Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Eric Kripke does. Don't come to me looking for money, because I don't have any.
"Evelyn, can you try that with more restraint and fewer dramatics?" a man called from the chairs of an empty theatre. The redheaded girl on the stage sighed dramatically and the rest of the cast rolled their eyes. The actors onstage rehearsed the scene one more time before the director halted the rehearsal. "That's enough for now," he said as he left the seats and walked towards the stage. "Remember, rehearsal starts at 11 tomorrow morning. I don't want anyone to be late," he added, with a pointed glance at Evelyn.
The actors streamed off of the stage and into the green room in one large group. Two other actors had been found dead in the last few days and the actors were on the verge of calling off the show.
"Evelyn, you coming?" called one of the girls to Evelyn.
"Just give me a moment, Rachel," Evelyn called back as she checked her hair in the mirror and made sure her stage make-up was fully removed, ignoring the flickering lights. Tech week was stressful enough as it was without the random deaths of the actors and the faulty wiring of the theatre.
Evelyn was just leaving the dressing room with her purse slung over her shoulder when she heard a strange noise. "Hello?" she called out nervously as she edged towards the door to the outside of the theatre. She heard the noise again, this time beside her, and whirled around to face it. "Jack? This isn't funny!" she called out again, this time with panic in her voice.
A scream tore the air, and then all was silent. A small breeze wafted through the empty theatre, blowing gently over the dead body of Evelyn Trezek.
"Hey, Dean, I think I have a possible case," Sam called out to his brother from the motel bed. "Some small town in Northern California."
"What's the problem?" Dean asked as he pulled his shirt on and walked towards his brother.
"Three unexplained deaths of teens in the local theatre within the last week," Sam explained as he read the information on his computer screen. "All were found with their necks broken and their heads twisted at a 180˚. Also," Sam added as he squinted to read a piece of information, "they all were in the same production of Macbeth."
"Isn't that the cursed play or something?" Dean asked as he looked over Sam's shoulder.
"It hasn't been proven, but there do seem to be more accidents around Macbeth than any other play," Sam told him. "Rumor has it, the Bard himself used real witches' curses, which caused them to curse the play itself. There's a whole list of accidents associated with the play and it's considered taboo to even say its name in a theatre."
"Have there been any deaths from this supposed 'haunted' play?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, there have been deaths associated with companies staging the play before," Sam confirmed as she shut his laptop and put it in its bag. "So what do you think? Think this is our type of problem?"
"Wouldn't hurt to check it out," Dean answered as he grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "How far away is this town?"
"Davis is about…day and a half away from here," Sam calculated aloud as they made their way to the office to check out.
"Let's do it then," Dean answered. They checked out quickly and headed towards the Impala. "Do you know what this Davis place is like, seeing you did spend some quality time in Northern California?"
"I know Davis is a university town that's got a reputation for some crazy shit, but I never went there," Sam answered as Dean shuffled through his tape collection before grabbing one and putting it in. "Never really had a reason to."
"Well, there's a first time for everything, Sammy," Dean replied as AC/DC began blasting through the car stereo.
One day later, due to Dean's insane driving, the Impala pulled into downtown Davis.
"Jesus, Sammy, you never mentioned it would be this freakin' hot!" Dean exclaimed as he stripped down to his t-shirt.
"I told you, Dean, I've never been here before," Sam answered as he too removed many of the layers he had on. "Also, Stanford was never this hot in the summer."
"Yeah, well, let's find some place with AC before I melt," Dean countered as they made their way to the nearest Starbucks. Before they could get ten feet closer, they were ambushed by a man wearing a Kings hat with a camera and a short, stocky teenage girl with a notebook in hand.
"Hi, we're with the Davis Enterprise, would you like to answer the question of the week?" the girl asked with forced cheer. The brothers looked at each other quickly, trying to decide whether they should answer or not. The girl sighed and Sam got the impression she was rolling her eyes at them from behind her sunglasses.
"Please?" she pleaded. "We've been out here for an hour already and only need two more guys and we're done."
"Sure, what's the question?" Sam answered as he shot his brother a look that said, Shut up and just answer the question.
"Alright, if you could star in any movie, which one would it be and why?" Both Winchesters looked at her and she shrugged. "Look, we don't come up with the questions, the editors do."
Sam and Dean both gave their answers, with Sam choosing Batman and Dean choosing the new James Blond flick. This of course got them started arguing over who could beat who if it came down to a fight between Bond and Batman.
"Sweet, that's everything," the girl said as she flipped her notebook shut. "Thanks for answering the question. If you guys will still be around, it'll be in Sunday's paper. I'll see you back at the Enterprise, Hank," she called out to the photographer, who just nodded and headed in the opposite direction. Sam and Dean were still arguing when they noticed they were heading in the same direction as the girl.
"Do you think she knows anything?" Sam whispered to Dean, who only shrugged.
"Wouldn't hurt to ask," he answered back as they finally reached the Starbucks. The girl held the door open for them and they nodded their thanks. A blast of cold air hit them and Dean sighed aloud.
"Blessed be the AC?" the girl commented dryly, seeing Dean's reaction to the cold air.
"You have no idea," he groaned. "How do you live in this heat?" he asked as they waited in line.
"Go to the Bay Area as much as humanly possible?" she answered. "Downside of living in the Valley: It gets hella hot here and don't get me started on the smog this time of year."
"'Hella?'" Dean asked with a confused look on his face, looking at Sam for a translation.
"It's Northern California slang," the younger Winchester explained, shrugging as he did so. "Loosely translates to 'really.' People at Stanford tended to use it less than other people in the area, since most of them didn't come from around here."
"You went to Stanford? Nice," the girl commented as they inched closer to the cashier. The store was packed that day, as everyone desperately wanted an ice-cold drink to give them a brief respite from the blistering heat outside. "Good school. Of course, it didn't help them when UCD beat them in football."
"Hey I was at that game," Sam protested. Zach had wanted to go see the game, since the tickets were the cheapest of the season, so Sam had gone with him, Becky and Jess. "They played pretty well for most of the game." The girl rolled her eyes and Dean stared at his brother.
"You actually went to a football game, Sammy?" he asked incredulously. "Wow, it's this whole other side of you that I've never seen before." Sam shot his brother a look that could only be interpreted as, Shut the hell up, right now.
"You need to play four full quarters to win a game and Stanford didn't," the girl retorted. "Proudest moment in Davis sports history right there. That and when they beat Stanford in basketball in the same year." Their conversation was interrupted by them finally reaching the front of the line and placing their orders.
"So you're from around here?" Dean asked after they had placed their orders. The girl nodded, trying to figure out where they were going with this.
"We're researchers focusing on works by Shakespeare, particularly Macbeth," Sam explained, going with the cover story he and Dean had decided on during their car trip down from Washington. "We heard about what happened and we were hoping we could talk to some people about it."
"Yeah, that," the girl replied tiredly, looking down at her feet.
"Look…" Sam paused, realizing he had never gotten the girl's name.
"Lanie," she supplied quietly. "I knew the people who died OK? I helped out the theater company they were in with their spring show the last couple of years, so this whole thing is a little personal to me."
"So you aren't involved in this show?" Dean asked. Lanie only shrugged a little.
"Summer's are normally pretty crazy for me and I didn't have the time to commit to anything more," she explained. "Some of my friends were in the show and they're pretty freaked. After Evelyn's death they decided to scrap the play and just do a memorial tribute to her, Brian, and Pete. Look," she added as she headed back to the doors, "I really don't want to talk about this right now."
"That's fine," Sam reassured her as they followed her outside into the heat. "Do you think you could give us directions to the library." The girl looked up, a thoughtful look on her face.
"Well, if you want the public library, you just go down F Street and turn left onto 14th Street. The library's between the North Davis Elementary and the Vets," she said, pointing at the street in front of them. "If you want the university library, just take a left on 4th, left on University, a right on 3rd and that should get you onto campus. After that, I think there should be signs telling you where to go," she said.
"Thanks for help, Lanie," Sam thanked her and they headed back to the Impala. They were about to cross the street when a group of bicyclists raced passed them and nearly ran them over.
"Hey, watch where you're going, you idiots!" Dean shouted at the retreating figures, while Sam just shook his head. He had heard about the crazy bicyclists of Davis while at Stanford.
"Which library do you think we should hit up first? The public one or the university one?" Sam asked Dean as he carefully buckled up to avoid burning himself on the seatbelt.
"University," Dean replied shortly as he began navigating through the Davis city streets. "Should be bigger and we can see if we can get in touch with a professor to see if they know anything more about the curse. First though," Dean said as he turned towards the public library, "we should check out that theater. You said it was the Veteran's Memorial Theater, right, Sammy?"
"Yeah. Do you think that's the Vets that Lanie mentioned?" Sam asked as they turned onto 14th Street.
"Could be," was all Dean said as he pulled into a large parking lot and parked in an empty spot. "Why do these people live here?" he gripped as he and Sam once again braved the excruciating heat outside. "I'm freaking melting here," he added as he stowed the EMF reader in his pocket.
"Trust me, Dean, you aren't the only one who really doesn't like this heat, just the only one who's being a baby about it," Sam snapped back as they made their way through a small courtyard and into the backstage area. Their luck was in; nobody was in the theater at the moment, giving the brothers free rein to investigate.
"Tell me again how the bodies were found," Dean said as he pulled out the reader and began trying to get readings.
"All of the bodies were found backstage by other actors during rehearsal," Sam said as he followed Dean with the camera. "All of them had roles of varying importance in the play: Pete Barnes was the doctor, Brian West was Banquo and Evelyn Trezek was Lady Macbeth. All of them left after everyone else had left, but all were found in different parts of the theater."
"Well, one things for sure, Sam," Dean said as the EMF reader started flashing. "We're dealing with some sort of spirit."
"Hey, what are you guys doing here?" called a voice from behind them. Sam and Dean whirled around to see a teenage boy leading a group of other teens. "Are you supposed to be here?" he asked suspiciously once he got closer to the brothers.
"Sure we're supposed to be here," Dean answered with an amused look on his face. "We're investigators from the insurance company sent to make sure that the deaths fit their policies. This includes conducting a thorough inspection of the backstage area where they were found."
"OK," the boy said cautiously, giving the men one last look. "If you need anything, just let me know. My name's John and I'm the stage manager for the company."
"Thanks John. Do you mind?" he asked, motioning to a place a few feet away from the group. John nodded and followed Sam and Dean over. "Was there anything strange going on the days that Brian, Pete, and Evelyn died?" Dean asked as he studied the boy intently.
"No," the boy replied with an honest look on his face. "I mean, we've been having some problems with the electricity cutting in and out, but that's normal for Davis in the summer. We're lucky we haven't had a full-on blackout."
"Were the electrical problems any worse on the days that the deaths occurred?" Sam asked. The teen paused, deep in thought.
"You know, now that you mention it, they were worse," he confirmed. "We were in the middle of tech week and we kept getting frustrated with all the electrical problems we were having." Sam and Dean exchanged a look and then went back to studying John.
"I think that's everything for now," Dean said as he and Sam headed towards the door. Dean nodded his thanks and was about to leave when he heard raised voices behind him.
"Turkish so owns Ancient Greek," a tall, pale teenage boy proclaimed in a loud voice to a girl around his age with long, blonde hair. "Greek has no use in the modern day world."
"Screw you, Will," the girl replied with good humor as the crowd around them rolled their eyes. "Ancient Greek is a beautiful language and vital to understanding the development of proto-Indo-European languages. It's also the basis for the one of the world's major religions."
"You and your Eurocentrist views. Turkish gives people an insight into an important but overlooked region of the world," Will responded. Dean gave Sam a puzzled look as they exited the building and walked towards the car.
"What the hell was that about?" Dean asked Sam.
"I have no idea, Dean. Something about Turkish and Ancient Greek and then I got lost. I don't think I've every heard anyone argue about the merits of a dead language versus a modern one before."
"You were right when you said this place had a reputation for crazies, Sammy."
"Find anything?" Dean asked about an hour later as he and Sam sat across from each other in the spacious university library.
"I think I might have found the identity of our spirit," Sam said as he looked at the microfilms he had printed. "One Arnold Wright, died in 1967, during a performance of Macbeth. Says here he fell and broke his neck during an argument he was having with some of the other actors." Sam frowned and quickly typed in a search on his computer.
"Says here that the actors involved were the ones playing Lady Macbeth, the doctor, and Banquo; the same roles as the people killed. Not only that," Sam added as he flipped through more sheets of paper, "this happened twice before when other companies in the area decided to stage this play. All the actors who played these characters died, along with the actor who played Macbeth."
"Can you pull up the burial records to see if our Arnold Wright is buried in the city?" Dean asked as he moved over to look over Sam's shoulder. Sam quickly pulled up the website to the city cemetery and typed in his request.
"He's buried here," Sam answered. "We can go salt and burn the bones tonight as soon as it gets dark."
"Wait a minute, didn't that Lanie chick say that there was going to be a memorial tribute or something like that when we talked to her?" Dean asked suddenly. "Do you think that they would do a scene from Macbeth?" Sam's eyes widened at the thought of this.
"Let me check," he answered as he found the number for the Davis Enterprise and quickly dialed it.
"Davis Enterprise, how may I help you?" came a bored voice from over the phone.
"Hi, can I speak to Lanie please?" Sam asked as he headed outside to avoid dirty looks from the librarians.
"Let me see if she's in. Can you hold for a moment?" the voice asked. Sam gave the go ahead and was soon listening to the generic hold music most companies had before hearing the "click" of a phone being picked up. "You're in luck," the receptionist said. "She was just about to head out." Sam thanked her and he waited while the hold music played again.
"Hello?" came an irritated voice from over the phone.
"Hi, Lanie, it's Sam Winchester from this afternoon," he introduced himself.
"Oh, hi," she answered back. "Is there anything you needed? Did you change your mind about having your answer in the paper?"
"No, not that," Sam assured her as he watched a couple of students throw around a Frisbee on the lawn. "I actually had a question about the memorial show that the theater company is putting on. Do you know what they'll be performing?" A pause followed his question and Sam wondered if she had hung up on him.
"Um, well, I know they're doing a couple of scenes from the fall and spring shows and I think they might be doing a scene from Macbeth, but I'm not exactly sure," she answered hesitantly. "Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering, that's all. Can you tell me if the character Macbeth is going to be in any of those scenes?"
"I think so, but I'm not one-hundred percent sure on that," she told him. "If you want to know for sure, I'd just check in with the director, Rob. He should be at the theater now, since they're putting on some finishing touches for the memorial."
"Thanks, Lanie."
"No problem." Sam hung up the phone with a worried expression on his face.
"Well, did she have anything?" Dean asked expectantly from behind a pile of papers.
"Yeah. She said that Macbeth may be in the memorial performance," Sam said as he gathered up various copies that they had made. Dean swore softly under his breath as he looked at his watch.
"Sun doesn't set for another three hours at least," he said. "We need to get those actors out of the theater and go salt and burn the bones as soon as possible. Do you know what time their rehearsal's supposed to end?"
"No clue, but since don't have a whole lot of time to put the show together, probably really late. Maybe, tenish, elevenish," Sam guessed.
"Good. That gives us enough time to get a bite to eat before going to burn this bastard's bones. I think I saw a Baker's Square on our way here. Betcha they got pie," Dean added hopefully as Sam rolled his eyes.
Nightfall found the brothers sneaking through the local cemetery in the middle of town. "Why couldn't they put their cemetery in the middle of nowhere where we wouldn't attract attention?" Dean complained as they finally found Arnold Wright's grave.
"Maybe this was the middle of nowhere when they first founded the town," San suggested as they began digging. They had only just gotten started when Dean let out a sharp cry of pain.
"Jesus, what was that?" he whispered to Sam as he looked for what had attacked him. Sam looked around and laughed out loud when he spied the culprit.
"Dude, you just got attacked by a turkey," he said as he chocked back another laugh.
"It's not funny…ow!" he cried again as the turkey returned to peck him. "Are you going to help me are just stand there laughing your damn ass off, Sammy?"
"That's just too funny," Sam gasped out before he started laughing again. Dean just shot his brother a dirty look before going back to digging. They quickly excavated the coffin, leaving Sam to open it while Dean prepped the salt and the gasoline.
"Ready?" Sam called up to Dean as he wedged the crowbar between the lid and the coffin. Dean shouted back and Sam quickly popped the lid…to find the coffin completely empty.
"You sure this is the right grave, Dean?" Sam asked as he pulled himself out of the hole. "There's nothing in there."
"Shit!" Dean swore softly as he began hastily shoveling the dirt back into the empty grave. "Great. Just freaking great."
"If he's not buried here, then where could he be buried?" Sam asked as he helped his brother shovel in the dirt. A thought struck the two of them at the same time.
"You don't think…."
"It would be just our luck if it was," Dean replied grumpily. "Come on, let's finish this." The brothers went into overdrive, finishing filling in the grave in record time. Gathering their tools, they raced to the Impala and tore off to the theater.
"OK, here's the plan," Dean told Sam as they pulled into the parking lot. "You go find the director and talk to him, see if he knows any legends about someone buried in the complex. As soon as you get the information, walk out and I'll pull the fire alarm to evacuate the building. Got it?" Sam nodded and they walked quickly towards the theater.
Entering silently, Sam quickly found the director in the audience. "Excuse me, could I ask you a few questions?" he asked quietly during a break in the action on stage. The man looked at him, startled, but nodded quietly.
"That's enough for tonight, everyone," he called out to the actors. "Remember, don't go home by yourselves tonight. Wait for everyone else and go as a group." The actors streamed offstage, some giving Sam curious looks. "Well, what is it did you want to ask me?" the director demanded.
"I'm a huge theater geek and I heard rumors that there's an actor actually buried here," Sam lied, trying to look as earnest as possible. "Is it true?"
"Oh, that legend," the director scoffed. "Unfortunately, it's true. We try not to talk about it too much. Supposedly an actor who died here about forty years ago wanted to be buried here, but the city refused. His widow decided if he couldn't actually be in the theater complex, right next to it would do and buried him behind the theater and planted a poplar over his grave."
"Thanks for clearing that up for me, man," Sam said with a genuine look of relief on his face. He had been worried that the guy was actually buried underneath the theater and he really didn't want to have to burn the entire place down—although Dean would like that.
"Be careful leaving," the director called out as Sam headed towards the exit. "There's some sort of freak going around and killing people around the theater." Sam nodded and quickly found Dean.
"Body's buried behind the theater, underneath a poplar tree," he told his brother, who only nodded and quickly pulled the fire alarm.
"Come on, we don't have a whole lot of time," Dean yelled at him as the panicked teens ran out of the theater in various stages of undress. Dean and Sam quickly ran behind the theater and found the lone poplar tree. Working quickly, they moved the lose dirt and found the bones. Just as Sam was about to salt the bones, a scream tore through the air.
"Shit!" Dean swore again as he grabbed the shotgun and ran towards the theater. "Burn those bones, Sammy," he shouted behind him. Quickly entering the theater, he saw a teenage boy backing away from a man whose neck was twisted around with a look of panic on his face. Without hesitating, Dean lined up the shot and fired, the salt forcing the ghost to dissipate. "Come on," he shouted at the terrified kid, who followed him instantly. They had almost reached the door when a gust of cold air hit them and the lights began to flicker. Dean reached for the doors, only to find them locked from the outside.
"Get behind me," he barked to the teen, who did as he was told. Reloading the shotgun, Dean spied movement out of the corner of his eye and raised the gun. The spirit reappeared, but targeted Dean this time. "Get away from me, you evil sunnuva bitch." Before Dean could get a shot off, it disappeared, only to reappear right next to him and throw him against a wall. The spirit loomed in front of him, but before it could do anything else, it let out a piercing scream. Flames started to shoot up from it's legs as it backed away frantically from Dean. Before long, the flames completely consumed the spirit, leaving only Dean and the shell-shocked actor.
"Wh-what was that?" the kid stammered as Dean forced the door open and led him outside.
"No idea," Dean lied. "Just try not to sound too crazy when you talk to the cops." Before the kid could say anything else, Dean left him and walked to where he had parked the Impala. Sam was waiting beside it, an empty gas can in hand.
"Well?" Sam asked expectantly as Dean popped the trunk and had Sam toss the empty can inside.
"It worked. Theater's spirit free," Dean told him, getting into the car and starting the engine. "Don't know about you, but I'm beat. Let's go find a motel and crash."
The next morning found the brothers sitting at a table in Baker's Square looking through the various papers Sam had collected. "So, Sammy, where to next?