The three hunters sat around a table in a cheap bar-b-que diner. Setting down her cup of coffee she started, "I take it you two aren't FBI agents. That was a nice cover story, though," she admitted.
"No, we're not. And are you really a college student?"
"Yes, I am. I only take on cases that are within a close proximity."
"You're a hunter," Dean said it more like a question than a fact. He still was having a hard time wrapping his head around that. Sometimes things were too peculiar to be coincidental, even though he didn't believe in fate.
"Yep, born and raised in a hunting family. My parents have been hunters for as long as I can remember; of course, they never wanted me to be one." Dean shook his head. This explained so much.
"Our dad raised us in the 'family business' too," Sam explained.
"Small world isn't it?" she chuckled. "I've heard your names floating around once or twice but it never clicked. Ellen has mentioned the Winchester boys before."
"You know Ellen?" Sam asked in surprise.
She nodded. "Our families have history together. Jo is practically my sister."
Dean leaned back. It really was a small world. He didn't say much else the rest of the meal besides the occasional question or comment, then would fall silent again. The gears in his head were spinning to process everything that he was hearing. It seemed a waste for such a bright, pretty woman to be involved in their profession. Dean and Sam sure, but not Abigail. She was too innocent for this line of work.
Sam and Abigail had moved on to discussing the current case. She was in the middle of explaining a legend about a family that had previously resided in that house. One night while the dad was away for a business trip thieves broke in and drug the mom and three kids out of their beds. The mom had to watch while her children were killed before her eyes. She was tied to a kitchen chair and the thieves ransacked the house. Before leaving they slit her throat. When the father got home he went crazy with grief and hung himself less than two months later.
"So it sounds like we're dealing with a vengeful ghost," Sam concluded. "All we need to do is salt and burn the bones."
"It won't be that easy," Abby sighed, "I already tried to. When I dug up the mother's grave some other hunters had already done that; looks like she had been terrorizing people about twenty years earlier."
"Maybe a piece of hair has been left behind," he offered. Abby conceded, though she was doubtful.
After their meal the three of them returned to the house. They split up, Sam taking upstairs, Dean the front of the house and Abby the rear part.
Dean's flashlight beam grazed over a family portrait hanging in the living room. He stopped, doing a double take and eyeing it more closely. He called, "Hey, Abigail, com'ere." She appeared at his shoulder a moment later. "Isn't that the one who attacked you?" He was referring to the girl standing to the right of the father and behind the mother's chair.
She frowned at the picture before nodding. "Yes, the woman in the back row. I think she was the oldest daughter. We've been searching for the wrong remains."
Dean called Sam over and explained their new lead. "I suppose the daughter wants revenge for her killing."
"Then let's head over to the cemetery."
They alternated digging, one person holding the flashlight while the other two tossed dirt onto the growing pile. The headstones stood as silent guards under the dark sky. When Sam's shovel knocked against something solid they brushed the remaining dirt away to reveal a wooden coffin. Dean poured salt over the bones and Abigail came after with the gasoline.
Dean flicked open his lighter. "Hasta la vista." Something caught his eye and he glanced up to Sam leaning on the shovel on the opposite side of the grave. A ghostly figure in a white nightgown was standing behind him.
"Sam, behind you!" Sam turned in time to be thrown backward, landing several yards away. When Dean tried firing at the ghost she reappeared behind Abigail, tossing her like a rag doll into the hole. Abby landed with a hard thud in the coffin. The lid snapped shut.
"Abigail!" Dean yelled from above.
"No, no let me out of here!" she screamed banging on the lid. Her nose burned from the stench of decay and gasoline emanating from directly below her. It was all she could do to keep from gagging. The scuffle could be heard above. "Stupid ghosts, I hate them," she grumbled, fumbling around in the dark. Her fingers connected with the femur bone and she pounded on the top. After several thrusts she broke a hole in the rotting wood through which she was able to claw her way out. Gasping for fresh air she dug the lighter out of her pocket. The bone in her hand was lit and dropped into the remains. There was a screech as the ghost disappeared.
Only then did she realize she had nowhere to go while a fire burned around her.
"Abigail?" Dean's head poked over the edge of the hole. She let out a sigh of relief.
"I'm good, help me out." He quickly pulled her up and the two stumbled away. The boys weren't too bad—they would have a few bruises and scrapes tomorrow. Examining herself Abby found that she was in pretty good condition, too. But the smell was still in her nose.
"Let's get out of here; I need to change my clothes," she said and led the way back to the car, Winchester brothers in pursuit.