I Told You So
Haunted House - part 2

THEN

"You should quit too, while you still can." Jazz closed her bag and looked Danny directly in the eyes.

He was the one to break eye contact, uncomfortable. It was already way too late for him. "And what, just let people die?"

Jazz didn't answer, but the way she clenched her jaw translated as 'better them than you'.

"Do you think mom and dad would have quit, if it was one of us that died?" She suddenly seemed introspective, and melancholic.

Danny shook his head. He didn't think that. Their parents had lived for the mission.

She shouldered her back-pack, and pulled her wheeled travelling suitcase behind her. He wondered briefly if that really was everything she owned... and if he had more possessions. Their lives had always been Spartan, what with living in the back of an RV, but surely he owned more than two bags' worth of things.

He dragged his hand over his face when he realised why Jazz only had two bags – she was leaving all of her weapons behind. That went against everything they'd ever been trained to do. If he hadn't been sure she was quitting before, that cemented it.

"You should really take a gun... Since you only care about protecting your own sorry hide."

That came out wrong.

She glared at him, but she didn't say anything.

He had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from apologising. They'd been around a lot of manipulative people growing up, and Jazz had taken to that part of hunting too easily. She was just trying to get him to quit again, it wasn't like he'd actually hurt her feelings. Jazz believed in 'communicating her emotions' and other psychology nonsense. Normally, she'd rant a bit and then get over it. She wasn't ranting now. Either she was faking it to manipulate Danny, or he'd hurt her much deeper than he'd intended.

He wouldn't say he was sorry, not when she was the one leaving people to die just because she wanted to go to get a degree.

Jazz didn't stop to pack a weapon.

NOW

The Winchesters were at the house of one of the dead kids. Marcy Johnson, age sixteen, left behind a single father, Henry, and a younger sister, Sarah.

It was a nice house, painted in light colours both inside and out. There was a crooked old apple tree by the front door. Despite the care which had obviously gone into it before, the inside of the house smelled of old food, cigarettes and cheap beer.

They hadn't gotten much information out of Henry. He had retreated into himself to deal with the grief, leaving his living daughter to handle everything on her own.

Part of Dean wanted to shake Henry until he came out of his stupor.

In lack of better options, Sam was talking to Sarah. For a grieving pre-teen, she was surprisingly helpful.

"The ghosts got them." An older person wouldn't have been half as confident saying that sentence, but a child could get away with unquestioningly believing their sister had been killed by vengeful spirits.

"What ghosts?"

"The ghosts in the mansion. Marcy and her friends spent the night there to prove they weren't scaredy-cats, and the ghosts killed them."

Sam shot Dean a meaningful look, and the two patched things up with the Johnsons as fast as they could.

"Haunted house?" Dean slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. "Haven't had one of those in a while."

"It's worth checking out."

"Yeah. Did you find out where the teens were found?"

"It's in the police report." Sam's eyes narrowed. "The one you should have been reading last night."

Dean shrugged as best as he could while still keeping one hand on the wheel.

"It's some abandoned house, but that doesn't necessarily mean ghosts." Sam sighed. "At least now we know why they were there. I was looking into monsters that lure their prey, or even just used it as a convenient dumping ground."

"Well, let's check who the previous owners were."

Caldwell house. That was the unofficial name of the place the kids had been found. It had been abandoned for years, after the Caldwells ended up killing each other in some infidelity drama.

Any of the involved people could be the murdering ghost. There was the usual suspect, the faithful wife who had murdered the mistress. As well as the unfaithful husband who had walked in on the murder and ended up killing his wife in a failed attempt to save said mistress. Not to mention the mistress herself, since getting murdered could fuel the need to get even.

"Lovely people," snarked Dean as he closed the laptop and leaned back on his motel bed. The sheets smelled of cheap detergent, that was probably supposed to smell like flowers, which clashed horribly with the lemony scent of whatever had been used to clean the floors. As comforting as it was that someone actually had cleaned the room, Dean breathed through his mouth.

"Okay, so it seems likely that we're dealing with the ghost of one of these people." Sam lounged on a cheap wooden chair. It wasn't very comfortable, and it made distressed noises whenever he moved.

"Just because the kid thinks so doesn't mean that it's true." Dean said what was on both of their minds. If they salted and burned the bodies, left, and turned out to be wrong... People would die because of their negligence. Going into a haunted house was a risk, but it was one they had to take every time they dealt with ghosts.

"You're up for a field trip?"

"I've got the EMF meter." Dean grinned.

The house stood on a small hill, separated from the rest of the neighbourhood by the thick foliage of some nearby trees.

Valerie was touting a shotgun, while Danny had his mom's old iron knife. As far as family heirlooms went, it was nowhere near as elegant as the silver cutlery that was usually passed on.

The night air was invigorating, but too cool. It was the sort of cold that chilled you to the bones, making you feel the ice from inside and out.

"Remember, we're not here to fight anything."

Val rolled her eyes. "I know. You've said that, like, five times already."

"We're just here to check if there are any ghosts. Quickly, so they don't notice us."

"Danny. Relax. It's not my first rodeo."

'No, but it is our first hunt without Jazz.'

He took a deep, shuddering breath before nodding.

They approached the run-down building with caution.

Danny's fingers were locked around the handle of his knife.

The windows were cracked. One had a huge hole, like if kids had been hurling rocks at it.

Through them, they could see only darkness. It was the sort of darkness that was more than the mere absence of light. It was thick, and almost alive with intent.

No, alive was hardly the right word to describe it. It was dead and moving, still willing to fulfill the last desires of those who had died in anger. Danny shuddered. His imagination was running away with him again, but there were ghosts in the building. How many he couldn't yet make out.

Danny felt himself drawn to the house. It was far from the first time he found himself in a staring contest with the abyss. His heart beat loudly in his ears, reminding him that whatever else he was, he was still alive.

It was only when they were near enough that Danny could have reached out and touched the mansion that he sensed it clearly. "There are three ghosts here."

Valerie scowled. "Three? Ugh."

Danny nodded, and was about to say something, when a shout echoed across the grounds. "Did you hear that?"

"I heard it." Valerie turned around, sticking her shotgun into her jeans so it was hidden under her brown leather jacket.

Dean swore to himself as the clouds in the sky was blown aside and moonlight silhouetted two kids up on the hill.

Were all teenagers suicidal or something? The town wasn't large enough to have more than one school, so they must have known the victims. Why they thought it was a good idea to go where their friends had died, he'd never understand.

Dean picked up his pace and shouted something incoherent at the kids.

The two kids, who were only a few years older than the ones who had died, turned around to face Dean and Sam.

"Police." Dean flipped open a false badge. Sam copied him. "This is the crime scene of an active investigation."

The kids shared a look. The girl looked irritated, while the boy seemed a bit nervous.

"You're right." The boy looked towards the house. "We should go. Right now. You should probably come with us to make sure-" He trailed off, eyes widening.

Dean spared a glance in the direction he was looking in. Nothing.

Then the nothing flickered, like a broken video tape.

Dean began tensing even before the flickering nothing turned into a slightly greyscale woman. Dark blood covered her chest. Her mouth was slightly open, like she was trying to say something, but she made no sound. Her eyes were wide, angry, and completely focused on their small group.

Both Winchesters pulled out their shotguns. The ghost woman disappeared in a burst of rock salt.

"You're hunters!?" The boy's voice was somewhere between fear and relief.

The EMF meter in Dean's pocket gave a loud noise.

"Danny! Focus!" The girl pulled out a gun on her own.

"Right. Sorry." He looked around. "I think the other two are on their way."

"The other two?" Dean gripped his shotgun harder, making his knuckles whiten.

The kid, Danny, opened his mouth to answer. Before he could get a word out, he fell to the ground. Or rather, he was knocked to the ground. His arms flayed helplessly as something pulled at his legs, dragging him closer to the house.

The girl shot slightly above Danny's legs. The ghost dragging him gave a strangled scream as it disappeared.

Sam pulled Danny to his feet.

"Valerie?" Danny pulled out a knife. He held it in front of himself with a steady hand, which didn't match the unease on his face.

"Don't say it."

"You said I could."

"If you got dragged into the house." Valerie frowned. "Look around, you'll notice that we're still outside."

Dean moved closer to the others. He kept his shotgun pointed forward, even as he started herding them back to the road. "I take it you're hunters."

"Less talking, more- DOWN!"

Valerie reacted immediately to Danny's shout, and the ghost man that had been creeping up on Dean was shot in the chest.

"Less talking, more digging up graves?" suggested Dean.

"Yes. That sounds good."

AN: Danny's view on why Jazz quit hunting is far from the full picture. (He's not completely wrong, but he's bitter about being abandoned and interpreting things in the worst possible way.)

I haven't written horror in years. So many years. It's actually sort of nice to get back to my roots.