes to get where they were. And yet they had only gone fifteen feet when they stumbled out of the foliage, right back with the Impala.
They stared at each other, mouths open but tongues silent. They spent several moments trying to find logic to this, until Sam finally remembered how to speak.
"...Is this a cue that we should get back in the car and leave with our tails between our legs?"
Dean scowled. "We need to find more about this place before we go storming in there. If it's hard getting in, how hard will it be to get out?"
"One guy managed."
"And according to you, he's one peanut away from a nut bar. What about the owner of the house? The descendant you mentioned."
"She lives in town. Why don't I speak with her, and you see if you can't get anything out of Mr Peanut."
Dean glared at the manor, then nodded curtly. "Then we try to get in again later today. I won't be bested by a gate and friggin' wall."
I own Supernatural.
...
*scoffs* Of course I don't. Wouldn't be writing this garbage if I did, now would I? Just borrowing the brothers for a while.