Holy moly! Sorry for the delay, y'all, but dangit, I've been trying to post this ever since Saturday!
Anyway, another light chapter that doesn't really advance the plot - more of a side story, really. But the good news is that in the two days I've tried to upload this, I've decided to go with what I've already got. That means the next several chapters (as long as I don't have any more computer problems) should come out bam-bam-bam. Before now I'd been stalling, afraid that I would come up with something better...but the heck with it, I want to post most of this before the next episode on Thursday - you know,before this story grows even more AU.
Just as they crossed the border into New Mexico, Sam saw a sign advertising a nearby historic train depot. He convinced John to stop at the small museum, if for no other reason than to stretch their legs. Sam, however, could admit only to himself that he actually wanted to stop there. If they were going to be constantly roadtripping, he wanted to do the whole shebang, the entire tourist-trap routine, see things he had never seen before and most likely would never see again.
John grumbled good-naturedly about stopping, but he seemed to need a break just as much as Sam did. The museum was a small, converted train station, filled mostly with black and white photos and model train sets, and miraculously air-conditioned. It probably took only fifteen minutes to go through, but Sam stretched it to thirty by reading the captions for each photograph and the boards explaining the history of area train services.
A particular photo picturing a fatal train crash caught John's eye, and Sam watched as he wandered over to the ticket lady sitting at desk by the front door. Sam drifted closer, reading the pictures next to them so he could listen as John casually asked if there were any legends of ghost trains or passengers in the area.
The lady, an overweight woman with graying red hair, was appreciative of John's interest and she eagerly related local stories of phantom train whistles and a headless man that wandered the area at night. Sam enjoyed hearing the local lore, but he could tell John lost interest as soon as he found out no one had ever been injured by these apparitions.
But Sam was still curious. Now that he knew they could have basis in fact, he started looking at ghost stories and legends in a whole new light. He sauntered up to the ticket desk just as the lady was finishing her stories.
"Hm, interesting," John was saying, but the short nod that went with it was too polite for him to be sincere.
The lady, whose nametag read Elaine McDougal, seemed to pick up on his waning attention. "Well that's just some small-town chatter for you," she said with a gracious smile, absently shuffling some papers.
"Ms. McDougal," Sam said, slipping in. "You said the name of the ghost was Donald Polley? Is that any relation to the Polley house, back in that picture over there?" He pointed over his shoulder at a row of pictures he had just looked at. There had been a few photos of the rural area before the railroad was put in, and the caption of one of the more ornate homes had read Polley.
Ms. McDougal nodded with new energy. "Oh, yes, actually, he was the oldest son."
"That was a grand place, wasn't it?" Sam remarked.
"They don't make 'em like they used to, that's for sure," she agreed.
"Is it still around?" By now, John had lost all interest and was wondering around the miniature train set.
"Oh, no, they lost their property when the train came through. Donald was all set to inherit it, too." She leaned closer, eager to tell her story. "He'd been engaged at the time, but that fell apart after his parents lost the home. So he took up drinking. And he was still drinking after the railroad was built."
Her voice became a loud whisper. "That's how he died, you see. He got drunk one night, right after midnight, and started wandering about the property that should've been his, like he was wont to do. And Donnie, he started kicking and cursing at the railroad tracks that went straight through his land. The next thing he knows, a train is barreling down upon him, its light blinding him. He trips over his own drunken feet, and before he can get out of the way, the train runs right over him. Decapitated him," she added as she shuddered.
"Ouch," Sam remarked, grimacing.
"They say you can still see his ghost haunting his old property," she went on. "There's also a phantom train, although nobody knows if it's the train that killed him, or the one that crashed. Some say it's the same one that did both."
"Oh, really?" Sam said. "Where can we find them?"
"Well, the tracks don't exist anymore, but Route 151 pretty much runs where it used to be. And the Polley property, that's right off where Avondale crosses 151. Right now it's just a big field in the middle of nowhere, although there is a family plot near the back. Donald was the last one buried there."
Sam nodded with interest. "Hey, maybe we'll check that out tonight," he lied with a friendly grin. He doubted John would allow any more time for sightseeing.
"Oh, I wouldn't advise that," Ms. McDougal replied. "That can be a very dangerous intersection at night."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw John perk up. "Oh, yeah? How's that?" he asked as John came closer.
She shrugged, a baffled look on her face. "There's been a lot of fatal crashes there over the years," she told them. "No one's sure why. They keep putting up all these new signs, even took out all the trees nearby, but that doesn't seem to help. Probably too many kids trying to catch a ghost," she added, shaking her head sadly.
Sam nodded politely, but he saw the thoughtful look on John's face and felt the same way.
"If you're a curiosity seeker, though," she went on, "Donald's skull is on display at Dusky College."
John's eyebrows shot up. "It...is?"
"I know, that's a little morbid for me," Ms. McDougal remarked. "When his body was discovered, they couldn't find his head. So they buried him without it. When they finally came across it two years later, no one thought it was worth the effort to dig him back up. So they gave it to the local college instead."
Sam shared a glance with John. "Right now it's in a display case right outside the library, if you'd like to see it," she told them.
ooOOoo
"Congratulations, Sammy," John said, patting him on his back as they walked out of the museum. "Looks like you found our new case."
"What about the thing in Texas?" Sammy asked.
"Eh, there's no rush," John replied. "I'm told the attacks there happen about as often as Halley's Comet."
"Every 76 years?" Sam asked, puzzled.
John gave him an incredulous look. "No, you geek," he retorted. "I just mean they're spaced out over the years." He snorted as he climbed into the car. "C'mon, diploma boy, let's get something to eat, then check out what the local college has to offer."
They did just that, stopping at a nearby diner for a warm meal. Afterwards, they found another motel room, killing time as they waited for the sun to set. They'd have to do some sneaking around in the dark, John told him, so they decided they would crash there for the night and continue their trip in the morning.
"We're really going to break into the college?" Sam asked, suddenly worried.
"Well if you'd kept your damn mouth shut, we wouldn't have to," John replied. "We could've gone on our merry way, none the wiser." But now that they knew something strange was causing problems, it became by default their duty to solve it.
They pulled into the college parking lot a couple hours after the sun had set. Fortunately the library was held in a well-marked building, and they had no trouble finding it. John parked the car in a far corner at the back of the building and dug out from the trunk a pair of bolt-cutters and a small case which he slipped into his pocket.
"Just act like you belong," he advised Sam as they strolled towards the library. The small campus was deserted, and the nearest car was on the opposite side of the next lot over. Even so, Sam felt his heart pound. He was sure they would get caught, sure that any second a cop would turn the corner.
Once they hit the darker shadow the building cast from the moonlight, they dodged closer and came up to a service entrance. A chain and padlock hung from the handle.
"All right," John whispered as they hunched by the door. "We probably have sixty seconds before the alarm goes off, and another five minutes before the cops arrive – less if there's campus police. I'm pretty sure I can handle 'em, but I'd rather not."
Sam sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. In and out. We can do this."
John looked up at him. "You're not freaking out on me, are you?"
"No. Of course not." John smirked at him and turned back to the door. He took his bolt cutters and snapped the padlock from the door.
"Here goes nothing," he announced, pushing the door open.
Sam followed closely behind John as they rushed inside and turned down the hallway. Fortunately the layout was straightforward and they found the display case almost instantly, a long, low table covered in glass, propped against the wall opposite the front doors.
"Keep a lookout," John commanded, nodding at the entrance. Sam quickly obeyed, sliding along the side wall until he had a good view outside of the road out front. As far as he knew, it was the only way leading to the parking lot, so at least they would have some warning before they were caught.
He glanced back at John anxiously, checking his progress as he tried to pick the lock, using a thin tool he'd pulled from the small case he had carried in. "You almost done?" Sam asked impatiently.
"Hold your horses..." John grumbled in return.
Just then Sam spotted flashing lights off in the distance. "Damn!" he shouted, and John straightened up.
"Hey, Sammy--Catch." Sam spun around, jerking his hands up just in time as John threw something at him. His hands closed around a hard, round surface – the skull.
"Dammit, John!" he exclaimed.
"Let's go!" John replied in mock-exasperation. Then he flashed him a quick grin and was already dashing back towards the exit. Sam cursed under his breath and raced after him, clutching the skull in his hand.
ooOOoo
John somehow managed to maneuver his car away from the police without detection. Sam didn't know how – he was too panicked to pay attention. They had just broken into a locked building and stole something that didn't belong to them.
Right now the skull was sitting in his lap. Sam was a little disturbed that he was holding a severed body part, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel a strange fascination towards it. Once the police were a safe distance behind them, he let himself examine it, picking it up so he could study it underneath the passing street lights.
It hadn't been a clean decapitation. The jaw had been smashed, and someone had inserted a wire to hold several of the broken pieces together, even though they no longer fit.
"Hey, John," Sam said. "Why am I holding someone's head?" He knew the answer of course, but he couldn't help but think that a normal person wouldn't have a skull balanced on his knees.
"Because I'm driving," John replied simply as he made a right turn onto Avondale. With a soft snort, Sam turned back to the skull, turning it over in his hands.
After a few minutes John pulled over, parking his car along the side of the road.
"We're not at 151 yet," Sam protested as John started to climb out. They had only just crossed Pleasant Valley, nearly a half-mile from away.
"Did you hear the lady?" John asked, turning back to look at him. "Man, no way I'm risking my car."
Sam quickly met him at the back of the car, glancing around at the moonlit surroundings as John searched through the trunk. Soon he pulled out a shovel and the shotgun before slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He gave Sam the shovel to carry, and the two of them started down the road towards the rumored haunted intersection.
"Okay, so what are we doing, exactly?" Sam asked as they walked alongside the empty street. "I mean, I have the basic idea, I think. But what are we dealing with? A ghost? A train?"
John gave him a long, almost surprised look. "Um, right, I guess we should cover that first," he agreed awkwardly. "And yeah, I don't know." Sam looked at him, startled. He'd just assumed John knew what he was doing. "But it sounds like a curse to me," John continued, "since no one seems to have connected ghost sightings with the crashes."
"Unless they all died."
"Well, there is that," John conceded lightly. "In any case, I'm guessing ol' Donnie wants his head back."
"So we're giving it to him? To break the curse?"
"Yep, that's the plan."
As they walked closer to the intersection of Avondale and 151, Sam realized Ms. McDougal hadn't been exaggerating about the new street signs. The first one they passed warned them of an intersection ahead. Several yards later came a light with a sign attached which read "Prepare to stop when flashing." And then at the intersection were stop signs at each corner and a traffic light strung across the two streets. The land itself was flat and mostly treeless, and the roads were straight.
"Unless the town is full of dumbasses who can't drive, there's definitely something supernatural going on here," John remarked.
Sam agreed. "But how will we know for sure?"he asked. "Obviously not everyone experiences something every time they come out here."
"Trust me, it's us - we'll see something," John remarked. "Are your spidey senses tingling?"
Sam tried to sense the air, tried to pick up something. "I don't know. Maybe," he replied with a shrug. He couldn't tell if he was really sensing something or just thinking about it too hard.
"Well, let's find that graveyard, get this over with," John said as he stepped onto highway 151, ready to cross the two-lane road. A field stretched on the other side, dissected by Avondale. With the dim moonlight, they'd have to get closer before they could see which side held the Polley cemetery.
Sam followed behind John, the skull in one hand and the shovel in another. But he stopped suddenly at the yellow line dividing the lanes.
The ground was rumbling underneath his feet.
"Sam?" John asked from the other side of the road.
Sam looked down the highway, his muscles tensing. There was a light some distance away, but it was growing bigger—
Speeding towards him, he realized.
"The train!" he shouted at John.
John whipped his head around and gasped. Sam barely heard him, too mesmerized by the light bearing down on him. Unable to move, he stared at the circle of light as it headed straight towards him. Distantly he heard a train whistle echoing through the air.
"Sam! Move!" John shouted.
But Sam wasn't paying attention. He was standing on a highway, and a train was coming. That should have been impossible.
Just then something impacted against his middle, and for a split second Sam thought he'd been hit by the train. But then as he hit the ground beside the road, he realized John had his arms wrapped around him, and the two of them skidded a few feet across the dirt. A blast of air shot by them and then everything was silent again.
"The hell, Sam!" John cursed as he pulled himself away.
Sam struggled to sit, pushing himself up by his elbows.
"It was just a ghost, wasn't it?" he panted. "It would've gone right through me--right?" He didn't think he actually believed that, but for the sake of his pounding heart, he tried to convince himself anyway.
"You really want to test that out?" John demanded, getting to his knees. "Why don't we go back to Oregon, see if Ms. Lighthouse Keeper can push you off the side, too." He stood up, cursing under his breath as he brushed the dirt from his jeans.
Sam's face burned furiously in the dark, and he ignored the other man's words as he scrambled a few yards away from the road. When John had slammed him against the ground, the skull popped out of his arms, and he went to scoop it back up from where it had rolled. Then backtracking to where he'd just been, he picked up the shovel which in the commotion he had dropped beside the road as he fell.
Once he had a hold of that, the two of them started across the street again. This time, John walked resolutely behind him, to Sam's irritation. He didn't need him to urge him forward like some kid. When they reached the other side, John quickly picked up his shotgun from where he had dropped it before tackling Sam. Sam used that moment to fall back beside him.
The truth was, John eventually admitted as they walked side-by-side across the field, most ghosts are insubstantial and in fact do go through objects and people. But certain ones, if they're able to draw enough energy, can have a force to them. For example, anger fueled the spirit of the lighthouse keeper's wife. It really depended on what kind of ghost it was – whether it was merely an imprint or memory, or an intelligent one.
"So how could a train be intelligent?"
"If someone was driving it, it could be considered intelligent," John answered curtly. "Maybe Donnie can control it. Maybe it was only an omen. Who knows?" He still seemed angry, so Sam decided to stop asking questions.
They could see the faint outlines of small tombstones in the distance, so they changed directions, cutting across the field to where they stood. Sam clutched the skull tighter, eager to get it over with.
He stopped suddenly again. "Now what?" John asked, irritable but alert.
"Something's here..." He looked around the field. "I think."
John followed his movements. His eyes suddenly widened just as he looked over Sam's shoulder. "Look out!" he shouted.
Sam twisted around to see, but the next thing he knew, a cold feeling shot through him, ripping through his back and entering his heart.
Then John was shoving him, pushing him out of the way, and the cold feeling shrank back and disappeared. As he stumbled to the side, he saw it. A body in man's clothing. A bloody mess where the neck should have met the head.
What the hell? Sam thought. Wasn't the train enough?
A few feet from him, John raised his shotgun and aimed. But just as he shot, the apparition vanished. Sam at first thought he'd gotten him, but almost instantly Donald Polley reappeared – only this time he was on the other side of Sam. Closer to him.
"Dammit!" John shouted, swinging his shotgun around. "Move, Sam!"
Sam ducked to the side just as another shotgun blast exploded through the air. But when Sam moved, the ghost moved with him, only to disappear right as John fired.
And then it came back, five feet in front of Sam.
Sam gasped in horror and dodged to his right, breaking into a run. Again the ghost materialized mere feet before him.
"Sam, get over here!" John commanded. Sam glanced over at him and saw him was struggling to reload. "Sam!" he barked again, jerking his head.
But instead of getting behind John like he indicated, Sam veered away. The ghost followed, flashing in front of him, and Sam twisted right.
"The skull!" he yelled back at John, circling around but keeping his distance. "It wants the skull!" When the ghost flashed before him again, Sam went left. He kept on changing directions every time the apparition tried to cut him off.
"Get over here!" John shouted again. "SAM!" Sam dodged again, almost tripping over his feet but quickly recovering.
"Give me the skull!" John commanded behind him.
But he ignored him, dashing across the field. If he could just stall for a little longer—
Then he heard the telltale cha-cha as John finished loading the gun. Sam swung around towards him, coming at him at an angle. But this time when the headless body jumped in front of him, Sam stopped and leapt backwards.
"You want this?" Sam taunted, waving the skull in the air. "Then take it, you bastard!" He launched the skull at him as hard as he could. It sailed straight through the apparition and landed on the ground several feet on the other side.
"John, shoot it!" Sam yelled frantically as the ghost drew towards its head. "Now, now, now!"
"Dude, I know!" John snapped loudly. His shout was punctuated with a blast from the shotgun.
This time the shot struck true, and the ghostly body disappeared in almost an explosion. Sam knew it could only be a few moments before it manifested again so he dashed forward and scooped the skull back into his hands. Then, tucking it under his arm like a football, he started for the cemetery at the far side of the field.
"Sam, give me that!" he heard John shout, running behind him.
"What?" Sam exclaimed, his heart and legs pumping furiously. They didn't have time to exchange possessions; they had to get the damned thing in the ground before Donald reappeared.
"Just give it to me!"
"No!" His longer legs pulled him farther away from John. He bounded over the ground, clutching the skull and trying not to trip over the shovel he was still carrying. Within moments he was skidding to a stop just inside the boundary of the graveyard. John pounded up behind him seconds later.
"Hey, can you give a flashlight?" Sam asked breathlessly, holding his free hand out as he frantically surveyed the small stone markers.
"God dammit, Sam, are you trying to get yourself killed?"
He didn't have time to answer. "Which grave is his?" he demanded, moving forward. He darted among the stones and tried to read their engravings with the dim moonlight. "Nevermind, found it," he said impatiently. Irritably.
"So go," John replied, just as irritated. "Start digging."
Sam had been on the verge of doing just that, but John's words pulled him up. "What? Why me?"
"I have to keep a look out."
"Isn't that my job?" Sam sarcastically pointed out.
John huffed with exasperation. "Why are you wasting time?"
Sam chucked the skull hard at him, and John fumbled to catch it. "Why are you ordering me around?" he retorted.
Even as he said that, though, he had already struck the shovel blade into the ground. He knew he needed to get started and they'd only brought one shovel. But he didn't want John to think he was doing it because he was told.
"Jesus Christ, Sam," John said.
"Why are you complaining?" Sam puffed, throwing a shovelful of dirt aside. "You're not the one who has to dig."
"Yeah, well if you hadn't started running around like a crazed lunatic, maybe you wouldn't be so tired!"
"Jerk," Sam said, shaking his head as he tossed aside another load of dirt.
"You should've just given me the skull," John went on.
Sam dug the shovel back in. "I know, I'm sorry," he apologized, trying to sound sincere. "I didn't realize you could hold onto a skull the size of a volleyball, protect yourself from a murderous ghost, and reload a frickin' shotgun, all at the same time." He threw more dirt away. "My mistake."
"Damn right it is. Don't make it again."
Sam paused just long enough to shoot the other man a dirty look. Then he shook his head and got back to digging. He stopped only once to warn John that the ghost was behind him. John whirled around and with one shotgun blast, bought them some more time.
Finally Sam broke through to the coffin. Using the shovel blade, he smashed a hole through the lid, just as John had done in Oregon. Once it was big enough, he stood back and watched as John dropped the skull onto the remains below. They looked at the pile of bones below.
After over a hundred years, Donald Polley finally had his head back.
"So, is that it?" Sam asked, looking down at his body. "Did we stop the curse?"
John stood silently beside him, staring into the grave. Sam waited for him to answer.
"Ah hell, let's burn it," John finally announced.
Sam looked at him with an amused frown, and the other man just shrugged. "Hey, couldn't hurt."
"Better safe than sorry," Sam quickly agreed.
John dropped his backpack to the ground and rummaged for supplies. Soon he was soaking the coffin in salt and kerosene, and Sam watched as he lit a match and tossed it below. The body erupted into orange light as flames began consuming the coffin.
They waited for the fire to die away. "There. That should do it," John said as the flames eventually flickered away.
The walk back to the car was mostly silent, the return trip lacking phantom locomotives and headless spirits. Even the air felt clearer, cleaner to Sam, and he knew whatever haunted the place was gone. Neither of the two men spoke as they made their way back, dragging their shovel and shotgun. Sam felt almost as if he were still trying to catch his breath - and he was still annoyed that John had tried to order him around.
But nevertheless, they finished their impromptu job without any major problems. The roads would be safer now for the townspeople, and Sam had a suspicion that even though the headless ghost would disappear, they would continue to catch glimpses of a ghostly but benign phantom train. Whatever John had said, Sam thought the train he saw had merely been the memory of a tragic event, doomed to repeat until it burned itself out.
As they strapped themselves into the Impala, Sam turned to John. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"
John looked at him in surprise. Then a small smile spread across his face. "Yeah, we do."
To be continued, hopefully later tonight.
And yes, the next chapter will finally start leading somewhere!