The next day, before going to Henry's place, the Winchesters had spent the day attempting to wrangle a little extra from the townspeople on Mary Shaw, but no one would talk. Once afternoon came, they made their way to the mortician's house.
"Man, this is one spooked town," Dean muttered as the impala pulled up with a growl of the engine at the white homestead of Henry, and the two got out. It was oddly quiet, and the swing was empty in the backyard.
"You gettin' the hair-raising vibe?" Dean asked quietly, "Cause I am."
Sam knocked on the door. "Henry?!"
Hearing no response, Dean frowned, pounding on the door.
"Henry, open up!" he yelled, then Sam got out the lock-picking materials. Once they had broken in, they heard whimpers from downstairs. Dean motioned for Sam to follow behind, and the two drew their guns and made their way down to the cellar where they had been before. There they found Henry… clutching his wife in his arms and rocking back and forth.
"Henry," Dean mumbled, going over. The older man looked up, eyes red from crying.
"I found her down here… she was… she went into the tunnel…" The Winchesters glanced to the little tunnel he was talking about, and Henry held his wife closer. "Marion… oh, Marion…" He composed himself a little, and blinked up at them. "What are you doing here, Dr. Spoonworth? Dr. Randleman?"
"What happened?" Sam cut in.
"She must have… fallen, or… god rest her… simply slipped away," he whispered. Sam inspected her nails from afar, and saw that they were chipped and bloody, as if trying to beat something off.
"Sorry sir, but… do you really believe that?" Sam asked softly. Henry looked up, and sniffed.
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what we mean," Dean said, crossing his arms. Now, he wasn't about to hammer the guy for information- his wife had just died- but they were too close now. Henry sighed, and avoided their eyes.
"She… she hasn't been back for years… why now?" he mumbled.
"Take it from people who know," Dean said, "Once you've got a taste for revenge, it's a hole you can never fill." Sam looked at his brother, who kept his gaze steadily locked on Henry. Henry nodded, and lay Marion down.
"Henry… do you know where Mary Shaw is buried?" Henry frowned, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
"You boys aren't forensic analysts, are you?"
Dean shook his head. "Nope. But we do know how to gank this mother before she kills anyone else." Henry stared for a long moment, then nodded again.
"In a plot… in the woods, a few minutes from here. She's buried next to all her dolls. It's since been desecrated… barely any earth covering her bones anymore. I can take you there… if you'd like." Dean dug around in his pocket.
"No- I've got a better idea. Take these, and go to the gravesite. If the bones are as exposed as you say, all you have to do is pour the salt and gasoline, and light 'er up."
Sam turned to his brother incredulously. "We can't ask him to do that! We'll do it ourselves!" Dean turned to him.
"Nah, you and me… are makin' a trip back to that old theatre. That doll's going down." Sam sighed, and Henry took the materials.
"Anything I can do to help," he offered, and Sam offered a smile.
"You're going to be the hero of this town, Henry." He smiled sadly.
"I just want it to stop," he said, and the three went up the stairs.
Racing in the Impala to the theatre, Sam and Dean stayed on the phone with Henry.
"You at the stone?" Dean asked, turning a corner.
"Yes," Henry's voice crackled over, "The bones are still here… the other graves of the 99 dolls, though… they're all empty!"
"That's comforting," Dean muttered, "I think we've seen them up at the old theatre. Must be a field trip!" He sighed. "Look, just do what we told you Henry, and call us when it's finished," he said, then hung up. The two got out, and ran across the planks into the theatre. Once inside, they made sure to avoid faulty footing just as they had on their last visit, and ran up to the room where they had found the book and the dummy.
"It's gone," Sam announced. Then they heard a giggle behind them, and Dean loaded rock salt rounds into his shotgun. Looking around, they heard the little voice:
"She's coming for you. But first she'll kill him."
Sam exhaled, and Dean looked around for it.
Over at the gravesite in the forest, Henry struck a match after pouring the salt and gasoline on. Just as he was, he heard everything go silent around him… no rustling of the branches, no crunching leaves.
"No," he whispered, "Not now…"
Before he could drop the match, he felt something hit him, and he went flying back. Opening his eyes, he saw her behind a tree, grinning. He squeezed his eyes shut. "No, no!" She flew at him, and he fell against the tree, groaning in a half-conscious state.
Back at the theatre, the doll giggled. "You'll never find me!"
"Come out, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted angrily.
"Only if you ask nicely!"
"Oh, fuck that, pal! We're past manners," he retorted. He suddenly shook his head. "Fucking hell, I'm talking to a dummy, Sam."
"You're the dummy!" the little voice said, and suddenly, Dean felt something sharp in his ankle. Looking down, he found a shard of glass through his jeans, and… Billy sitting beside him.
"Gah!" Dean startled, and aimed his gun at the doll. Just then, Sam shouted at him to wait, and grab the doll. Going over to the books, Sam began to rip out the old, brittle pages, and tossed them in a heap. Catching on, Dean placed Billy overtop as Sam flicked the lighter. They turned back to find Billy missing again.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, his voice echoing down the eerie hall, and Sam sighed.
"We're gonna have to burn the rest of the dolls first, then. We'll find him at some point- he can't run that far."
"This is goddamn balls," Dean murmured, "Chasing a fucking dummy around."
"When is our job ever not?" Sam huffed with a bit of a laugh, and Dean followed him out to where they had found the wall of creepy dolls earlier… and surprisingly, Billy was back in his position at the very end, head turned to stare at them.
"Good. Let's light the bastards up." Suddenly, each one seemed to be coming to life. "Okay… not good," Dean mumbled.
"You got gasoline?!" Sam asked, and Dean checked his back pockets. Thank all that is holy, he had a flask of the stuff, and started tossing it all over the shelves. Soon, the glass started to break as the dolls began to break free, and Sam and Dean shielded their eyes as the match was thrown as well. Watching the wax melt was disturbing to say the least, their already-unsettling smiles dripping off into horrible frowns as their little bodies melted.
"That all of 'em?!" Dean yelled over the crackle of the blazing fire.
"Think so!" Sam called back, "What about Henry?! Did he call?!"
Dean pulled out his phone, backing away from the fire so he could see the screen. "Shit… no missed calls. Something's wrong."
In the graveyard, Henry struggled to open his eyes. Mary was gone, but everything was a blur… did he still have the salt? The gas? The matches? Yes… He groaned, dragging himself away from the tree and over to the grave. The wind was back, whistling through the trees, which means she couldn't be near… he could do this. He would do this.
"Maybe he did it!" Sam suggested, "Maybe something happened to his phone!"
"When have things ever worked our way?" Dean deadpanned, then tried calling Henry. The phone rang, but after five, nobody picked up. "Something's definitely wrong," he nodded, but on the sixth ring, the sound of the automated voicemail drowned out slowly, leaving nothing but…
"Dead silence," Dean whispered, looking around, and Sam's face suddenly took on a whole new level of terror.
"D-Dean," he choked, staring past his shoulder, and Dean was almost afraid to turn around. Behind him sat a solitary clown doll, bigger than the rest. But there was something slithering out of its mouth…
"Oh…" Dean almost gagged, "Is that… what I think… it is?"
"A… rope of tongues tied together coming out of a c-clown?" Sam stuttered, biting his lip hard, "Yeah. Yeah, it is."
"Dammit," Dean muttered, reaching for his rock salt gun. Sam stayed firmly planted behind him, eyeing the clown wearily.
"Game's up, Mary," Dean said, "We've got you. We're gonna watch you burn." A faint, hissing voice surrounded them.
"Let me… tell you… a secret…"
Sam gulped, still remaining put, so Dean stepped forward. "Yeah?"
"Lean in closer…"
"Dean, don't!"
Dean took another step against his brother's advisement, and a hand suddenly reached out and grabbed Dean by the collar, yanking him behind the clown. Sam shouted his name, rushing at the clown and ready to tackle it despite his fears, but he was thrown against the burning wall by an invisible force. Oblivious to this, Dean was transfixed by the face in front of him- the face of Mary Shaw, stitched together to look like a doll herself. The rope of tongues slowly came out of her mouth toward Dean, and he felt the same invisible force that had hit him the first time squeezing his jaw. He grimaced, choking as his mouth was opened.
Don't scream. Don't scream. Never, ever scream.
Sam rolled out of the fire, shedding his burning jacket and shaking himself off. He tried to get up, but his leg was trapped by a burning beam, and the leg of his jeans were slowly starting to burn away…
"You won't take anyone else, Mary!" Henry called out into the night, holding the burning match and cradling a broken arm on the other side, "I saw you dead once… I'll see it one last time!"
Dropping the match, the bones ignited, and the old mortician watched them burn.
Back at the theatre, just as Dean's jaw was about to snap, the ghost in front of him went up in flames, letting out an anguished scream as she disappeared in a flurry of embers. Just as she vanished, Sam jerked his leg loose, and shook out the fire, running over to Dean. He had soot all over his face, and was coughing. Catching his breath, Dean looked up at his brother, and the mess of melted wax and flames around them.
"We've gotta… get out of here…" Sam coughed, clutching Dean's arm and pulling him up. Dean supported his brother's limp as they rushed out of the burning theatre, wood beginning to fall away behind them. They finally made it out, and came face to face with the Sheriff and a hoard of townspeople.
"You…" the Sheriff began, "You burned it down!" Sam and Dean looked at each other, expecting another arrest for helping out. Then the sheriff spoke again. "We were on our way to do the same." He almost looked sheepish, most likely for outing himself as a believer.
"Wait… you were? Who are all these Tom, Dick, and Harrys behind you then?" Dean rasped, voice gravelly from the choking.
"We were the ones who ended this in the first place," the Sheriff told him, looking down, "Or thought we did."
"Sheriff, we still need your help," Sam said, wincing as he limped forward, "There's a man who needs our help over at Raven's Fair cemetery." As they drove away, a brilliant glow of the now-burning old place enveloped their rear-view.
"Henry did it," Dean hissed.
"He did," Sam agreed, running a hand through his singed hair. Dean floored it to the forest, and found Henry nursing his broken arm by the blazing grave.
"Henry!" he called, and the two went over.
"You boys… did it," he managed out, wincing as he tried to stand, "She's… she's….
"Woah, woah," Dean helped him, "You did it. C'mon, let's get you to a hospital- we'll get you there real fast, people are waiting for you. It's all over."
-0-0-0-
"Well… that happened," Dean slurred, downing the last of four shots in the run-down bar that was just as empty as last time. Sam raised an eyebrow at him.
"Yeah."
"You fuckin' freaked at that clown, man," Dean laughed, and Sam made a bitchface.
"You should have seen your face when she grabbed you!" Sam snapped back.
"Yeah, 'cause my jaw was being broken by a homicidal bitch!" Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "God, just another day at the office, huh?" This earned the brothers a good stare from the grouchy bartender. Dean smiled at her, sending a two-finger salute.
"Hey, uh… your friend's back," Sam chuckled, motioning over to the corner of the room.
"So he is," Dean grinned, adjusting his collar. "Time for attempt numero dos." Fluffing his hair up a bit, the older brother got up, and sauntered over to the big guy.
"Hi there," Dean smirked, leaning on the side of the booth, "I might be barking up the wrong tree here, but you were a bit of a dick last time we talked. Maybe if you show me yours, we can call it even."
The guy just stared, and Dean rolled his eyes, deflating. "Fine, Jason Momoa, leave me to my-"
Suddenly, the guy got up, and grabbed Dean's face, yanking him in for a kiss. Dean almost yelped, feeling the guy pull him closer..
"Man of little words… I respect that," Dean cringed, petting his poor, sore jaw, "Just… grab me somewhere else for now, alright?" Feeling the guy's hand on his ass, Dean turned around quickly to give Sam the thumbs up, and Sam just smiled back, shaking his head.
Onto the next.
