I hope you all had a fantastic Halloween! Thank you so much for the reviews, and enjoy this next chapter.

Smoke curled upward from the chimney of the Sanderson sisters' cottage and poured into the already darkening sky. Sam followed his brother through the unlocked metal gate and up the driveway, his boots crunching gravel and dead leaves as his eyes scanned the shuttered windows and crooked façade for any malicious signs of the supernatural. "House doesn't seem like anything special from here," he said. He spotted a plaque mounted on a metal pole and stopped to read the description.

"Looks like the fun witch museum is closed for the day," Dean confirmed, peering through the windows as he searched his pocked for his pick. "Too bad…looks like it's got a gift shop. You can still get your fill of snow globes and tiny spoons." He started fishing around in the lock.

"Right. I can't wait," Sam said, walking up beside him. "So…"

The lock clicked open. "You got something new?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I read the plaque. And…uh…there might be additional complications."

"Complications? C'mon Sammy, don't leave me hanging."

Sam glanced up as a cool wind sliced through his jacket and banged the shutters against the house. "Apparently the bones of children are buried within the walls of the house."

"Really," Dean said, flatly, "The bones of children."

"Legend says. It might be just to scare the tourists though, there's no proof to back that up."

"Well that's…fantastic. Kids buried in the walls. Really makes me want to buy some souvenirs," he pushed the door open and flipped on the lights. Old fashioned chandeliers illuminated the main room of the cottage. It was filled with old tables, chairs, and cupboards. A couple of cages—each big enough to hold a body—hung from the ceiling nearby an enormous black cauldron. Three twisted broomsticks leaned against the doorframe, and a glass case loomed in the center of the room.

Sam strode across the threadbare carpet and stopped by the cauldron, peering inside at the dust and grime, then reached up and pushed one of the cages until it swung gently. It was incredibly rusty and flecks of metal rubbed off on his fingertips. "This all seems a bit…"

"Commercialized?" Dean snorted, opening a closet and finding nothing but cleaning supplies and a vacuum cleaner, "Stereotypical? Seems like the owner's exploiting the general public's interest in spooky witches covered in warts in order to turn a profit."

"My thoughts exactly. This angle is probably a dead end. We should head back, see if there are any other leads on the missing kids. Maybe talk to a few of the families…" he trailed off as his gaze fell on the glass case. "Woah. Dude, come you gotta come see this."

Dean headed over. "What did you—" he trailed off as he followed Sam's gaze. "What the hell?"

It was some kind of book, Sam realized. He leaned over until his nose was almost pressed against the glass, vaguely nauseous but unable to look away. It looked like… "Human skin?"

"You don't think," Dean protested, studying the book's leathery appearance, and… "Are those stitches?"

"Is that a…closed eye?"

"Damn," Dean breathed, "You really think the locals are crazy enough to display a book made out of someone's face?"

Sam rubbed a thumb over the dusty plaque under the case and bent to read the inscription. "It's supposed to be Winnifred Sanderson's spell book," he told him.

"Charming. Any chance it's just a replica?"

"Says here it's the real deal," Sam said skeptically, getting out his lighter. "Want to get that lock open for me?"

Dean complied, once again getting out his tools and opening the padlock. "You seriously want to touch this thing?"

"This spell book was mentioned several times in the articles I read through back at the hotel," Sam explained, picking it up and laying it gently atop the glass counter. He grimaced at the rough, ancient feel of the book and pulled his hand back with an involuntary shudder as he felt his thumb press against one of the stitches.

Dean smirked at his reaction but didn't call him out on it. "So?"

"So it's supposed to be indestructible. If it burns, this hunt is a bust," he said. He lit his zippo and brought the flame right up against the book so that it licked the pages.

They watched the flame for a few seconds. "Huh," Dean said casually.

Sam's brow furrowed as he watched the flame dance against the book…without burning it. He moved his hand and brought the flame even closer—and the lighter snapped out of his grasp and sailed across the room as an invisible force propelled him backward off his feet.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his brother's jacket and yanked him to his feet. He dragged him back until they were on the other side of the room, the certainty that the cottage was just a tourist trap drying up inside his mind. "You okay?" he demanded.

Sam exhaled, coughing slightly. "Something pushed me."

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say the freaky book had something to do with that," Dean said darkly as he checked his brother over, "Is that all it did? You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam said, swatting his hand away, "We've got bigger problems."

"Yeah," Dean kept his gaze on the spell book, ready to bolt out the door if anything else happened, "The book's protected. By what, magic? I thought the witches died."

"They did," Sam said.

"So why's the book throwing off its own hoodoo crap if the witches aren't around?" He grabbed Sam again as he took a step back toward the glass case, "Hey! Just hang on until we know what that thing's capable of doing."

"Do you see a lit candle anywhere?" Sam asked, shrugging off Dean's hold as he raised his chin, searching the shelves.

"No. Why?"

Sam pushed him to the left and started walking the opposite direction. "Forget the book, just look for a lit candle, okay?"

"Because…?" Dean prompted, reluctantly stepping back into the room with the spell book with his brother to search.

"I didn't mention it earlier because it's…insane," putting major emphasis on the word, "But apparently right before the witches were hung, they vowed to return from their graves to suck the lives out of children on Halloween night if…" he frowned, already imagining his brother's response to what he was about to say. He continued anyway, "If a virgin lit a particular candle. They must have enchanted it or—"

Dean blinked, and then his lips widened into a disbelieving grin as he made a show of digging his fingers in his ears, "Sorry Sammy, my ears must be full of wax, could you repeat that?"

Sam rolled his eyes, checking the side entrance and finding nothing but a few spiders, "I know, alright? You don't have to tell me twice how ridiculous that sounds. But if the spell book is real…" he shrugged, "Maybe this is too."

"Oh come on," Dean laughed, "You think some pretty little virgin woke up this morning, ate breakfast, went to school, and then waltzed over here in the evening to light a candle and raise the dead?" He shook his head, "That's a stretch, even for us."

"Found it," Sam said, motioning to Dean.

Dean groaned. He walked over to his brother, eyes locking on an ancient pillar of dripping wax perched on one of the bookshelves. "So? It's a lit candle. Big deal, doesn't mean anything except that the workers are stupid at fire safety."

"It has a black flame."

"Glad to see you can identify colors, school really paid off," Dean said, and leaned forward and blew. The flame flickered, then blazed brighter. Frowning, Dean blew again, harder this time. He got the same result and blew again, with even more force—

"I don't think spitting on it's going to help," Sam said, amused.

"Shut up. I didn't," Dean said defensively, straightening up and discreetly wiping a sleeve across his mouth. "You think someone put a trick candle in here?"

Sam gave him a look. "Dean."

"What? I'm just saying, this could be—"

The wooden floorboards rattled forcefully underneath their feet, knocking them both sideways and into the shelf. The shaking intensified until they had to hold on to the furniture to stay upright. "This could be what, Dean?" Sam challenged, looking around wildly. By now everything in the room was rattling uncontrollably.

"Earthquake?" he suggested, knowing fully well he was wrong. He winced as another huge vibration threw him sideways into Sam. "Is there something under the house? Were the witches buried down there?"

"I don't know!" he shouted back, "No one seems to know where their bodies went. We need to leave!"

Standing with difficulty, they didn't make it two steps toward the door before white light blazed up between the slots in the floorboards, making it nearly impossible to see. "Crap, Dean—" Sam shouted as he lost his footing and nearly knocked himself out on a table as he fell. He felt Dean's hand grabbing his shoulder, trying to haul him back up, and everything stopped just as suddenly as it had begun.

They fell heavily back onto the again motionless floor. Above them the chandelier swung wildly, the only remaining evidence of what had just happened. "We need to go," Sam said again, "We need more information."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean breathed, and heaved himself up. He paused, listening intently. "Sam…do you hear that?"

Sam stilled, frowning. "Laughter," he said. After a few moments the sound was ten times louder, and the cackling voices seemed to echo off the walls of the cottage. Sam's eyes focused on the front door, which was directly ahead of them. Something flashed in the window. "They're coming inside," he groaned, and hurriedly got on his feet and pulled Dean with him until they were crouching hidden behind a counter.

Dean yanked his gun out just as the door slammed inward, rebounding loudly off the wall as the laughter continued.

"Home sweet home," a woman's voice cried gleefully. "Just as depressing as ever."

"We're back! Back, back, back, back—"

Sam peered around the counter as two young women crossed the threshold, grinning wildly. Still laughing, they joined hands and started dancing around in a circle. A third woman came in as well and shoved them apart. "Will you two nitwits shut up!" she snarled, "We have work to do."

"Sorry Winnie," they said in unison, putting their arms down, "Sorry." As soon as she passed them one woman smacked the other, grinning again. An enthusiastic slap fight broke out.

"Girls!"

Still laughing, the two women followed their sister into the room, the one with long blond hair twirling as she walked.

Dean tapped Sam's shoulder to get his attention, and then when his brother was looking he raised his gun and his eyebrows at the same time, his intent obvious.

Sam shook his head slightly. Not yet, he mouthed. He glanced toward the back door. It was too far to make a run for it, but a quick escape looked like the best option for now. Who knew if guns would be enough to kill these witches.

The eldest witch strode directly to the glass case and pulled the book out lovingly. "Did you miss me, sweetheart? Did you? Come on, Mommy's here, time to wake up. That's it, that's it…"

Sam made a face as the eye on the cover of her book opened slowly, as though blinking away sleep. "Holy shit," he breathed. The third witch—that wasn't twirling like an idiot—turned her head slightly, glancing toward their hiding place just as Sam pulled his head back. He looked at Dean and mouthed, we have to go.

No shit, Dean mouthed back, and, still crouching, started moving toward the back door.

"Winnie," the witch said, and sniffed loudly, "I smell something."

"Not now, Mary," Winnifred said, stroking the cover of her book, "Our time is limited. We need to brew the potion and lure our victims here."

"But Winnie—" she wined.

"The black flame candle doesn't have much wax left. If we are going to have the chance to stay young forever, we need to stay focused. Now…" she paused, and then changed focus, "Sarah! Stop spinning and fetch me some ingredients for the potion!"

The youngest woman stopped and ran over to a cabinet that was only a few meters from where Sam and Dean were sneaking out. Sam frowned. The door was so close…just a few more feet and then they could research this hunt properly, see what they were really up against.

"But Winnie!" Mary nearly shouted, sniffing loudly again, "I smell boys!"

Sam put a hand on Dean's arm, stopping him completely in case the women could hear their footsteps. What do we do now?

"Boys!" Sarah cried gleefully, "Where?"

Dean shot Sam an apologetic look. Sorry Sam, time to do this my way. He stood, firing at the older—and really ugly—woman that was holding the spell book. The bullet never reached her; it seemed to hit a force field and ricocheted off. It nearly hit the black haired witch, and she shrieked and jumped back, laughing.

"A boy!" the youngest witch cried, reaching out toward him.

Dean pointed the gun at her instead, but had barely begun to pull the trigger before Winnifred flung her hand out, sending a slew of sparks flying from her fingertips. A wall of electricity slammed him back against the wall. He opened his eyes in time to see Sam get tossed backward as well. The younger Winchester slammed against a bookcase and toppled it, landing with a loud crash.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, worried when his brother didn't respond. He tried to move but found that he was unable to move away from the wall. Shit. "Sammy!"

The blond witch twirled over to him and stopped, eyes excited. "Ooooooh! Can I play with him, Winnie? Can I?"

"Quiet girl," Winnifred chastised, stepping forward until she was right in front of Dean. She still held the book, and was stroking it gently like it was a pet. "Did you light the candle?" she asked Dean.

How the hell are going to get out of this? Dean wondered frantically. He watched the blond witch kneel beside Sam. "This one is pretty," she said, her eyes glinting, "Can I keep this one?"

"Get the hell away from him!" Dean raged, panic building. C'mon, Sammy. Wake up and help me out here…

"You haven't answered my question," Winnifred said, stepping closer and blocking Dean's view of Sam, "Did you light the black flame candle?"

"Listen, you ugly bitch," Dean spat, trying to keep her focused on himself, "I'm not a virgin, and I didn't light your damn candle."

All three witches flinched. "How dare you!" Winnifred seethed. She turned to her sisters, who had come to her side, "Did you hear what he just called you?"

"Winnie—"

"Shhhh," Winnifred said, and her gaze darkened even further. "Book, what should we do to him?" She dropped the spell book, and the pages turned quickly until they settled on a particular spell.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam moving slowly, one arm reaching up to grasp at his head. Dean's mouth tightened. Blood. Definitely blood. Shit, Sam. Get up.

"Ahhh. Perfect," Winnifred sneered, "The perfect curse. This should keep you from getting in our way tonight."

"You're not killing any more kids," Dean spat, struggling. Sam had risen to his knees. A little help here, little brother.

"You're not going to stop us," she said, "And neither is he."

Sam had fired three shots before she turned, all of which missed. Sam had enough time to deduce that the spell book must be protecting them before a jolt of electricity slammed against him, knocking him backward and through the window.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, struggling to free himself as his brother disappeared in a haze of broken glass. No no no no no—

"I haven't lost my touch, sisters!" Winnifred said, laughing. She turned her gaze back to Dean. "One down, one to go."

"He's not dead," Dean said forcefully. He can't be, he isn't. "I'll kill you, I swear it."

"No, you won't. But do stop in and see us from time to time, don't be a stranger," Winnifred said cryptically.

Dean felt a chill run through his body. "Look, whatever you do to me won't matter. It won't stop me."

All three witches smiled at him. "Oh, it will," she said, reaching out to touch him, "Trust me. It will."

Looks like the boys are in trouble again. :) Please review! Thanks.