Amulet
Supernatural FanFiction
(Set in Season one: Between Episodes Pilot and Wendigo)
(I do not own anything in the Supernatural universe. I do not have any connections and/or relations with those that do. I am a mere fan with a creative mind. I adore, respect and thank all those involved in the most amazing one-hour show on television, and I hope all involved keep giving us die hard fans amazing seasons we can watch over and over again. I wrote the first version a couple years ago, when the first season was big. Then my hardrive crashed, and now I am re-writing it. The only thing I own in this story is the plot, and my original character. This story is rated M for mature, for language purposes, however as the story goes on, it may change.)
Chapter One
"Come on Dean!" shouted Sam Winchester as he sat inside the front passenger seat of the Impala. "You find the coordinates on your cell, with someone's name, and all of a sudden we have to go there? I've checked, and there is nothing going on in that town! So why go?"
"Well, you weren't checking the right sources. And the text had a note that said to explicitly visit these coordinates, a.k.a. the town of Williamsburg, Virginia and find someone named Max. If dad says there's something going on, then we'll go and find out what's happening," replied Sam's older brother, Dean, irritably.
"Yeah, like a good boy. Let me guess, if he tells you to fetch the paper or roll over, you'd do it without question," muttered Sam.
"It's called being a good son, Sam. You should try it someday," replied Dean, angrily. He hated it when he was resembled to a household animal when it came to doing his fathers' bidding.
Sam rolled his eyes, calming down somewhat. "What do you mean about not checking the right sources?"
"I checked the newspapers, websites, the obits, and morgue reports and like you, didn't find anything, so then I hacked into the police department reports, and sure enough, I found that there have been three murders in the last two weeks. It seems the cops are trying to keep them under wraps. The murders seem pretty gruesome, all males, approximately the same age, all decapitated inside their homes while the doors and windows were locked. The crime scenes are identical as well. There are no indicators of a struggle, or any prints for the cops to go on," explained Dean. "I'm thinking we're dealing with a pretty misogynistic ghost."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Couldn't they be regular run-of-the-mill murders?"
Dean smirked. "No, I don't. The victims' heads were severed from their bodies, but this is the kicker; the autopsy reports say the wounds were cauterized with what looks like a hot metal, like a sword. The cops did not find any evidence to prove it of course… It was like each victim was a doll with a head that could… uh… just pop on and off…" he chuckled slightly as he envisioned Sam's head just popping off his body with ease, it rolling along the car floor, his mouth screaming about how nauseous he was becoming.
Sam looked at him in amusement, mostly because he was not aware his brother knew such a word, let alone use it properly in a sentence. "Cauterized? Alright… you have my attention now…" Sam sighed and glanced out the window. Moments later, his head snapped back towards his brother. "Wait! How in the world did you hack into Police Department files? You can barely find your way onto a porn site!"
Dean looked back at Sam. "Yeah, well, I know a thing or two. But who cares; let's find this ghost, Smart Ass."
Williamsburg: a small community tightly held together by all the townspeople who lived there. The town barely received the company of outsiders, and many people have never ventured out of the area. Here the world seemed smaller, kinder, and slower paced. In essence, the traffic was always light and the people were always cheery.
However, this was before the murders began.
And that's when the investigation commenced.
Since the murders, the streets are not as busy, the townspeople not so cheery, and fear was sensed by everyone; because after all, it isn't everyday when murder haunts a town that only a few hundred residents call "home."
So far, the investigation was untouched by anyone other than the town investigator, Mackenzie Blake. She was born and raised inside this small town, but she was also one of the few people who ventured out of the area, often making business trips to New York City, where she was President and CEO of her late father's company enterprise- Blake Industries. Otherwise, Williamsburg was home.
She had visited the three victims' residences, where she found little evidence to persuade her that it was another human who committed the murders. The crime scenes were a little too tidy, the wounds a little too "out there" for common criminals; nothing was taken, broken or used from the scenes... except for the victim himself, whom was always found in two pieces.
For several years, she had been part of a small secret society of hunters. But not deer, rabbit, bear, or any other natural animal that humans hunted. She hunted things that make the hair on the back of people's necks rise; what children claim is hiding in their closet, or under their bed; things that people think only exist in horror stories. In essence, she hunted the supernatural.
She spent hours going over the crime scenes, trying to figure out what was causing the murders. Sleep was considered a luxury, and when she finally did drift off, notes and pictures of the case would drift inside of her unsettled dreams. She muttered to herself more than usual as she went over the clues, running into dead end after dead end. Outside the office, rumors spread like wildfire around the small town saying the urban legend had finally come true, and the witch had returned.
The town was known for a young witch, named Aurora Spellman, who had terrorized the area in the late seventeenth century. The legend was told that the witch was finally caught, tried, and sentenced to hang from the neck until dead. However, as she was standing on the platform, a noose tied around her teenaged neck, she recited a spell that enchanted her favorite possession, a ruby amulet. The spell placed her soul into the necklace as she hung. The spell secretly also created spirit demons, a God that protected the amulet, known as Shadow-men or Xic. No one in town knew about the secret protectors, because all who could tell never lived to, and in its wake left a pile of questions and twisted forms of mystery, all added to the legend passed down from generation to generation.
The townspeople tried in vain to destroy the necklace, but with little effect. So, as the legend goes, they buried it in an underground cave, obscuring the entrance. However, that wasn't the end to the legend. In the early nineteenth century, the amulet was found in the cave by a group of young men. The legend explains that one of the men tried on the amulet, and was attacked by, what the witnesses described as thin air, by shadows, decapitating him. Series of mysterious male deaths followed; and any woman who wore the necklace, as dictated by the legend, changed; in what way, the legend did not say. Then a few decades later, the necklace was inexplicably lost; not even the legend mentions where.
Evidently, the amulet was recovered; the men that stumbled across it murdered; by decapitation.
The black 1967 Chevy Impala was parked outside the Williamsburg Police Department. Dean was inside the building, while Sam sat inside the car, quietly examining the town and townspeople, anxious to go to the town's library to look up information on any clues or town legends. However, a half-hour passed before Dean returned. The car door opened and he slumped down into the driver seat.
"Well, I did not get much from the policemen, like always. It seems like the town's murders are taken care of by an investigator-- a Mackenzie Blake. They gave me the address of her office, and told me that she was going to a nearby community college where she had an appointment with a—Professor Wilkins, where she was going to learn more about the town witch legend," said Dean, sliding the car key into the ignition, the car roaring to life. "I think that's where we need to start."
Sam eyed Dean with confusion. "Why do you think that? How are you so sure that this cop can possibly be right? Dean, you hate cops."
Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we can talk to the Professor, maybe get the same story he's telling this woman…" He glanced over at Sam before he slid the car into drive. "Hey… I think it's weird too. Private Investigators don't usually care about legends. Like you said… she's a cop, but look around, Sam. In this kind of small town, the kind where everyone knows everyone and all of their business, it can't be hard to imagine that this is the only quote on quote legend around here. I think it's worth checking out," explained Dean as he pulled out onto the road.
The community college was located just a few miles outside of the small town, and most of college-bound students in Williamsburg attended. Many of the professors lived in surrounding towns; Professor Wilkins, however, was born and raised inside the town, and for many years worked as a local town history promotional idealist. This, in essence, meant that he knew more about the town's local legend than anyone alive. So, when Mackenzie learned about him and his status with the town, she knew he was the first person to go to to learn more about Aurora Spellman.
Professor Wilkins' office was small and cozy, filled with more comfortable sofas then the local furniture shop. One large wooden desk that was cluttered with term papers, sat at one end of the office, while a fire roared inside a small but extravagant fireplace. Bookshelves filled the numerous books sat along the back walls, adjacent to the fireplace. Portraits and diplomas lined the opposite lightly painted walls behind the desk.
Mackenzie recorded the conversation they shared with a voice recorder and scribbled down important facts she thought interesting enough to look into. After an hour and a half, she thanked the Professor for all of the information and time he'd given her and headed back out to the parking lot.
"There is a spot. Jeez, you'd think they'd have more parking…" muttered Dean as the Impala pulled into an empty space. "Then again… this school is in the middle of nowhere…"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, stop pouting."
Dean eyed him for a moment contemplating whether or not to hit him upside the head. Instead, he followed suit and pulled himself out of the car just as Sam opened his door.
BAM! His car door hit the black cherry red door of a 2008 Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder parked beside him.
"Oh, crap!" Dean exclaimed, pulling the door back and examining any damage. Thankfully, there was no damage to either vehicle. Dean sighed.
Sam laughed. "Smooth… You're lucky the alarm didn't go off…"
Dean glared at him. "Shut up."
"You shut up."
"You shut up."
"How about you both shut up?" asked a voice that seemed to come out of nowhere.
The boys looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Their eyes locked onto a young woman with straight, chestnut brown hair with blond highlights that fell just below her chest. Her eyes were a dark emerald green mixed with a hint of baby blue, making them resemble the color of turquoise. She was only a few inches shorter than Dean and wore a tasteful yet revealing expensive black pinstriped pant suit with a satin red undershirt and very pointed red stilettos. She carried a small black purse in one hand and a large black laptop case was slung around the opposite shoulder. She watched the men intently, soaking in every detail of their gorgeous figures. After a few minutes of silence, she noticed the Impala parked behind the guys.
"Nice ride…" she said nonchalantly, a smile crossing her face. "67 Chevy Impala… Best year if you ask me. My father had one; he and I spent every weekend under the hood fixing it up when I was a kid. However, you probably have the original engine under your hood. I installed a 1500 Horse Power Pro Chevy Racing Engine in my fathers not too long ago… "
The shorter man with gorgeous green eyes looked dumbfounded. "You know about cars?" He turned to the taller of the two. "This chick knows about cars…"
Mackenzie laughed. "I take it he's new to the whole 'women can do anything men can do' thing? In other words, he's a bit archaic?"
The taller brunette laughed and nodded. "A bit…"
The shorter guy eyed her. "Let me guess, the Eclipse is yours?"
"Yes. You have a problem with that?"
"No. I just didn't think a woman who drives something so sissy wouldn't know a spark plug from a heating coil."
"Well, genius, how about I get under your hood, pull out that spark plug you love so much and shove it up your ass?"
They stared intently at one another. Dean didn't know whether he wanted to blow her away or kiss her. Mackenzie however was amused with the man standing in front of her. He was very blunt with his thoughts and she knew by the look on his face that he was not used to women talking back at him. It was a few minutes before the taller brunette broke their staring contest.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, but I am afraid we have a meeting with one of the Professors," he said, pulling the still staring Dean away.
Mackenzie watched them go, a childish triumphant look on her face, for a moment or two before climbing into her vehicle. She passed them in the parking lot with her top down and Metallica blasting through her speakers.
Dean stopped in mid step as she passed. "Sam, that chick likes classic rock!"
Sam laughed. "Come on Romeo…" he replied as he pulled Dean along.
Dean glared at him. "Romeo? One; don't ever say that again, and two; I was definitely not hitting on her," Dean countered looking back in the general direction the woman left in.
Sam laughed. "Yeah, sure… It was probably a good thing. I could see her kicking your sorry ass…"
Dean slapped him upside the head.
"Hey, jackass, it's over here…" whispered Sam as he called Dean from across the hallway. Dean scratched his head like he knew that all along and quickly joined his brother's side as Sam knocked on the door. There was momentary silence before a faint "enter" was heard. The boys entered the room and looked around quickly before walking up to the desk in which Professor Wilkins was sitting at.
"Professor Wilkins?" asked Sam.
"Yes? How may I help you?" responded the Professor.
"I am Agent Donald McCoy and this is Agent Michael Curry. We were hoping to speak to you about the recent Williamsburg murders?" replied Sam as he and Dean held up their fake badges.
Professor Wilkins briefly examined the identification cards and looked at both of the men in front of him. "I'm sorry. I did not know the Federal Bureau was looking into the murders…"
"Yes. The Bureau decided that it would look into the report as it seems both local and state police have determined this a cold case," replied Dean.
Professor Wilkins nodded slightly. "Did you not ask the town investigator, Ms. Blake? She was here not ten minutes ago asking about the murders…"
The boys looked at each other. "Damn it!" Dean muttered. "I told you we shouldn't have stopped at Burger King, but no… You had to have it your way!"
"You sure she was here?" asked Sam, rolling his eyes at his brother.
"Yes," answered the Professor. "She was wearing a very expensive black pant suit. You couldn't miss her."