The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.
Real Ghost Stories
Chapter 1
Fort Laramie Phantoms
The Impala rumbled up to the gates of Fort Laramie Historical Site and waited for the Park Ranger to open up his little booth's window.
"Hi," Dean smiled. "We're here to meet with Ranger McDonald."
"Are you the guys about the ghost?" the uniformed Ranger asked.
Dean was shocked. He answered, "Short and sweet, yes." He had never expected to be greeted openly by a government employee as 'the guys here to see about the ghost'. It was like they were plumbers here to see about the leak.
Sam leaned forward to get a good look at Dean's face. "Maybe we should get uniforms." He snickered.
"Shut up bitch," Dean pushed him back into his seat with one arm. "We don't do uniforms."
The Ranger grimaced "Are you guys done?" He looked from one brother to the other. "Drive straight ahead until you see the building with a sign that says Administration. McDonald's waiting for you there."
The Ranger shut his little sliding window and pick up a clipboard. Dean imagined the guy checking off a little box beside 'Ghost hunters, expected 11 AM.'
They followed the neatly graveled road, edged by a perfectly manicured lawn, to the Admin building, parked and stepped out of the car. A screen door swung open, held by another Ranger. "Campbells?"
Dean climbed the stairs and Sam stood momentarily by the Impala, trying to gauge their reception.
"Well, come on in. I'm Ranger Brad McDonald. Been waiting for you." He turned and disappeared into the cool darkness of the building.
The brothers moved to enter. The warm Wyoming sun encouraged a dive into shadow and the room beckoned with promises of comfortable chairs and cool drinks. The Ranger was moving around at a long counter and the pleasant sound of ice cubes rattling in glasses echoed in the room.
"Have a seat." McDonald waved at the fat leather chairs. "Let me fill you in on our problem." He handed each of them a tall glass of clear soda.
McDonald was an older man, neatly uniformed and gray haired. He could be described as 'tidy'. For some reason he made Dean think of the neatly mowed grass and raked gravel outside. He wondered if McDonald had turned this park into the fabled tight ship.
"I don't know what, if anything, you might know about Fort Laramie," he started.
"Not all that much," Dean said. "Garth just told us you were having problems with what he called 'a long time ghost' and told us to get up here and that the Park Service was willing to pay us for our time."
"That's right." McDonald responded. "I understand you guys are supposed to be the best. I'd like this cleared up with the least amount of fuss. Really don't want it to get out that the US Park Service is paying to have their ghosts cleaned up."
Dean and Sam nodded together. "That's fine with us." Sam said. "The less noise the smoother the hunt."
Ranger McDonald looked up at them. "Yeah, that's what Fitzgerald called it, a hunt."
"Fort Laramie was manned by the U.S. Calvary from 1834 to 1890. The men were tasked with keeping peace and order in the territory and she was known as The Queen of the Frontier Forts. From here settlers set out on the Oregon, the California and the Bozeman trails, all heading away for new lives out west. People passed through and never came back. Calvary officers brought their families and lived at the Fort for years. Lots of history, death and drama worked its way out at this Fort. It would take days to bring you up to speed on all the history here."
Dean smiled. "I leave that stuff up to Sam. I'm sure by the time we leave he'll have it all memorized."
McDonald turned to Sam. "A historian, are you?"
"No," Sam replied. "I just like to know about places. I've done a little research on the Fort on our way over here and I was wondering just which one of your phantoms you are having trouble with. It would be my guess that it would be George."
"That's what we call it, though we don't know whether or not it's a man. We don't know why he's here, we just know he is." Ranger McDonald agreed.
"How is it that you picked George as the trouble maker, Sam?"
"Your two most famous ghosts are George and the Green Lady; at least, your two best documented ghosts. I know that George has been a problem going back decades. He haunts the Captain's Quarters and won't leave the doors alone."
Sam went on. "The Green Lady's last published appearance was in 1871 but it is rumored that she appears every seven years, riding her black stallion at a breakneck pace and disappearing without warning out in the hills. I just don't see her coming into the fort and causing trouble."
Ranger McDonald sat back in his chair and took a sip of his drink. "Yes, it's George who has become a bigger problem for us. We can't keep those doors locked anymore. They get opened as soon as somebody turns their back. We've needed to post guards lately. There are a lot of value antiques in that building that anyone would be happy to wander off with. Besides that, George used to slap the guards on the back as they went on their rounds trying to lock up. Lately the slaps have escalated to the point that guards are actually ending up on the ground from the force of them. I'm afraid that someone is really going to get hurt."
Ranger McDonald eyed the Winchesters. "You guys sure you can clean this up for us? You're awfully young for so called experts."
"Don't worry about us." Dean replied. "We were raised in this life. Just point us to the Captain's Quarters and give us a guard to show us the hot spots. We're going to get some gear out of the car. The only thing we are going to ask of you is to provide a place in the building where we can draw on the floor and not screw anything up."
"The entry way is mortared brick. Will that work? I'll take you around and show you the building. As much as possible I want this whole thing limited as to the number of people involved."
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Ranger McDonald got them settled in the entryway, a sort of tunnel that went through the middle of the officer's quarters to provide cover for men arriving on horseback. The brick floor was worn smooth from decades of use. The old two story wood frame house still was in good condition, something Dean thought Ranger McDonald took care of just as much as the lawn and the driveway. Not even inanimate objects were allowed to slack off under the ranger's watchful eye.
They watched as the guards went around locking the perimeter doors. "Just leave these two entry doors alone." Dean instructed. "We'll take care of them later."
They settle down on the steps and waited for the men to leave. Once alone Sam got down on his knees and started drawing traps on the bricks. These were not demon traps. These were spirit traps and not a normal part of a hunter's equipment. Sam had studied Bobby's books all his life and thought that these circles and the associated symbols could hold a spirit when there were no bones or artifacts left. They were especially helpful with ghosts of unknowns, such as George.
One old guard, who had since retired, had named the ghost George simply to have something to call it. The old man had talked to George as if George were a friend of his and Sam and Dean suspected the reason that George had gone bad was because his only friend no long came around
They placed a copper bowl on the brick and Sam added various herbs and talismans.
"God damn it, Sam. Is this going to take blood?" Dean whined.
Sam rocked back on his heels and looked at his brother. "When have we ever done one of these spells that didn't need blood, Dean?" Sam placed the bowl in the center of one of his circles and sat back down on the steps. He sliced his palm and reached out for Dean's. The brothers' blood splashed into the bowl.
"Now what?" Dean grumbled as he wrapped a strip of cloth over his slashed palm.
"Now we wait until we see these doors swinging open. That increases our chances of getting the spirit in one of the circles when we light up the summoning bowl. So get comfortable. We may be here a while." Sam replied.
"While we're waiting, why don't you tell me all about the Lady in Green?" Dean asked.
"You can't hit on her Dean, so what's the point?" Sam laughed. "It'd be a long time between dates. She only comes around about every seven years."
Dean smacked Sam's shoulder. "Smartass. Just tell me the story, bitch."
"Alright, alright, don't hit me, I'm talking. It's just you are usually telling me to shut up." Sam was smiling and pushed his brother off the step. "Jerk."
"In the mid 1800's an officer arrived here bringing with him his teen-aged daughter. She was a lovely, high spirited young lady with long dark hair and an attitude uncommon for the times. He father dragged her out here to the edge of the Frontier to keep her from marrying a man he deemed unsuitable. His daughter did not agree and became angry and unmanageable. "
"Mostly likely as a form of rebellion she took long, solitary rides on a black stallion her father owned. She would ride out for hours, alone, across the Sioux dominated plains. One day, as you might expect, she didn't come back."
Dean looked up at a scrapping sound. One of the heavy entrance doors had moved. As he watched, it settled and he thought it might just be the prairie wind that moved it. The air was growing chill and the wind moaned over the Wyoming hills, blowing straight through their summoning scene.
Sam went on. "Over the years sightings of her were reported and the local Sioux clans and tribal bands began to talk of a Wasicun woman on a black horse who rode the hills alone."
"There is a documented sighting from 1871. A Lt. James Nicholas Allison arrived that year to take up command of a cavalry unit. He and some of his new friends went wolf hunting one afternoon and he and his dog got separated from the group."
"While riding the hills back to the fort he saw a lone woman, dressed in green, riding a large black stallion all out down in the valley. Her hair was streaming loose from her hat and a black veil covered her face. Even at the speed the horse was traveling she was urging it on with blows from a riding crop. Believing her to be in imminent danger from a pursuer Allison wheeled his horse and charged down the hill."
"She rode up the other side of the valley and Allison's horse was no match for the stallion. By the time he reached the top of the hill she was gone. He could see miles in every direction and could not see the rider or her horse."
"One thing struck Allison as strange at that point. His dog had not pursued the rider with him. The dog had stayed at the place where Allison had first seen the woman."
Dean heard the entry door move again. It was still only a light scrapping noise but he decided to keep an eye peeled.
Sam went on with his story. "When Allison returned to the fort he was set on getting up a search party but his fellow officers told him not to bother. He had seen The Green Lady and she had been presumed dead for decades. No search party was going to help."
"No one knows how she died. No one ever found her body or the carcass of the stallion. She simply rides the Wyoming Hills, fleeing from a danger only she knows."
With Sam's last word the entry door slammed full open and Dean dived for the summoning bowl. Tossing his lighter in, the materials ignited, sending a small tower of flame straight up. The flame sunk down and a wind vortex formed, rattling the bowl.
"What now, Sam?" Dean yelled.
"I think we've got him." Sam agreed. "Let me get out my prayer."
"Not an exorcism?"
"He's a spirit, not a demon." Sam replied. "I just want to set him to rest, not to Hell. I have some Catholic prayers that are proven powerful. As long as he was a Christian, they should work"
Prayer of St. Thomas Aquinas
Grant me, O Lord my God,
a mind to know you,
a heart to seek you,
wisdom to find you,
conduct pleasing to you,
faithful perseverance in waiting for you,
and hope of finally embracing you.
Amen
A Prayer for the Forgotten Dead
O merciful God,
Take pity on this soul
Who has no particular friends and intercessors
To recommend him to Thee, who,
Either through the negligence of those who are alive,
Or through length of time is now forgotten
By his friends and by all.
Spare him, O Lord,
And remember Thine mercy
When others forget to appeal to it.
Let not the souls which Thou hast created
Be parted from thee, their Creator.
May the souls of all the faithful departed,
Through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen
Silence descended.
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I used a book called "Ghosts of the Old West" by Earl Murray (1988) as a reference for this story.
