"What are we going to say to him?" Dean asked, as they crossed through the relatively small town of Imogene, where the murders had taken place. "Just tell him the truth? Or what?"

"Well," Caleb said, "it might be the only way to get through to him. The police can't solve it, the town thinks that a crazy ax murderer is on the loose, so really, what else is he going to believe?"

It was rare in their line of work that they could walk up to someone, and spout out the truth to them. Usually, their work involved a lot of lying, and a lot of trickery in order to accomplish the goal and save the lives that didn't even realize they needed saving.

"True, but how do you think he'll react to us telling him that we have to destroy that creepy ass knocker?"

"The way I see it," Caleb said, as he turned smoothly onto the right neighborhood street, which was full of similar Victorian-style mansions. "The poor guy has two choices. Either he listens to us, and lets us do our work, or we can leave, and the same exact thing will happen to him. His call."

"I guess."

Even though it was impossible to save everyone, Dean wanted to believe that they could, that they could get through to this grief-ridden father, and save him and any other future generations from the same fate.

"It will be fine," Caleb said, glancing over at him briefly. "We'll do what we can, and be okay with that."

"Okay."

When they pulled up along the curb of the house, their way was almost blocked off by the procession of police cars and crime scene tape that barred their way onto the property.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered to Caleb, as they hesitantly got out of their car, and made their way over to the neighbors congregated there.

"I don't know."

His best guess was that something had gotten one of the other people living in the house, and from the looks of it, it hadn't been pretty. A gurney carrying the human remains that had been found in the house rolled past them, as crime scene investigators pulled up in a van for further inspection at the crime lab.

Spotting someone who appeared to be a neighbor, Caleb and Dean immediately made their way over to where she was standing, being careful not to step over the police tape and warrant unwanted attention.

"Excuse us," Caleb said, approaching the woman directly. "We were just wondering what happened here."

After all, it hadn't been more than twelve hours since he had last been to the house, and everything seemed fine. The man was traumatized by the unexplained deaths of his daughters, but physically he had assumed he was safe. Of course, it only took a second for a spirit to strike someone down, and there was no doubt in either of their minds that that's what had happened in this case.

"It was a murder," she said, shaking her head in disbelief, as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "I just don't get it. I've never seen a family with worse luck than this one."

"Who died?" Dean asked.

"The wife. No one else was home when she was murdered. No signs of a struggle, and the police are ruling out her husband, so far."

"Well, that's good," Caleb nodded. "If you don't mind me asking, how was she found? Where was she found?"

The spirit had so far stuck to a pattern. Each of the victims that had been killed, had been killed in the bathroom. The same one that the spirit itself had been killed in. The devil was in the details, and each iota of information mattered.

"The upstairs bathroom," she said, casting a curious glance at them. "Why?"

"Just...curious," Dean said, trading stupefied glances with Caleb.

"Thank you," Caleb said, throwing her a grateful smile, as he and Dean walked back to their car.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked, as he leaned against the passenger side door.

"I think our friend paid this family a visit last night," Caleb replied, as his eyes scanned the chaos that had come down on a once peaceful neighborhood. "And I think we need to go talk to our guy over there."

Looking to where Caleb was pointing, Dean saw the same man that they had talked to the night before. The police had clearly just finished questioning him, and now he was sitting on the dewy grass, his head in his hands as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Do you want me to go, too?"

"You can if you want."

Deciding to follow him, Dean and Caleb smoothly stepped over the police tape, and made their way over to the stricken man. "Hi," Caleb said, as he bent down to converse more easily with the man.

"It's you," he said, shakily removing his hands from around his eyes, as he looked up at Caleb and Dean. "What do you want?"

"Well, I just wanted to know if you were up for answering a few questions."

"My wife was just murdered," the man choked, "what do you think?"

"Well," Caleb said, "I happen to know what you're going through right now. I lost my wife, too, but you need to listen to me. As hard as it may be right now, you have to listen to me."

"About what?"

Even though the man was truly shocked to his core at the brutality in which his family had been slaughtered, he still had enough fight left in him to meet Caleb's questions with a powerful, judgmental punch.

"Your family is cursed."

No beating around the bush, no time for the whole 'truth is out there' speech. It had to be done quickly, and it had to be done so the man would understand the gravity of the situation, and how serious it could get for him if he didn't heed their warning.

The man stared at him for several seconds, before he laughed, although it was a somewhat hysterical laugh. "Are you nuts?"

"Oh, believe me, I wish I was," Caleb said, "but the facts are the facts, and you have someone haunting your family right now."

"That's crazy-"

"Any crazier than your daughters and wife being murdered in the same bathroom?" Dean asked pointedly. "The door was locked from the inside?"

"Well, yes," he admitted, but quickly regained his earlier furor. "But what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Because there's a pattern," Caleb said calmly. "The same bathroom, the same locked door, and the same bloody carnage, right?"

"Yes," he admitted, as fresh tears trailed down his cheeks. "How could this happen? My two babies, and now my wife?"

"You have to listen," Dean said, "there is something doing this, and you have to believe us so we can help you."

"How can I believe something like that?" he demanded. "And how could you-"

"How else could all this be happening?" Caleb said, trying to reason with the poor man.

"There has to be another explanation-"

"You look me in the eye," Caleb said, looking directly at the man. "And you tell me if I am lying to you right now."

It took a few seconds of the man silently contemplating the impossible situation he had suddenly found himself in, before he nodded.

"I must be crazier than you two are, but I believe you."

"Thank you."

"So what's doing this?" he asked shakily, as he got to his feet.

"A spirit," Dean said.

"But what...spirit?" he asked with difficulty.

"About eighty or ninety years ago, when your ancestors first moved into this house, there was a lot of stuff that went down," Caleb explained, "and long story short, a little girl was murdered in this house, and ever since then, she's been going down the line and killing anyone that takes up residence in this house."

"But what does that have to do with my family? And why now, after all this time?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean said, "spirits don't care if you and your family were innocent or not. All they care about is that your family is descended from the ones that did kill her."

"And if you know what to look for," Caleb said quietly, "you would see that there is a pattern of this. Every ten years, a new string of murders happens right on the anniversary of the original death."

It would be a lot for anyone to take in, but so far he had done shockingly well with the information that had been dumped on his shaken shoulders.

"What does ten years have to do-"

"It was the age of the girl that died," Dean filled in. "Every ten years, she commits a new murder."

"And next time?" Caleb said bluntly, "it could very well be you."

"So what can I do?"

"Nothing," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Except let us do what we have to do."

"And that is?"

"Destroy that knocker on your door-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's tied to the girl," Dean said carefully, "and if we destroy it, it will make it that much easier to destroy _her_."

It was apparent the man didn't want them to continue, but out of morbid curiosity, he asked the question anyway.

"And how do you destroy this girl?"

"We could tell you," Caleb said, "but then we run the risk of you running to the cops about this. Need to know only," he added, when the man looked like he was about to open his mouth to argue.

"Just give us the knocker," Dean said, "and we'll take it someplace and make sure it's gone for good."

"Okay."

Once the man had pried the culprit door knocker from its post, Caleb and Dean took the thing to the local cemetery where they would burn it along with the girl's bones that had been buried near the back of the now defunct cemetery.

"When did this thing shut down?" Dean asked, as they carefully picked their way across the rough and uneven terrain to find the right grave marker for the little girl, and hopefully finish the hunt on a positive note.

"A few years ago. Apparently the town thought it was a bad omen that it kept burying bodies from the same house."

"They should tear that thing down," Dean remarked.

"I agree. here," Caleb stopped, bending down to inspect the name on the marker. "This is the right one."

"Mary-Alice Carpenter," Dean read, fingers hesitantly brushing across the cold tone. "This is it?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Let's do this, then."

It was backbreaking work, but eventually they were able to dig down far enough to reach her casket, and smash through it to expose the rotting, bone corpse underneath.

"You got it ready?" Caleb asked, as he jumped down into the damp earth in order to properly set the bones up for the burning.

Dean nodded, feeling his heart race with both anticipation and nervousness, as he handed the gas and salt down to him. "Yeah."

"Good job."

Dean watched carefully as Caleb sprinkled the gas and oil over the bones, before reaching up for the lighter, which Dean handed down to him.

"Be careful."

"You bet."

So self-assured, so not seemingly worried about what could happen if the wrong move was made. As Dean shone the flashlight down on the open casket so Caleb could see better, he suddenly had the strangest sensation, as though he were being watched by something.

Or someone.

Turning around sharply, his breath caught in his throat when he didn't see anything. Normally, that would have been cause for relief, but not when he was sure he had felt something just seconds before that.

"Dean?"

Obviously Caleb had sensed somehow was amiss when the all too important light that Dean had been shining down on him, vanished without warning.

"Yeah," Dean answered shakily. "I just thought I felt something..."

"Use the salt gun," Caleb reminded him, as he finished what he was doing, and heaved himself out of the grave.

"I know-"

His speech was abruptly cut off when the spirit of the girl emerged. Angry that she was being thwarted in her plans to slaughter her ancestors until there was none left, she appeared then, angry and more vengeful than ever, as she reached out a chalk-white hand, and used it to make a grab at the thirteen-year-old.

Dean had little time to react, as he fumbled for the salt gun that he had foolishly left on the ground beside him, when he had been handing down their supplies to Caleb.

Realizing his mistake now, as the spirit painfully gripped down on his arm with a deathlike grip. "Every last one," she rasped, before throwing him back a good two or three feet. She was moving toward him. No doubt intent on finishing the job, before a salt round shot by Caleb, intercepted her, as she disappeared into a puff of gray and white smoke.

"Are you okay?" Caleb gasped.

"I think so," Dean panted, as he gripped his injured arm. "Just finish it before she comes back."

Caleb didn't need telling twice as he lit a match and threw it into the pile of bones, along with the door knocker that had started all of this. As they watched the remains catch fire, Dean couldn't help but feel a little sad for the girl who had died. She had been ten years old. Just a year older than his own brother, and because of the actions of a wicked and vain stepmother, she had met her demise much to early.

"You ready to go home?" Caleb asked.

"Yes."