Chapter Four
Dean pulled up in front of the Victorian house and looked at his father with raised eyebrows.
"You're kidding Dad, right?"
John didn't respond but he had to admit to himself that Dean had a point. When they found the address that matched the article in the newspaper, he hadn't expected this.
The place was a hokey tourist attraction, complete with a huge sign out front inviting people to "Come See the Famous Town Ghost!"
"C'mon, let's check it out." John said and he and Dean walked inside. They paid their five bucks and got the cheap tour, opting not to have a guide. It allowed them to have a closer look at the place and for Dean to surreptitiously check for EMF activity.
John grabbed a brochure and read it as he followed along behind Dean. According to the local legend, an old woman's spirit supposedly haunted the joint. There were reports of flickering lights, cold spots and the occasional missing objects from rooms. All were typical signs of a spirit but all could easily be faked. There was no way to tell yet if they were on to anything.
Keeping themselves as far away from a group of teenage girls out for the afternoon (all of whom had declared loudly that they were DYING to see a "real ghost!"), John and Dean poked around the house. John kept an eye out for anything unusual while he let Dean continue to search with the EMF.
The got all the way to the end of the tour, the last room being the old lady's bedroom, and found a velvet rope blocking it from entry. John waited until the girls had gone back down the hallway and looking around to make sure no one was around, gave Dean a nod.
Dean immediately ducked under the rope with the EMF meter, sweeping the device back and forth and over every inch of the room. Reaching the window and a desk under it, he had just opened his mouth to tell his father that the whole place was a bust when he got a beep.
John saw Dean standing near the desk. Ready to ask what was up, he heard another group coming. He gave a short whistle and Dean was instantly back at his side, just in time as another group of tourists came around the corner to look into the room.
The place must have been nearing its peak time as the hallways were crowded with people as they made their way back down the stairs. They were unable to talk until they finally got into the silence and privacy of the car.
"Well?" John asked. "Did you find anything on the meter?"
"Yep," Dean replied with a grin and before his father could ask anything else had pulled something from his pocket. "This."
John took the object and found himself holding a diary.
------
They took the book back to the hotel. Any other father might have told his son off for stealing something out of a public place like that but not John. He was proud that Dean had thought fast enough to snatch it. Especially after he'd run the EMF meter over it himself. The thing practically crackled, it was so full of energy.
It was official. They were now onto something.
John read the diary while Dean cleaned weapons. The guns didn't really need it but he knew that Dean liked to keep his hands busy and John had no problem letting him do it.
When Dean was done cleaning the guns, he started packing bags of salt for the bows.
John was about halfway through the diary, looking for anything that would give them a clue about the ghosts motives, when he heard a sigh from his son. Looking up he found Dean studying a bag of salt thoughtfully.
"What's up, kiddo?" John asked. He could see Dean was mulling something over.
"Dad have you ever thought there was a better way to do this?" he asked, holding up the bag and the arrow.
"Like what?"
"I don't know……just something. These things have very little range. Too bad we can't figure out how to shoot salt from a gun or something."
John laughed. "Right. I could see it now. We'll take salt, make it into balls, shove it down the barrel and fire. All you'd get is a puff, wouldn't do you much good." He said, going back to the book.
Dean harrumphed, knowing his Dad was right but still thinking that he might be onto something. Finishing the last of the bags, he loaded up the quivers and reached for a shotgun. He'd already cleaned it but he was feeling too antsy to sit still. He unloaded it to clean again.
Lost in thought, he wasn't really paying attention and dropped one of the rounds of buckshot.
"Crap," he said softly, annoyed with himself. Bending over to pick up the round, he was dismayed to find that it had burst onto the floor, spilling buckshot everywhere. Getting down on his hands and knees, he reached under the bed and used his hands to sweep it all up, picking up some dust and dirt inadvertently. Looking at the pile of dirt, dust and buckshot in his hand he shook his head, knowing there was no way to put that back in the round. The thought made him smile, picturing what would happen when a bullet full of dirt hit something.
"Holy crap!" Dean said out loud, dropping the mess into a trash can and turning to his father with a wide grin.
John looked up slightly annoyed, wondering what Dean was up to now. He was trying to get a handle on what the ghost wanted and wasn't interested in any more interruptions.
"What?" John asked, a little testily.
"Sorry Dad," Dean said, not looking even remotely sorry. "But I think I just thought of something."
"What?"
"How to get rocksalt into a gun."
About an hour later, John put down the diary and watched as Dean finished up the last of his little project. With a few pointers from the ex-Marine, Dean soon had something that just might work.
It was ridiculously simple. Dean had just taken a few buckshot rounds, emptied out the metal buckshot and poured in rock salt, carefully tamping it down and putting the round back together. John inspected his work and found the rounds solid enough to fire.
Now they just needed something to use as a test. Good thing John had just the thing.
"Dean," John said after Dean had made about ten buckshot bullets and John had finished reading the diary. "Grab your gear, we're heading out."
Dean didn't pause to question, instead he loaded up his gun, made sure his father's was loaded as well and handed the weapon to him. Then, because they couldn't be sure that the new rock salt round would work, he also loaded them both up with bows, also loaded with salt.
John got behind the wheel and only when they'd been driving for a few minutes did he turn to Dean. He'd been so lost in thought about what he'd found in the diary that he almost forgot to brief his son.
"I found a connection to the deaths and why they keep happening in different places," John said.
"Yeah? What?"
"Here," John said, handing Dean the diary and pointing to a page he had marked. Turning his attention back to the road, he continued.
"Turns out the 'old lady' as this town calls her wasn't all that old. She and her husband died right before their 10th Anniversary."
"Which explains the 10 year lapses between killings." Dean said and John nodded approvingly.
"Right. Take a look at that page of diary though."
Dean pulled his flashlight from his pocket and tucking it under his chin, began to read.
John waited patiently. Any second now….he thought.
"No way…" Dean said suddenly.
John laughed. "Now you know where we're headed," he said, putting his foot to the floor and speeding on to their intended location.
----
A little over an hour later, the two men got out of the car and Dean looked around curiously.
"Strange place for a romantic getaway," he said, taking in the barren landscape.
"Yeah well there's no accounting for taste," John replied.
According to the diary, Frances Lunding and her devoted husband Oliver had a "wish list" of places to see on their anniversary, June 21st. It was also the day of the summer solstice, by coincidence and it was that coincidence that had nearly thrown John off the trail.
Before she got married, Frances had been making a list of places to visit before she died. When she and Oliver got married, the young couple had started a family right away. Raising children became more important than the wish list for a few years. Then one day Oliver had announced that he wanted to do something special for their 10th anniversary. Telling his wife she could pick any place on her list for them to visit and he'd make sure they went.
Two weeks before the trip, they'd been killed in a car accident, leaving three orphaned boys. As soon as John had read the whole tragic story in the diary, he knew why none of the hunt had made sense at first.
For nearly two weeks the ghost killed people at various locations on her list every ten years. Now they knew why. Old Frances was apparently not happy that others were enjoying happiness in places that she'd chosen for her special day.
Once John figured it out, he saw the pattern. She went down her list every ten years, going to each place in turn. Sometimes people weren't there and no one was killed. That little fact had made finding the pattern even harder but John remembered all the ghost stories in town. He realized then that Frances was still making her appearances, even if she didn't always kill.
She was one sneaky ghost.
"So we protect this place tonight, make sure no civvies get handed a one way ticket to the next life and then tomorrow we burn her bones, right?" Dean asked, walking around to the back of the car to join his father.
"Yep, that about covers it," John said and the two of them headed off to "number four" on Frances' list. The place had been a popular campground in the late 60's and she had sought its silence and open spaces for a romantic getaway.
"Place reminds me of an old dump," Dean said after he and his father had patrolled the area for a while. Picnic tables could still be seen here and there, though the most prominent sign of its previous life was the garbage. Apparently when the campground had shut down no one thought to clean it up. Either that or people had decided to purposely use it as a dump. It didn't really matter, the result was the same - a big old mess.
John hadn't expected any innocent bystanders to be there that night but he hadn't been able to risk it either. If they'd gone off to burn Frances' bones while someone was visiting the place, they may not have destroyed her spirit in time and someone else would've died.
A little after 3:00am John whistled to Dean, who was on another patrol nearby.
"We done?" Dean asked, trotting up.
"Yeah, no way someone's coming out here now. Let's get back and get some sleep. We can do the rest tomorrow."
"No argument from me there," Dean replied, eagerly walking back to the car.
Neither of them saw the spirit until it was too late.
She went after Dean first. He had just started following his father back to the car when he was thrown into a nearby tree.
Hearing the sounds behind him, John turned just in time to see Dean fly through the air and hit the trunk with a crunch that made his stomach clench. He ran over to his son, checking him anxiously for injuries.
"Dad," Dean tried to warn his father but the spirit was faster. Picking up the elder Winchester, she tossed John like a sack of potatoes. He flew through the branches of one tree, crashing at the base of another. The spirit followed him there and attacked, scratching at him like an animal.
Dean jumped up, grabbing his gun and running towards where his father battled the spirit. Hoping that the new invention worked, he took aim and fired a two rounds loaded with rock salt into the spirit. With a final hiss, she dissipated.