They knew they would have to work fast. There was a funeral scheduled in the morning. It would be the last due to this ghost, thanks to them. as long as they got these bones salted and burned.
They had managed to trap the spirit in its own hiding spot, giving them as much of an obstructed path as possible. But the binding ritual wouldn't hold it for long and the sun wasn't more than an hour away.
"Dean, why do we always find the graves dead center of the cemetery?"
"Dead center, Sam? Seriously? Less jokes, more digging, ok?"
Sam hadn't realized what he said but, he couldn't let it go.
"What, clever retorts your domain, Dean?"
It was either way too early or way too late for this conversation. Dean had no response for Sam and his 'clever retorts'. He just grumbled and kept on digging.
They finally struck the surface of the rotted coffin. As their shovel and pick-axe cracked the splintering wood, the stench overwhelmed them. Regardless of how many times they did this, and how accustomed they may have been to it, the dusty, smoky fumes still caught in their throats and permeated the moist linings of their nostrils.
Dean dug in his pockets for a lighter as Sam sprinkled the salt and poured the lighter fluid over the desecration. With a 'whoosh', the ditch was aflame.
Patting his brother on the back, Dean said, as Sam expected, "Another one bites the dust." And as Dean expected, Sam groaned a sigh as he rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head.
The brothers gathered their tools and other equipment, careful not to leave behind any record of themselves. They walked towards the Impala waiting patiently at the gate.
Sam and Dean walked into the last of the dark night as the sky behind them began to turn pink and orange from the first hint of the sun.
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The funeral was scheduled to start and he still had plenty to get done. He expected the first of the mourners within the hour. Some folks were unable to deal with the church service; they would pay their respects at the cemetery.
As he walked towards the grave site, he saw his two workers arranging chairs under the tent. They had dug a nice deep hole, pretty quick, yesterday. And why not? In this town there had been plenty of practice in the last couple of weeks.
He remarked on the beautiful day and the perfect blue sky. Then a dusty patch caught his eye far to his left. He checked his watch and determined he could leave the boys on their own a few minutes longer and investigate. He wanted nothing to mar the ceremony. The day would be a horrible enough memory without this ugliness.
As he moved towards the interruption of his beautiful blue sky, he could smell the acrid scent of lighter fluid. Within a few feet of the grave, he could hear the crackle of the dying flame and see the golden shimmer of flying embers.
He called his workers over and had them bring their shovels. Under his breath, he muttered, "Ain't there no respect for the dead?'