Curbing his excitement was nearly impossible for Dean as the car traveled through the congested streets of downtown Kalamazoo's historic district. Pressing his foot up on the dashboard, he suddenly understood just what Sam felt every time he was getting ready for one of his school tournaments. Exploring a haunted castle was a feat he had only dreamed of attempting, but never actually thought he would get to do. Putting his foot down when he noticed the look Caleb threw him, he rolled his eyes before obeying.

Gathering up the limited research they had on the owner who died, Dean took another look-through while Caleb focused on navigating through traffic. Squinting his eyes at the fine-print of his autopsy report, there was nothing that immediately caught his eye. From all appearances, Frank died of natural causes. However, he knew the medical report only told half the story. For this man to be haunting the residents of the castle, something had to have happened. Keeping an open mind, Dean put the papers down and focused on the wide road that led down to the castle. It was old, a remnant of what roads used to look like back in the day.

Taking the brief time to study Caleb, he saw nothing but a calmness that always came before a job. Still not quite convinced staying on the job was the smartest move, Dean bit back the remark he wanted to make. He knew better than to question a concrete decision such as the one Caleb made. Content that he seemed okay, Dean focused his mind on the castle. It loomed large before them, sitting high atop a hill, keeping an eye on the street below. Muscles bunched in anticipation, Dean unbuckled his belt as soon as Caleb drove through the sloping hill.

Taking a second to drink it all in, Dean found himself almost revering the sight of the castle as checkered as its past was. Its windows were stain-glassed with an array of bright colors that blocked out the inside for privacy. So immersed was he in the design of the place that he nearly tripped over the police tape stretched across the entrance. Shaking himself off, he watched closely while Caleb smoothly introduced himself to the investigator on call. Once pleasantries were over with, Dean followed his guardian up the cracked stone steps and into the expansive foyer. Turning his eyes in every direction they would go, the first thing he noticed was a foreboding picture of Frank Sandstone, peering down at him.

"Hello, Frank," Dean murmured.

The dining area was on his left, followed by a steep staircase leading up to the second and third floors. Giving Caleb a look to make sure they were both on the same page, Dean started his ascent up. Running his fingers along the smooth finish of the railing, he almost expected to find spiderwebs and secret passages. What he found was a castle that was kept in pristine shape. Feeling his stomach jolt in excitement when he reached the landing and noticed the type of medieval paintings commonly seen in movies and books, he let Caleb steer him toward a closed door on his right.

Waiting for Caleb to turn the key to let them in, he found that his senses were on high alert while they were out in the open. All the precious guests had died under bloody and mysterious circumstances. He was not eager to run into the same circumstances those people ran into. Once the door slowly swung open to reveal the inside, Dean could not contain his mouth from dropping open. Taking a step inside, he ran his hand along the antique wardrobe, feeling tiny particles of dust slide off. Moving his eyes forward, he glimpsed the four-poster bed front and center.

"This place," Dean began, bouncing lightly on the bed. "Is awesome."

Caleb grinned. "Kinda like out of a movie, right?"

Dean considered that statement. "A little smaller than The Shining, but still A plus."

"It definitely has the creep factor."

This felt good; natural after so many months of feeling as though he was walking on eggshells around his own family. Pushing off from the bed, Dean cast a look about the master bedroom. Glancing down at the floorboards, Dean squinted his eyes at a dried smudge. Bending down, his fingers lightly pulled up what looked like blood. Twisting around to gather Caleb's opinion, he saw the same reaction he knew must be on his own face.

A thorough search (done on his hands and knees), revealed no further sign of the murder that took place there. Standing up, Dean crossed over to the wardrobe. EMF in hand, he pushed aside racks of plastic-wrapped clothing to get to the end. Rapping his knuckle on the back end of the structure, his eyebrows fused together when he met something hollow. Taking a step back, he motioned for Caleb. He knew what it likely meant, and it was too big to handle alone. Muscles bunched, his green eyes honed in on Caleb as he tested the give of the back of the wardrobe, before using the end of his flashlight to bust it in.

Taking a second to adjust to what he was seeing, he bent down to scoop up the pile of bloody clothes and journals that was lying in a heap on the ground. Again, Dean noted the blood was dried. They had been there awhile.

"What do you think?" Dean kept his eyes on their find.

"I think someone has been collecting goodies."

"Clothes and five-hundred-year old journals?"

Caleb shrugged, reaching for one of the journals. "This belonged to our guy. Frank." Caleb flipped through the first several pages of the worn book. "This was from the year he built the joint. Blueprints and everything."

Dean nodded slowly. "So...who hid this stuff? Who was the last guest here?"

The wheels were spinning in Dean's mind as a thousand different possibilities lit up his mind. Were there other hiding spots? Or just that one? And why was the stuff hidden to begin with? This what Dean thrived off of: The mystery, the working of his mind to identify the thing terrorizing Henderson Castle. As it stood, there were too many possibilities to consider.

"Could be he liked to keep a secret stash. Or it could be our culprit." Caleb scraped some more dried blood into a jar to later inspect. "The last guest was Annemarie Billings, a school-teacher looking to clear her head."

Dean nodded silently. "Is this her stuff?"

Caleb shook his head. "She was recent. This stuff is too old. She died last night. Cleaning crew found her in the bathroom."

Not having to be told twice, Dean stepped out of the wardrobe and made a beeline for the small bathroom. It was tucked into a nook on the side of the wall, and was standing with its door haphazardly hanging off of the hinges. Carefully pushing it aside, Dean minded where he walked, flashlight in hand, and trained his eyes on the ground. The scene had already been processed by the medical examiner, but there was evidence only he and Caleb were looking for.

Stealthily sneaking out his EMF, his green eyes widened when the device whirred maniacally in his hand. Going over to the claw-foot bathtub, the first thing he noticed were the marks in the bathtub. Random in nature, it told a story of a fierce struggle that ended with the lady's death. Leaning over it, he caressed the smooth bottom. This lady was not the first, but she was the most recent. Looking over when Caleb's footsteps met his ears, he saw the same determination to solve the case. Casting one more look at the tub, he brushed past Caleb on his way out.

"So, what's the next move?"

"The usual, I suppose. Dig into this place, see if there's a common denominator linking the vic's to each other."

The usual drill, only Dean was chomping at the bit to unravel this mystery.