Denouementophobia

- Floor 5, part 2 -

oo0oo

They started up the stairs, though at their slowest pace yet due to both injury and trepidation. They now knew that they were not merely good Samaritans helping some young and foolish people out of a jam. They had been set up, manipulated into coming here. Whether they were simply transients for a convenient sacrifice or they were known for who they are and what they do was irrelevant. It didn't change the fact that they were here.

Sam was the first to break the self-imposed silence.

"So, its been using our fears against us." 'It' because it was easier for Sam to think of the supernatural being and not the (possible) human beings involved in the scheme. "What if we just don't think about what scares us... block that stuff out... or think of something else..."

"I don't think that's the way it works here, Sammy," Dean told him. "I mean, on the first floor I was completely surprised to see, well, myself there. Even after the two of you found the stones of your friend (to Kole) and Jess, I hadn't even thought about my own grave being there."

"Maybe not on purpose," Sam countered. "But maybe underneath... or in the back of your mind – you know, the part you don't use..."

"Ha ha," Dean said. "Seriously though, I don't think we'll suddenly find ourselves pitted against the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man simply because we tried to think of something that didn't scare us."

Sam wanted to keep arguing, not because he thought he was right but because it kept his mind both alert and off of what might be awaiting him. The only reason he didn't continue the debate was because he heard what Dean had let slip. Dean, Mr. afraid of no-one and no-thing, just came the closest Sam had ever heard his big brother come to admitting he was scared. It was the sort of thing that Sam thought deserved a little consideration.

Finally at the top of the stairs, Dean and Sam both pulled out their shot guns and flashlights. Kole, who they still were unable to convince to hold a gun much less use one, pulled out her heavy duty Mag-lite and then reached for the doorknob.

"On three," Dean whispered. Sam and Kole nodded. They each got themselves into position as Dean counted.

When he reach reached three, Kole pulled the door open and Dean and Sam did a quick scan of the room with their flashlights and guns ready. But, whatever they had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this.

The fifth floor was a large, open space – open in that it had no inner walls dividing the area into smaller rooms. There were, however, partitions and shelves and bookcases and cupboards aplenty. And every surface was covered with stuff. The top floor seemed to be part antique/curiosity shop, part flea market.

Dean lowered his gun and put his flashlight away, and Sam followed his lead. Kole turned her flashlight off but kept it in her hand for safe-keeping.

"So much for an easy search for the sacred object," Sam muttered as he looked around. It was true. Even if the three of them ran around and just started smashing things, it would take too long to get to the object in question – and more than likely, they would have company (or an angry haunted house) long before they even got close.

They each walked in different directions, no longer worried about splitting up since there was nowhere for one of them to be secreted away from the others. Dean wandered off to the right where there were several mismatched dressers. Opening the top drawer of the first one he came to, he found a collection of jewelry. Rummaging around the unorganized pile, he found several wedding rings (both male and female), lockets and pocket watches (many with personal inscriptions), and an assortment of all types of accessories of various ages and for various ages.

The next drawer was filled with handbags, wallets, coin purses, pocketbooks, and money clips. The next held belts and suspenders, hats and hair ties. The last drawer contained umbrellas, scarves, and gloves.

Dean went to the next chest of drawers and found sunglasses and reading glasses, hearing aids, retainers, handkerchiefs, and bottles of prescription and over-the-counter pills. Moving along, he found socks and stockings... and clothes. Clothes for men, women, and children alike. He may have found some of it funny – after all, it had been awhile since he'd seen leg warmers – had it not been so disturbing.

At the end of the line of dressers were four large steamer trunks. Opening the first one, Dean found a mound of shoes. They ranged in size, but they were all on the small side. What made Dean's breath catch in his throat was a pair near the top – size eleven sparkling red slip-ons that were made to look like Dorothy's ruby slippers.

Without closing the first lid, he went to the next, then the next, then the next – throwing each lid open. The second held smallish boy shoes, the third had women's shoes, and the last had men's.

He knew what he had found, though he really didn't want to admit or believe it. But, after what he and Sam had discovered on the third floor – the clown not made of plaster, but flesh... All the 'sacrifices' that were brought here, all the men and women and children that didn't leave and instead were turned into part of the grotesque scenery – Dean had found the clothing and other possessions they entered the house with.

oo0oo

Kole had wandered off to the left side of the room. At this side, there were four bookcases and a large curio cabinet. The bookcases were filled – stuffed – with an odd assortment of volumes. There was classic literature with elegant leather binding and there were modern paperbacks. The books were dramas, romances, horrors, and science fiction. There were plays and poetry, non-fiction and even children's books. She also found magazines and comics.

The next bookcase was more interesting. It held yearbooks. They were of varying heights and thicknesses. And, they ranged from the 1950s to 2003. After pulling a few down from the shelf, Kole also found that they were from various cities and states.

The bottom shelves were filled with scrapbooks and photo albums. Some were simple brag books and the small photo inserts found in wallets. Some were the kind with sticky pages. Some were the sort with black and white pictures and photo corners and loopy silver writing on black pages. And some were elaborate books with sticker and stamp decorations on each page.

At the center of the display, with two large bookcases on either side, was the large curio cabinet. The bottom shelf held baskets filled with loose photos. The remaining shelves contained a dozen framed portraits and pictures. The photos were all different sizes and in all different styles of frames. Some were clear and professional, some were grainy and candid pictures taken with a cheap camera.

Kole looked closely at the people in the first frame. Marcy, she said to herself when she found a familiar face in the first picture. It was a nice photo of a carefree family at the beach on vacation. Marcy was sitting in between two other girls, one younger and one older – all complete with big bangs and died platinum blond hair. The three girls looked far too much alike for them not to be sisters. And behind them stood a man (with Marcy's eyes and mouth) and a woman (with Marcy's coloring and body shape).

Kole reached out for the frame and, when she picked it up, she felt another photo taped to the backside. Flipping the frame over, she found another picture. There was no mother in this shot and all of the smiles now seemed forced. The father's eyes were dull and he looked as if he'd gone a few days without shaving. Marcy, who had looked so happy and healthy in the first photo, was now emaciated and her hair thinned to the point of seeing her scalp in several places.

Giving a quick study to each of the frames, Kole found the three caretakers of the haunted house, each of the kids they had met, and even their waitress from the bar. The framed photos each displayed a happy scene, while the pictures taped to the back told the story of illness and disease.

Any anger she had felt had almost (though, not completely) evaporated and was replaced with sympathy. Without looking through the medical file folders that she now noticed on the next bookshelf, she had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Each of these people – the ones who brought this egregore into being – had been struck down by some incurable disease. They were frightened and in pain.

But, as quickly as her feelings turned to sadness for them, they then turned back to ire. Yes, it was a terrible thing for these people to suffer and know that they will soon die. And it was a terrible thing for their families. However, they crossed the line when they decided that someone else's life was less important. Someone else died in each of their places. And not just someone, but many people. For this group to go on living, others had to go on dying.

The last bookcase held a variety of notebooks and bound blank-books – diaries and journals and logs. Kole sat down on the floor and pulled out one of the notebooks, flipping to the back first. Maybe, one of them mentions what the sacred object is.

oo0oo

Sam had taken the middle path. Well, to be honest, 'path' was a rather loose term. This whole floor seemed to be what many high schoolers and college students referred to as an 'organized mess'. There were piles upon piles of... well, stuff. Sam was sure that there was some sort of system to it – a method to the madness – but it was only known to the creators.

He came across a table full of teacups and saucers, another with Troll dolls of every size and hair color, and yet another with binders and cigar boxes full of baseball cards. Along the row was a filing cabinet full of maps and another full of 8x10 signed glossies of celebrities. He found a trunk full of Rubik's Cubes (in various stages of being solved) and a series of nesting tables with thousand-piece puzzles in mostly-finished to finished states.

There were over a dozen tables and desks and other pieces of storage furniture filled with collections and collectibles. Sam wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It was more than just a random assortment – it seemed that each of the collections were personal and nearly complete. There was a feeling to them – something that told Sam they were special, that they all meant something. Not to everyone, but they were important to the person who brought them here.

Sam looked up and to the right, finding Dean among the junk. His brother seemed to be upset, staring down at something Sam couldn't see as he paced back and forth a bit. Dean looked up and Sam caught his eye. Without a word, Dean walked over to meet his little brother.

"The victims' stuff," he told Sam simply, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the dressers he had just come from.

Sam didn't need more of an explanation and Dean didn't want to go into detail. They both looked to the left – it took a moment before they spotted their cousin, the top of her head just visible over the tables full of trinkets.

Kole sat amidst a small pile of notebooks and diaries, skimming through the book in her hand at a rapid pace. She had ignored all but the final journals of each of the creators, hoping that one of them had recorded the vital information that they needed. So far, the search had been unsuccessful.

Dean and Sam walked to where Kole was sitting just as she tossed another book onto the top of the tumbling mound beside her. She grabbed another notebook, one of the last few left of the shelf, and flipped to the back.

"Are those journals?" Sam asked her. She didn't look up, only gave a quick nod, and kept reading.

"Anything interesting?" Dean asked. "Or important?"

"They were all dying," Kole told them, again without looking up. "They were all young and dying and scared. And desperate. They needed something to believe in and when there was nothing available, they created their own deity to save them when modern medicine failed.

"There were only a few of them at the beginning, but over the years they added more members. Their offerings started out as their most prized possessions, but it wasn't enough. And, instead of going back to a life of misery until death, they gave Saludeterna what it asked for."

"Saluda-what?" Dean asked.

"Saludeterna. That's what they named the egregore," she explained.

"Its Spanish," Sam told them. Dean and Kole gave him blank looks.

"How do you know that?" Dean asked.

"Latin isn't the only language I've learned over the years," he told his brother with an almost sheepish grin. "What can I say? Some people are good at math; I'm good at picking up foreign languages."

"So," Kole broke in, "what does it mean?"

"Well, its actually two words put together: salud and eterna. Together, they mean everlasting health."

Without warning, the large bookcase that Kole was sitting in front of burst into pieces, sending bits of wood and books crashing down. Dean and Sam were able to back away with little injury, but Kole got caught in the debris.

"Kole!" Sam called, then was suddenly thrown by unseen hands into the opposite wall, crashing down on one of the trunks Dean had left open.

Dean didn't have time to react or call out to Sam, as he was shoved backwards into a table topped with a myriad of music boxes. The table was too sturdy to collapse under him, so instead, the invisible egregore began throwing items at him. First, it was a collection a little spoons, apparently with the names of the states on them. Next came plates with images from musicals Dean had never seen, thrown like Frisbees and sent crashing down around him. Then, there were coins – an endless supply being shot at him like bullets.

Sam took in the scene around him. Kole was lying unconscious and half buried, but otherwise she was left alone and in no further danger (yet). Dean was doing a fair job of ducking and dodging items being thrown at him, but with no combatant to disarm, he was simply left on the defensive.

Thinking about what Kole had told them, the many collections made more sense to Sam. And it also made sense that, as the egregore was using the items as projectiles, it was more than likely the sacred object was not among the collections. Sam scanned the area quickly, looking for something out of place. There were so many groupings of like-things that trying to find what didn't seem to belong should be easy.

Or so Sam thought.

Deciding that, while the egregore was busy with Dean, Sam would have the best opportunity to locate the item. There was no point in trying to keep out of sight, since it seemed the house itself was after them. So, Sam decided to run towards the farther end of the room – the area that they had yet to search – since none of them had mentioned seeing anything out of the ordinary yet.

There were more dressers and tables and shelves full of collections of all sorts. Then, towards the center of the back half of the room, there was a small, waist-high, round-topped, empty table. As nothing in this room appeared vacant, Sam figured it was as good a place to look as any.

Getting closer, he saw that the pedestal base of the table was actually a large hourglass. But, instead of the normal white or tan sand usually held in an hourglass, there was black glittering sand. And, though it seemed to be draining from the top half, there was no sand at the bottom. And at the center of the narrow part of the glass, there was a glowing red infinity symbol.

Sam grabbed a forearm crutch from a trunk holding various sorts of supports and sprinted towards the hourglass. As he neared it, he pulled his arms back, ready to swing the crutch like a bat and smash the glass. But, mid-swing, Sam was yanked back and toppled over a table full of cameo jewelry and snuff boxes.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled. Sam looked up to see his big brother rushing towards his half of the room, noticing the way Dean was hunched over a bit with his left arm protecting his ribs and the two new gashes on his forehead dripping blood down the side of his face. Dean was so focused on reaching Sam that he stopped paying attention to the objects coming at him.

"Dean look out!" Sam yelled to him as paperweights began flying at his back. Dean turned just in time to miss one directed at the back of his head, but he wasn't able to dodge the next one that managed to catch him on his left shoulder.

Sam saw Dean scramble behind a table and find something (a philately album) to use as a shield. Realizing that he could do nothing to prevent the attack, Sam started again for the hourglass. But once again, as he approached the object, he was thrown – this time in the opposite direction – like nothing more than a rag doll.

This time, Sam was thrown at a china hutch with glass doors. Luckily, the only pane that broke was towards the bottom where his shoe hit. However, the impact of his body caused the hutch to rock back and then fall forward – on top of Sam. He was able to catch the top and prevent more glass from shattering against and on top of himself, but the heavy piece of furniture rebelled and trapped Sam underneath.

Dean saw it all happen and yet was unable to do anything about it. He looked over to where Sam had been heading and saw the hourglass. Atta boy, Sammy. He started for it but was blocked and then pushed against the side wall by a hefty sideboard. They were now all immobilized.

But Dean could still reach into his waistband and retrieve his .45. Taking careful aim, he shot the hourglass. He smirked, but then realized that it didn't shatter – there was merely a small hole in the bottom half of the glass. Taking aim again, he shot at the top half and was rewarded with some impressive sparks though it was still not destroyed. One more try – he aimed for the center, using the red glow as a beacon.

The reaction was instantaneous. The hourglass exploded, showering its black sand around the room. But the sand didn't simply fall, it wafted down like ash and when it landed, it ignited whatever surface it touched.

Without the egregore holding the sideboard in place, Dean was able to move it with only slight difficulty. He ran over to Sam, and the two of them were able to lift the china hutch high enough for Sam to shimmy out from under.

"You OK?" Dean asked, looking his brother over for injuries.

"I'll be fine... as soon as we get out of here," Sam told him, trying to subtly examine his brother's wounds as well.

"Um guys? A little help here," Kole, who had regained consciousness at some point, was trying to remove herself from the pile of debris that held her down – the smoking pile of debris.

Dean and Sam both ran over and began digging as Kole kept kicking and pushing bits of wood and paper off of herself. The three made quick work of the bundle and ran (awkwardly) to the far end of the room.

The fifth floor was catching fire quickly, causing a thick layer of smoke to form in the room. They each got down on their hands and knees to continue the search for the door.

"Here!" Sam finally called out. Dean and Kole rushed over as fast as they could crawl to find a three-foot high door. There was no knob, but Sam had decided he was ready to leave now and kicked the door down.

They each shuffled through and found a rickety fire escape awaiting them. Given their options, they took the unsafe looking iron stairs. The stairs swayed with the wind but held until they were on the ground. Running further from the building until they felt they were at a safe distance, the three turned around to see the burning haunted house.

What they found instead was a shell of a building, ravaged by flames so long ago that the smell of burning wood no longer remained. The only clue that the unfortunate diseased young people and the egregore they created were ever there was the scattered black sand and glass shards that lay on the ground.

Without a word, Dean, Sam, and Kole walked back to the car where they had left it at the bar. Or, where the bar had been. It too was now just a burned out skeleton.

Dean was about to start tossing his weapons back into the trunk when he noticed something under his windshield wiper. He walked to the front of the car and found the take-out menu from the bar with their names and cell phone numbers written in an open space in Kole's handwriting.

Dean shook his head. He honestly didn't even want to think about it right now.

After they each put their weapons in the trunk and then got into the car, Dean took off for the highway. A couple exits later, in a town they had actually heard of, Sam was surprised when Dean pulled into a Taco Bell drive-thru. After explaining that it was the only thing open at this time of night, they drove to the nearest motel – a well-known chain – and got a room with two beds and a roll-away.

They dragged themselves into the room, ate their greasy mock-Mexican food in silence, then attended to their injuries. The whole ordeal (including the driving time) took less than sixty minutes. At the end of that hour, Dean, Sam, and Kole were each fast asleep, ready to forget the evening's ordeal.

Denouementophobia: fear of conclusions (yeah, OK... I made that one up)

- oh, and by the way... I've been trying to post this for 3 hours! I just want it known that I did, indeed, meet my own dead-line. Thank you.