June 24th - June 29th, 2006

We were on our way to New Paltz, New York, because a couple was found with their throats slit in their home. That was bad enough, but on top of that, there were no prints, no murder weapons, and all the doors and windows were locked from the inside.

On the way, Dean decided to stop at a motel and then head to a bar with Sam. I was instructed, as always, to stay inside and not answer to anyone except them. While I waited, I cuddled up on the couch and flipped through the channels until something caught my eye. I ended up settling on a movie that interested me because the art style was awesome. The main character was a skeleton that had a ghost dog for a pet, and all the other characters were different creatures. Halfway through the movie, Sam came back alone.

I sat up. "Where's Dean?"

Sam chuckled. "Oh, uh... he's not gonna be back tonight, so his bed is all yours."

"Why not?" I asked, confused.

Sam plopped down on the couch next to me. "He found a friend..." He thought for a second. "Or two."

I frowned in disgust. "Ew."

"Yeah." Sam sighed and looked over at the TV. "Oh, nice. The Nightmare Before Christmas."

I smiled. "I really like it, it's kind of awesome." I sighed. "So, what's the plan with Dean?"

"Uh, don't worry about that. We are going to pick him up on our way out tomorrow morning." Sam pointed to the TV. "Let's finish the movie and then go to bed."

I nodded and rested my head on Sam's shoulder, directing my attention back to the movie. The last thing I saw was Santa being put into a sack and then tossed into a walking bathtub.


When I woke up, I had been tucked into one of the beds, and sunlight was shining through the window. I looked over and realized Sam was still sleeping, so I got up and walked over to his bed.

I shook his shoulder. "Sam?" I shook him again. "Sam, wake up."

Sam sat up quickly. "What? What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Calm down, jeez. I just wanted to get going." I laughed.

"What time is it?" Sam asked yawning.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

Sam reached over and grabbed his phone, clicking it on. "It's 5:30." He groaned and laid back down, covering his face with his arm.

I pulled his arm back. "Sam, come on."

Sam sat up and swung his legs over the bed. "Okay, all right." He looked up at me. "Why are you so eager to leave?"

"'Cause, I'm pretty sure Dean won't be super happy about leaving this early after whatever he was doing last night." I smirked.

Sam stood up and walked toward the bathroom. "You're evil." He laughed and shut the door behind him.

Once we got ready and packed the Impala, we set off to pick up Dean at a random apartment. When he walked out of the building, he was wearing sunglasses, walking slowly, and rubbing his temples.

Once Dean was within talking range of the Impala, I poked my head out of the window. "Was it worth it?"

Dean pulled his sunglasses down and tried to glare at me, but as the sun hit his eyes, he flinched and then quickly put them back up. Then he flopped into the car. "Which of you chuckleheads had the bright idea to leave this early?"

I cleared my throat and raised my hand. "That would be me. I'm the chucklehead."

Dean groaned. "You're supposed to be the nice one." He rested his head against the window and almost instantly started snoring.


We finally made it to the couple's house that had been murdered, Sam and I went in while Dean slept in the car. We swept the house with EMF meters and searched for anything strange, but there was nothing off about the house, except for the fact that there was literally nothing in it.

So, we walked back out to the car to find Dean still snoring. Once we reached the car, Sam leaned in and honked the horn, causing Dean to jump up. Sam and I got into the car, laughing.

Dean adjusted his sunglasses and grumbled. "That is so not cool."

"We just swept the Telesca's with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were... well... out..." Sam said.

Dean smirked. "Good times."

I groaned.

"I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telesca's." Sam shrugged.

Dean took his sunglasses off. "All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something."

Sam shook his head. "The house is clean."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know, you said that."

Sam shook his head. "No, I mean, it's empty. No furniture, nothing."

Dean looked confused. "Where's all their stuff?"


We pulled up in front of a giant mansion that was surrounded by fancy expensive cars. Sam had made some calls and figured out that the Telesca's furniture had been taken to an auction house.

We all climbed out of the Impala and walked through the front door. Looking around, we were horribly underdressed, and it was clear that we didn't belong there. As we walked through the mansion, there were tables filled with sculptures and paintings. People stared as we walked by.

Dean kept grabbing finger foods. "Consignment auctions, estate sales... looks like a garage sale for W.A.S.P.'s if you ask me." He grabbed more food as we continued walking.

Someone cleared their throat behind us. "Can I help you?"

We turned around to see an older man in a tux standing behind us.

Dean shoved more food in his mouth and put on a 'proper' voice. "I'd like some champagne, please."

"He's not a waiter," Sam whispered sharply to Dean.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam held his hand out to the man. "I'm Sam Connors."

The man just looked at Sam, not moving. Sam pulled his hand back and pointed to Dean. "That's my brother Dean. We're art dealers, with Connors Limited." Then he rested his hand on my shoulder. "And this is our sister Maddison."

The man didn't even acknowledge me. "You. Are... art dealers."

Sam nodded. "That's right."

"I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, gentlemen, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list," the man said.

"We're there, chuckles, you just need to take another look." Dean gestured for the man to go check.

A waiter walked past with a tray of champagne, and Dean snagged one. "Oh. Finally." He swirled the drink in front of him and sniffed it, then turned and walked away.

I quickly followed

"Cheers," Sam said and then followed behind us.

We continued checking out the different art pieces until we came across a painting of a family that we were drawn to. It was a family of five, two boys, and a girl. It was unbelievably eerie to look at. It was one of those paintings where if you move, you could feel the eyes follow you.

"Super creepy," I said.

Sam and Dean chuckled.

A woman's voice came from behind us, "A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn't you say?"

We turned around to see a young woman in a sleek, classy dress walking down a spiral staircase behind us. Dean smacked Sam on the back as she approached us.

"Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses... but you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did." Sam smirked.

The woman looked down and laughed softly, "Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize." She looked up at Sam. "I'm Sarah Blake."

"I'm Sam. This is my... brother, Dean. And my sister, Maddison," Sam said.

Another tray of food passed by, and Dean grabbed another handful. Stuffing his face and chipmunking the food in his cheeks as he stuffed more in.

"Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?" Sarah asked.

"I'm good, thanks," Dean said, chewing.

I glanced at the small pastries in Dean's hand, causing him to hand me one. I stuffed it in my mouth, and it was delicious, so I grabbed another one out of his hand. Dean gave me a frown, and I giggled.

Sarah laughed. "So, can I help you with something?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?"

Sarah cringed. "The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones."

"Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam asked.

Mr. Blake walked up behind Sarah. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave," Mr. Blake said.

Dean put on his 'proper' voice again. "Well, we don't have to be told twice."

Mr. Blake raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, you do."

Sam nodded. "Okay. It's all right. We don't want any trouble. We'll go."

Dean put his hand on my back and led us out of the building, with Sam following behind.


Once we checked in to our motel, we grabbed our bags and walked up to our room.

"Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?" Dean asked.

"Art history course. It's good for meeting girls," Sam said.

Dean unlocked the door. "It's like I don't even know you." He swung the door open, and we looked around the room in awe.

It was decorated like a retro disco room. Completely black, white, and silver and mostly decorated with polka dots and circles.

"Huh," we said in unison. Then we continued into the room and dropped our bags on the floor.

"What was... providence?" Dean asked.

"Prov-e-nance. It's a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know, we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past," Sam explained.

Dean nodded. "Huh. Well, we're not getting anything out of chuckles, but Sarah..." He snapped his fingers and pointed at Sam.

Sam smirked. "Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin."

Dean laughed. "Not me."

Sam shook his head. "No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean."

"It wasn't my butt she was checking out," Dean said.

"Yeah, she barely even looked at Dean," I spoke up.

Dean looked at me, shocked. "Ouch."

I shrugged.

Sam sighed. "In other words, you want me to use her to get information."

Dean nodded. "Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her."

Sam sighed deeply. "All right, but after this..." He pulled a rectangular object wrapped in a newspaper out of his bag and handed it to me. "Happy Birthday." He smiled.

"What? It's not June yet," I said, taking the present.

Sam smirked and looked at me, confused. "Uh, yeah. Actually, it's the twenty-fifth."

Dean laughed. "Where's your head at kid? It's almost July."

I shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't usually matter what day it is. We're always on the move anyway."

Dean pulled something wrapped in a newspaper out of his bag. "Well, it matters today." He handed me his present. "Sit down at the table."

I did, and then Dean pulled something else out of his bag. It was a slightly smashed cupcake in a plastic container. He pulled the cupcake out and set it in front of me. "Sorry." He chuckled.

"Guys, really, you didn't need to do this," I said, looking thankfully at them.

"We wanted to," Sam said, putting a candle on top of the cupcake.

"Yeah, of course, we had to. We're celebrating twelve years of you being a pain in the ass." Dean smirked.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. "Thanks."

Dean lit the candle. "Make a wish."

I closed my eyes, thought for a second, and then blew out the candle.

"What did you wish for?" Sam asked.

"I can't tell you, it won't come true," I said, knowing it wouldn't anyway.

"Yeah, man. Don't you know that?" Dean scoffed.

I peeled the paper off of the cupcake and split it three ways, handing a piece to each of them.

They both shook their heads.

"No, no, it's yours," Sam said with his hand up.

I sighed. "Just take it."

They both did, without much hesitation.

Dean shoved his piece into his mouth. "All right, open the presents... Sam's first."

I furrowed my brow. "Uh, okay?" I grabbed Sam's present and unwrapped it. It was a book, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I looked up at Sam happily. "Thank you."

Sam smiled and nodded. "You're welcome."

Dean shoved his present at me eagerly. "Okay, now mine."

I laughed. "All right, jeez." I unwrapped the small package and pulled out a leather bracelet with a feather trinket on it. "Thank you." I smiled up at Dean and put it on.

"It said that the feather meant, 'kindness, gentleness, and love,' so I uh... thought of you." Dean smiled.

I leaned forward and squeezed his cheek. "Aw, see. You are a big softy."

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I just thought you would like it."

I stood up and gave them each a hug. "Thank you, guys."

"You're welcome." They each said, with a smile.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to Sam. "All right, now call that girl."


While Sam was off on his fake date with Sarah, I started reading my new book, cuddled in one of the beds. Dean sat on the couch, watching TV, and cleaned his weapons. Sam came back a few hours later with papers in hand.

"So, she just handed the providences over to you?" Dean asked while sharpening one of his knives.

"Provenances," Sam said.

"Provenances?" Dean asked slowly.

"Yes. We went back to her place. I got a copy of the papers..." Sam explained.

"And?" Dean asked.

"And nothing. That's it. I left," Sam said.

"You didn't have to con her or do any... special favors or anything like that?" Dean asked, anxiously.

"Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam asked, annoyed.

"Yeah, just act like I'm not here... totally cool," I said sarcastically, peering over my book.

Dean laughed. "Ya know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"So, you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that," Dean said.

"Hey, I think I've got something here," Sam said, squinting at the papers in his hands.

Dean walked over and took the papers from Sam and read, "'Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910.'"

"Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal," Sam said.

Dean read off of Dad's journal, "'First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912.' Same thing in 1945." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, same thing in 1970."

Sam nodded. "Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telesca's bought it. So, what do you think, it's haunted? Or cursed?"

Dean shrugged. "Either way, it's toast."

Sam and Dean planned on breaking into the auction house, which was going to be pretty tricky, so they wanted me to stay behind, which was fine because I was tired anyway.


The next morning, Dean came rushing out of the bathroom. "We got a problem... I can't find my wallet."

"How is that my problem?" Sam asked while packing his duffel bag.

"'Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night," Dean said, quickly putting his jacket on.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam asked, furious.

Dean shook his head. "No. It's got my prints, my ID, well my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on."

We grabbed our bags and ran out to the car, Dean took off.


Once we arrived at the auction house, Sam and Dean rushed in. Dean came back out shortly after.

"Where's Sam?" I asked, "Did you find your wallet?"

Dean laughed. "I never lost it, I was hoping that Sarah would be here, and she was."

I smirked. "You're pretty slick."

Dean laughed. "Slick's my middle name."

Sam came rushing out moments later.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean asked, frustrated.

Sam got into the car. "Dean, that painting is in there, completely intact."

"What?" Dean asked, stunned.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, man, I don't understand, we burned the damn thing."

"Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean snapped, sarcastically. "All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?"

"Okay, all right." Sam thought for a second. "Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings, it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. So, we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?"


We set off for a local bookshop, Sam made up some story about why we were interested in Isaiah Merchant and his family. The shop owner was extremely excited for some reason and pulled out every book and newspaper he had on the family.

"You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?" the owner asked.

"Yeah, that's right." Sam nodded.

The owner set down his stack of books and papers. "I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you kid's crime buffs?"

Dean nodded. "Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Well..." The owner held up a newspaper article, then he pointed to a side article that read, Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.

Dean nodded and pointed to the article. "Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right."

"The whole family was killed?" Sam asked.

"It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor," the owner explained.

"Why'd he do it?" Sam asked.

"Let's look. Ah..." The owner opened the paper and began reading, "'People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter...'" He skimmed on. "Yeah, yeah, yeah... 'There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.' Which of course you know in that day and age, um... so instead, old man Isaiah... well, he gave them all a shave." He drew his hand across his throat and made a slicing noise.

Dean laughed, but Sam gave him a dirty look, so he cleared his throat. "Does it say what happened to the bodies?"

"Just that they were all cremated," the owner said.

"Anything else?" Sam asked.

The owner nodded. "Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here... somewhere." He flipped through all the information he brought us. "Right... here it is." He held it up, it was a picture of the painting.

"Hey, could we get a copy of this, please?" Sam asked.

The owner nodded eagerly. "Sure."


Back at the motel, Sam and Dean checked out every detail of the picture and were finding that the picture differed from the painting.

Sam spun the picture around to show Dean. "I'm telling you, man, I'm sure of it. The painting at the auction house, dad, is looking down. Painting here, dad's looking out. The painting has changed, Dean."

Dean nodded, looking down at the picture. "All right, so, you think that daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?"

"Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed. "All right, well, if Isaiah's position changed, then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well." He shrugged. "You know, it could give us some clues."

"What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?" Sam asked.

Dean gave Sam a blank stare. "I don't... know. Uh... I'm still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting." He stood up and walked over to the bed opposite me, throwing himself on it. "Which is a good thing 'cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend."

"Dude. Enough already," Sam snapped.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam glared at him. "Ever since we got here, you've been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, you like her, don't you?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean nodded. "All right, you like her, she likes you, you're both consenting adults—"

Sam raised his voice, "What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave."

Dean shrugged. "Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam."

Sam shook his head, irritated. "Ya know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?"

"'Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time," Dean said calmly.

Sam huffed and then looked away.

Dean sat up. "You know, seriously Sam, this isn't about just hooking up, okay? I mean... I— I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you."

Sam sighed and scratched his head.

Dean softened his voice, "And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that... but... I would think that she would want you to be happy."

Sam listened quietly with tears in his eyes.

"God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know she would." He half smiled and then sighed heavily, "Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part."

"What's it about?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, refusing to answer.

"Yeah, all right." Dean laid back with his arms crossed. "Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so..."

Sam nodded and picked up his phone, Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling in.

"Sarah, hey, it's Sam," Sam said, awkwardly. (...) "Hey, hi." (...) "Good. Good, yeah. Um. What about you?"

Dean and I watched Sam as he uncomfortably talked to Sarah.

"Yeah, good, good, really good," Sam repeated himself.

"Smooth..." Dean whispered to him.

Sam shot Dean a look. "So, uh, so listen. I'm... uh... thinking that maybe I'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I—"

Dean shook his head again.

Sam continued, "I think maybe we are interested in buying it." (...) "What?!"

Dean and I reacted to Sam's sudden outburst and sat up.

Sam stood up. "Who'd you sell it to?"

Dean stood up and walked over to Sam.

"Sarah, I need an address right now," Sam said urgently.


We pulled up in front of a house owned by a woman named Evelyn. Sarah was already standing outside, waiting for us. Sam and Dean urgently jumped out of the car, and I followed, even though I knew I wasn't necessarily welcome.

"Sam, what's happening?" Sarah asked, concerned.

Sam ran past her, up to the front door. "I told you, you shouldn't have come."

Dean ran past as well, banging on the door. "Hello, anyone home?"

"You said Evelyn might be in danger, what sort of danger?" Sarah asked, following behind.

"I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it," Dean said.

Dean started to pick the lock while Sam banged on the windows, but they were lined with metal security bars.

"What are you guys, burglars?" Sarah asked, confused.

"I wish it was that simple." Sam sighed. "Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good."

Dean opened the door. "You should too, Maddi."

Sam followed behind Dean, and both Sarah and I followed.

"The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend," Sarah said. "Evelyn?!" she called out.

"Evelyn!" Sam yelled as we walked through the house.

As we turned the corner, we could see a silver-haired woman sitting in a chair, facing away from us. She didn't move or react to our presence in any way. The painting was hanging above the fireplace next to her, and now Isaiah was facing his daughter, which wasn't a good sign.

"Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake... are you, all right?" Sarah approached Evelyn and touched her shoulder.

"Sarah don't. Sarah!" Sam yelled urgently.

Evelyn's head tilted back, exposing a deep slash in her throat, causing Sarah to scream. Isaiah slowly faced forward.

"Oh my god. Oh my god!" Sarah yelled.

I tucked my face into Dean, who quickly led me out of the house. Followed by Sam and Sarah.


After Sam convinced Sarah to not mention us to the police, we parted ways and set off back to the motel. Dean had his laptop open searching for any clue he could find, and Sam just paced.

Knock! Knock!

Sam answered the door, and Sarah stormed past him. "Hey. You all right?" he asked.

"No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's, alone, and found her like that," Sarah said, angrily.

"Thank you," Sam said, relieved.

"Don't thank me, I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?" Sarah threw her arms out.

Sam looked over at Dean, who just raised his eyebrows.

Sam turned back to Sarah. "What."

Sarah furrowed her brow. "What?"

Sam sighed. "It's not 'who.' It's 'what' is killing those people."

Sarah looked at Sam like he was insane.

Sam sighed. "Sarah, you saw that painting move."

"No... no, I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible," Sarah said, agitated.

"Yeah, well, welcome to our world," Dean said.

"Sarah, I know this sounds crazy... but we think that that painting is haunted," Sam said calmly.

Sarah laughed softly with tears in her eyes. "You're joking." She stared at each of us, but none of us were phased. "You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with."

"Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telesca's, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth," Sam said.

Sarah took a deep breath. "Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you."

"What? No. Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and— and I don't want you to get hurt," Sam said.

"Look, you are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well me and my dad sold that painting that might have got these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared because I am scared as hell, but... I'm not going to run and hide either," Sarah said and then walked back toward the door, turning around quickly. "So, are we going or what?" Then she opened the door and walked out.

"Sam?" Dean asked. Sam looked at Dean, who pointed toward the door. "Marry that girl."


We went back to Evelyn's house, which now had police tape across the front porch. We all slipped past the tape and walked up to the door. Sam leaned down and started picking the lock.

"Uh... isn't this a crime scene?" Sarah asked hesitantly.

"You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?" Dean asked.

Once Sam opened the door, we walked inside. Sam pulled the painting down and examined it carefully.

"Aren't you worried that it's... gonna kill us?" Sarah asked nervously.

"Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're all right in the daylight," Sam said.

Dean pulled out the picture of the painting and compared it to the actual painting. "Sam, check it out." He tapped the picture. "The razor, it's closed in this one." He pointed to the painting. "But it's open in that one." He handed the picture to Sam.

"What are you guys looking for?" Sarah asked.

"Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason," Dean explained.

"Hey, hey, look at this. The painting in the painting," Sam said.

I peered over at the picture and saw that the painting in the background was of a mountain view, but in the actual painting, it was a mausoleum.

"Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something," Dean said, he looked around and grabbed a glass ashtray, using it as a magnifying glass he placed it over the mausoleum and read, "'Merchant.'"


After searching several cemeteries, we were having no luck finding the mausoleum. We stopped at our third one, but there were still several more options to visit.

"This is the third boneyard we've checked. I think this ghost is jerking us around," Dean said as we walked through the cemetery.

"So, this is what you guys do for a living?" Sarah asked as she and Sam trailed behind Dean and me.

"Not exactly. We don't get paid," Sam said.

"Well, Mazel tov," Sarah said, sarcastically.

"Over there." Dean pointed to a mausoleum that had Merchant written at the top.

Dean pulled his bolt cutters out as we walked up to the door, he broke the lock and then opened the doors. He brushed away the cobwebs blocking the entrance, and then we all walked in. There were four urns in front of built-in glass boxes that held different trinkets.

Sarah walked up to one of the boxes, it had a porcelain doll. "Okay, that right there... is the creepiest thing I've ever seen."

Sam laughed. "It was a... sort of tradition at the time. Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt."

"Notice anything strange here?" Dean asked.

"Uh... where do I start?" Sarah asked, looking around.

Sam snickered and looked at Sarah.

"No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns," Dean said.

"There're five family members," I said.

"Yeah. There are only four urns," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, mom and the three kids. Daddy dearest isn't here."

"So, where is he?" Sam asked.


We set off for the county clerk's office to find out where Isaiah's body was. I went in with Dean, leaving Sam and Sarah to talk.

Dean managed to sweet-talk his way into getting the information we needed, and we headed back out to find Sam and Sarah talking closely.

"Are we interrupting something?" Dean asked as we approached them.

"No," Sam said.

Sarah shook her head. "Not at all."

Dean looked at them for a moment. "Huh. Apparently."

Sam cleared his throat. "So, what'd you get?"

"Paydirt. Apparently, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn't want him interred with the rest of the family. So, they handed him over to the county, the county gave him a pauper's funeral. Economy style. Turns out he wasn't cremated; he was buried in a pine box," Dean explained.

"So, there are bones to burn," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "There are bones to burn."

"Tell me you know where," Sam said.


We waited until dark to set off for Isaiah's grave. Once we got there, Sam and Dean quickly got to work digging up the body. While they dug, I sat at the edge of the grave while Sarah shakily held the flashlight behind me.

"You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this," Sarah said.

Sam climbed out of the grave and walked over to her, smiling. "Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still, think I'm a catch?"

Sarah laughed.

Dean tapped his shovel on something hard. "Think I've got something." He reached down and pulled the coffin lid open to reveal a body.

Dean climbed out and pulled salt, kerosene, and matches out of his bag. He handed me the salt and Sam the kerosene. I emptied the salt onto the body, and Sam poured the kerosene.

Dean struck a match. "You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance." Then he tossed the match into the grave, which instantly caught fire.


Our next step was to take care of the painting, just to be safe, so we made our way back to Evelyn's house.

Once the Impala was parked, Sam opened his door. "Keep the motor running."

"I thought the painting was harmless now?" Sarah asked.

"Better safe than sorry. We're gonna bury the sucker," Sam said, getting out of the car.

Sarah followed Sam. "I'm gonna go with you."

"You sure?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Sarah nodded, and then the two of them walked around the front of the car to the porch.

"Hey! Hey, hey. I'll stay here, you go make your move," Dean called out to Sam.

Sam scoffed and then continued after Sarah

"Sam. I'm serious!" Dean called.

As Sam and Sarah walked up the steps to the front door, Dean turned up the radio as a love song started playing. Sam turned around and gave Dean a "wtf" gesture. Dean just shrugged. Sam motioned for Dean to turn the music off. Dean sighed and then shut it off, then Sam and Sarah continued into the house.

I leaned forward and rested my chin on the front seat. "You need to chill out, man."

Dean laughed and looked over at me. "What are you talking about?"

I gave him a look. "Sam and Sarah? Ring a bell?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm just trying to help."

"It looks like he's got it covered." I laughed.

Suddenly an echoing laugh of a young girl came from the house, and the front door slammed.

Dean jumped out of the car and ran to the front door, slamming his body into it. I chased after Dean.

"Dean! Hey! Is that you?!" Sam yelled from the other side of the door.

"Sammy, you, all right?!" Dean yelled.

Dean's phone started ringing, so he quickly answered it, "Tell me you slammed the front door."

I could hear mumbling on the other side of the door, but I couldn't make it out.

"Girl? What girl?" Dean asked. (...) "Wasn't the dad looking down at her? Maybe he was trying to warn us." He leaned down and started to pick the lock. "Well, I'm trying to pick the lock... the door won't budge." (...) "Okay, genius, let me just grab my battering ram." (...) "Well, you're just gonna have to hold it off until I figure something out. Get some salt or iron." He turned to me and nodded for me to follow.

We walked along the porch, trying to find another way to get into the house.

Dean suddenly stopped. "Sammy, you okay?" (...) "How we gonna waste her?"

"Dean?" I asked, but he ignored me.

"Then how's she still around?" Dean asked.

"Dean!" I yelled, causing him to look at me. "Can't spirits attach themselves to objects?"

A look of realization crossed his face. "The doll." (...) "Stay safe, we'll be back." Dean hung up and then grabbed my hand, running back to the car.


Dean raced the Impala back to the cemetery and sped up when he noticed the iron gate was now locked in front of us.

"Dean?!" I yelled.

"Hold on!" Dean yelled as he put his arm out in front of me and plowed through the gate.

He continued driving full speed and then screeched to a halt in front of the mausoleum, then he jumped out. I caught my breath, brushed my hair out of my face, and then chased after him. When I ran into the mausoleum, Dean was trying to smash the glass with the butt of his gun, but it didn't budge. He sighed and walked past me out of the entrance.

"Dean?" I said.

"Yeah, Maddi?" he asked, walking toward the car.

"Use the gun, the way it was meant to be used," I suggested.

Dean looked down at the gun in his hands. "Come on, Dean!"

He turned around and pointed the gun at the glass. "Cover your face."

Once I did, he shot at the glass and the case shattered. Dean walked up to it and knocked some more of the glass out of the way with his gun and pulled the doll out. He grabbed his lighter out of his pocket and held it under the doll, trying to light it, but the lighter just kept sparking.

"Come on, come on!" Dean yelled.

The lighter finally produced a flame, and the doll's hair caught fire, and it began to smoke. Dean threw the doll on the ground and pulled his phone out. "Sam, you good?" He nodded and then hung up the phone.

He smiled at me, putting his hand out for a high five. "Nice job, kiddo."

I smiled back and gave him his high five.

He put his arm around my shoulders, and then we walked back to the car.


We met Sarah at the auction house the next morning to say goodbye before we left. When we met her, the painting was being crated up by two men.

Dean held up some papers he had printed out before we left the motel. "This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds."

"She killed them?" Sarah asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So, then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since."

"So, where's this one go?" one of the men asked Sarah.

"Take it out back and burn it," Sarah said, straight-faced.

The men stopped and stared at her.

"I'm serious, guys. Thanks." Sarah smiled. "So, why'd the girl do it?" she asked Sam.

"Killing others? Killing herself? Some people are just born tortured. So, when they die, their spirits are just as dark," Sam said.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. I don't really care. It's over, we move on."

"Uh... I guess this means you're leaving," Sarah said sadly.

Sam stared at Dean and me until we decided it was best to leave.

Dean nodded awkwardly. "We'll go wait in the car. See you, Sarah."

Then we turned and walked away.

"I'm the one that burned the doll, destroyed the spirit, but don't thank me or anything," Dean grumbled.

I smacked him in the stomach.

Dean grabbed his stomach. "What was that for?"

"Whining." I smirked.

We walked out to the Impala and waited beside it for Sam to come out. A couple minutes later, he did, and Sarah closed the door behind him. Dean shook his head and turned to get into the car.

I looked up and noticed Sam had turned back and knocked on the door. "Hey, look," I whispered to Dean.

Dean turned around as Sarah opened the door. Sam pulled her to him and kissed her.

Dean turned back to the car, smiling. "That's my boy."