Author's Beginning Note Thingy: First thing's first. The poem you'll read in this chapter is not mine, and technically I don't even have the author's permission to use it, but I'd like to credit a girl named Laura with it. As of now I have no way of contacting her to ask for permission, but so long as you know it's not mine... I only wish my skills were half of hers. This chapter took a liiiiittle bit longer to finish than the others. I had to rework my outline with the plot, and now I finally think I'm back on track, and know what I'm doing. It's been hectic for me, I'm preparing for a long vacation. I'll be gone for two whole weeks, and I was trying to get this chapter out to tell all of you... anyone who reads, please don't go away and stop checking up on this fic if I don't update for a while, I will be back at the end, refreshed, and ready to continue! This said, enjoy!
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"Where to now, Sammy?" Dean asked, refreshed, and climbing back into the car the next morning.
Sam sighed, and got in the passenger's side of the car. "Moesko Island." he muttered.
"Say what?"
"It's this little spit of land off the coast near Seattle... we're practically there already." he explained.
"Allright." Dean started the engine, and headed out. Back on the road, he turned toward his brother. "You sleep allright?" he asked curiously, "You still looked tired."
"Yeah. No nightmares this time, but I got to bed late after doing research." he said, glancing out the window.
"Allright. I'm gonna humor you..." Dean smirked, turning back toward the road, "What'd you find out? And why're we headed into the middle of nowhere."
"The island is where that lady Anna Morgan lived. Remember, the woman I told you about yesterday?" Dean nodded, "I'm thinking we can visit her old house. It's supposedly abandoned, they tried to sell it, but nobody was ever interested."
"Is there a ferry?" Dean asked, "How're we going to get there?"
"Yeah, there's a ferry. But it only runs once a day, we're going to have to spend the night..."
"We're running out of time, you know..." The elder muttered darkly, "It's Friday. You watched that thing, what, Sunday night?"
"Technically it was Monday morning..." Sam breathed.
"Yeah, whatever... all I'm saying is this had better have something decent we can find out from going there, or else you're screwed, man."
-
A dim, washed out sun hung in the hazy sky as gale winds pushed blindingly white clouds around. Dean, restless, was wandering around the little boat, while Sam hung back in the car, typing along on his laptop, trying to find out more about Rachael...
As the boat drew to a slow stop, Dean climbed back into the driver's seat. "We're here." he smiled, and glanced over at the laptop, "Hel-lo, what's that, Sammy? She wasn't on the tape, was she?" he gave his brother a knowing grin.
Sam sent him a look, "No, she wasn't... but I think she might be some help to us..."
Dean raised an eyebrow.
"Her name is Rachael Keller, she's been involved with this tape curse for over a year now..." he explained, "She might know some valuable information about it. We should try and get into contact with her after we're done here." he said with a nod.
"Whatever you say."
-
Car doors slammed outside the gate barring the driveway up to the Morgan Ranch. Dean got out and looked up the dirt road toward the building.
"Well, it looks like somebody doesn't want us to get in..." he murmured, glancing at Sam as the man climbed up and swung a leg over the fence, hopping to the other side, and heading toward it. "Wait up."
The two proceeded toward the house, Dean hurrying a little to catch up with his determined brother, "So what are we hoping to find here?" he asked.
"I don't know... anything, there's got to be something here that'll point us in the right direction."
"You should've mentioned that blonde chick earlier, I'd choose her over a creepy mansion any day." Dean muttered, "Besides, we're stranded here for another day, you said. And this thing's got a time limit at your expense."
Sam shook his head, "We'll get to her tomorrow." he whispered, walking to the front door. It swung open with a gentle touch, and the two went inside.
"Well..." Dean said after a few minutes of aimless wandering around, "Did you expect them to sell a place like this furnished? They probably cleared everything out of here. There's nothing left for us to find."
Sam sighed frustratedly, running a hand through his hair, "Allright, ahm..." he shook his head, "You... check out the basement, I'll go look in the barn." he shrugged, "Okay?"
"Gotcha."
-
Descending the stairs, Dean gave a short sigh. This detour was getting them nowhere fast... and potentially wasting another day of Sam's apparently short remaining lifespan. He looked around, finding nothing blaringly obvious that struck him. A bunch of boxes, a lot of junk, a creepy collection of antlers in a pile at one corner and hanging off the ceiling above it...
He whistled, and went the other way. Even he was getting an eerie tingling on the back of his neck just being here, and usually Sam was the one known for that. Nothing... nothing... he passed dusty boxes, some labeled as Christmas decorations and whatnot, Whole lotta nothing... this was getting tiresome. He headed back for the stairs to tell Sam they'd better get out of here, when he stopped.
A single beam of white sunlight filtering through a dirt-encrusted window glinted off of something. He turned around.
Half-shoved in a box was a silver-framed oval mirror. He raised an eyebrow, the image striking something in his memory.
Woman brushing her hair in a mirror? he wondered, picking it up and raising it to look at his own reflection. He smiled and winked at himself, then shook his head, and tucked it under an arm, going back up.
-
The ground was still dirty and covered in bits of hay as Sam walked through the doors of the barn, and looked around. Empty horse stalls lined the walls of the hallway leading up to a larger, open area.
Coming out into this, he looked up, a familiar image striking something in his mind. A red ladder leaning on a wall. It was in the tape... he thought, slowly approaching it, and looking up. The ladder led to a house-shaped alcove, high-up in the far wall. With a creased eyebrow, he reached forward, grabbing ahold of the worn rungs, and pulling himself up.
Immediately visible on the far wall, through torn horse-wallpaper, Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the burning tree... the same red flame engulfing the dark branches, charcoal black as if they had been literally burned into the wood of the barn.
He swallowed, and looked around. The room was barren, but showed hints of its original use... an eerily familiar chair in the right corner, beside a rocking horse. A small bed frame on the left side, about the right size for a little girl... a few shreds of pink fabric stuck to the sharp metal edges.
"Hey Sam!"
He turned around and looked down. Dean was coming in the doors of the barn, looking around without noticing him.
"Up here." he called.
Dean looked up, at first a little confused, then grinning slightly, "Look what I've got." he said, holding out the mirror,
"It's heavy..." he added.
Sam looked down at it grimly, recognition of the object coming quick, "Put it away..." he said softly, turning.
His brother shrugged, and set it down at his feet, hurrying forward and climbing the ladder up to the top, "What've we got up here?" he asked, looking around.
"Samara's room." Sam said, looking at the bed.
"She slept up here?" Dean asked, confused, "In the barn, with the horses? God, it must've gotten cold in winter."
Sam sighed quietly, unable to stop a smirk as he glanced at his brother. "It makes sense, doesn't it? There weren't any other bedrooms in the house, besides the master bedroom... and why else would there be..." he motioned to the rocking horse, and the tree.
"Creepy little girl..." Dean stepped forward to more closely examine the image, halfway there, a floorboard creaked, cracked, and gave way. With a gasp, the man fell to his knees on the floor and looked down.
"Dean!" Sam spun, looking worried. His worry faded slightly seeing that he hadn't fallen to the floor below, or something more dramatic like that. "You allright?" he asked, walking over, and offering a hand up.
"Yeah, yeah, fine..." he grumbled, "Worst possible is that I twisted my ankle..." he winced slightly after taking the hand, and pulling his leg out of the small hole, "Or a few splinters..." he looked at some new tears on his jeans. Didn't even break through to the lower level." he reported, stumbling away.
Sam knelt down, examining the floorboard a little skeptically. It was loose... and not from Dean's breaking it. With a frown, he lifted it away.
"What're you doing?" his brother asked, watching, confused.
"There's something in here..." he murmured, sitting down and reaching in to pull it out.
A pink-cloth covered little book with small, tasteful lace frills lining it was in his hand.
Dean laughed. "What the hell is that?" he asked, amused.
Sam took in the thing curiously, turning it over in his hands before opening it. "Her diary..."
"You sure you should be looking in that thing." Dean stumbled over, favoring his leg just slightly, "Creepy girl's diary, she might make this whole curse thing personal if you read all about her deep dark secrets." he added with a small laugh.
The warning was disregarded as he flipped it open, revealing a few pen-sketches of familiar images, rings, trees, flies, horses...
'Dear Diary, Daddy's moved my things up here in the barn after Mommy got sick. It's cold, and I'm all alone... with the horses. I don't like the horses, they're loud, and they don't like me. I hope Mommy gets better. I can't help that I made her sick. She wouldn't let Daddy keep me up here if she was home again. Love Samara.'
'Dear Diary, I went to see a doctor today. I don't like him. He thinks I did the things I did to Mommy on purpose. But I didn't! And he doesn't believe me when I tell him about the things I can do. I wish I could show him... Love Samara.'
"Man, she's smart for a twelve-year-old." Dean remarked, now seated beside his brother, and reading over his shoulder.
"We don't know how old she is." Sam muttered.
"Sam, she still uses 'Mommy' and 'Daddy', how old can she be?"
"We can't gauge it on that. She's a pretty messed up kid."
"I'll say."
He turned the page.
'I wrote this:
Come forth from the tomb,
but the door was sealed.
With these bandaged hands,
never to be healed.
Clawing at the walls,
I can't even feel
my fingers breaking
against stone strong steel.
The air's so thin.
Not a hint of light.
My head starts to spin.
Breathing is such a fight.
Sinking to the floor,
my last dwindling thought
"Funny to be resurrected
When the door was locked"
I think that is what will happen to me. I've seen it, like I see the other things. And whenever I see something, it happens. They'll try to hurt me, but they can't. I'll live, but I'll be stuck... I have to stop it, but I don't think I can.
Here we go, the world is spinning,
when it stops, it's just beginning.
Sun comes out, and we all laugh.
Sun goes down, and we all die.
Love Samara'
"..." the two of them just stared silently at the page.
"Come on, man... definitely not a twelve-year-old." Dean whispered.
"We have to know more about her." Sam swallowed. "That last verse was in the tape... she was singing it." he looked up.
"It's getting dark."Dean said, "We've gotta go get a place to stay, and there's no way in hell we're camping out anywhere near here."
"I want to go look in the basement." Sam stood, pocketing the small book, and moved toward the ladder.
"What? Sam, I already looked in there."he said, frowning, and following.
"I want to look again." he was already halfway down, and glanced over his shoulder after a few more steps, sighing, and impatiently jumping to the bottom.
"Sam!" Dean quickly followed, as the man, once more outside, determinedly made for the house again.
-
In the basement, Sam rooted around with more fervor and interest than Dean had before, disregarding the antlers, and opening, even sometimes upturning boxes. He stopped in front of a small shelf with an old TV sitting on it. The TV was attached to a VCR, and a tape stuck halfway out of this. Pausing before it, he slowly knelt down and looked it over carefully.
"Oh, god no, Sammy, no more tapes..." Dean grumbled, hurrying over.
Sam turned, and looked at him sternly, holding out an arm to signal him to stay back. "If this is what I think it is, I want you out of here before you see any of it. Allright?"
"Sammy..."
Sam turned around, and pushed the tape in, clicking the TV on.
A white room appeared on the screen, with a little girl sitting on a bed, staring down at the floor, her dark hair falling all in front of her face as her legs swung off the edge of the bed, not touching the floor.
Sam heaved a sigh of relief, then beckoned Dean over to stay. The man obeyed, taking a seat next to his brother, and watching. Obviously, this wasn't the tape.
On the wall behind the girl was a clock... the image was sped up, because the clock's hands were spinning, hours passing without the girl looking as if she had so much as breathed. She stood up for a moment, to look at another wall, then sat back down, time still silently flying by.
Soon, she'd moved once more, shifting from foot to foot in front of the exit to the small, boxlike room, staring up at the clock as the hours passed. Breathing heavily, she stood at the foot of the bed, looking sadly away. Quickly, because the film was still running fast, the explored around her small room, before stopping near the center, staring up directly at the camera with an accusing glare.
The image changed, a hand was holding up a strange paper, and it's owner said in a bored tone: "Session 0015, Samara Morgan..." a few images of the girl being hooked up to various devices. Then the edge of a table, a man sitting off to the left, a glass of water... in the center of the room sat the little girl, silent in a simple chair, staring off to the right, her hair hiding her face as usual.
"So what is it that's keeping you awake? You must sleep sometime..." came that same voice. "Do you dream about something?"
A pause, "Samara?"
"Let's talk about the pictures." he reached over to a pile of papers in front of him, and began to shuffle through some images that looked like X-rays. He held up a sheet, a skeletal rocking horse with a foreground of water, and a ring. "How did you make them?"
"Samara?" He looked at another picture, a little lizard surrounded by jax. "How did you make these pictures?"
After a short silence, the little girl's voice, "I don't... make them I... see them. And then... they just... are."
"Samara, I need you to start telling me the truth." came the increasingly impatient voice of the doctor. "Okay?"
"Can I see my mommy?"
He sighed. "No, Samara. Not until we find out what's wrong with you."
"I love my mommy."
"Yes you do. But you don't want to hurt her anymore, now do you? You don't want to hurt anyone."
The girl looked up a little, "But I do, and I'm sorry... It won't stop."
"Well that's why you're here." said the doctor, a little more gently, "So that I can help you to make it stop." There was silence as he took a drink of water.
"He's going to leave me here." said the girl darkly.
"Who?"
"...daddy."
The doctor tried to reason, "They just want to help you."
"Not daddy." the girl almost hissed, her tone harboring some resentment as she spoke.
"Your daddy loves you." the doctor tried.
"Daddy loves the horses. He wants me to go away."
"No he doesn't."
"But he doesn't know..." she almost seemed to smile, her voice taunting.
"He doesn't know what?" A close shot of the girl as she stared down at her hands folded in her lap. "Samara?" She looked up. The screen was overtaken by static.
