Real Ghost Stories Chapter 5 - Alone in Seattle, a supernatural fanfic

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

Real Ghost Stories

Chapter 5

Alone in Seattle

She moved through the clamoring hordes. They should have pushed her out of the way, shoved her aside as a weak old woman, but for some reason they never touched her. She walked alone among strangers, futilely trying to hit them with her cane. She just wanted to go home.

XXXXXXX

Sam and Dean arrived at the Seattle Pike Place Public Market in the early morning. Dean was still muttering about coffee and annoying little brothers and trying to sleep in the passenger seat, Sam's usual spot. Sam smiled at the sleepy grumping. Northing was more fun than dragging his brother out in the chill morning air against his will.

They parked in front of a "Farmer's Market" sign and Sam stepped out of the car. Taking a big breath of the ocean air he nearly gagged. Mixed in with the salt air and the wisps of brewing coffee was the overriding smell of dead fish. Sam coughed out his breath of fresh air and a voice floated out from the Impala. "I told you that fresh air stuff was crap. Choke on it, little brother."

"Dean," Sam shot back. "You're the world's number one jerk. Get out of the car and hunt for your coffee yourself."

Sam turned, crossed his arms and looked out over the grey ocean waves.

He heard the sound Dean's door opening and feet hitting the black top. He listened as a litany of "Bitch, bitch, big ass bitch, biggest bitch in the world, bitch which faded out as his brother set out on a coffee hunt.

"Sam," Dean whined. "Why am I standing out here on a cold ocean boardwalk at an unreasonable hour of the morning? I want my nice warm, cozy bed." True to the laws of brotherhood Dean had brought Sam a paper container of hot coffee, the successful fruit of Dean's hunt.

Sam sipped and looked out over the ocean. "The Native Americans lived here for over ten thousand years." Sam mused. "They settled beside these waters at the end of the ice age, the seasons swung on the salmon spawning runs. They ate berries and roots and shell fish and salmon and their days were stable from one century to the next. "

Dean laughed, "Ok, so they were here for one long assed time. Why are we here?"

Sam turned back to the Market buildings. "Some were not as lucky. They existed at the end of their world, when the Europeans came and "The Spirit of Pestilence" arrived in the mid 1700's and ravaged the population for a hundred years.

"Then in the mid 1800's the Europeans discovered the richness of this land and moved in with their buildings, and commerce and grasping hands. The "People of the Inside", the Duwamish, were pushed out. A few select families managed to hold on to their hereditary lands or lived along the edges. "

Sam stopped and waved his cup at the Market. "This was built on top of a ramshackle cabin that was home to one of the last, the so-called Princess Angeline, the oldest daughter of Chief Seattle. The city is named after him, although it is a gross mispronunciation of his name."

"Her name wasn't Angeline and she wasn't a Princess, that name and the title were given to her by the early settlers. Her name was Kikisoblu and she lived on this shore all her life and died here too."

"At the end the city recognized her as a last link to the past and the people of Seattle gave her an excellent funeral and burial. Her coffin was made in the shape of a canoe and the last rite carried out at the Church of Our Lady of Good Help and she was buried at Lake View Cemetery."

That was nice of the city," Dean interjected.

"it would have been better if they had recognized her before she died when she was supporting herself doing laundry and weaving reed baskets to sell." Sam responded. "Here's a picture of her on her front porch taken in 1890. I got it from the collection of the University of Washington Library."

Dean looked at a picture of, not a house, but a shack, built of miscellaneous pieces of wood. On the front porch sat a woman in a long plaid skirt. The brothers rarely got the chance to look at the living faces of the ghosts they hunted.

"As David Buerge wrote in his book on the Natives of the Pacific Northwest "For 500 generations they flourished until newcomers came… much was lost, much was devalued, but much was also hidden away in the hearts of the dispossessed." Sam stopped talking and dumped the rest of his coffee out.

Dean shook himself out of the spell of his brother's voice. "Ok, like I asked, what are we doing here?"

Sam tuned and studied his brother's face. "We are going to go try to get her to let go. She walks all around this market. Some people see her, most don't. Those that see her generally are frightened but I think she is simply lost and trying to find something that she remembers. Let's go walk and look for her."

The brothers wandered the market. Dean was entranced with three full floors of stuff; strange little shops that sold baskets and sea shells or told fortunes. He stopped and stared at a marionette shop. Sam was making small random purchases here and there.

"What 'd you got, Sam?" Dean finally asked when Sam stopped to look at berries out in front of a food store. "Where's your summoning bowl?"

Sam smiled. "Do you really think a brass bowl is going to help with this ghost, Dean?" Sam showed him a reed basket he had bought at the "Real Native Crafts" store. "I think she will find this much more familiar."

He waved a hand at the berry display. "These are all native to the region. In the summer and fall her people would gather thumbleberries, Salal, raspberries, salmonberries, blackberries, strawberries, and more, to eat then and to dry for the long winter. Berries were a large part of their diet. I thought she might like some."

Dean smiled as they sat down on a convenient bench. "What else you got in the bags? You're going to be her sweetheart at this rate with the pretty presents you're buying for her."

Sam opened a bag and lifted out handfuls of sea shells for his brother's inspection. "I've got a basket and berries and beads for her. I think a little dried fish will finish the whole thing nicely. They should all be comfortable, familiar things for her."

"Well, you've come to the right place for fish, that's sure." Dean said and waved his hand in front of his face. "Smells to high heaven here with the fish."

"That's the fish market." Sam said and stood up. "You've got to come see this. It's famous."

Dean trailed after his brother. "A famous gathering of dead fish. This I've got to see"

They came around a corner and laid out in front of them was the Pike Place Fish Market where muscular young men threw purchases to the customers. "Look at that, flying fish," Dean said in awe.

"Like no one's ever thought of that before," Sam snarked back. "But look in front of you, there she is."

An old, wrinkled and toothless woman was moving slowly down the aisle. As the brothers watched a fish was thrown through her. Dean giggled. She had ignored the fish but, he thought, the fish had ignored her too. Of course, the fish was dead. But then, so was she. He laughed out loud at the thought.

Sam pinched his lips tightly and glared at his giggling brother. "Don't laugh at her, you jerk,"

"Oh, settle down, Sammy-kins. I don't think she heard me."

Sam demonstrated that it was possible for his lips to tighten even more. He waved his free hand at Dean, indicating that he should move away from Sam and his ghost. Sam looked around and found seating where people could rest their feet and watch the fish market antics.

He showed the ghost his basket with the gleaming berries and piles of shell. He was right, it attracted her attention and she moved towards him. He backed into the nearest bench seat and set the basket down beside him, leaving her plenty of room to approach. Just to be safe he flicked a look at Dean, making sure his brother stood guard.

The old woman ghost put out a shaking hand to try and touch the berries and she looked up into Sam's face.

He saw, clearly, a memory fill her eyes and heard the high, sharp calls of sea birds. She was dreaming of a slim legged native girl dancing on the sand lined shore, chasing the birds away from her clams and laughing. Far in the distance dark clouds were gathering but they made no impression on the pretty young girl. He knew it was her; it was Kikisoblu, gathering the clams as a girl, happy before all the troubles began. The old woman's face relaxed and her hand hovered over the basket and his gifts.

Her shoulders fell and her face softened and he saw her fall apart in an invisible wind and blow out to sea on a memory.

Dean stood to the side, once again impressed that Sam could do these things, could connect and give a spirit rest. He only wished the best for Kikisoblu and hoped she could stay in the past forever.

ooOoo

Resources used for this story:

"Ghosts Among Us" by Leslie Rule, 2004

Legends of America web site, .com

Wikipedia: the Duwamish tribe