Sam stood in the foyer, watching Dean put the last round of rock salt into his shotgun. "So, what do you think? Poltergeist?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "It sure sounds like it. Poltergeists usually start with pranks, then work their way up to attacking people. I just don't get why we didn't find it the last time."

The two hunters walked towards the staircase. Sam held the emf detector at arms length. "Or it could be Monica's spirit. Maybe you and Dad didn't vanquish her after all."

Dean snatched the device away from Sam. "I'll pretend you didn't say that."

"You want the staircase, or the master bedroom?" Sam asked.

"There's only been activity in two areas. There's no need to split up. You got the camcorder running?"

Sam gave him a short, "Yup." as they began to move up the steps. "So this one's name is Ashley?" Sam asked dryly.

Dean raised his eyes to glare at his smirking brother. "Dude, she's 16!" Turning back to the emf, he couldn't help but smile a little. "Although she did have a crush on me. What can I say? Woman of all ages find me irrestible."

Sam rolled his eyes toward the ornate ceiling, as if looking for salvation from his brother's enormous ego. After listening to Dean babble on for a few moments, Sam slowly made his way up the staircase. Methodically he aimed the camcorder all around, hoping for some response. When he pointed toward the side hallway, a flash of light shot across the screen.

"What the…" Sam muttered as he rewound the tape. Sam played back the last few minutes, but the mysterious glow was not there. Must have been a glitch, he thought. Either that or he was beginning to see things. Sam considered calling down to Dean, then changed his mind. Dean could always find something to razz him about. No need to give him further ammunition.

After rechecking the settings on the recorder, Sam headed down the corridor. At the end of the hallway Sam found himself in a large bedroom. Above the poster bed was a large oil painting of a beautiful dark haired woman with clear blue eyes; the same woman from the portrait by the stairs. A silver pendant rested atop her red gown. Sam was so entranced by the woman's beauty that he didn't notice the bedroom door close quietly behind him.

Setting down his shotgun, Sam took out his mini tape recorder. "Hello, Monica. Are you the one behind all this?" he murmured. As he walked the perimeter of the room, he noticed the temperature begin to dip ever so slightly.

"That's it. Let's see who we've got." he muttered. Keeping his eyes on the room around him, Sam bent down and groped for his gun. Sam's breath began to fog as he continued to feel for the gun. Glancing down, his brow furrowed in confusion. The gun was nowhere to be found. A beeping from the camcorder drew his attention. Although recharged less than a week ago, the batteries were almost depleted. Another flash across the screen sent him to his feet. He definitely saw something that time. Weaponless, Sam made his way to the door, only to find it locked. As he tugged on the doorknob, the camcorder was torn from his hand, clattering across the hardwood floor.

"Oh crap."

…………….

"I'm telling you, Sammy. This woman thing, it's a curse." Chuckling, Dean turned around to Sam…was not there. "Sam? Sam?"

His voice echoed in the vast empty room, but he received no answer. Taking the stairs two at a time, he continued calling for Sam. He tried entering the first door he came to, but the door was locked. As he moved further down the hall, every door denied him access. Leaning against the wall, he took out his cell phone.

"Dean!" Sam's frantic voice could barely be heard.

"Sam? Where are you?" he yelled into the phone.

"Dean, there's ….here. Door's locked….bedroom…" Sam's voice cut in and out as Dean pressed the phone hard against his ear, straining to catch every word.

"Sam? Sam!" Yelling in frustration, Dean threw the phone in his pocket and ran down the hallway. He stopped halfway and yelled his brother's name as loud as he could, then listened. From the end of the hall he heard a loud bang, as if something heavy had hit the door. After battling with the doorknob, he banged his fist against the door in frustration. The antique door was thick; there was no way he could kick it in. Taking out his pistol, he took careful aim, and pulled the trigger.

"Dean!" Sam checked the screen on his cell phone, then threw it away. He growled in frustration, watching as his breath formed a white cloud. Moving towards where he had left the shotgun, he continued to search for it. His heart leaped as he saw the barrel poking out from below the bed. He almost had a hand on it when he was pushed violently onto his back. Groaning, he rubbed where his head had smacked against the hardwood floor.

Getting to his knees, he tried again for the gun. The bedside lamp flew off of the nightstand and slammed into his shoulder. Sam found himself once again flat on his back as he tried to catch his breath. Ok, now he was getting pissed. Raising his head slightly, he locked his gaze on the gun.

One, two…. "Three!" he yelled as he launched himself at the bed. Shouting victoriously, he leaned against the wall, pointing the gun around the room. But his relief turned to panic as the gun was ripped from his hands. He watched in horror as it lifted off the ground, suspended in midair.

"NO!" he shouted as the trigger began to move. The gunshot echoed in the vast room as Sam fell to the floor.