AN: Thank you for everyone who is following this story! Please continue reading and maybe even leave a review. They really make my day! Also, words in italics are either thoughts or the monster.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.
Beware the Jester
Officer Hernandez wound his way through the woods. He still didn't know how he drew the short straw on this crappy job. The chief at the station had decided to set up a patrol through Jester's Park in case the killer was hanging around and no one had wanted to volunteer, especially for the night shift.
Hernandez shivered as wind whistled through the tree branches. He had never liked haunted houses, scary movies, or even Halloween that much. He couldn't understand the appeal of wanting to be afraid. However, as he was still the youngest officer in the force, he pulled the crap jobs. So here he was, patrolling an empty, yet creepy, haunted attraction.
I hope Joe is enjoying his beauty sleep, Hernandez bitterly thought to himself. He and Joe didn't get along, to say the least. They always got partnered up, though, because they were the newest to the precinct. Tomorrow, Joe is so getting this job.
Some leaves shifted behind him, and he whirled around, shining his flashlight at the area. When he heard nothing else but the wind, he turned around and kept walking. He never noticed the glowing eyes that peered from the under the bushes.
He was quickly coming up on the clearing where the people had been murdered. Hernandez spied the jester doll as he rounded the corner. It was no longer roped off by police tape, as the detectives figured all evidence would be lost to the elements by now anyways. The doll still sat in its chair, the sinister smirk painted across its face. Hernandez felt a chill run up his spine as he looked into its face. Forcing himself to look ahead, he quickly walked past the jester.
The clearing was almost completely behind him when he heard it. Hysterical laughter echoed off the trees. He froze. What was that? Slowly, he turned back around. Everything looked fine until he came upon the chair.
"What the hell?" he said. The jester was missing. His heart went into overdrive, and he shakily pulled the gun from its holster. "Who-who's there?"
There was no answer, but the laughter continued. It seemed to be surrounding him. He spun, trying to catch sight of whoever was in the woods with him. He completed his circle and was facing the chair when something else caught his eye.
His eyes widened and his mouth opened in horror. "No! No!" he screamed. "Please! Don-"
Silence. Then, laughter ripped through the air again.
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(Dean's POV)
"Dean. Dean! Wake up already!"
Dean groaned. Sam had been valiantly trying to wake him for the past five minutes. However, Dean was so comfortable on the bed and he knew that they didn't have anything to do this morning, so he refused to be wakened. It was time to get up anyways now, and Sam seemed to be getting more agitated, so he rolled to his back and popped one eye open to look at his younger brother. "What?"
Sam's hair was sticking up wildly, he obviously hadn't bothered to smooth it down since he slept. He was still in his short-sleeve black shirt and sweatpants he had fallen asleep in. In his hands, he held the TV remote. Sam rolled his eyes when he saw Dean awake. "Finally," he said, "watch this." With that, he unmuted the TV.
A middle-aged woman was the reporter. She had a serious expression etched on her face as she stood before a familiar scene.
"Hey," Dean said as he sat up, "that's Jester's Park."
Sam nodded and shushed him. "Listen."
Dean huffed but silenced anyways. The woman's voice droned on.
"-at Jester's Park again last night. Officer Paul Hernandez was found dead this morning. He was posed the same way as the previous victims. The police have now sanctioned off Jester's Park as an unsafe area and aren't allowing any unauthorized people on the premises until the killer is brought to justice. They are also cautioning people to stay indoors after dark as much as possible. This is Jo Johnson, stay safe everyone."
With that, Sam clicked off the TV. Then, he turned to look at Dean.
"Not meaning to sound insensitive," Dean started slowly, "but, so?"
Sam's eyes opened wider. "What do you mean so? Another person was killed in those woods!"
"Sam," Dean said firmly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, "there is no more evidence today then there was yesterday that this is our kind of gig. Sure I feel bad for the guy, but that doesn't mean that Hernandez wasn't just killed by the same psycho that offed the first ten."
Dropping down on the bed, Sam put his head down into his hands. He stayed like that for several seconds before he looked back up at Dean. The same pleading that had been present when he had convinced Dean to look into this case was there again. "Please, Dean. I just have a feeling."
Even though all his instincts were screaming at him to say no, Dean couldn't deny Sam much when he looked at him with those eyes. Besides, if it made Sam feel better to have one final check to prove that it wasn't any of their concern, it wasn't the biggest deal.
"Fine," Dean relented, "but only so I can prove to you once and for all that this is just some sick human doing this."
Sam grinned slightly, obviously detecting the challenge in Dean's voice. "Deal. But if I'm right, you're doing laundry for a month."
Laundry was the brothers' least favorite chore to do. In their line of work, they tended to pick up some of the worst stains that proved nearly impossible to get out. However, they were also too broke to buy new clothes every time the article of clothing became stained by something horrendous. Therefore, laundry was a grueling job that was either assigned through a game of rock, paper, scissors, or was tackled by the brothers together.
"Oh, you are so on," Dean replied with a smirk and walked to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
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(Sam's POV)
The brothers had been allowed into the crime scene under their fake FBI badges again. This time, Sam had gone into the woods with Dean. It wasn't that he didn't trust his brother to be thorough, but he had to see for himself.
They had been walking for about four minutes when they came upon the clearing.
"I present to you," Dean said in a quiet voice, "the creepy ass jester."
And there it sat. In the middle of the woods and the center of so much carnage twice now. Sam shivered as he saw the grimace pulled across its face and its cold, dead eyes. Why anyone would pay to see that, he had no idea.
The two circled the jester, both deciding if anything was going on, it was happening here due to the positioning of the bodies. Dean pulled out his homemade EMF meter and flipped it on. Sam held his breath, waiting to hear the familiar screeching that meant something was not right. Not even a whisper.
"I told you, Sammy," Dean said, waving the EMF meter close to the jester's head, "nothing."
Sam frowned. He had been so sure that this was something they could solve. However, it appeared that Dean was right. With a sigh of resignation, he turned to Dean, imagining the stacks of laundry he had coming his way when he admitted defeat. However, when he looked at his older brother, Dean's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.
"Wait a sec," Dean muttered.
"What?"
Dean pointed at the jester, eyes still fixed on it intently. "There's," he paused, "something." Without another word, he spun on his heal and walked back to where the rest of the police were waiting. Sam followed, wondering what had caught Dean's attention.
"Officer Martin!" Dean called out, almost 100 yards away from the clearing. "Do you have the photos from the first crime scene on hand?"
A muffled reply that Sam couldn't quite catch floated through the woods, and a minute later, a tall, blonde officer came running down the trail. "There you go, sir."
"Thanks," Dean muttered as he took the picture from the young officer's hand. Then, he turned around and headed back to the clearing again.
Sam was starting to get frustrated with not understanding what was going on. He followed Dean back until the stood in front of the jester once again. "What is it, Dean?"
"It moved."
"What moved?" Sam asked, desperately trying to think of anything else besides the freaky doll sitting in front of him.
"The jester doll," Dean replied. He crouched down so he was eye level with the doll. "It's not in the same spot as the first picture."
That caught Sam's attention. "What? Let me see." He reached down and grabbed the picture from Dean's hand.
Sam stared at the picture closely. After looking for a minute, he saw what Dean had noticed. In the first picture, the jester was looking down, seemingly staring into its lap. Also, its hands were folded and the knife was almost completely concealed. However, now the jester was looking straight ahead, its eyes meeting directly with Sam's as he examined it. He shivered at its dead eyes but kept looking. One other thing was different as well. The knife was no longer concealed. Instead, it was held firmly in the doll's right hand and was resting on the edge of its right knee. It's as if the doll was waiting for an opportunity to stand up and gut the next person that walked by. It was unnerving, to say the least.
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The two men from the day before were back. It had been too bold last night. Watching from the trees, its temper flared as the two touched what belonged to him. The wind whistled and the temperature dropped as rage clouded its thoughts.
Soon. These men would die soon.
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(Dean's POV)
He looked up as the wind suddenly picked up. The wind ushered in cold air and set him on edge. Without looking, he grabbed Sam firmly by his shoulder. Before he could say anything, though, a loud screech cut through the air.
Both brothers jumped. They felt vulnerable as they were without their weapons. Since they hadn't expected any trouble, they had left almost everything in the Impala. Dean silently cursed himself. Always bring the weapons. Especially with our luck!
Dean reached into his pocket. The screeching that had set both of them on edge had come from the EMF meter which had suddenly come alive. He looked down and watched as the lights buzzed crazily and the screeching continued at a fevered pitch.
He just turned to say something to Sam when he heard quiet laughter and then a creaking sound. Looking down, he watched in horror as the jester's head began to turn. When the head stopped moving, it was looking straight at him and the laughter increased in volume.
"Go!" he yelled at Sam. Without their guns, their only chance was to outrun the thing. He pushed Sam in front of him and the brothers set off at a dead sprint.
The trees seemed to echo with crazy laughter as they ran past. Neither brother slowed down to look behind them. Since pushing Sam ahead of him, Dean had steadily caught up. Now, they ran side-by-side.
The laughter was growing even louder as they ran. Dean chopped at branches while he ran, promising to kill whoever decided to design this God-forsaken horror show in the overgrown woods. Right when he thought whatever it was had almost caught up, the two burst into the clearing with the police officers. Immediately, the laughter stopped. However, the brothers did not. Since they had been running so fast, they didn't have enough room to stop. Therefore, Sam slammed hard into Officer Martin and Dean tripped over the both of them as they went down. There the three men laid, each in varying degrees of pain.
"Agents?" Dean heard a confused voice from above him. He recognized it as George Smith, the owner of Jester's Park. "What's going on?"
Dean sat up with a groan. His head was pounding in time with his ankle, which he had apparently twisted when he went down. It made it very hard to think up a plausible story as to why the two FBI agent had just come running out of the forest like bats out of hell.
Slowly, he stood up and put on his most intimidating face. "That's classified, Mr. Smith. But I want everyone removed from the area immediately and no one is to return until I let you know personally. Understand?" He didn't know why, but people usually got very flustered when the word 'classified' was thrown into a conversation and it generally helped move things along quicker. Therefore, it was one of his favorite words.
Mr. Smith paled considerably. "Are we in danger, Agent Harris?"
Dean nodded, but quickly regretted it when it made his head pound even harder. "I believe so, but for right now, please don't ask questions and just evacuate everyone."
George nodded quickly and walked off at a quick pace. Once it was clear the big man was rounding everyone up to leave, Dean looked down at Sam. His younger brother was sitting up, holding his head and looking around. Then, he looked up at Dean.
"Still think it's not our kind of gig?" he asked.
"Oh, no," Dean replied and looked to the forest, "I know it's our kind of gig."
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They had escaped! Never in all of its years had anyone escaped, and it was furious. Rage burned through its body. How could he have let this happen?
It was no matter, though. They would be back, it could sense it. And when they came back, they would never leave the forest again.
AN: I wasn't quite sure about this one so please tell me how you think I'm doing! Thanks for reading!
