Throwing on an old tattered shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans, AnnaBeth drug herself to the front of the house, disarming another bomb. She sat down at the small table and pulled out one of the moth eaten books that Bobby Singer had borrowed to her, dropping it heavily on the surface and flipping it open. The day to day was exhausting. Today, she was dealing with a haunted house that seemed to be pretty close to her. Three people had gone into the house for an overnight stay 'with the dead', and nothing was returned of them. There were no bodies, flashlights, not even a pillow. Even to a hunter, this sounded strange.
The book she had borrowed was a record of all of the milling houses in the area. Families back in the days of this property owned mills and crop rows for miles and miles. Their ancestors and children died in the houses, gave birth in the houses, and even murdered people in the houses. The more she read, the less exciting or shocking this whole thing became. This particular milling family, the Swansons, was a violent group of moonshiners from the early 1920s. By violent, they meant murderous. In the days of the moonshine boom, in America, the moonshiners were like drug dealers. You didn't cross them, or attempt to welch money from them, or you ended up dead. Most importantly, you disappeared. So, what were these kids doing to disappear?
Giving a long hard look to the distance, AnnaBeth drifted into a daydream of working a haunted place with Dean and Sam. Quickly shaking the thought from her head, she turned her attention back to the book, and then to a bottle of whiskey perched on top of the table.
No sooner had she poured the glass of whiskey, did the doorbell ring. Standing from the table, she raised both eyebrows, and went into protection mode. AnnaBeth reached into one of Sam's jackets she had perched on the back of a chair, and pulled out a shiny pistol. This wasn't just any pistol. It was Sam Winchester's 1924 Colt .45 Semi Auto. The barrel was engraved with intricate sigils and vines, and the handle was inlaid with mother of pearl. A gun like this could easily be pawned for over $30,000, but it was the last remaining piece of Sam she owned.
Sneaking to the door, she pressed on the wall beside it, which opened a trap door and lead to a gunsafe. There, she pulled out a sawed off 12 gauge shotgun, pressing the release and opening the barrel. When she was satisfied that the gun was loaded with shot, and not salt, she pressed it to the door, and cracked the door open, very little.
Sighing, she lowered the shotgun and placed the safety back on her pistol, before stepping back and unlocking the chains on the door, "What do you want, Mika…?"
(Sorry for the short Chapter, guys! I am busy with finals, but I wanted to get a chapter posted. The next chapter will be a bit of a collaboration between myself and my best friend, Mika. So, I hope you enjoy! Please leave a review, if you don't mind!)