Chapter 4: "The Feast Begins"

Dean gave Sam the cliff notes version of what the bartender had told him and Sam looked at the old man. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"I've already said too much," the old man answered.

Dean was about to argue when a high-pitched scream rang through the air.

He and Sam bolted upstairs with Marybeth on their heels.

When they reached the top, they saw that three of the people on the floor were out of their rooms and gathered around Tiffany in the hallway, who was weeping over a Spanish man's twisted and bloody body, most likely Carlos'.

Sam squeezed through the crowd to reach her. "Tiffany."

She ignored him and turned to the small crowd, crying, "Why is no one calling 9-1-1?!"

"None of our cell phones are working," the only woman out of the three explained.

There was both sympathy and fear in her voice.

Tiffany craned her neck to look back at Carlo's wide dead eyes and fresh tears sprung to her eyes. She shook and Sam touched her shoulder in comfort. She turned to him and accepted his embrace for comfort.

"Where's the manager?" a mid-thirties, army type man asked.

"He won't be any help," Dean told him. "He's either the reason that man is dead, or he's dead."

"We've got to get out of here," the woman decided.

"No!" Dean jumped to stop her. "You have to stay here. Something nasty is waiting by the door, trust me."

The army man stepped towards him. "What is it?"

"A spirit," Dean replied. "And believe me, it's out for blood."

The man laughed. "You've got to be joking. You can't think we're going to believe that."

"Do or don't believe, that's up to you," Dean huffed. "But I'm not joking."

The man eyed him, but eventually backed off.

"What are we supposed to do?" the other person, a skinny guy with glasses asked.

"Stay here," Dean answered. "My brother and I are going to find a way out."

He passed his gun to the army guy. "Here, you know how to use this. If you see anything besides me or Sam," he paused to nod at his brother, "Shoot it."

The army guy frowned, but after a few seconds nodded. "Alright. But if you two don't succeed in an hour, I'm leading the way out. And if you do anything suspicious I'm going to shoot you."

"Fair enough," Dean said.

He glanced at Sam and Sam stood and headed towards him. The woman took his place trying to comfort Tiffany.

"Dean, how are we going to find out how to put all the spirits to rest before an hour's up?" Sam hissed as they walked away.

Dean shrugged. "We'll just have to. He wasn't going to budge, Sam."

"What's the plan?" Sam inquired.

"Talk to the bartender again," Dean replied. "Convince him to spill."

"I can't," the old man refused. "You don't understand, they will kill me. Any past employee who knew and told someone else where the bodies were buried were killed."

"They know," Sam said.

"Yes, they know." The old man nodded. "They know destroying their corpses are they only why they can be forced to rest."

"How do you know this?" Dean asked.

"I researched it on that computer thing," the old man explained.

"Internet?" Sam guessed.

"Yes," the old man said.

Dean frowned. "So why didn't they kill you?"

"They knew I'd be too afraid to act," the old man told him. "I am old, feeble, slow. They'd kill me before I could even flip a lighter on."

"We can protect you," Sam rushed. "Please, we need your help to save everyone."

The old man closed his eyes. "I don't know why I am afraid to die, when dying would be a relief."

"You won't die," Sam said.

"Yes I will," the old man sighed. "But I will help you even though. I am sick of standing here, behind this counter; quiet, living in fear and guilt. Time I do the Navy proud one last time, I guess."

He opened the small wooden door closing off the back of the bar from guests, and joined Sam and Dean on the other side.

"Most of the bodies were buried in the graveyard out back," the old man said. "Others were buried in their hometowns."

"Well, that's helpful," Dean huffed.

"But we don't need to burn the bones if we find what is keeping them here," the old man told him.

"What's that?" Sam quizzed.

The old man turned to face him. "Not what, who. The spirits are controlled. I don't know how, but they have always been, it just took me a while to piece it all together."

"Do you know who's controlling them?" Sam inquired.

"It's Joseph."