"Get this," Sam said, gaze locked on his laptop screen. "I found an article on the local news site. Guy claims to have seen a ghost outside his window." He looked pointedly at Dean.

"So what?" Dean raised an eyebrow and took a bite out of his hamburger. "Could just be your garden variety weirdo," he said after a moment.

"Nah, I don't think so, this guy looks pretty legit- wait a minute. Dean, why are you wearing those stupid crime show sunglasses again? I thought you hated those things."

"What? They're growing on me. Don't judge."

"Whatever man," Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned back to the article on his laptop. "Anyway, this guy, Lockwood, says he was 'awoken by the sound of tapping at his window and a sudden drop in temperature.'" Sam finished reading triumphantly and raised his eyebrows at Dean.

Dean paused for a moment, put a hand up to his sunglasses and began, dramatically, "Well, I say,"- he removed the sunglasses, moving in slow motion and pausing for effect- "Jackpot."

Part II- The interview

"I don't understand why you're here, I already spoke to the cops yesterday," Lockwood said uncertainly. He was a twitchy, nervous fellow.

"We're FBI," Sam stated, flashing the fake badge. "We're conducting a separate investigation of your case. So, what happened exactly, Mr. Lockwood?"

"Oh, you won't believe me. The cops didn't, anyway. They though I was crazy! Well, I never-"

"We're a little different than most cops out there. We just need the full story." Sam softened his expression to convey a polite curiosity, and sat down across from Lockwood. Dean gave a half smile and tried unsuccessfully to look like he didn't think the guy was just a delusional old man, and sat next to Sam in a wooden chair.

The room was simply furnished, a bed, dresser, nightstand, and the one fairly large window, plus the two plain wooden chairs Sam and Dean were seated in. Lockwood took a seat on the edge of the bed and wrung his hands nervously.

"Alright," began Lockwood, "Well, like I told the cops before, I woke up in the middle of the night to what I thought was a tree branch hitting my window (it was pretty windy last night, you know) and the room was freezing even though I could've sworn I'd turned the heat on. Though I suppose the power was a bit iffy, since the lights flickered out a bit, too. Good thing I had an oil lamp on my bedside table!" At this point, Sam and Dean exchanged a look of recognition. The signs seemed to point towards a ghostly encounter. "So I went to the window with the intention of breaking off the branch responsible, but when I reached out it wasn't a branch I grabbed, it was... well, it felt like... it felt like a hand." He looked up uncertainly at the brothers.

"A hand?" Sam asked, prompting him but trying to sound supportive.

"Yes, but...icy. It was cold. So cold. I could've sworn it was a dream, it was so strange!" He exclaimed.

"It, uh, wasn't a dream though, right?" asked Dean, still trying to make sure this guy wasn't just an insane old dude.

"Of course not!" blustered Lockwood. "I wrote it all down here, clear as consciousness, in my diary!"

("Course, dude's got a diary," scoffed Dean under his breath.)

"May we see the diary?" asked Sam. Lockwood handed it to him.

"Well, it looks like we've got a case," Sam spoke softly, leaning closer to Dean and looking over the diary entry. Dean gave a slight nod in reply. Then Sam addressed Lockwood, and asked, "Did the ghost do anything, or say anything else?"

"Oh, well now that you mention it, I think I heard it speak something. A name, maybe? Something about her lost love... Oh! I recall it now, her name. Catherine Linton."