Chapter Three - The House At The End Of The Street

"So, here we are." John spoke as the Impala came to a sudden screech. Dean fell forward in his seat, the belt yanking back on his neck. He then was forcefully pulled back, hitting his head hard on the back of the seat.

"Shit." He exclaimed, rubbing his head in a circular motion. "Oh yeah, we stopped." John said snorting at himself.

As Dean tried to figure out what was going on, he looked at the image outside the window. "Holy crap." Dean said, rolling down his window to get a closer view. "When you said this community was gated you sure as hell meant what you were saying."

Dean stared at the gate surround by a tall hard brick wall twenty feet above the ground. At the tip, Dean could barely see the slight bristle tree branches swaying back and forth. "It's like we're gonna go live with Donald Trump or something." Dean said, having an urge to get out of the Impala and take a closer look.

"Dean, it's just an old blockade. It's not the Wall Of China or anything." Dean looked at his father. "What's that?" John rolled his eyes.

"I'll be right back." Dean's father got out of the car, leaving the door ajar.

Next to the gate was a box with a slot built into it. John grabbed a rectangular card out of his back pocket and slid it into the receiving slot. Just like the hotel room, a green light lit up inside the metal box and the gate began to creak open. John made his way back to the car, seating himself up and closing the door behind him.

"Welcome to Thrunsdale Dean."

"What the hell is this? The House At The End Of The Street?" Dean said with sarcasm as they pulled up to the new house. John just stared at his son. "Dean, do you think I would ever really buy a house like that?"

Dean stared outside the window.

The house that they were about to sprawl up to had it's shingles broken, the windows actually tinted black, except for the attic window, and the front door was huge with three deadbolts that had to be locked from the outside. Dean thoughts of some kind of abuse could be there. The last place he would ever want to be in.

"No, it looks like some kind of satanic torture has happened there or something!" John continued to drive. "Good, because that's not our house. And plus, that movie was just horrible, that Last House On The Left At The End Of The Street or something."

John went further down the street and pulled up to a driveway. "Home sweet home." He sighed, turning and parking into the driveway.

"Holy shit, know wonder we've been broke for two months, you basically just bought a mansion."

John pulled the keys out of the ignition as Dean got out of the car. "Am I being punked or something?" Dean said, almost running up to the front door like a five year old.

"The landlord said that the keys would be under the mat." John exclaimed, as he and his son both stared down at the greeting mat which read: Come in. But if you have coffee, then please, stay. Dean couldn't help but laugh as his father removed the greeting mat to retrieve the key.

Their were two. Dean knew that one was for his father and one was for him.

John put the mat back in place and slid the key into the lock, turned it, and the door opened.

Two words entered Dean's head: Holy Jesus.

The two entered the first room, already filled with furniture. Two couches came together to form an open corner, at each of them stood an end table with lamps. Over that was a chandelier that had about fifty small bulbs. This was most likely the family room because there was only two other things in the room and that were paintings hanging up on the wall. A copy of Mona Lisa and a small unknown picture of a ship sinking in the ocean at a distance. Up against past the wall stood spiraling stairs leading to the second floor.

Dean began going around the main level, first entering the room to the right. There was another sofa with end tables and lamps. In front of that was a small wood table. Across the room was a flat screen television, DVR, the whole nine yards.

Dean went further towards the back, where a dining room was with a table and two big wood china sets. Dean went in through the doorway and came into the kitchen. This room had impressed him the most.

The counter was marble with cut edges. The cabinets were also built into the setting above the counter. In the middle stood an island and above that hung tools to cook. Dean went back into the family room where his father stood.

"Now the upstairs." John said, beginning the journey up the stairs. Dean counted every step. Twenty-seven in all.

"My room's right here." John pointed to the door next to them. "I'll be in there whenever you need me. This is the main bathroom."

John pointed to another door all the way at the end of the hallway. "And that is the main bedroom, yours." Dean walked over to the door, opening it.

Inside was a full room with a queen bed, and you had to take a few steps down before you were level with the floor. To the right was a balcony and to the left was a bathroom.

"So how do you like it?" John said opening the door. Dean turned around to face his father.

"I love it." Dean exclaimed.

Dean and his father made their way down the stairwell, coming back to all the familiar objects they've just seen.

"Now Dean, you know the usual concept. Since this case is gonna take some time I'll be doing some cases every couple days. I may not be back for awhile for some of them so lock the door while you're at it."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know, I know. I just can't believe we're living here. In this place. I love it. It's gonna be awesome." John smiled comfortably. "That's great to hear. I love this house too."

The two were silent for a moment till both agreeing to go back outside and start clearing out the car. But when Dean stepped outside, and he felt that agonizing energy.

Of being watched again. It was all around him again.

The leaves, the trees, the sidewalks, the cars, the driveways. Everywhere. He felt it everywhere. Especially from the creepy house across the street.

And then at the window was the boy peering out through the attic window. The same one with the long hair to his eyes and the hands in his sweater who was a few inches taller then Dean.

The same one sitting at the curb outside Denny's and the same one who was peering across the street at Dean and his father from the tall garden bushes.

He was living in the creepy house that had three deadbolts.

I honestly love writing this story. I've actually had an idea sort of like this but with original characters, but I just felt like it didn't have enough spark to it. I've tried working it out with other categories but only Supernatural fits, and I think it's perfect. Dean just brings the story to live and gives it charisma and wisdom.

Oh, and if I get 5 reviews I will post another chapter!