A/N - Thanks to all for the feedback. The action should start to pick up from here on out--by my estimation we're about halfway through the story.
The front door wasn't locked, but the wood had swollen from constant exposure to moisture and Sam had to force it open with his shoulder. The brothers walked into a large open foyer and looked around at what had once been a spectacular home. A winding double staircase directly in front of them led to the second floor; double doors to the left and right led to large open rooms which had probably served as parlors or dining rooms. Not wanting to tempt fate and test the floor's stability too much, Sam and Dean didn't explore beyond the two largest rooms on the first floor. Whatever lived here would come for them after nightfall.
Dean rummaged in the duffle bag for the salt and poured a large circle of it in the center of the foyer. From that vantage point they'd be able to see anything coming at them from upstairs or from any direction downstairs. Then Dean added iron filings to the circle, and topped it off with a sprinkling of holy water.
Sam lifted an eyebrow at the extra protections. "You think you've got enough mojo working, there?" Dean just scowled at his brother and made a show of sprinkling more holy water on the circle. Sam chuckled.
"Okay," said Dean finally, stepping carefully into the circle, "Come on in. We'll stay here while you do the binding spell, then I'll purify the house." He looked at Sam. "Do not, under any circumstances, leave this circle."
Sam shook his head in confusion. "What? Why? If the binding spell works, I can help you purify the house more quickly. We're only dealing with one spirit."
"Yeah, well that's what we thought last time we did this, too, until that other ghost decided to tap into your line on the Psychic Friends Network," said Dean. "I'm not in the mood to take any chances, Sam, and you're a wild card. So just do me a favor and hang out inside the circle for five extra minutes, okay?"
Sam bit back the automatic urge to argue. Being pinned to a wall by a hostile spirit wasn't really an experience he was keen to repeat. Giving Dean a short nod, Sam entered the circle.
The brothers settled themselves on the floor and readied their supplies: flashlights, the bags of purification herbs, a compass for locating the cardinal directions, John's journal with the binding spell, the video camera and Dean's trusty EMP meter. Dean had left the shotgun, loaded with rock salt, inside the bag for now. He didn't want to set off any premature Oprah discussions with his brother.
They sat in silence for the half hour it took for the sun to set, watching the shadows lengthen on the floor, then switching on their flashlights when it got too dark to see inside. As the twilight outside gave way to full darkness, Sam closed his eyes and concentrated, wondering exactly what psychics thought about when they tried to detect spirits in a house. After a few moments during which he didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, Sam opened his eyes again to find his brother looking at him oddly.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
Sam felt embarrassed. "Nothing," he said defensively. "Just, you know, preparing."
Dean's patented shit-eating grin appeared on his features. "You were trying to use the Force, weren't you, Luke?"
Sam punched Dean's arm. "Shut up."
"Detect the spirits you will, young Skywalker!" Dean's Yoda impersonation was horrible, but he was smiling at Sam--a genuine smile--so Sam decided to let the ribbing slide, and instead gave Dean a half-hearted shove.
"You suck."
Dean's no doubt witty reply was cut off when his EMP meter started flashing. He checked it and then grabbed his flashlight, shining it around the room. Sam did the same with his flashlight.
"See anything yet, Sammy?" Sam started to shake his head "no," when his light glinted off of something on one of the walls.
"Dean, look." His brother's light swung to the section of wall Sam's was illuminating. A dark liquid was oozing down the wall to the left of the staircase.
"Oh, man. Is that what I think it is?" A sweet, metallic odor filled the air and Dean's nose wrinkled. "Oh, so very gross."
A faint dripping sound could be heard, and Sam turned, examining the wall to the right of the staircase. More blood. It was coming faster now, and starting to run down every wall in the foyer. "Get ready to meet Abigail," said Sam, picking up the video camera and scanning the room.
"Got anything?" Dean's voice was tense, his flashlight fixed on the staircase. From somewhere above them, a scraping sound could be heard. Sam turned the camera to focus on the staircase.
"No, not--Dean! Look!" Sam pulled his eyes from the viewfinder and looked at the top of the staircase, in time to see a river of blood begin pouring out of the top step and come cascading down toward the brothers.
"Get the supplies off the floor!" yelled Dean, sweeping the compass and herbs into the duffle bag and swinging it onto his shoulder. Sam dropped the video camera into a jacket pocket and retrieved John's journal.
"Do you think the circle's gonna hold?" Sam asked tightly. The sound of a shotgun being cocked accompanied his brother's reply.
"Doesn't matter. Start reading as soon as you see her come into view. I'll handle the rest."
Things happened very quickly after that. The blood that was running downstairs reached the circle at the same time that Sam saw a flicker of movement at the top of the stairs. He glanced briefly down at his feet and saw that the circle was holding, for now--the blood that came into contact with the barrier was running around it, like a river around a rock, and a faint hissing noise could be heard as protective magic came into contact with something much darker.
Sam looked back up at the figure at the top of the stairs. He could make out a vaguely feminine shape, but no facial features. The bloodstained machete in what seemed to be the apparition's left hand, however, was extremely visible, and looked very sharp. Sam began the binding ritual as Dean brought his shotgun to bear on Abigail.
As Abigail realized what was happening, the temperature in the foyer began to drop, and Sam could feel a force like a whirlwind buffeting the perimeter of the circle, pushing on it, testing for weaknesses. Sam kept reading. He was three-quarters finished when the circle's protection gave way and he found himself face to face with a very pissed off spirit.
"Keep reading, Sam!" Dean's voice snapped Sam back to the task at hand. The wind that had been testing the circle was hitting him full force, sending a fine spray of blood through the air, and it took all of his concentration to remain upright and speaking. The room was freezing; Sam could see his breath with every word. Abigail was now directly in front of him and out of the corner of his eye Sam could see her left hand coming up, preparing for the killing blow. Sam faltered, taking an involuntary step back.
"Keep! Reading!" Dean's voice again, it sounded far away and breathless. There was a loud thud, something that sounded like his brother shouting, and a shotgun blast, followed by a splintering, crashing noise. The entire house seemed to vibrate, and then Sam reached the end of the incantation.
"Amen!" he cried, and everything suddenly went still. Sam put a trembling hand to his forehead, wiping at the moisture there.
"Oh, man, that was close," he said in a shaky voice, examining the red droplets on his hand. He turned to his brother.
"Dean? You okay?"
Dean wasn't beside him, and Sam panicked, swinging his flashlight wildly from side to side. "Dean? Dean!" Finally the beam illuminated a hole in the floor about 12 feet to the right of where Sam stood. A shotgun lay on the near side of the hole. Dean was face down on the floor on the far side of the hole.
Sam hurried carefully over to his brother--he didn't want to risk bringing the whole floor down--and gingerly felt for a pulse. Dean was covered with blood, but Sam couldn't tell if it was from Abigail or if it was Dean's own. He sighed in relief when he felt the heartbeat. Then he gently turned Dean over onto his back. Dean groaned at the movement and cracked open one eye, immediately lifting a hand to shield his vision from the beam of Sammy's flashlight.
"Did we get the bitch?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Dean reached out and took Sam's flashlight from him, shining it on his brother's face. Sam rolled his eyes but held still, knowing that Dean was checking him for injuries. There was a long pause.
"Dude," Dean said finally. "You look like Carrie."