In The Dead of Night
A light flickered on the empty street. Houses were lined up, side by side, with snow covering the rooftops and driveways.
Two ninth grade boys were walking home from the arcade a few blocks over.
One boy pulled his red tuque down over his cold-bitten bright pink ears.
The other, shivering, pulled his jacket closer around him. He looked over his shoulder behind him, staring into the bushes uneasily.
"C'mon man, let's hurry up. You could stay over at my house." Said Robert Isles - to one of his best friends, Chris Goran.
Picking up their pace, they hurried past the neighbouring houses, occasionally glancing behind them.
They reached the porch of Robert's house, and Robert pulled the house keys out of his pocket.
Inside the house, they kicked off their boots, hung up their coats, and shook off the snow that was attached to their hats.
"Hey. Call your parents and tell 'em you're staying over while I go up and tell my parents." Robert said to Chris. "Don't want a repeat of last time."
The two boys shuddered at the memory.
"Yeah, okay." Chris said back, and started making his way toward the kitchen where the phone was.
Robert moved down the hallway, flicking the lights on as he went. He moved on up the stairs, passing the clock near by that read 10:30 p.m.
He knocked quietly on the door of his parents' bedroom twice, and opened the door.
Both of them were sleeping, and Robert quietly crept to the side of the bed that his mother slept on.
Shaking her should gently, he whispered, "Mom? Mom, wake up."
Mrs. Isles woke up, mumbling incoherently.
"Mom," Robert said again. "Chris is going to stay here tonight, okay?"
She mumbled incoherently again, but a 'yeah, sure, whatever' was heard at the end.
Robert stood up, and after shutting the door to his parents' room, made his way to his own room.
Unbeknownst to Robert and Chris, they were being watched. And what was watching them wasn't happy.
******
"Alright Sam, where too?"
The man in question looked down at the news article in his hand, the title reading:
'TWO BOYS MAULED IN HOME BY UNKNOWN CAUSE'
"Brooksville, Maine. Two boys mauled in their home, no sign of forced entry. Parents were sleeping when it happened, and rushed in when they heard screaming. One is in a coma; the other has some broken bones."
"What do you think it could be?" The other man asked, his attention taken away from the road for a while to look at his brother.
"I don't know. They way that they described the injuries in here it sounds like an animal, but I don't know what kind of animal could have done it." Sam replied. "Dean, maybe this is nothing."
"No, it's not nothing. Think about it Sam, two kids mauled in the dead of night and no sign of forced entry. It's not a werewolf, there was no full moon and no hearts were taken out. I say we should go see the kid and ask what he saw."
Sam sighed. "Alright Dean, let's go."
Dean grinned, turned on his cassette player installed in the nineteen-sixty-seven Chevy Impala, and started heading toward Brooksville.
******
Dena pulled into a parking spot at the hospital where the boys were staying, and got out of the car.
Sam searched through the glove box in the car before he got out, and handed Dean one of the two fake detective badges and I.D.'s.
"You're Springsteen, I'm Hart." Sam said, tucking the badge and I.D. into his 'Men in Black' suit.
Dean and Sam Winchester made their way to the hospital doors and walked in.
When inside, the smell of hand sanitizer and other chemicals became strong; the sound of talking and tapping of the receptionist's keyboard were heard.
Dean and Sam walked up to the receptionist who looked to be in her early to late twenties. She had medium length light brown hair put into a ponytail, and light blue eyes that lit up when she looked and noticed Dean came up.
"Oh, hello there. What can I help you with?" She said, fluttering her eyelashes toward him.
Dean just smiled his signature smirk, and, when holding out his badge, said, "I'm Detective Springsteen, and this is my partner Detective Hart. We're here to see the two boys who were mauled; Robert Isles and Chris Goran."
The receptionist rose her eyebrow at Dean's name, but just smiled and said, "Poor boys, one is in a coma you know." She placed her hand on top of Dean's that was resting on the counter, and winked at him.
Sam finally spoke up and said, "Yes, we heard. What room did you say the boys were in?"
The receptionist, - who's name tag read Annabelle - , clearly annoyed with Sam, took her hand away from Dean's and started searching up the boys' room number on her computer.
"They are in separate rooms. If you're going to ask questions, I'm assuming you would want to talk to Mr. Isles. Room two-oh-three." Her voice was snappy when she talked to Sam, but turned nice again when her gaze focused on Dean. "I can take you there personally if you would like."
"No thank you, I think we can manage." Sam told her, and led Dean by the shoulder to the hallways that went to the patient rooms.
"Dude, why'd you do that?" Dean asked him. "I had her and I didn't even have to work hard."
"Dean, we are here because you think there is a hunt, not because you want to get laid. So focus on the job." Sam said to his older brother. "Here we are, room two-oh-three."
Sam opened the door, and walked into the room; Dean following behind him.
Inside, a boy close to the age of fifteen was sitting in the hospital bed watching the TV. The boy had gauze wrapped around his head – and by the way he was sitting – his chest too. He had a cast on his arm and one on his leg as well.
"Robert Isles?" Dean asked. "We're with the law enforcement; we would like to ask you a few questions regarding the night you and your friend were attacked."
"What do you want to know?" Robert's voice sounded tired, like he just wanted this to be over.
"Did you see anybody – or anything – strange the night of the accident? Or anything before?" Sam asked, feeling pity for the boy.
"No. Chris and I were coming back from the arcade late. If there was anyone, we didn't see them. But…" Roberts trailed off, unsure as to how to say it without sounding crazy.
"But what?" Dean asked. Sam continued on after Dean finished. "You can tell us anything."
"I saw what attacked us. I know this sounds like I'm nuts but… it was a squirrel. I know! It's insanely crazy and weird but that is what I saw!" Robert seemed desperate when he told Dean and Sam this, like if they didn't believe him, he might lose it. He didn't tell the other investigators because he knew that they wouldn't believe him, or they would just say he hit his head hard. But with these guys… he felt like no matter how weird it was, they would trust him.
"It's okay," Sam said reassuringly. "We believe you."
"Speak for yourself." Dean muttered, but spoke louder now. "So this squirrel… what can you tell us about it?"
Robert looked confused and bewildered at Dean's question. "Why? It's just a squirrel; I mean I could've been dreaming… But it's just a dumb squirrel, a dead, dumb squirrel."
"Whoa, whoa." Dean said. "It's dead?"
"Yeah, we found him as road kill, me and my friends. We just messed around with him for a bit. That was it! I swear he was dead. He looked exactly the same as when we found him when…" Robert holding his head in his good hand. He seemed like he was going to be hysterical at any moment.
"When he attacked you and Chris." Sam finished the unfinished sentence, his face hard. "Thank you for your time, we'll be going now. We hope that you heal soon."
Robert said nothing, his face blank as he turned back to the TV.
Dean and Sam walked down the hallways of the hospital, and passed the reception desk that now had an older woman.
When Sam and Dean got in the Impala, neither said anything for a while, they just sat there in the parking lot.
"Really? A squirrel? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" Dean laughed, and turned on the car, Led Zeppelin blasting through the speakers.
"Well," Sam said. "If humans could come back as ghosts, then I don't see why animals can't."
Dean rolled his eyes at him. "Always got to be the smart one Sammy."
Sam ignored him. "He said he and his friends found it. So if the squirrel is after the kids who were there…"
Dean finished for him. "Then there were other kids who were around, not just him and Chris. Did you find out where they lived?"
"Yeah, I have Chris' home address right here."
******
Dean parked the car in front of Chris Goran's home. He got out and made sure he still had is badge and fake I.D. on him.
He and Sam walked up the steps of the porch and knocked on the door.
A man who looked to be in his late thirties opened the door.
"Who are you?" He said, a thick voice and red puffy eyes the only evidence that he had been crying.
He had on a pressed suit, and looked like he was about to go somewhere. His hair was the colour of a Hershey's Milk Chocolate bar, and he had eyes that were so brown that they seemed to blend with his pupil.
Dean held out his badge. "Are you Mr. Goran? I'm Detective Springsteen, and this is my partner, Detective Hart. We would like to ask you a few questions on the attack of your son and Robert Isles."
At the mention of his sons attack, Peter Goran's eyes started to water. He wiped his eyes with his hand and croaked, "Why? I already talked to the police and those darn reporters."
Peter Goran was confused. The days following his sons attack, he had been hounded by newspapers and police officers. He was just about to drop by his office at work to collect some papers and drop some stuff off, when he heard his door bell ring. Putting his briefcase on the couch in the lounge, he opened the door, seeing two men standing there.
One was tall, around six feet, with brown hair and brown eyes. The other – who seemed like he could be related to the first one because of some facial features – was shorter, only seeming to be taller that 5'5", and had dirty blonde hair and light green eyes.
Claiming that they were detectives, Peter didn't understand why they were here. He told the police everything that they asked, and now they send two men who looked to still be in their twenties?
Peter sighed, and just went with it. He was too exhausted to protest and kick them off his property.
"What do you want to know?" He said tiredly.
Sam and Dean already knew what kind of monster they were after, but they wanted to know if Chris and Robert had any close friends that could've been with them when they found the squirrel.
"What happened the night of the attack?" Sam asked, wanting Peter's side of the story.
"Well, Chris went out to the arcade with his friends – Robert and Donald. Chris called us late, around three hours after he left, and told us that he was staying at Robert's house for the night. I'm guessing Donald went home or something ahead of time."
"Donald…" Dean acted like he was pondering the name. "Can you give us his address?"
Peter was puzzled again. "Why? What does that have to do with the… accident?" Mr. Goran swallowed back a lump in his throat, remembering the call he got from Mr. and Mrs. Isles at two in the morning.
"We have to cover all bases – and we would like to hear from Donald too." Sam told him.
Peter muttered something that couldn't be heard by the brothers, and went back into the house to search for a pen and paper.
Not even a few minutes passed when he came back, scribbling the address on the paper. Peter gave them the paper, and went back inside to retrieve his brief case.
"Now if you excuse me, I have to go to the office to drop off some papers." He told them, pushing his way past them and hastily locking the front door.
Dean and Sam moved aside and watched as he got into his a car – a black Ford Focus – and pulled out of his driveway.
Dean looked down at the paper that was shoved into his hands, and then back up at Sam.
"Well," he said a smirk on his face again. "That was easier than I thought."
Sam just sighed, and walked towards the Impala; Dean was still standing on the porch.
"What?" Dean said his arms out as if asking Sam what his problem is.
******
"Look, I already talked to the police. I don't know why I have to talk to you guys too." A boy the age of fifteen said.
Dean was starting to lose his patience. "Look kid, we're just here to ask some questions, and then we will be on our merry way."
Donald looked at them apprehensively, staring at Dean moments longer than Sam.
Silently, he opened his front door wider, and sharply said, "Come in."
Sam was first over the threshold, Dean following behind him.
Donald showed them to the living room, and sat down on an armchair. The Winchester brothers sat on the brown leather couch that faced the direction of the armchair.
"What do you want to ask?"
Sam spoke up, knowing that Dean's patience was thin. "We would like to know about the squirrel you and your friends found."
"The squirrel?" Donald repeated confused.
"That's what he said." Dean snapped at him, frustrated.
"It was pretty fresh road kill when we found him." Donald started, ignoring Dean. "It was maybe around a half hour old, give or take. We fooled around with it for while, but then I got an idea. I asked Chris if I could use his pop can, and then I got a pair of scissors. I cut up the can, and made a tiny guitar out of it for the squirrel. He was positioned in a way that looked like he could be playing one."
"I got in trouble a bit later, and when I was passing this kid on the way out, I gave him the guitar. I then went home, got a shoebox, put the squirrel in there, and then me and my parents took him a few miles out of the city and burned him. I thought he deserved a funeral."
Sam exchanged a look with Dean, and got up.
"If anything happens, no matter how weird it is, give us a call." Sam told him, giving Donald his cell phone number.
Donald took it, and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. The brothers exited the house, and got into the Impala. Dean turned on the engine, and headed to the cheapest motel that they could find.
******
The motel room looked like the seventies threw up in it, with lava lamps in every room and peace signs everywhere you looked.
Dean dumped his bag of guns and knives onto his bed, along with his bag of clothes.
Sam dumped his bag onto his own bed, and sat down on it, rubbing his eyes. It was dark now, around nine-thirty p.m.
Dean took his gun loaded with rock salt and looked at Sam.
"Well, let's go hunt us some ghost." He had an excited look in his eyes, and was grinning again.
Sam looked at his older brother like he was crazy. "Dean, you heard what he said, he burned the body. The only thing that could be keeping the ghost here is the guitar, and he gave it to a kid."
"Then we will go to the school and find it, stop being such pessimist Sammy."
"He probably took it home with him." Sam rebutted.
"I have a feeling that he didn't." Dean stated, walking to the door.
A ringing pierced through the small time of silence, and Sam looked at his cell phone.
"It's Donald." Sam said.
******
Dean pulled into the driveway of Donald's house, and ran inside, Sam closely behind him.
The door was opened, and hanging off its hinges. There was glass on the floor, remnants of vases that were on some shelves.
Dean and Sam ran throughout the house, searching for Donald.
Finding no sign of him, they went back downstairs.
As they passed the living room, a note laying folded and away from debris on the glass table caught Sam's eye.
He walked over and picked it up, unfolded it, then quickly read it over.
He gulped, and then showed Dean, who – after reading it – swore under his breath.
"C'mon," Dean said his voice hard. "We're heading to the school. I've got a bone to pick with this squirrel."
******
The school was dark and gave off a creepy feeling.
Dean and Sam walked to the front doors and opened them with ease.
"What I would like to know," Dean spoke quietly. "Is how a squirrel – who is dead – could write. This changes everything I thought I knew about the things that go bump in the night."
Sam shushed Dean, and listened. It was quiet, but a faint sound could be heard.
Dean heard it too, and searched the doors that were closest around them.
Finding nothing so far, Dean tried the last door – a storage closet.
Twisting the door knob did nothing but prove that this door was locked, and the sound was coming from inside it.
Dean got his wallet from his back pocket, and got out his Visa card that had the name 'John Bonham' and started trying to unlock the door.
"C'mon baby, c'mon." Dean muttered, and finally, the door unlocked with an audible 'click'.
Sam got his rock salt gun ready, and slowly opened the door.
On the floor, with a terrified look on his face, was Donald, tied and gagged.
Sam made quick work of untying him, and asked, "What classroom was the kid in?"
******
Sam quickly moved down the hallway towards the primary area.
Dean was guarding Donald from the squirrel, and Sam could hear Dean's gun going off.
The gun sounds stopped, and Sam finally made it to the classroom, only to find that it was locked.
Working quickly, Sam looked around, trying to find something to bust the door knob fast.
A metal bat in the room across caught his attention, and took a few steps toward it, but stopped when he started to feel a cold chill.
In front of him, the squirrel appeared, and was ready to lunge at him.
Sam quickly cocked his gun, and said, "Get the hell out of my way."
He pulled the trigger, and salt hit the ghost, making him vanish for a while.
Sam retrieved the bat, and ran back towards the locked classroom. He repeatedly bashed the door knob with the bat, and after 5 hits, the knob finally came off.
Sam searched all of the kids' desks, but could not find the tiny guitar.
Gunshots sounded through the school again, and Sam hurried up his pace.
Searching the teacher's desk, Sam found it. He snatched it, opened the big window to outside, and jumped out, glad that the room was on ground level.
Sam ran to the parking lot, and grabbed the bottle of gasoline he had. He dumped it all out on the ground, and then lit a match.
He dropped the match on the liquid, and it burst into flames. Sam stepped back, and he threw the guitar into the fire, watching as it swallowed and melted the object.
******
Dean was still firing at the squirrel, only this time he and Donald were protected in the salt circle they made when they found some bags of salt in the storage room.
The squirrel did not give up, determined to get to Donald and have his revenge.
"Damn squirrel!" Dean yelled, and fired again, missing when the squirrel moved.
The squirrel abruptly stopped – and like it was in slow motion - Donald watched as the squirrel burst into flames, disappearing right in front of them.
Dean let out a sigh of relief, and lowered his gun. "Good riddance." He said, and helped Donald up from the floor where he was huddled.
"It's over." Dean told him, and went outside to meet his brother.
A/n: Alright, I wrote this for an english assignment. It's a sequel to a short story we read, "The Tiniest Guitar in the World". Our page limit was ten pages, and I just made that limit. :) Of course I had to take out certain words and sentences before from the original, to make it appropriate (school; what are you going to do?), but I added it in again.
Reviews? (PS, it's going to stay a one shot...)