Chapter 1

Sam's jaw dropped a little as the abandoned penitentiary came into view. He and Dean had scoured many deserted prisons and asylums in their time, definitely part of the ghost hunting gig. But the sheer scope, the massive size of the buildings always left him in a state of awe, not to mention just a little apprehensive. There was a lot of ground to cover, a lot of places to search, and also a lot of places to get ambushed.

Springville Penitentiary, located in the sprawling hills of western New York, had a different history than most places he and his brother frequented. For one, it had a stellar reputation when it was in operation. The staff was treated well, thus they in turn took great care of the inmates. Respect ran both ways, and anyone who did anything to the detriment of another, no matter which side of the line they were on, was shipped out to work, or serve time, in the state prison. Budget woes started its downfall, and as the old management retired and made way for the new, things began to slip. Suddenly, almost without warning, the prison shut its doors for good nearly 23 years ago.

But no tales came in its wake. Its walls had no blood splashed upon them. No necks had been violently broken. No deaths, planned or accidental, meant no ghost tales. It was just a sad, broken down piece of history left to rot in the humid summers and brutal winters of New York.

The fact that four people had mysteriously vanished over the past year while exploring the prison made things all the more curious. Sam and Dean, well, mostly Sam, had scoured everything he could get his hands on, trying to find a cause, but had found nothing. Nadda. Zilch. Too bad, so sad.

But saving people, hunting things. That was what they did. So despite the fact that they didn't know what needed hunting, the could at least try to keep anyone else from disappearing, and maybe even find the ones that did.

Dean pulled the Impala past the open gate and parked by the main entrance. As the brothers got out of the car, they both looked back at the yawning gate. Dean said what they were both thinking "Four people missing. Gate's wide open. No guard. No rent-a-cop. No caretaker."

Sam shrugged. "Sure. Makes sense."

As they got their duffle bags out of the trunk, this time Sam voiced their shared thoughts.

"I hate not knowing what we're up against."

Walking towards the main doors, Dean glanced sideways at Sam. "Man, I'm not even completely convinced this is our kind of thing. Not everyone who disappears is because of something supernatural."

"True." Sam conceded. "But the place was searched top to bottom each time. No evidence of any foul play. Nothing at all. The pictures in the casefiles show the place looking pristine. The walls don't even have any graffiti. That alone makes it weird."

Dean reached out to push open the door. "Only one way to find out."

The door apparently had other ideas. It stood firm, not giving an inch despite Dean's repeated shoves. Dean gave up on it and moved to its neighbor, producing the same frustrating results. Sam couldn't help but smirk as Dean gave one final attempt before angrily kicking his unrelenting foe.

Sam managed to keep the laugh out of his voice as he pointed out a single door halfway down the right side of the building. Dean glared at him, readjusted his duffle, and gestured for Sam to go ahead. As they reached the door, Sam couldn't help himself.

"Want me to tackle this one?" he asked innocently.

Dean threw up a sarcastic smile that quickly went into a death stare. "By all means"

Sam grabbed the metal handle, jumping back in disgust as his hand came in contact with a clear slime that was spread all over the lever. He looked at his hand, then at the handle, then back again at his hand, his face twisted in disgust.

"Aw, come on!"

Dean stepped up, a gleeful smile lighting up his face. "What's the matter, Sammy? Looks like someone left you a little present."

Dean's smile slowly faded as he looked at his brother's face. Sam looked puzzled, staring at his hand and shaking it a bit as he reached for his handkerchief.

Dean nodded at him. "Hey."

Sam looked over at Dean, seeming to come out of a trance. He shifted his gaze back to his hand, still looking confused. "My hand's tingling."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. Sam's little brother spidey sense activated, and he quickly began wiping the goo off his hand. He smiled at Dean. "Probably just some punk kids playing a prank. It's nothing."

Dean's eyes stayed on his brother's face, assessing. Sam rolled his eyes and used the soiled cloth to open the door. Gesturing with his other hand, Sam said, "You going in or not?"

Sam didn't think he fully diffused the worry, but Dean seemed to relent as he walked through the door. Had he waited a moment more he would've seen the shocked grimace that flashed across

Sam's face as a sharp pain stabbed him in the left side of his chest. Blowing out a breath, Sam shrugged away the pain as he followed his brother into the yawning darkness.