One Night Only Part Three

Sammy opened up the door and took a step back ready to let off a blast of rock salt, but then stopped.

Just stopped and gawked.

I did much the same.

Only Denny was left with any sense of speech – at least until the shock subsided.

"Okay, so who the heck are you, and why are you knocking on our motel room door like you're the undead?" Denny actually sounded demanding. I was impressed.

"I'm here because I was called, and I err…well, thought it was time I did actually show myself."

Sam was still looking like an open-mouthed fish outta water, but I'd gathered myself enough to at least move.

I grabbed our old pal Chuck Shurley, hauled his ass over the threshold and then slammed the door behind him before any fog creatures decided to emerge and kick ass.

"Chuck! Are you nuts? What are you doing out here?"

The writing prophet didn't seem to be anywhere near as meek and mild as I'd remembered him, but he still looked a geek. "I came because I think I owe it to you. I've been a little…lax in my duties of late."

Sam finally seemed to come up for air. "You're still writing about us? I thought all that would have stopped after…"

I was already getting confused. "You've come out here just to tell us what comes next in one of your crazy-ass stories? Dude, you're right in the middle of one and seeing as it's stolen from a Hollywood movie, I'd watch it or you're likely to get fried for copyright."

Chuck sighed and took the only chair in the room. He flopped down on it wearily. "You don't understand. I was never a writer – not in the sense that you are thinking. It's true I can and do influence every mortal and sometimes immortal thing, but I was never just a writer channelling an angel. I was more what you would call the creator."

I considered pointing my shotgun at him, but resisted. "Dude, you're starting to scare me. You sound just like a friend of mine before he went all Britney on us."

Chuck was still naive, I'll give him that. "Your friend shaved off his hair?" He asked.

"No," I quickly corrected. "Crazy S.O.B. thought he was God."

Chuck smiled at that, which was kinda creepy. "Ah yes, that friend. Castiel was very imprudent to take my place that way."

This time I did point the gun at Chuck, and from the corner of my eye I saw Sam do much the same. "So you think you're God now too?"

"I don't think, anything, although some days I wish it weren't so. Why do you think I spent so much time as a simple human? Why do you think I have refused so long to hear the calls of mankind as well as my own heavenly angels."

My eyes narrowed. "I can think of two reasons. Either because you ain't God, which is the one I'm swinging towards, or you are God, and you're a heartless, selfish bastard."

I heard Sam almost choke, so I guess he was thinking there was a slim chance old Chuck was telling the truth. "Dean," he hissed through clenched teeth.

I ignored him. "So, Chuck, if you're really the big "G" and you heard me demanding your presence, exactly what are you gonna do about it now you're here?" I didn't expect him to do anything – he was a dork, not an omnipotent being, right?

I paced a little around the chair he'd sat on. "How about for starters you clean up this mess of a world you've created? How about an end to the demonic skanks running rampant? How about Rufus back, or Jo, or how about Cas, huh? Or maybe even dad? And if you really are God, how about some answers to why this town seems to have gone rabid on Christmas Eve just like in Carpenter's The Fog? I could go on all night here…"

Denny's somewhat quiet voice emerged from the shadows where I can only assume she'd concealed herself. "Sheesh you don't ask for much."

I held up a finger. "Actually, sweetheart, I have one more request." I leaned over until I was looking Chuck right in the eye, but he didn't flinch like I expected. It really was as if this wasn't the same meek little man we'd encountered before.

Possessed, maybe?

I asked my question, at any rate. "If you really are God, prove it, Chuckles." I folded my arms and waited. "Show me some of that power, 'cause from where I'm standing I just see a lonely excuse for a man who likes to pretend he's more than he is by writing a few pages of fan fiction."

"Dean really, should you..?" Was Sam actually considering Chuck might be telling the truth?

"Yeah, I should," I snapped back.

Chuck stood from the chair, and to his credit he was pretty calm. "I didn't bring you here tonight to argue my identity. I didn't manipulate time to give you another hour, just so you could waste it on me."

"So, no proof, huh?" I scoffed. "That's just what I thought. So just outta interest, if you brought us here, which I doubt, why the whole "Fog" thing? You been taking lessons from Gabriel before he got his ass ganked? 'Cause I'm telling you, this isn't funny. Practical jokes that end in death are never funny."

"Actually," Chuck offered, his beard twitching. "It was me who taught Gabriel the art of manipulation. But that's for anther time, another place. What you see here tonight is no illusion. Neither is it the black arts reproducing a movie. It's simply… coincidence."

"You expect us to believe that?" Sam was started to get brave.

"Even filmmakers get their ideas from somewhere, Sam." Chuck turned to my brother, showing a softer side. A softer tone. He knows how to play people, I'll give him that. "John Carpenter came to nearby Goleta back in the seventies. He heard about a local legend – a story of a ship that was wrecked on purpose. Then he came through St Anthony's Cove and picked up tales of yet another legend. He melded the two together, names, places, added a little Hollywood spice and…"

Chuck clicked his fingers and instantly his appearance changed. Not too much, but gone were the everyday clothes, replaced by a pure black designer suit, and his beard, heck that was longer and whiter.

"Oh, so God wears made-to-measure Valentino's now?"

He brushed a fleck of dirt from his sleeve. "There's nothing wrong with keeping up appearances."

The clothes change and beard growth was a neat trick, but it didn't prove jack squat to me. Any lesser supernatural being could pull that one off. "So the whole Fog thing is what? A friggin' red herring?" I was getting annoyed now. I could feel my face reddening and my blood pressure rising.

"No," Chuck sounded different now, more, I don't know even how to describe it.

"What is happening here is part of a very real legend. If you do not solve the riddle and end this tonight, then the townspeople will suffer forever. You have until midnight to end their misery and your own."

Sam moved to stand next to me. "Or what? Dean has a point, we've jumped through hoops all our lives to try and do what's right, and what does it ever get us? How do we really know who and what you are?"

Denny hiccupped from her corner. "Gotta say, he looks like God to me, guys, suit or no suit."

Pseudo God smiled at that, and for a second I was reminded of the old Chuck. The scared Chuck. Had that always been a façade? "Like I said, if you're God, prove it, then me and Sammy might consider fixing this riddle crap. Hell, if you're God, why don't you fix it yourself?"

"Because I created man to be independent, not a race of beings I want to come running to me every time they have a problem – and yet, that is what became of man. That's why I decided to wash my hands of him for a time. Man must fight his own battles."

"And the angels too?"

"You saw what happened to Castiel. The angels were an ever weaker creature than humans. They were flawed. That was my fault, I see that now, but they're damaged goods."

"Whoa," I held up a hand. "You got a really bad opinion of everybody but yourself don't you? Have you been smoking Moby Dick's bong or what? You ever wonder why Cas did what he did? Dude, he had the mind of a child half the time, and when you leave kids home alone, you gotta expect a few toys thrown outta the playpen when you get back."

Chuck, or God, or whoever didn't seem impressed. "Castiel broke my commandments. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not take the name of the lord thy god in vain." He looked quite smug. "Shall I go on?"

I shrugged. "Hey, you can babble all night, but it doesn't change that you let the rugrats play in the big league and then didn't like the hissy fit that followed when they messed up."

"Castiel deserved to be punished."

"Okay, so Cas was a bad puppy, even if he felt he had no choices left, I get that, but what about the rest of us? What did we ever do to deserve the crap you brought down? Heck, are still bringing down," I was quite forceful considering he really was giving me the creeps now.

"Man must learn to look after himself. That learning curve began many moons ago with my son's death, and still it continues. Will continue with you here tonight. There is a lesson to be learned, and a wrong to be righted, and all it must all happen before the clock strikes the first hour of my son's official birthday."

Chuck clicked his fingers and was gone, just like that chick on I Dream of Genie. Oh wait, I think she scrunched her nose instead, but you get the picture.

I sucked in a long breath, grabbed the bottle I'd left earlier, took off the top and slugged down a sizable portion of it. "Man, can somebody tell me what just happened, because I feel like I got slugged by a bear. A big-assed bear."

"You think maybe Chuck is possessed or something?" Sam joined me, took the bottle from my hand and took a gulp himself. I wasn't expecting that.

I thought about the whole possession thing. "Not really," I answered honestly. "But I sure as hell don't think he's God, either."

"After what we've been through, after all we've seen, I'm not sure what I believe any more. I mean, maybe…"

I cut him off with a growl. "Don't even go there, Sam. The guy was a prophet, a storyteller, not the Almighty!"

Sam nodded, but I have to say he didn't seem convinced. "Okay, so say you're right, where does that leave us tonight?"

Denny appeared from the shadows again and this time took the bottle. It was almost empty, and she finished it off. I can't say as I blame her considering what we were putting her through. "I'd say it leaves us with an hour to solve a puzzle or the Grinch we just met might spoil Christmas."

"She has a point," Sam agreed. "Do we really have a choice? We have to find out one way or another what's happening here or we're likely to end up as another statistic."

"Or we could shag ass in the Impala and forget this sorry little town ever existed."

I don't think I really meant it, but at that moment I was so angry that we were being manipulated again, I would have done anything just to not play the game we were being railroaded into.

"Leave heaven knows how many people to their fates?" There was Sammy with his conscience again. Any second now my mind was screaming he was gonna mention Amy and how I hadn't just walked away from her when I could have.

Maybe he was right. Maybe Chuck was God and this was part of my punishment.

I pushed the guilty thought aside, grabbed my shotgun and started packing my things. Either way, we had to leave, and fast. "What say we just get in the car and figure out what comes next later, huh?"

Sam looked dubious but he followed my lead, which was surprising in itself. We hadn't unpacked much, so we were both ready within about two minutes.

"All clear," I asked as Sam checked the window.

"Still plenty of fog," he answered, peeling the curtain back. "But I don't see any angry truckers or God wannabes."

I nodded. "Sounds good to me." I slung my holdall over my shoulder, grabbed Denny's arm and opened the door, keeping the sawed-off level with just my right hand.

Outside was colder than I'd remembered it and the mist still swirled and flowed just a little too lithely for my liking. I almost dragged the girl over to the Chevy and Sam brought up the rear, his own shotgun pointed back towards the motel.

"You think all this could be a trap by the Leviathan?" He asked out of the blue.

That, of course, was the one thing I hadn't considered. Leviathans could mimic whatever they wanted. Hell, they'd Xeroxed me and Sammy, why not Chuck?

If it was them, this was one hell of a mind game, I'd give them that.

"Maybe," I answered without committing myself. "But once they had us in the motel, why not just chow down on us and be done with it?

Sam reached the Impala and opened a rear door for Denny. She slid in without complaint.

Then he grabbed the front passenger handle and stopped dead. Well, not dead, maybe that's a bad way of phrasing it given our situation, but he stopped at any rate.

"Dean, I don't think we were ever the targets here." He nodded over to the motel office and we both saw the pattern of fresh blood spattered on the glass of the window there. "That's the last place I saw "Norman,"" he offered, his throat bobbing.

I nodded back to him and silently we approached the building.

Fog ebbed around us, but thankfully didn't turn into anything more malevolent.

I reached the doorway first and edged my way inside keeping the barrel of my shotgun at mid-height ready to take out any unwanted guests.

Inside, the mist hung low over the floor, but not low enough to hide the remains of an eviscerated corpse. I kneeled, examining what was left of our little manager.

Somehow, even though I try not to take things personally, I felt sorry for the little guy.

He might have been creepy, but "Norman" hadn't deserved to have his head almost torn from his shoulders by what looked to be some kind of claw damage.

His dead eyes bulged in their sockets and his ashen face was a masque of terror. What had those eyes seen in those last moments?

"Dean?"

I looked up to see Sam staring outside.

"Dean, we should go. There's nothing we can do here."

"Yeah…" I didn't know what else to say. Our supernatural killer obviously had an agenda, a hit list, so to speak, and fog or no fog, it didn't appear to be anything to do with a sunken ship full of lepers like in Carpenter's movie.

At least, it didn't look that way yet.

Sam and I jogged back to the Impala and quickly climbed onto the front seat. I don't think we'd considered what was best to tell Denny, but we didn't have to.

"Another dead person?" She sighed.

Sam twisted around to face her as I gunned the ignition. "I'm afraid so, but it does look like specific people are being targeted and…"

"And seeing as I've survived twice now there's a chance I might not be on this crazy person's to do list?"

"Something like that," Sam sniffed. I think he was shocked at how well the girl was taking everything.

I pulled out of the motel lot and then hit the brakes, looking left and right in the fog bank, but not knowing which way to head. "Okay, folks, now what?"

"If Chuck was telling the truth, then we have less than an hour to stop a killer entity or else," Sam pondered. "We know the killer has specific victims in mind, but the question is, how do we know who and where?"

"Get a phone book and flip a coin?" I snarked – I get kinda grouchy when I can't kick butt, what can I say?

Denny leaned forward. "Your God friend said John Carpenter used facts about this town in his movie. Maybe that was a clue? I mean, it has to be relevant somehow, right or he wouldn't have said it?"

"Lady, he could have just been yanking our chains. We don't even know who or what that freak back there was for sure."

Sam shook his head. "No wait, Dean, she's right. What happened in the movie next? How did they find out what was causing the fog?"

I rubbed at the stubble on my chin. Could it be that easy? "Everyone congregated at the church." I explained. "There was a priest there with an old journal that told the story of a hundred year old murder – obviously, the spirits in the fog were back for revenge, yadda yadda."

"So maybe the priest in this town knows some old story or tale that might help us?" Sam had that excited pup look he gets – the one were I wanna throw him some kibble or something. "Dean, it has to be worth a shot!"

I turned my head and looked pointedly at Denny. "So," I asked. "Does this place even have a church? And please, please tell me the padre isn't called Malone and looks like Hal Holbrook?"

Denny frowned. "Who the hell is Hal Holbrook?" When I didn't reply she pulled a stick of gum from her pocket, shot it in her mouth and chewed for thought for a moment. "Church is out on South Lane," she finally clarified. "Preacher goes by the name of Vickers."

"And South Lane is?" I held up a hand to the fog. "Left or right, sister, 'cause I don't do mind reading and I don't have satellite navigation built in my ass!"

She looked almost apologetic. "Oh sorry, it's left. Follow the road until you meet the small bridge and then left again."

I slipped the Impala into drive and hit the gas, but I wasn't happy about it.

The night had started out making very little sense and had soon plummeted into complete chaos. Fog, phantom semis, ganked townsfolk, a would be God that could even be a Leviathan…my head was spinning and I'd hardly touched the Jack Daniels.

Yet.

Somehow, though, I had a feeling if the Padre Vickers had a bottle I'd be helping him drink it.

Supposing, of course, he wasn't already deader than a dodo – which given what happened in The Fog was a distinct possibility.

What are you gonna do then, Chuck? I asked in my mind. Fry me and Sammy for failing your Christmas challenge?

Given Winchester luck, that was a distinct possibility.