Chapter 10

The Graveyard

The motorcycle and stolen car pulled up to an abandoned graveyard and turned off their engines. Johnny stepped of his bike, now fully human, and headed toward the caretaker's shed. Sam and Dean got out of the car and followed him.

"What's the pit stop for? You know, this isn't really the time for paying visits to the dead when we could soon be pulling up a grave next to them," Dean remarked.

"We need answers. The gas explosion was a good cover to help us escape, but there's no way it killed them. We have to know what we're up against and how to kill them. For good," Johnny concluded without looking back.

"That all sounds great, but what kind of answers do you expect to find here from a bunch of dead guys?" Dean asked as they reached the door of the shed.

Johnny turned back to them with his hand on the door handle.

"A man can learn a lot from taking care of the dead."

Johnny opened the door to reveal an elderly man with silver hair clad in sloppy brown garments with a vest like from an old western film sitting up to a wooden table with a mug of something hot in hand.

"You boys want some mornin' Joe?" he asked innocently in a thick southern drawl. "Just made a fresh pot."

The Winchesters took in the simplicity of this man. Sam recognized him from his flashback of Johnny and knew this man to be a big part of his life, but couldn't place the connection. They exchanged questioning glances before shooting one at Johnny.

Johnny brushed off their skepticism and entered the little hut with a smile.

"I'd love one."

Still unsure, Sam and Dean followed Johnny to the table, where they all took a seat on whatever they could find and allowed the man to pour them all mugs of coffee.

As he poured the coffee, the man said, "I hope you don't mind it black. Don't have much need here for refrigerators, so I don't got no cream. Sugar I just don't eat. But black coffee'll make y' strong. Builds character to drink it raw."

"Black is fine, thanks," Sam responded politely.

The man finished pouring and turned to Johnny with his mug raised to his silver, scruffy beard. "You need more patchin' up there, boy, or just come for the Joe?"

"We came for your cheery company…" Johnny quipped with a grin, but when no smile was returned from the man he continued, "We came for some information. You know the kind I mean."

The man took a slow sip of his coffee and placed the mug on the table, taking his time before answering. "Yeah, I know the kind you mean. Whatcha find yourself in this time?"

"Demons. And they 'ain't going quietly."

"They never do. Y' got their names?"

"Yeah. Uh… Malphas is one. He's the leader. Um, Lilith. She was the bitch, wasn't she? Then, uh… Oh, god, help me out fellas."

Dean chimed in next. "Well there was that suit guy, then that soon-to-be zombie, and the Billy Idol wannbe."

"Osiris, Murmur, and Shezma," Sam clarified.

Dean and Johnny gave Sam a shared look that Dean voiced by saying, "How in the hell did you remember that?"

"How could you not?" Sam concluded.

"Well y' got some big ones in there, son," the man stated, drawing their attention back to important matters. "If those names are correct, then you've all got yourselves in for some real hard times ahead."

"What do you know about them?" Dean asked.

"Well, those names are as old as the legends go. Some of 'em among the very first demons." The boys listened intently as the old man told his tale. "Lilith, well she goes back as far as Adam and Eve on account o' she was Adam's first wife before Eve. But she was independent, feisty. No way Adam could control her. So she went off to the Garden of Eden and fell in love with an angel named Samael. But in those times it was against their Heavenly vows to fraternize with humans, so Samael was banished from her and, as punishment, Lilith was castrated; never allowed to bear children, which, o' course, was the only thing she ever wanted. So she turned dark side. Spent the rest of her days leadin' children away from their parents, killin' mothers and pregnant women, seducin' men away from their devoted wives. After all the carnage she created, the Devil made her a demon in charge of plague and disease since she just about was one with how she tore families apart, leaving some poor souls with not a loved one left breathin'.

"Osiris… now he was known to the ancient Egyptians as the God of the Underworld. Started off as an ordinary farmer with a steady business and a lovin' wife. But his brother, Set, was jealous. Killed him. Not once, but twice. And every time Osiris' wife, Isis, went to the Gods and begged they bring him back to life. And so they did. But soon they were done with the charade and gave him immortality, though in return they charged him with the task of judgin' every soul that pass through Death and ferry them to Heaven or Hell accordingly. One day he got tired of this. Several generations of his family had come and gone, and as he couldn't die, he soon had nothing on this world to care for. In rebellion, he started sendin' all the souls to Hell. The angels got angry and stripped him of his duties, sendin' him to Hell and makin' him a demon. The Devil was grateful for the souls he sent so he gave him power over Reapers, nearly equal to that of Death. He can tell when a person's time is up and send Reapers to collect their souls."

The man stopped to take another sip from his mug and let the information he had given them so far sink in. The boys wore expressions of panic and dread.

"Now Shezma comes from lore of Egyptian origins like Osiris, but I don't think he was ever of God-like status. Not much is known about him, though some say he was the first Vampire before he became demon. All I know is he drained so many victims and racked up such a body count that when the Devil turned him demon he gave him rule over Execution and Blood, Slaughter and Wine. Must've liked a good drink as well as a good kill, but that could be just speculation."

"Are all of these demons Lords of something, or are there any normal demons that we actually have a chance of killing?" Dean asked with worry.

"Well, you could say Malphas, in a way, since he started out as a lower class soldier demon. He was merely an ambitious soul with a lot o' persistence and dedication to his cause."

"But he's not anymore?" Johnny asked.

The storyteller took another sip of coffee before responding matter-of-factly, "No."

The three dropped their heads and sighed, knowing their luck couldn't have changed that soon. The man continued.

"No, Malphas, he wanted power. He didn't want to be a soldier like the rest of 'em. He killed and clawed his way to power, now, from what I hear, as President of Hell, or one o' the Nine Circles at least. I don't understand the rankin' system. Too complicated for the likes o' me. But he got there. Commands legions – how many? I lost count. Not exactly current since I been retired a while. But those other four are prob'ly under his command. It's a political game to get a seat on a throne, not necessarily power, so the others may not've had a choice. Y' may be able to separate 'em that way."

The others nodded at this new piece of advice.

"But anyway, he has some mind control powers. Don't think it works on supernatural creatures, so you may be okay, Johnny. But you boys better be careful."

"And what about the last demon? Murmur?" Sam asked.

"Well, he was a shaman, way back before, of some aboriginal tribe. They were at war with another tribe in the area. Prob'ly over territory or the like. One night, as his tribe slept, they were slaughtered by the opposin' tribe and only he was left to feel the pain o' the loss. For him, that pain was great. He was a man o' his people. So he dedicated his life to finding a way to bring 'em back. Startin' off as a medicine man, he quickly turned to the Black Arts and Voodoo Magic. Accomplished some magnificent feats from what I hear. Half near wrote the book on Black Magic. When finally he died, unsuccessful in his quest, the Devil made him a demon and granted him the power of Resurrection and Necromancy so he could bring back and control whomever he wanted. Legions of dead at his command. He may look like nothin', but y' sure don't wanna mess with him."

"Great, so we're all gonna die," Johnny stated sarcastically, but true fear was hidden behind his eyes.

"You 'ain't gonna die, boy. But y' sure as hell gotta play it smart with this one. No runnin' in there with some cocky attitude and a smartass mouth. The power of the Rider can only get y' so far. And if they're out, they got some plan in mind. Don't want y' t' mess this up, or lots o' people are gonna lose their lives. And as it is, it might even be your own," the man said with one more sip that finished off the mug.

The boys looked down at their barely touched mugs of now cold coffee; not a hint of a smile on any of their faces.

"How do you know so much about all of this? You said you were retired," Sam questioned.

"I was the Rider. Once. Pretty darn good at it too. But I did my time. Now it's time to look after the bodies I helped put here," the caretaker said, looking out the window to the headstones looming over the graveyard like a foreboding fog.

"Well it was great to see you again, but we have a plan to cook up, it seems. Thanks for everything," Johnny said with an outstretched arm as he rose from his seat.

The caretaker stood as well and shook Johnny's hand in a strong grip.

"You take care."

Sam and Dean rose to follow Johnny's lead. They each shook the caretaker's hand and said their thanks. The caretaker nodded in response and watched them as they returned to their vehicles. He knew the true dangers of the fated task they had undertaken and wished there was something he could do to help. He watched the stolen car and Johnny's bike disappear into the distance and hoped for a day he would see them alive again.