So sorry this took so long to update. I've been very distracted lately but I do hope you enjoy!
Chapter 6: The Book of the Dead
"Alright, Bobby," Dean Winchester projected into the speaker phone setting of Sam's cell, "give it to us straight." He'd been in need of some answers since Doc Tilly kicked them out of the hospital for "disturbing her patient".
"You're reporters, aren't you?!" she accused, shoving them out the door.
"Please, M'am!"
"Get the hell out of here before I call the real police!"
Sam tossed his brother a can of soda from across the motel room—interrupting his train of thought— "what'd you find out about the Necronomicon?" the youngest Winchester allowed his soda to foam over his finger tips after cracking it open.
"Not much," the elder man grumbled through the receiver, "but what I did find I know you're not gonna like it."
Dean finished a large gulp of the carbonated drink and belched, "yeah, so what else is new?"
"Okay, here it goes," Bobby sighed, "So this book you're boy was talkin' about is called the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, translates roughly to the Book of the Dead."
"Sounds like a reject from Oprah's book club," the eldest brother joked again.
"Yeah, rejected for good reason," Bobby's gruff voice chuckled sarcastically, "Supposedly this thing contains ancient Sumerian funerary rites and resurrection passages for—to put it lightly—some seriously evil shit that is given license to possess the living. Heck, even the first pages are said to bear warning about consequences of messin' with this stuff."
"Good to know they put that sort of thing right on the label, huh Sammy?"
Sam shot his brother a "shut-up" glare as he took a swig from his aluminum can.
"Legend has it the book was bound in human flesh and inked in human blood" each brother grimaced while they heard Bobby flipping through pages on the other side of the line, "the only thing I could find about an author is the casually mentioned the Dark Ones," Dean raised his brow, "ahhh, the book went MIA around 1300AD and nobody's seen it since. Or at least if they have they aren't talkin' about it."
"All but one guy," Sam replied.
TV time. Time for us mentally unstable convicts to interact in an orderly and humane fashion. Really, it's just time for Ash to watch his soaps while drooling bobble heads play nice with the other drooling bobble heads. Honestly, am I the only one here capable of carrying on a dent conversation? Is it because I tongue my meds, is that why I'm so remarkably lucid? Ah well, the novellas are on Telemundo. Though I can't understand a word they're saying, I know Girl with Tight Ass is pissed at Chick with Huge Cans and are preparing to duel via spiral staircase. This should be interesting.
Beside me I heard the faintest whisper of a chuckle. "Could you be quiet, please?" I forcibly asked, "I'm watchin' this."
The giggling only grew louder. The laughter mocked me with every single obnoxious high pitched note it produced. Lord I hate that noise. "Hey, seriously now, C'mon!" I shouted, wheeling my head around.
Seated not far from me on the dingy couch was a gal I less than affectionately refer to as the Quiet One. Been here three years she has, and never once said a peep. Some nurse once spilled the beans that this chick got picked up for some several counts of arson because of teen angst and daddy didn't play nice yada and never even said a word out loud during court. I'm not surprised at her most recent choice of residence. Choice being that of a judge's.
So anyhow there sat this spooky quiet chick in her lovely form fitting straight jacket laughing her ass off. She kept her head bent to hide her face behind those black locks but I could see her shoulders quivering and hear those hellish giggles.
"Ahhh, Nurse…" I called, inching away from the former catatonic, "Nurse!"
"What is it now, Mr. Williams?" one of the young ones responded.
"I, uhh, I think something's wrong with the Quiet Girl…"
"What makes you say that?" I could almost hear her eyes roll.
"Well, for starters she's makin' noise."
"Okkaay, so let's say the book is real," Dean offered, "and this professor our guy kept talking about really did translate these resurrection passages onto a tape recorder... that means…"
"If Ward played that tape then he could have resurrected something," his brother finished.
"Ah, boys," Bobby grumbled, "I don't know if I need to warn you again but this thing contains some seriously nasty stuff. I read up on this Williams' guy's case too; and from the pictures and what he described," Bobby whistled through the phone lines, "sure ain't nothing pretty comin' out of there."
"Assuming our guy isn't a raving lunatic!" Dean yelled.
"You don't believe him?" Sam suggested.
Dean paused and ruffled his hair as he thought, "I don't know, Sammy."
"It all fits," Sam defended the "lunatic", "the book, his friends being possessed by what he said were demons—which we all know to be real—the professor's findings, what happened to Ward, the stuff in his evidence box getting stolen again!"
"Wait, a minute Sam!" Bobby's voice yelled, "Stolen again?"
The youngest brother sighed, "Yeah. From an evidence lock-up, the tape recorder and some other stuff."
"Was the book actually with any of this stuff?"
"The cops made no mention of a book," Sam groaned, "but—"
"But," his brother interrupted, "nobody seems to willing to cooperate when it comes to asking a few questions around here."
"Boys," the brothers suddenly had a nagging feeling that their substitute father figure would state the obvious, "whether your Williams guy or this book is one hundred percent if this recording seems to be destroying anything that comes in contact with it," the boys gave a silent nod, "you need to get your hands on this thing before more people show up dead."
"Shut up" I hissed at the frantically giggling brat beside me. Her whole body shivered as the cackles increased. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed in her squeally little mouse voice all through three commercial breaks. Never once did she surface for air. I hate that noise. I really hate that noise.
The nurses ignored my complaint, as to be expected. But how could they have ignored this? Those unstoppable giggles were damn near torture. And I missed most of my story.
"I said shut up," I growled, low just for her. Her throat released a shrill pitch, echoing off the walls. I felt like my ears would pop.
"We're gonna get you," a childlike voice sing-songed into my cranium. I shook my head, hoping to dislodge that all too realistic memory, "we're gonna get you…" that same thing sang again. This time I feared what I already knew; that the sound wasn't just inside my head.
"Not another ppeeEEeepp…" my head pivoted, slowly, rickety like a sprinkler toward the source of my migraine. Quiet Girl sat unfazed in her straight jacket. That black curtain of hair hid most of her face save for an eye. One eye.
It giggled again before singing in its unnatural echo, "Time to go to sleeeEEeepp…"
So I did what any man in my position would do. I leaped from my end of the couch and clocked her one right in the face.
"Thanks, Bobby," both boys mumbled as Sam hang up the call. They had agreed to hunt for this recording, as a start, in hopes it would lead them to something bigger. Neither really knew what that something bigger might be yet. The only thing they could think of was the book, the Necronomicon, but neither knew exactly what could come out of it—if anything could at all.
"Damn it, Sammy," Dean groaned, "We don't even know where to begin looking for this crap." He instinctively grabbed for the TV remote. His baby brother shrugged.
"We could go back to Ward's house,"
"That was a bust,"
"Or the police break in or…" Sam halted for a moment.
"Don't even say it, Sammy!"
"Now, more on the tragic story of the horrific murder of a local woman that occurred last night right in this once peaceful neighborhood," the Winchester brothers' eyes were both glued to the television set upon recognizing the neighborhood they once visited only thirty some hours ago.
The reporter continued, "the skeletal remains of Betsy Ellen York were found—in her home— by a neighbor this morning who claims to be the last person to see Mrs. York's still missing daughter, Theresa."
The screen flashed to an interview with a sobbing neighbor, filmed earlier that day. The hysterical woman was still in her pajamas, curlers in her hair and tears stained he rosy cheeks. The woman never ceased shaking during her time on screen.
"I thought I saw little Theresa coming out of the house" the woman explained "all bloody and…and I think she had a knife in her hands. I went inside to call 911, but when I turned around again she was gone. I didn't want to go look for her though, I was too sacred. Something was wrong with her…with her eyes, by god I swear it something was just not right with her eyes!" a shaky hand briefly covered a drooling mouth, "there was so much blood when I went inside. It was everywhere… everywhere! How could somebody do that? What kind of monster could do that!"
The program cut back to the reporter standing outside the York's crime scene taped house, "Theresa, as well as her father, Mrs. York's husband Hal York, are still missing."
The brothers blinked silently for several moments of commercials, "Well," Dean finally shrugged, "something definitely came out of that tape."
His brother nodded rapidly beside him.
"She's having a seizure!" one nursed cried, attempting to stabilize the squirming monster on the floor. Doctors, nurses, orderlies—all of them gathered around the wailing once girl. She thrashed and whipped her head in every direction. She spewed nothing coherent but hysteric inhuman giggles at op volume. The monster kicked one orderly who went for her legs as she rolled all over the dirty tile. One Doc dislodged one of those tiny flashlights from his pocket and shined the light into her malformed face. They didn't know what was wrong with her, but I knew. I had already seen the eyes.
"Don't!" I screamed while the Doc brushed away some of her hair, "Don't touch her, stay away!" I pulled desperately against Ted's lock around my arms. Somebody ordered for him to bring me back to my room, where no doubt a straight jacket anxiously awaited my return.
"No!" I struggled, "She's a demon, get away from her!" I yelled and was ignored. I gave up and Teddy dragged me away. How could this happen? Didn't I stop this? I should have stopped this! This. Shouldn't. Be. Happening. And these people…all these people in the hospital, in the world. They were all gonna die. But before destroying the world of course the demons had to make a little pit stop here to torture me first. You bastards. Will you never die?
"For God's sake…" I mumbled in defeat, "how do you stop it?"
Neither brother needed to explain the urgency now associated with this case. They had watched an eye witness's hysterical tale and seen the graphic images the channel seven news team had to be chased out of a crime scene for. Whatever was on this recording could do damage, serious damage. It was also, more likely than not, connected with the Necronomicon book. Neither Winchester need mention of the immense damage someone—something—hell bent on destroying the world could do with it.
"So how do we stop it?" Dean mused aloud.
His brother didn't know. He knew neither of them had a clue as to what it was they were even dealing with. Where do they begin, "Well," Sam tentatively began, "we could go back to Ash."
"What?"
"He fought whatever it is this tape brought to life before and apparently won," his brother raised a brow at him, "at least...temporarily," Dean snorted. Sam's voice held a hint of last resort when he spoke next, "But I figure if anybody knows how to get rid of whatever this is, it's gonna be the only guy who's ever faced it and lived to tell the tale."