Wrrrrrrrrr. The sound of the mechanical fan buzzing was the only sound that filled the large house. If crept out of the living room, where the fan continued to swivel back and forth, up the stairs and faintly into the bedrooms. The sound barley managed to touch the kitchen where Brittany stood at the toaster, waiting for her browned breakfast to pop up from within its metal clasps. It was taking longer than she cared to wait. Like microwave time seemed to be longer, toaster time dragged itself out as much as it could in the two and one half minutes that had been programmed into it. Brittany uncrossed her arms to pull down her bright yellow tank top, her nails equally as bright. She noticed that the garbage can was full and decided that the toaster would undoubtedly move faster if she was out of the room. She tied the bag and hauled it out of its plastic home. She grunted as she sat it down on the floor; how long had it been since she had taken out the trash?
She grabbed a knitted cardigan from the hook on the wall and slipped it on, not willing to face the early morning chill exposed. Once her sneakers were on she opened the back door and half dashed half waddled her way to the garbage bin out back and lobbed the heavy bag in. A chill caught her legs and she was beginning to regret wearing shorts today. She reentered the house, closing the door behind her just in time to hear the toast emerge from the toaster. Just as she began to make her way towards her morning meal she heard a strong knock at the door. She hesitated a moment before exiting the kitchen into the living room and to the door.
She looked back at the stairs and froze. There was a sound. A loud almost humming sound. It was everywhere but nowhere. Brittany could hear it, but it was like it was not really a sound, so much as in her head. The sound grew louder and louder, as if it were coming closer. Brittany starred on in shock as the humming began to mold into a scream. Knock knock. The door again. Brittany shook her head and turned to open it.
The latch released with a click and Brittany pulled the door open. Two men dressed in suits, apparently in the middle of a hushed argument stood on her porch. They continued to bicker in a whisper as Brittany stood there looking at them. She only caught things like, "No, this is a bad idea" and "Well, I'm doing it anyway". Brittany cleared her throat and they turned and looked at her. "Can I help you?" she asked.
The shorter of the two gave her a quick smile and the both reached into their suits, pulling out badges. "I'm detective Jack Smith and this is detective Fred Jones, we're here with the FBI and we'd like to ask you a couple of questions."
"If that's alright," the tall one, Jones apparently, interjected.
"Smith and Jones?" Brittany asked skeptically. The two just nodded and smiled. "Come on in, then," She acquiesced and stepped aside letting the two men pass over the threshold into her home. "The police have already been here, why did the FBI need to come?" She asked, as she closed the door behind her.
"Just being thorough." Smith replied. Brittany did not like his vague answer but followed the two men into the living room none the less. Smith dropped himself onto her sofa, making himself at home. Jones, on the other hand stood politely next to the seat beside of his partner until Brittany motioned for him to have a seat. She climbed into the armchair opposite of the two agents crossed her legs. She could tell the vast difference in the two simply by looking at how they held themselves. They were almost polar opposites, it seemed. "So, how can I help you?"
"We would like to ask you a few questions about what happened." Smith told her.
She took a deep breath and replied quietly, "I've already told the police everything I know. They've ruled me out as a suspect." She explained.
"Oh, we know," Jones assured her, "We are just helping the police to try and find out what happened."
Brittany looked at them for a moment then sighed, giving in. "I found her, you know?" It hurt her to think of the incident again. Her mind flashed back to that day, a week ago and she shuddered thinking about it.
She had returned home late that night and went straight to bed. The next day, she had not seen or heard from her roommate, Beth, for most of the day. Naturally, Brittany went upstairs to check on her. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She noticed that the door was slightly ajar so she tipped it open ever so lightly. The door slowly swung open and Brittany almost fainted at the sight that met her eyes.
Lying in a crimson pool for a bed was Beth. She was mangled with a large gash in her throat, her mouth open in what appeared to be a cut off scream. Brittany stood frozen to the spot before a scream of her own escaped her lips.
Brittany took a deep breath after finally explaining the story to the agents. She was not sure how many times that she had been forced to tell the story over and over again to officials. She hated the retelling it.
"Did you notice anything…strange?" Detective Jones asked her. The pause threw her off, but Brittany pondered this for a moment.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, anything out of the ordinary. It could be before, or after the incident."
Brittany thought about telling them about the noise she had heard from the stairs. Especially because this was not the first time she had heard it. Honestly, she had heard it a few times before Beth's murder, and now it was happening more and more. "Well-"she stopped herself. They would think she was crazy if she told them something like that. It was probably just PTSD or something. "Just some noises, that's all."
"Noises?" Jones asked, and the two leaned closer.
"Nothing big, I'm probably just stressed is all," Brittany replied. They sat in silence for a moment before Smith spoke up.
"You know, I could really go for a cup of coffee," he said and gave Brittany a suave smirk. "D'you mind hooking me and my partner here up?" Jones looked scornfully at Smith but Brittany smiled and stood.
"It's no trouble, really." She knew that they really just wanted to discuss what she had just told them. She headed into the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot, reheating the small batch she had made earlier that morning. As the liquid boiled she crept to the wall near the exit of the kitchen and listened closely to the hushed conversation.
"Sounds like a vengeful spirit to me," Jones said.
"Yeah, maybe, we should research any deaths in the house," Smith agreed.
"Dean, I think we should try and get Brittany out of here, you know, just in case."
"Dean?" Brittany thought.
"How are we going to convince her to leave without blowing our cover?"
The coffee machine beeped and Brittany jumped. She hurried to it and poured the two men some coffee before returning. She knew now that they were clearly not really FBI agents, but she wanted to see who they were.
She returned to the living room, steaming coffee in hand, and placed the cups in front of each man. They each took a drink and Smith, or Dean apparently, turned to Brittany. "So, how long have you lived here?" He asked her.
"Um, about a month," she answered.
"And have you noticed anything strange so far. Electrical surges, noises, bumps in the night."
"I'm sorry, what does this have to do with Beth?"
"Please, trust us, this will help us to find out what happened to your friend." Jones, assuming that was actually his name, pleaded.
Brittany looked at them skeptically but decided to cooperate. "I guess, yeah. I just thought it was because it was an old house."
The men nodded. "Do you think we could see the room where it happened?" Smith asked.
Brittany was reluctant again. Now that she was almost certain that these men were not FBI she was not sure inviting them further into her home was a brilliant idea. Yet, she was very curious. "Sure." She said. She stood and led the two guests to the stairs where she paused for a moment, staring at them. She expected the same terrifying noise as before, but nothing happened. The men seemed to notice her pause. "Miss Patrick?" Jones asked. Brittany shook her head.
"Sorry, it was nothing." She head up the stairs and down the hallway. She reached the door to the room where she had found Beth and carefully pushed it open, stepping back for the men to enter. She leaned against the doorframe, not ever actually crossing the doorway.
Smith pulled out an odd, clucky device from within his suit and it whirred to life. It spiked with high pitched noises as he moved it around the room, apparently scanning everything. "What's that?" She asked.
"It's and EMP device."
"Which does what, exactly?"
"Just scans stuff."
Brittany looked over at Jones and saw him looking thoroughly at the walls and floor. A thought suddenly occurred to her. What if these men had killed Beth? Perhaps they had entered the house under false pretenses and killed her. Brittany knew that it may not be safe to be with them anymore. She took a shuddering breath. "Is that so, Dean?" She asked, trying to sound casual as opposed to afraid.
"I'm sorry, what?" Dean asked, both men looking shocked.
"I overheard you talking in the kitchen. He called you Dean." The two men looked at each other, worry obviously on their face. "You were talking about spirits and deaths in the home."
"Look," Jones importuned, "I'm sorry we lied to you. My name is Sam, and this is my brother Dean."
"What are you doing?" Dean demanded.
"Telling her the truth." Sam replied harshly.
"Oh, and when has that ever worked?"
"Dean, shut up," Sam snapped, "We're hunters. We hunt supernatural things. Ghosts, demons, vampires, you name it. We think that something supernatural may have hurt your friend, and we want to help." He finished, pleading in his eyes.
Brittany looked at them sternly. "Do you think this is some kind of joke?" She questioned. "Get out."
"Please, we just want to help you, you could be in danger."
"Get the hell out of my house!" Brittany commanded. The two men looked warily at one another before finally exiting the room together.
Brittany stood in the hallways until she heard the front door shut. Who did they think they were? Ghosts and other bull crap. A chill ran down her spine and she shivered strongly. She felt watched. She quickly walked to the nearest window to see that the men were both climbing into a black car. She watched them until they drove away then headed back down the stairs. She picked up the mugs from the coffee table and took them into the kitchen. After rinsing those out she noticed her bread still in the toaster. She huffed dramatically as she walked over and snatched them out.
Later that night, Brittany was sitting in the living room on the sofa, her feet kicked up and some late night comedy on. She wasn't really paying attention, though. Her mind was still stuck on the events of earlier that day. Her mind was racing, as it had been for most of the day. What if they really were being serious? That could explain all of the noises that she had been hearing. But, ghosts were not real. Of course not. She shook her head and stood. Another chill rushed over her. The TV suddenly transformed from a goofy sitcom-dad's joke to nothing but static. The lights dimmed and Brittany held her breath as they started to flicker. There was a burst of wind and suddenly, standing in the archway that lead to the kitchen was what appeared to be an older man. He stared at Brittany intently and she almost screamed. There was another burst of wind and then the man was somehow face to face with Brittany. Up close she could see that his face was very charred and he looked as if he were missing most of his nose.
She did scream this time and she ran for the door. She managed to open it but another strong gust blasted it closed again. This time, it was locked and no matter how hard she tried, Brittany could not get it open. She screamed again and turned to run up the stairs. All of the doors began to blow shut as she ran towards them. Finally she managed to slip through one.
It was Beth's room. Brittany had not been in this room since the accident and she froze in place. She heard the door behind her slowly creak open and she swallowed hard., her eyes burning with tears of fear that were threatening to spill over. She turned ever so slowly and saw Dean, standing in the door way with what appeared to be a gun in his hands.
"What is going on?" She asked.
Then, the same humming noise from before entered her head, filling up space while being empty at the same time. Dean walked towards Brittany and she backed away a bit. She could tell by the look on his face that he heard it too. Suddenly the humming evolved into a scream again and a harsh wind broke out inside of the room. The man was in the doorway again. Dean ran to Brittany and aimed the gun at the man. He shot and the man disappeared, the wind with him. "How did you just shoot a ghost?" Brittany exclaimed.
"Rock salt," Dean replied.
Suddenly the wind picked up again and Dean put a protective arm in front of Brittany. "Come on, Sam. Hurry the hell up." Dean pleaded out loud. The gun was ripped away from his hands in the windstorm. The man inched closer and closer to them. Suddenly Dean was lifted off his feet and slammed into the nearest wall with a crash, his arm putting a hole in the drywall. The man turned to Brittany now. She screamed in terror. The man reached for her, but he abruptly caught flames. His body turned to ashes bit by bit and was swept around the room in his own whirlwind. The wind stopped and the entire house became silent.
Brittany rushed to where Dean was slumped against the wall and knelt beside of him. "Are you okay?" She asked worriedly.
"I'm fine," Dean mumbled.
"What happened?" Brittany inquired.
"Don't worry. Sammy burned the bones; that guy won't be back," Dean promised. He gave Brittany a big smile, one that she couldn't help but return.