-CHAPTER 3-
Dean and Sam stood side by side on the doorstep, a position Sam was quickly becoming familiar with again since he joined his brother a month and a half ago. Eventually, the door swung open, and a man not much older than Dean looked at them from behind a screen door. "Hello?" he greeted, bewildered.
"Hello, Mr…Palanki?" Dean returned politely. "Hi, my name is John Martin and this is Larry Baumgartner. I'm really sorry to bother you so early, but we're real estate agents, and we'd like to ask you a few questions about the, uh, Mudhouse Mansion? I know it's a strange request, but believe me, we'd really appreciate it if you could help us out. It'll only take a few minutes, and then we'll be out of your hair."
Sam recognized his tactic instantly - take a friendly tone, catch the subject off guard, and while he's still surprised, bombard him with smooth, aw-shucks talking until he agrees to help before he has a chance to think it through. And it worked. The guy opened his screen door and let them inside.
"The Mudhouse? I don't know how I can help you," Jack Palanki told them.
"Well, you see, before we're allowed to list a house, we have to disclose any deaths that occurred at the property." At that, Jack's eyes widened and his expression cleared as the confusion disappeared from his face. His shoulders stiffened as Dean continued.
"Now, as I understand it, you were there when Greg Johnston fell. I'm sorry I have to ask this, but we're required to designate each death as either an accident or a homicide." As he spoke, he managed to sound both regretful and sympathetic. "Unfortunately, all we've been told is that he fell, and the police--well, they're too busy with more important things to talk to us."
"Oh, it was…it was an accident, I guess," Jack replied with a sigh. Sam sagged with relief that he apparently bought Dean's story.
"Are you sure? I mean, can you tell us what happened?" Dean pressed. "I'd really hate to get sued down the line if it turns out he was murdered.
Jack raked a hand through his hair and fixed his gaze on the wall. "Don't you guys have to report if it's haunted, too?"
Dean and Sam glanced at each other, feeling a little bit of triumph. "Well, yes, actually, we do," Sam stepped in. "Why do you say it's haunted?"
A few moments passed before Jack swallowed heavily. "Back in high school, we went out to the mansion because we heard all these stories about it. So we - Me, Greg, and this girl, Christy - decided to check it out. It, you know, gave us something to do, someplace to hang out and drink without getting caught. Anyway, we snuck inside, and we started to drink in like, the living room or something on the middle floor. But we only had a six pack between the three of us, so it wasn't like we were actually drunk. We weren't drunk," he repeated, staring at Dean levelly. Dean shrugged and nodded for him to continue.
"Anyway, Greg decides he wants to explore, but me and Christy stay behind. And we hear him wandering around up there and everything, making fun of him because we were in high school and stupid. And then all of the sudden-" Jack's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "-Greg screams.
"We just thought he was joking, you know, pulling a prank on us. And we hear him running towards the stairs, and we get up and go to there, see what the hell he was doing.
"And then all of the sudden, he was at the railing at the top of the stairs. Only--only it looked like he was trying to get to the stairs, but something was stopping him. And his face was just--I don't know. We didn't know what was going on. And then, suddenly, his body just…flew off over the railing." As he said that, he illustrated the movement with his hand. "First his head slammed into the wall, and then it just toppled down the rest of the stairs." Jack's gaze flicked between the two brothers. "It was like…I swear somebody threw him."
The three of them stood in silence as Sam and Dean absorbed the story. "Did you see anything?" Sam finally asked. "Any figures or…"
Jack shook his head jerkily. "No, no…It looked weird, though, up at the top of the stairs. Like it was darker than it should be. But I mean, that was probably just my eyes."
"Did you hear anything else, when Greg started screaming? Right before it maybe?"
Jack shook his head again. "No, not really. At first, I thought it was a girl screaming," he said with a humorless laugh. "But then I realized it was him." Even though he tried to repress it, but Sam saw him shudder.
Sam yawned as once again the Chevy rumbled down the same country road as the day before. Already it had been a long morning, and he had been on the computer late into the night performing searches. None of the searches produced any results, other than the current addresses Jack Palanki and "Ol' Miss" Julia Morey. Now they were returning to the site, knowing almost as little as they had yesterday.
Sam wasn't sure what they were looking for. He didn't expect to find anything in the outbuildings except for rusty antiques, so the best they could hope for would be another sighting.
He just hoped it wouldn't be a kid screaming this time.
The house suddenly came into view, a gray spot in an otherwise bright landscape. Sam controlled his shudder and glanced over at his brother through the corner of his eye. Dean was also staring at the house, a solid look to his face as he pulled off the side of the road again. His words from earlier that morning suddenly rang in Sam's head.
"If evil runs in the family, we have a lot to worry about."
Of course, Miss Morey wasn't exactly evil--just cranky. She glared at them from the moment she answered the door to her small house on the south side of town. But her temper intensified as soon as they mentioned the mansion, and she angrily refused to answer even the most innocent questions - a fact made peculiar because even Sam thought Dean was at his most charming, posing as a history grad writing a paper on local folklore.
The frosty grass crunched underneath their feet as they hiked up the property. The sun was out, but it hung distantly in the sky and offered little warmth. "I sure as hell hope Dad sends us south for the winter," Dean remarked, and Sam cracked a grin. He didn't have the heart to tell Dean the next Bloody Mary on their list was in upstate New York.
They decided to check out the other buildings first. In total, there were seven scattered around the property, six brick and one wooden barn. As Dean started for the first and largest building, the one that stood near where the driveway disappeared, Sam did a quick survey of the other ones in sight. He wished he knew more about their purpose.
Curiosity suddenly struck him as he glanced at each structure. "Hey, Dean," he called out. "Do most outbuildings usually have chimneys?"
Dean shrugged and frowned in confusion. "How the hell should I know?" But he stopped and looked at each building anyway, his eyes going straight to the roofs. "Hey, yeah, you're right, though. Is that weird?"
Sam knew some buildings would be equipped with a chimney. An outdoor kitchen for example, and a blacksmith workshop, if they had one. Maybe any type of workshop, if someone spent long hours there in the winter. But he saw at least three buildings with a chimney, and none of them looked like a kitchen. The two larger ones looked like they might have been workshops, including the one Dean was about to enter, but he couldn't tell what the purpose of the smallest one would be. Though it looked like a schoolhouse in a way, it didn't have any windows or other openings other than a door and the chimney at the top.
He quickly strode towards the back so he could see the rest of the buildings. The one that almost touched the house did not have a chimney, but the two others that sat back did. Just like the "schoolhouse" they were the size of a room, with solid brick walls built without windows.
Sam met back with Dean, who was already stepping through the first building. With the amount of debris that filled the room, neither of them could go very far. Fortunately the lower level was just one large room, and Sam saw no need to travel any further inside. All it held was junk.
He eyed the ladder that lead to the second floor at the opposite side and knew it wouldn't hold their weight. "Let's check the other buildings," he told his brother, and Dean grunted in assent.
The next building, which stood behind and off to the left, was just like the first. Junk and nothing else.
The only thing Sam found interesting was its pair of doors; a regular, man-sized door, and then a wider set of double doors which were arched at the top. But nothing on the inside hinted why the wider entrance was needed. The two brothers quickly moved on.
To the right of that building in an evenly-spaced straight line stood the three smaller, windowless structures. Dean started for them, but Sam found himself veering away, heading for the partially-collapsed barn at the far side of the property.
He was just about to pass the first of the three buildings when Dean called out to him. "Hey, dude, where you going?" he asked, sounding both surprised and irritated as he stood near the doorway.
Sam turned to him and shrugged. "I don't know, just don't feel like looking there."
Dean rolled his eyes. "C'mon, it'll only take a minute."
"Nah. I don't really want to," he said, crossing his arms.
Dean stared hard at him, and Sam knew he had made his brother angry. He shifted his gaze from Sam to the building and back to Sam again, obviously trying to decide what action to take. Then suddenly, almost imperceptibly, Dean's eyes widened. Sam frowned, wondering what Dean was thinking.
Then Sam felt his own eyes widen as realization dawned on him.
Abruptly, with a new sense of determination, he started marching to the entrance where his brother stood. Dean watched him approach, a knowing smirk on his face. Ignoring him, Sam focused on the building before him. As soon as he was close enough, he saw that the door, though it looked weak with rot, was closed fast. Unlike the other buildings, no one had forced their way in.
"God dammit," he cursed.
Dean grinned cheekily at him. "Don't feel bad, buddy," he said. "I know how you sensitive types tend to be more vulnerable."
Sam scowled at him. "Dammit," he repeated under his breath, kicking the brick wall.
Still smirking, Dean turned and stepped close to the doorway. "Well, let's see what's causing the human repellant," he said, giving the door a quick shove with his shoulder. It held fast.
"So why weren't you affected?" Sam demanded behind him. Since the door hadn't been tampered with, Sam obviously wasn't the only person who had avoided the building. Every trespasser, every ghost hunter and partying teen before them, had left it alone, just as Sam had almost done.
Dean shrugged. "I think I was. The only difference was, what I felt wasn't subconscious." With a sudden powerful motion, he kicked at the door, and it burst inward from the force.
"What, you're psychic now?" Sam asked him, following behind him as he stepped inside.
Dean looked over the shoulder at him. "Shut up."
Sam smirked but didn't say anything as he stood staring into the black room. Since the open door was the only source of light, he had to wait as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
One thing different about this room, Sam noticed, was the distinct lack of debris. While he was still waiting for his eyes to adjust, Dean was already feeling for the walls. Sam took a cautious step forward, hesitant because the room wasn't completely empty. Along one wall stood a small fireplace, and at the opposite side, the same side his brother was exploring, were dark shadows of some objects. His eyes could barely make out their vague shapes.
Suddenly a strange noise came over from where Dean was feeling against the wall. "What the hell?" Dean muttered. Sam could see him kick at something on the floor, recreating the sound. This time Sam was listening for it, and it sounded like loose metal.
"Is that…a chain?" he asked, taken aback.
By now, his eyes had fully adjusted, and he watched as Dean picked up the thing on the floor and stretched it out from where it connected to the wall. "Yep," he replied, his voice full. He held it up by the end, and Sam saw that the chain was attached to a shackle.
"Whoa…" Sam said under his breath. "What is this place?" He turned and stepped closer to the objects he had been looking at. With a start, he realized the low shapes were two sets of broken, rotting boards, which at one time had been fitted together to form rectangles.
"Beds," he hissed.
More rattling, clinking noises came from Dean's position at the wall. "There's a least four chains here," he announced. He took one in his hand and drew it out towards Sam, who was standing next to the remains of one of the beds. The chain stretched about a third of the way along the bed's length. "There's another one on the other side. There's two more set up by the other bed." Dean's voice sounded wooden.
"Hell." Sam ran a hand through his hair.
"They chained their slaves to their beds," Dean said darkly.
"Yeah," Sam replied, trying not to snort at the unreal-ness of it all, feeling sick to his stomach. "Except Ohio was a northern, free state."
Dean scanned the room, shaking his head slowly. Half of his face was faintly illuminated from the glow outside, and the expression there caught Sam off guard. Even in the poor lighting, his older brother looked pale, and his breath came out a little too hard.
"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked him.
Suddenly Dean turned to the door. "Yeah. Just--fresh air," he said, hurriedly, his voice rough. Startled, Sam watched as he quickly left, and he followed right behind him, crossing the threshold into the outdoors. The sudden change in light hurt his eyes, and he had to squint under the bright cloud cover. Despite that, he'd forgotten just how nice fresh air was.
Dean stood in the middle of the back yard, studying the mansion with a fixed expression on his face. Sam considered his options. With one last look at the slave quarters (Is that what he should call it?), he came up beside his brother. "Think we have a possible double haunting here?" he asked him casually.
"Wouldn't be surprised," Dean drawled without looking at him. Another moment later, he asked, "Think they're connected?"
Sam ran a hand down his face, wondering just what they've stumbled into.
They decided to grab their flashlights from the car before they checked out the remaining buildings. Once they had those, they started for the next building. Curiosity and trepidation warred inside Sam's chest at what they would find inside.
The next building in line startled them. They hadn't paid it much attention until just then, though Sam instantly wished he had. "Don't suppose you have a step ladder in your bag of tricks?" Sam asked his brother.
"How the hell are we supposed to get in there?" Dean complained, looking up at its front.
Unlike the identical buildings that stood to either side of it, the door to this one, instead of being at ground level, hung midway up the front. The bottom of the door frame was level to Sam's chest, and there was nothing leading up to it. "There must have been stairs at one time…" Sam mused out loud, bewildered.
"But why would they build it like that?" Sam didn't have an answer.
They spent the next fifteen minutes trying to open the door, but from their position, they couldn't get enough force behind their shoves and high kicks. They decided to leave it until later and moved on to the next one in line.
The inside of this building was identical to the other one. A small stone fireplace, two broken beds, and four chains attached at the wall. Sam swept his flashlight over the room so they could see everything in better detail. At first the light didn't reveal anything. He lingered over the rusty chains, but they looked just as he had expected. The beds were just piles of wood, and the fireplace had no discernable markings.
He ran the flashlight beam over the plain walls. They had been sloppily covered with plaster, and in many spots the plaster had worn off, revealing the brick behind it. Sam reached the far end of the room when his flashlight caught something near the corner. He got Dean's attention and then knelt down to take a closer look.
In the plaster were man-made scratches. Someone had left tally marks along the wall.
Curious, Sam studied the markings. After a group of so many, the person had scratched out "1870." The marks then continued, and after another group was "1871." Sam did a quick count of the tally marks. "They were counting the weeks," he discovered.
As Dean knelt beside him, Sam counted the marks after 1871. They ended after the seventeenth one. "Looks like whoever wrote this stopped keeping track around the end of April, beginning of May," Sam said after some quick calculations. He turned to Dean. "I'm guessing something happened then."
Dean nodded thoughtfully as he stood back up, and Sam followed, feeling his knees crack. When they found nothing else worth noting, they went back outside.
They only had two other buildings left to explore, and they proved to be anti-climatic. The barn was just a barn, too dangerous to venture into, and the structure right behind the house was empty.
Sam blew a puff of air out his mouth, watching as it turned into a cloud of fog in the cold air. "Should we try..." As he spoke, he looked to the building they had yet to enter, the one with the high door. His voice faltered, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean start violently.
"Oh, shit!"
A man was hanging from the roof of the building, a noose squeezedaround his neck. His body swayed gently in front of the door.
The two brothers immediately took off towards him. Sam avoided his eyes, his entire face, and concentrated on the clothing instead. The old style was the only thing that reassured him. This was only an apparition, not a real person, not a real dead body. But he ran to it anyway, and Dean was right there beside him.
Just as they reached him, the vision disappeared. In an instant, it was gone.
Breathing hard and feeling sick, Sam turned to his brother. Dean caught his look and nodded. "Let's grab something to eat and get our shit together. We'll come back."