Day Two

Going to sleep early in the evening is never a really good idea, but it's an even worse idea when you have to go meet two kids who you don't even know in a cemetery in a town you've only just arrived in the next day. I discovered this when I woke up at two in the morning the day after we got to Eerie. Sam was still asleep, his book clutched to his chest, and Dad was out. He probably hadn't even come back last night. He usually didn't.

This left me to sit alone in the dark with thoughts I really didn't feel like thinking. I thought about waking Sam up, just to have something to do, but I knew he'd just wine to Dad later, so I left it. I got up and wandered around the room a bit. I considered taking a shower, but I didn't really want to be up yet, so I wound up just climbing back into bed.

I pulled a comic book from under my pillow and flipped on the light on the table beside the bed. Sam stirred and rolled over, wining in his sleep. I stuck my tongue out at his back, then turned my attention to the comic, ready to read about Batman saving the day again.

But I couldn't concentrate. I read the words and looked at the pictures, but they didn't sink in. My mind was too busy dwelling on the day before. It was bizarre, even by my standards, but it wasn't Mars and Simon and their "center of weirdness" crap that was bothering me, it was that white haired kid from the World O'Stuff. He was so angry about the stupidest thing. Who gets pissed off about someone shoplifting when they're shoplifting, too?

Not that I shoplift. Er, well, not that I was shoplifting at that point. But that's really not important.

I tried to remember everything I could about the kid. He hadn't looked old, maybe even close to my age, and he wasn't albino, but his hair was white like an old guy's. I closed my eyes, trying to remember more, thinking back to his trench coat and his ratty clothes and his combat boots, and then it came to me. There were symbols on his hands. A plus and a minus, like a magnet or a battery.

I opened my eyes and stared across the room at the one window, fighting a laugh that I knew would wake Sam up. Eventually it pressed out, turning into a weird, strangled cough as I tried to keep quiet. I couldn't help it. Who the hell got a plus and a minus tattooed on their hands?

I woke Sammy up at nine so he could shower. He kept grumbling and complaining and muttering something about this being crazy and me being an idiot, but he showered and got dressed and was ready to go at quarter to ten.

I led the way downstairs, wondering where exactly the cemetery was. Lucky for us, Mrs. Prister was at the front desk. I walked up to her, not missing the smile she flashed at Sammy before turning her frown on me.

"Can I help you, young man?" she asked in that condescending voice grown ups always used with me.

"Yeah, can you tell me how to get to the cemetery?" I asked.

Mrs. Prister looked over her glasses at me with that distrustful look I was used to getting from adults. For some reason they never looked at Sammy like that. He doesn't look like trouble, apparently. Shows what grown ups know.

"And why do you want to know that, young man?" Mrs. Prister asked, glaring down at me.

I shrugged. "We have some relatives buried there," I said, the lie rolling off my tongue easily. "We want to see their graves, pay our respects." Mrs. Prister 'Mmmhmmed' like the best of them, but she gave us directions and Sam and I were out the door. I led the way down the road, glancing back every once in awhile to make sure Sammy was still with me. I didn't need him running off and getting me into even more trouble than I probably already was – or would be, if Dad ever found out about our little excursion.

When we got to the cemetery, Mars and Simon were at the specified gravestone. They'd obviously brought flowers for whoever Devon Wilde was – pansies, from the look of it, the purples and yellows bright against the dirt they were planted in – and were waiting for us.

"You're late," Mars said, glancing at his watch.

I shrugged. "Sorry, we didn't know the way. Had to ask." Sammy had opened his book and was flipping through to the page he left off on. I elbowed him sharply and he glared at me, but he snapped the book shut and paid attention. "What is this about?" I asked.

"We want to tell you about the weirdness," Simon said, leaning against the large tree that loomed over Devon's grave. "We think you'll understand."

"What makes you think that?" Sam asked, and I remembered I hadn't told him about my run in with Mars and Simon the night before.

"Your Dad's looking for the same thing we are," Mars replied patiently. "So we figured you might know something."

"Yeah," Simon said. "And you might be able to help."

"Why'd we have to meet in a cemetery?" Sam asked, shivering slightly. I rolled my eyes, but said nothing. I was kind of curious about that myself.

"Because this grave is part of the weirdness," Mars answered. "But before we start, we want to know who you are."

"I'm Dean, this is Sam," I said.

"Last names, too."

"What?"

"Like, 'Hi, I'm Marshall Teller and this is Simon Holmes'," Mars said, obviously impatient. "We want your last names, too."

"Urkel," I said, growing impatient myself. "Look, you can either get on with this or you can leave us alone. Pick one." I had to fight my curiosity as a spoke, but there was no way I was giving my last name to these kids. I just hoped Sam didn't decide to do something stupid.

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and eyed me. "I'm not telling you anything until you tell me your last name."

"Why the hell do you care?" I asked just as Sam said "Winchester." I could've smacked the kid, but instead I just clenched my fists at my side and glared at him. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and innocent, and shrugged. "What?" he asked.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"They're kids, Dean," Sam said, gesturing to Simon and Marshall. "They're our ages, they can't hurt us."

"You don't know that, Sammy!" I snapped, but it was too late anyway.

"Winchester," Marshall mused. "Like the gun."

Simon shuddered at the word and I rolled my eyes, but I said nothing. It was their turn to talk, after all. They were, however, silent for far too long, in my opinion, and after a few minutes of just standing and staring at each other I cleared my throat impatiently.

"What were you going to tell us?" I asked when all Marshall did was settle his gaze more obviously on me.

He waited a moment, then spoke. Finally. "I've been battling the forces of weirdness in this town since I moved here," he said. "Everything from Tupperware that can keep you young to heart transplants that change your personality." Here, he gestured at the grave, then shook his head. "You guys obviously understand weirdness, otherwise your dad wouldn't even know about whatever's messing with Eerie this time. So we want your help."

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Huh?"

"What's messing with Eerie?"

"We don't know," Simon said. "But we think it's a Vampire."

I laughed. "There's no such thing as Vampires," I said when Marshall and Simon looked at me funny. "Trust me, if there were, our dad would know about 'em, but even he says they don't exist."

"Then how do you explain this," Simon reached into a bag that had been sitting behind him and pulled out what looked like a dead rabbit. He held it out to us, bending its head so Sam and I could better see the neck. There were two puncture holes without even a drop of dried blood around them.

"That's easy," Sam said immediately, "it was a snake."

"There's no poison," Marshall said, shaking his head, speaking while Simon put away the rabbit. "We had Mr. Radford check. Plus, if it were a snake, it would've just eaten the whole rabbit, not drained it of blood."

I glanced at Sammy and he shrugged. I shook my head. "Whatever," I said, turning away. "You guys have fun chasing ghost stories."

"If you want to find out if it's real, meet us here at midnight tonight," Marshall called out. I just kept walking, and I could hear Sammy hurrying to keep up with me.

These kids were crazy.

"Are we going tonight?" Sam asked, looking up from his Chinese food.

I shrugged, opening my fortune cookie. "I probably won't," I said, reading over the fortune. "You can do what you want."

"What's yours?" Sam asked.

"'You will believe,'" I read, then shook my head, tossing it aside. "Just a stupid fortune," I said. "Yours?"

"'Your way won't always work,'" Sam read out, then shrugged. "That's pretty true in most cases," he said, setting the paper next to his plate. "If I go, you promise you won't tell dad?"

"You can't really believe there's vampires here, Sammy," I said, staring at my little brother in disbelief.

"I don't," Sam said, "but there's something here, and I want to know what it is. Maybe we can beat it before Dad even finds it." He shrugged, as if it wasn't that big a deal, but I knew why he'd said that. He knew it would get to me, that I would want to go and prove to Dad that I was ready to hunt.

My brother knew me too well.