We'll Meet Again Chapter 2
Dean felt the caffeine hit his blood stream like a semi hitting a low bridge.
In a word? Powerful! His eyes flew open wide as he tried to concentrate on his younger brother's voice through the lingering remains of his hangover.
"Dude!" Sam called sharply "remember to blink would ya? You're starting to freak me out with that whole Shaun of the Dead look you got goin' on there!"
"Hmm? What?" Dean responded, his brain functions finally snapping to attention. He slowly blinked and Sam couldn't suppress a snigger as awareness was triggered in his brother's gaze.
"Earth to Dean…" he began.
"Yeah, yeah I'm with ya Sammy!" Dean snapped. "You talk to Jay yet? What she say?" He added when Sam nodded.
"Well," Sam sat back with a smug grin plastered on his face, "quite a lot actually…"
Dean looked horrified. His brother's eyebrows were actually waggling up and down suggestively!
"Dude, spare me the details!" Dean's face twisted a little in disgust. "The last thing I need this time of day is the imagery that only Jay's dirty phone calls can provide." He glanced at Sam's amused smile. "Tell me when I'm awake enough to appreciate it!"
He'd once accidentally answered Sam's phone whilst his little brother was in the shower, only to hear Jay's breathless voice telling him what she planned on doing to his body the next time she saw him…it was quite the experience and for the first time Dean felt quite jealous of his little brother. Jay had nearly died laughing, not in the least embarrassed.
Sam gave a shout of laughter. "Sorry Dean, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."
"Yeah well tell me about this hunt, but you even think about kissing me…ugh dude!" Dean recoiled as Sam blew him a kiss then pouted provocatively, pretending to leer at him.
Dean fake-wretched and Sam laughed again.
Sam thought of the cheeky Essex girl who'd sent them on this hunt.
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As things turned out, Jay had been a bit of a bad influence on Dean.
First off, she'd introduced him to HP Sauce, a thick brown, vile substance that Sam hated, and he wasn't in all honesty sure he could ever forgive Jay for that. This was because Dean, of course, had fallen in love with the bloody stuff, and now smeared gallons of HP Sauce on absolutely everything!
As if his obsession with onions wasn't bad enough.
Secondly, she'd taught Dean the dirtiest of Monty Python tunes, such as The Medical Love Song (Sam particularly winced at that one), Sit on My Face (which was also Jay's current ring tone – another wince, especially in public!) and Bruce's Philosophers Song.
That wasn't the worst of it either because now she'd moved onto Derek and Clive AKA Peter Cook and Dudley Moore.
It came as a surprise to Sam as Dean had always claimed that academia wasn't his 'cuppa java', but his older brother had turned out to be an excellent student and now knew all the songs off by heart!
He was even word perfect whilst drunk.
Especially whilst drunk.
Sam had sighed in pained amusement, trying to figure out how he'd managed to hook up with the sexy, intelligent, green-eyed goddess, who also apparently owned the filthiest mind in Great Britain.
Mind you, Sam smirked to himself, there was a definite plus side to sharing the bed with She-Of-Smut FM.
Well, not always the bed. Sometimes the sofa, the kitchen worktop, the study desk, and at least one occasion when Dean was down the pub, the hood of Jay's Triumph Stag.
Shaking his head a little, Sam brought his mind back to the hunt and proceeded to explain it to Dean. Switching on his laptop he brought up the email sent by Jay.
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"Bircham Newton, King's Lynn, Royal Air Force station during the second world war and continued that role until it's closure in 1962." Sam, as usual rattled off the facts.
"There's a lot of ghost stories surrounding that place, stemming from the duration of the war…"
"Not surprising, given the shit goin' on back then." Dean interrupted for a second.
Sam nodded in agreement.
"Recently there's been an increase in supernatural activity, and three people have been killed on the base in the last month. Found at the foot of the stairwell to the squash courts, all died instantly from the long fall. No witnesses."
Sam continued. "The most famous ghost story is about a bomber that crashed on the landing strip of the base. Three of the crew was killed outright and these men are said to return to the station's old squash courts in order to play their favourite sport. An RAF officer has been sighted from time to time and the sound of a ball bouncing off the walls in the empty courts can often be heard."
Dean shrugged. "So? Sounds harmless enough. Come on Sam, these guys died defending their country. Surely they deserve a little down time in the after life."
"That's not all Dean," Sam looked up from Jay's email, a worried expression forming. Dean knew that look.
"Jay's gone on to describe some of the other sightings." Sam scrolled down the page a little. "During World War Two a car load of drunken pilots were killed when they crashed into a hangar. Apparently these guys can be found roaming the base to this day."
"Huh." Dean thought for a moment. "Angry spirits?"
It was Sam's turn to shrug. "Could be. I mean, they died during the war but not in action. That would certainly piss me off."
Dean silently agreed. Getting yourself killed in a drunken accident when millions were fighting a world war lacked a certain edge.
"What else does she say?"
"Um…when driving through the base, about half way, noises or echoes seem to come from beneath the road. There's supposed to be an underground tunnel that was used by the airmen during air raids."
Dean frowned. "Supposed to be a tunnel? That's a little vague."
"Perhaps it collapsed during a raid and buried people alive down there. That kinda violent death could enrage a spirit," Sam hypothesized, "and may be no one's bothered to check the tunnel since."
Sam scrolled down further again. "The base is now owned by a construction college and some of the students have reported seeing figures disappearing up stairs and the feeling of being watched…the usual stuff. That would explain the increase in supernatural manifestations - someone messing with the buildings. But a Japanese film crew were making a documentary at the station's squash courts some years ago when a door slammed but there was no breeze, they heard someone singing an old World War Two ballad "We'll Meet Again", and they managed to catch a woman's voice on tape. They also got a shot of a man embracing a woman," Sam glanced up at Dean. "Which may tie in with the next story. The bomber crews used to fly twin-engined Hudsons over the North Sea dropping lifeboats to ditched flight personnel. One flight crashed killing three pilots, all of whom played squash. But a WRAF officer" Sam caught Dean's quizzical look "that meant she was an officer serving in the Women's Royal Air Force," he continued when Dean nodded. "A WRAF officer was the girl friend of one of the pilots who had, just for fun, sneaked her on board the flight. She was also killed in the crash."
"That explains the woman's voice." Dean said thoughtfully. "I guess that flight turned out to be not so much fun after all."
"Yeah. But Jay has another theory. Well, someone else's theory anyway." Sam frowned a little. "She went down to the town of Wickford to see a former member of the Royal Air Force. Apparently he's quite the expert on military history and he knows about the hauntings at RAF Bircham Newton. But his explanation is somewhat different to the one Jay found on the internet."
"How so?" Dean's ears really pricked up.
"He suggested that the WRAF officer was actually cheating on another officer at the time, and when she was killed on that flight the other guy found out about the affair, lost it and threw himself down the stairwell at the squash courts." Sam fixed his eyes on his brother. "He died instantly."
"Bingo!" Dean sat up and drained the rest of his coffee. "Let's get to work."
Sam switch off the laptop and packed it away.
The brothers prepared for the journey further North.
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Authors Notes:
The ghost stories surrounding RAF Bircham Newton are considered legendary in the British military world. My parents remember listening to a radio program when I was little that played the recordings from the squash courts. We had an old Labrador who started behaving strangely, whining and looking decidedly unhappy. A week later the DJ of that same show announced that hundreds of calls had come in from around the UK; family pets had gone berserk on hearing the recordings and there was no logical explanation.
As we are all aware, there's nothing remotely logical in the world of the Winchesters so I decided to take the Bircham Newton hauntings and place my own little spin on them.
My apologies to anyone who lives near the area or who indeed knows the stories better than I do.
It is not my intention to offend, merely to entertain.
Kind regards,
ST.xxx.