"You have to have steady hands to get this done," Dean hisses. "If you wake him up, we're dead." Elizabeth doesn't even bother shooting him a dirty look, she's too focused on the task at hand. She moves with a careful precision, doing her best not to wake Sam up as she slides a plastic spoon into his mouth.
"Alright," she whispers," give me your phone." Dean hands it over, watching as she snaps a picture. She sends a copy to herself and hands Dean back his phone, grinning as he cranks up the volume on the radio and Sam jolts awake. He's still dazed as he slaps the spoon out of his mouth, looking around for some kind of threat before scowling at them.
"Very funny," Sam drawls, unamused. "Which one of you geniuses came up with that?" Dean and Elizabeth share a look before glancing over at Sam again, probably far too pleased with the impressive frown that Sam's sporting.
"It was something of a group effort, Sammy."
"Besides, we had to pass the time somehow," Dean adds. "There's not exactly a lot of sights to take in here in Texas." Elizabeth snorts as she reclines back in her seat, foot tapping along to the Blue Öyster Cult song playing over the radio. "Oh, don't go getting snobby back there. It's not like the scenery is any better in Oklahoma."
"We all have our favorite states and Texas just didn't make my list." She flips open a magazine, barely glancing at the articles before she turns the pages. She's read this magazine six times, she has the beauty tips memorized, but anything is better than dying grass and cows.
"What's your number one pick?"
"Missouri. I like going to Silver Dollar City."
"What about you, Sam? All-time favorite state?"
"Does it matter," he snaps. Elizabeth looks up from an article about hair colors to find him glaring at her over the seat. "With you two around I'm in a constant state of exhaustion."
"Relax, man, it was just a spoon in your mouth. Just be thankful that I talked Liza down from drawing a dick on your forehead." Sam jerks the visor down to look at his face in the mirror, letting out a sigh of relief. He's just lucky that Dean pulled the plastic spoon out of the console in time.
"We're too old to be doing shit like that. Prank wars always escalate and I don't feel like taking Liza back to an ER because a bucket of water gave her a concussion." And hadn't that been fun to explain to John and Bobby? "Remember the ass chewing we got for that? I don't need more stress in my life."
"You're just a baby. Liza turned out fine."
"They had to shave part of my hair to give me stitches," Elizabeth reminds him with narrowed eyes. "Do you know how long it took that patch to grow back? Way too fucking long, Winchester. No more buckets on doors in my immediate vicinity.
"Let's be real here, Sammy's just afraid he's gonna get a little Nair in his shampoo again."
"Nair costs money, Dean. You'll have to buy your own bottle this time instead of stealing mine." Actually, she'll probably have to restock soon enough. She's found that Nair's easier to use on her legs and it doesn't leave stubble behind like her razor does.
"Just remember that you two started this," Sam says. Elizabeth sets her magazine aside and leans forward, pinching Dean's ear between two fingers and grabbing the front of Sam's shirt to make sure they're paying attention to her.
"You two play all the pranks that you want on each other, but you leave me out of it. I don't need anymore concussions or pink hair. Capisce?"
"No problems here, Liza." Dean nods as well as he can with his ear still in her grasp, letting out a small whine when she lets go. Sam glances out his window and the windshield, his frown growing more pronounced at the sights. "Where the hell are we?"
"A few hours outside of Richardson," Dean answers.
"Wow, you weren't kidding about the scenery. It's just your basic southwest, cows and all."
"Why don't you give us a refresher course on why exactly we're coming to Liza's least favorite state?" Sam grabs a slip of printer paper from the dash, squinting as he reads the small lettering.
"About a month or so ago, this group of kids goes poking around this old house that's supposedly haunted by a pretty misogynistic spirit. Legend says that it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters."
"So I'll be playing the part of the girl," Elizabeth says, flipping through a new magazine.
"Only if we need live bait. Anyway, this group of kids see a dead girl hanging in the cellar, so they freak out, leave the house, and call the cops. By the time the cops get there, the body's gone and all they have to go off of is a few high school kids that are so scared they can barely remember their own names."
"What if the kids were just being assholes?"
"I've considered that already, but I've also read up on some of their firsthand accounts. They seem pretty sincere."
"Yeah, and Lilly was pretty sincere about there being a monster in her closet when she was two, but it turned out to be a pile of laundry she refused to put away."
"Where'd you read these accounts," Dean asks. "You don't usually dig into police files unless you're absolutely sure about this kind of stuff." Sam blushes and sinks lower in his seat, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Sammy?"
"I knew we would be passing through Texas, so I went delving into lore in this area last night while you two were singing drunk karaoke. By the way, you both butchered that Doris Day song. I threw peanuts at you and you both just kept singing anyway."
"I sense you're avoiding the point."
"I was browsing through some local paranormal sites—"
"What's it called?" Sam's blush deepens and he slides an inch farther down in his seat. Seeing him this embarrassed is the highlight of Elizabeth's week. This shit is better than getting all the answers right in Jeopardy. "Come on, Sammy. Don't hold out on us now."
"Hellhoundslair dot com." Elizabeth tosses her head back and cackles in the same instant that Dean blows a raspberry. "Oh, shut up. Elizabeth used to read these sorts of websites all the time."
"I was five," she laughs. "Those websites were how Daddy taught me to read and sort out trash lore all at once!" Christopher had also used Elizabeth as a front because his guilty pleasure was dorky ghost stories. She remembers his quiet voice as he read the stories to her and Dana, how he could draw anyone into those tales and even John would pause in the doorway to listen.
"You're welcome to do the research yourself next time, blondie." She makes a face at that, wanting to stay as far away from research as she can get when they're not actively working a case. "That's what I thought."
"So, where are we supposed to find these kids," Dean asks.
"Same place you always find kids in a town like this."
"Doing meth in the park," Elizabeth states. It's Sam's turn to make a face and he turns to stare at her with a wrinkle between his brows. "What? The only thing to do is small towns like this is get high in the park, get drunk in the park, or walk around wishing you were drunk or high. There's not much middle ground."
"That's just…. That's stupid."
"It's also true. Remember that one weekend Junior year that we spent out by the lake? Sheriff Mills named a new law after our class." Truth be told, most of that weekend is a blur right now and she came out of it swearing to never drink vodka again. The 2000 law states that playing basketball while trying to balance on boogie boards is strictly prohibited.
"I remember that we won that game of boogie board ball." Dean's glaring at both of them using the rearview mirror and it's almost enough to make Elizabeth laugh. "What? I know for a fact that you've smoked weed before, Dean. You're just mad that it doesn't make me paranoid like it did you."
The talk about drugs is a long and uncomfortable thing that lasts until they finally pull into a parking lot in Richardson, the sky dark and the only light coming from a restaurant called Rodeo Drive-In.
"And that," Dean says, cutting the ignition," is why you shouldn't do drugs, kids."
"That speech makes me want to do drugs," Sam grumbles. "You're just lucky Liza and I promised Bobby we'd stay away from that crap." Sam's joking, but Elizabeth had actually been forced to make that promise. Her second year of college had been just as blurry as that weekend at the lake, a mix of pills and weed. She's been sober for a couple years now, well, as sober as she can be without giving up booze.
They split up to take on the three high-schoolers, Elizabeth heading to the only girl on one side of the room while Dean goes to the fry cook and Sam finds the other boy at an outside table. The girl's group goes quiet when Elizabeth sits down at their table.
"Hey, I'm Cady Heron," she greets with a bright smile. "I've got a website that tells all sorts of cool legends from small towns and I heard you might have a story for me." The girl, no name mentioned in the article on the hellhounds website, but there'd been a picture, leans an elbow on the table and switches into story-telling mode.
"It was freaking weird," she says. "The stupid house looked ready to blow over in a stiff wind and the walls inside were this dark red. I think it was blood. Oh, and there were all these occult symbols painted on the wall, it looked like something out of an X-Files episode."
"That is weird." Elizabeth does her best to keep her sarcasm to a minimum, scribbling the details into a notepad. "What about the rest of the house?"
"I don't know, I kept my eyes closed until we started to go into the basement. I didn't want to break my ankle going down those old stairs, you know?" Elizabeth nods and the girl keeps talking. "There was a girl hanging from the rafters down there, her red hair all tangled and messy. She was real."
"How'd you find out about this place, anyway?"
"Craig took us."
"And where can I find Craig?"
"He works at a music store down the road. He should still be there until it closes at eight."
"Awesome. Thanks for the story." Elizabeth stands and leaves the restaurant, meeting the guys back at the Impala. Dean's got a burger basket in hand, mouth full of fries. "Oh, that's hot." He holds the basket out, but she waves off the offer. She'd rather not share fries that smell a little too much like vinegar. "So the kid told me the walls were covered in what looked like blood and occult symbols and that the girl in the basement was totally real and had red hair. How about y'all?"
"My kid said that the walls were red with occult symbols and the chick had blonde hair and was still kicking despite hanging from the ceiling of the basement."
"Mine said the walls were black with occult symbols, the chick had black hair and she was completely still," Dean says after swallowing. "Oh, and he says she was hot in a dead kind of way."
"Someone should make sure that kid stays away from morgues." Elizabeth nods her agreement, wrinkling her nose. "Did y'all hear about the mastermind behind this thing? Some kid named Craig."
"Works at the music store down the way," Elizabeth says, pocketing the small notepad. "We could probably leave the car here and walk there." Dean pulls a face but relaxes a little when Elizabeth presses a kiss to his cheek. "Come on, Baby will be just fine without us for a couple of minutes. Besides, you don't want to risk getting ketchup on the leather seats."
"Fine," he says. "We'll walk."
"Thank you for your sacrifice," Sam drawls sarcastically. Dean throws the burger basket away as they pass a trash can, then they all head to one of the few businesses still open. Most of the storefronts are closed by six; boutiques, dog groomers, ice cream parlors and a junk store.
The music shop is between the library and a hair salon, a Zach Tempest song playing over the speakers as people browse the records available. There's only one employee out front, a teenage boy with brown hair and pale skin. He's got on a pleather jacket over a button-up and another tee, his jeans the type you buy so they look old. In short, the kid looks like a douchebag.
"Can I help y'all with anything," the kid asks, restocking the shelves.
"Yeah," Sam says. "Are you Craig Thurston?"
"Last time I checked." He looks annoyed, like he just wants to finish his shift and go hang out with his friends. She can understand that urge after taking a late shift at a nursing home and being forced to punch out late because a family member wanted to get picky. They hadn't stopped by to see their mother in two months, but heaven forbid that she didn't have fresh water for her flowers.
"We're reporters with the Dallas Morning News, I'm Dean and this is Sam and Elizabeth. We're doing an article on local hauntings, and rumor has it that you might know about one." Craig moves to the other side of the shelves, nodding along with what Dean's saying.
"I'm a writer, too. I write for my school's lit magazine." Elizabeth arches her brows and he seems to remember there was a second half to what Dean had said. "You guys wanna hear about the Hell House, right? You know, I didn't think there was anything to that story at first."
"And what story is that," Elizabeth asks. Dean is only half paying attention as he browses the records, so Elizabeth pulls her notepad back out so she can catch him up later.
"Back in the thirties this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in that house with his six daughters." Craig moves over to the cash register, Sam and Elizabeth following after him and leaving Dean behind. "It was during the depression and his crops were failing, he didn't have enough money to feed his own children. That's when he really went off the deep end."
"The deep end?"
"Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick rather than starve to death, so he attacked them. They screamed and begged for him to stop, but he strung them up in the basement and hung himself once his girls were dead. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl who goes inside." He looks to Elizabeth, more amused than wary. "I'd stay out of there if I were you, ma'am."
"Where'd you hear this story," Dean asks, rejoining them.
"From my cousin Dana when she came home from college for the weekend. I don't know where she heard it from, probably the old dudes that hang out in front of the convenience store in the mornings."
"And yet you brought a girl with you into the house."
"I didn't know it was real, man. I-I'll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real and she was dead by the time we got down there. This was not a prank, I swear. I don't want to go anywhere near that house ever again."
"Good to know. We'll reach out if we have any more questions." They wait until they're back in the car and looking for a motel before they talk about the case. "Who else thinks that kid was lying?" Sam and Elizabeth raise their hands without hesitation.
"The whole story might not be a lie, but the bullshit he was spewing was hard to see through," Elizabeth says. "I say we head to the house in the morning and see if the ghost tries to string me up."
"Sounds good to me."
The next morning is overcast and generally perfect to stay home and watch a scary movie. Elizabeth figures that going to a creepy, ramshackle house with a murderous ghost inside is close enough for government work. If she's being honest, ghost hunting is better than research.
The road that leads up to the house is unpaved and muddy, really making Elizabeth regret her choice of shoes. Flip-flops and mud don't really go together well, but her Converse need some TLC before she can wear them again.
"So much for curb appeal," Dean comments as they come to a stop in front of the house. It hasn't been remodeled in at least twenty years, the paint all chipped away to reveal gray, rotten planks of wood. Above the house, dropping low near the roof, are power lines and a couple of poles that are leaning a little too much for comfort.
"I say we take a walk around the place before we go in," Sam says. "If it falls down, then I don't want to be inside when it happens." Dean and Elizabeth head to the left while Sam takes the right, Dean bringing out the EMF meter. The thing lights up red and whines within seconds, Dean pausing to smack it.
"What the hell?"
"Power lines," Elizabeth says, nodding at the drooping lines. "EMF's out, I guess. Should I break out the dowsing rods?" She's only half kidding, the rods help on occasion even if she doesn't totally believe in them.
"Nah, Dad has the rods." Sam joins them at the front of the house again, hands in his pockets as he studies the house. This thing makes the Titanic look downright pristine after ninety-three years underwater. "Y'all ready to head inside?"
"Might as well."
"If this thing kills Liza, then you get to be the one to inform Bobby," Sam says as they head inside. "While he's murdering you, I'll be well on my way to Vancouver."
The inside of the house, if possible, looks even worse than the exterior; the walls are gray with mold and the sheetrock is rotting away, wallpaper peeling off in water-logged sheets. There are symbols spray painted on the walls in black, pillar candles held in place by old wax, the furniture collapsed heaps that aren't even vaguely recognizable.
"Looks like old man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger during his time," Dean says, glancing around.
"Then he must have been tagging as a ghost, too," Sam says, pointing at an upside down cross that's been sprayed on one wall. "The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries, but the sigil of sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the sixties." Sam points to another cross that's inside of a circle, bold black lines without any running.
"I'd also like to say that the upside down cross is actually the Cross of Saint Peter and it's wannabe Satanists that use it mostly," Elizabeth adds. "Gotta love dumbass kids."
"My point is that kids have been breaking into this place for years, so why haven't there been any deaths? I doubt it's only been boys that have come in here."
"Maybe this was all some elaborate prank that Craig came up with to scare his friends. Kid looked like a douchebag in training." Sam shrugs, bringing out his cell to take pictures of the symbols. Better safe than sorry, Elizabeth supposes.
"Hey, have either of you two dorks seen this symbol before," Dean asks. Elizabeth and Sam turn in unison and move to join him across the room. The symbol he's pointing at is an upside down question mark with three short lines leading away from the dot.
"It rings a very faint bell." Sam takes a picture of it, too, then brushes a finger over one of the lines.
"It's paint," he says, rubbing his fingers together and watching the black paint flake off. "Pretty fresh, too. Liza's prank theory is gaining more merit as we go."
"Don't sound so shocked, I'm fucking smart." Sam looks ready to argue about all the times she's been incredibly stupid, but a crash from farther in the house cuts him off. "Maybe that was a possum."
"That's some big possum." They head through an archway to a closed door, the boys standing on either side of it while Elizabeth peers through a small section of wall that's given way. There are two men on the other side, equipped with camcorders and flashlights. "What do you see?"
"Two guys, looks like knock-off Jason and Grant." Sam and Dean let out small groans, well aware of her guilty pleasure. She likes watching Ghost Hunters, sue her. "Alright, head on in." She slides her sunglasses on before she follows the boys into a derelict kitchen, the boys groaning louder as they're blinded. "Oh yeah, they also have flashlights."
"Asshole."
"That's payback for trying to say I was stupid, Sammy." The two dorks across the way aim their flashlights at the floor, looking extremely put out at the interruption. "What's up, nerds?" The two men are in their early twenties, maybe around Sam and Elizabeth's age, both skinny. The one on the left has wild red hair and glasses while the other has dark hair and a bitchy expression that could rival one of Sam's.
"We're not nerds," the redhead scowls over at her.
"What are you guys doing here," the other man demands.
"What the hell are you doing here," Dean counters. The two guys share a look and then turn their gazes back to the hunters, too full of pride for Elizabeth's liking.
"We belong here," the redhead says, and Elizabeth is beginning to wonder how they'd react if she threw something at them. "We're professionals." Elizabeth arches her brows and the guy pulls three cards out of his pocket, handing them off to the hunters. "We're paranormal investigators."
"You've gotta be kidding me." The card is plain white cardstock that you can get for three bucks at Walmart, a clip art ghost on one corner with their names and website in the center.
"Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler of hellhoundslair dot com," Sam reads. "You guys run that website?" Their ego inflates beyond imagination and Elizabeth has to stamp down in the urge to throw things.
"That's right. We know who you guys are, too."
"Oh yeah?" The redhead nods like a sage old master, basically showering them in his pity. Elizabeth picks up a piece of broken tile, but Sam pats her wrist and shakes her head.
"Yeah, you're amateurs that are looking for ghosts and cheap thrills." Dean rolls his eyes, shouldering past the two men to start poking around through cabinets and drawers. "You must be pretty confident since you brought a girl along. Didn't you hear what happened to the last girl?"
"I think I can take care of myself, thanks," Elizabeth drawls. "Which one of these names belongs to you? I can't exactly refer to you guys as Tweedledee and Tweedledum forever."
"I'm Ed and this is Harry." He points at the dark-haired man with the hand holding the camcorder, Harry puffing his chest out a little.
"If you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here," Harry says. Elizabeth looks to Sam, but he shakes his head again. Dean nods at the pair and then glances to Elizabeth, his gaze dropping to the sparse amount of cleavage revealed by her camisole.
"Oh yeah," she asks, doing her best to actually sound interested. "Got anything good yet?" Ed and Harry share a look, but she doesn't miss the way they check her out. These goobers were probably teased in high school and laughed out of college, so she doubts they've had very many girlfriends. Ed scoffs and looks to Harry.
"Why don't you tell her about the EMF," he suggests. Elizabeth puts her hands in her coat pockets, hiding the broken piece of tile from their view.
"EMF? What's that? Something cool?"
"Electromagnetic field," Harry explains smugly, pulling their meter out of a duffel on the counter behind them. It looks fancy, the kind of thing you'd buy for a hundred dollars from a ghost hunting site. The homemade one in Dean's pocket was made with parts he got for free from Bobby's salvage yard.
"Ohh, I think I've heard of that."
"Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector like this bad boy here." He raises the little antenna on it and flips a switch, the meter making a sound like an old radio on a dead channel. "Whoa, it's hot in here. Two point eight mG."
"You guys really are professionals." She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger, fighting a smile as Dean mimes shooting himself behind Ed and Harry's backs. "Have you seen a ghost before?" Harry puts the meter in his pocket, trying for a dramatic pause.
"Once," Ed nods. "We were investigating this old house, and we saw a vase fall right off the table. Well, we didn't actually see it, but we heard it. An experience like that really changes you." Elizabeth looks over at Sam again, but he's still shaking his head.
"Well," Dean says, clapping Ed on the shoulder. "I guess we should head out and leave you guys to it." They leave the nerds behind, heading straight to the car. Elizabeth manages to hold in her laughter until she's in the backseat, tossing her head back and letting out a cackle.
"Damn, those guys are idiots," she laughs.
"They're the type of people that give amateurs everywhere a bad name." Dean starts the car and follows the muddy driveway back to the main road, the car bouncing slightly on the gravel. "I say we head to the library and do a little research on the property and old man Murdoch."
"Sounds good to me. Sammy?"
"Why don't Liza and I pick up some coffee first," he suggests, pulling out his phone. "That café this morning had one of those fancy set-ups that means Liza can have a Frappuccino."
"Get me my usual," Dean says. "I think I'll hit up the police station and see if I can find any missing persons that match the description we got from those kids. You two can do the heavy lifting in the library." Elizabeth groans, her head thumping against the window. They drop Dean off at the police station before heading across town to the library, completely bypassing the café with the coffee that Elizabeth is craving. She gave up Oxy, she's not about to give up caffeine on top of that.
"I think you forgot something," she says, sitting up straighter as Sam cuts the ignition. "I don't have coffee in my hand."
"Gimme a sec," he says. He changes the radio station to a random number and turns on the switch for the windshield wipers before turning to grin at her over the seat. "What do you think?"
"I think I'm going to kill you if you don't buy me coffee."
"Fine, but we'll have to walk there."
"Dean's going to hurt you for messing with his car."
"I'll get him back. I'm gonna win this prank war." Elizabeth rolls her eyes, taking a twenty from Sam and getting out of the car with him. "Get me one of those that you drink, extra chocolate and don't tell Dean."
"About the coffee or the car?"
"Both." Elizabeth gives a halfhearted salute before starting off, walking the two blocks to the café and placing her order. She gets two mocha Frappuccinos with extra chocolate and a plain black coffee before heading out, pocketing a couple packets of salt as she goes.
"Sustenance for my love," she says, passing the plain coffee off to Dean as well as pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "Meet up in two hours at the library?"
"Sounds good, darlin'." She grins, kissing him again before heading out. By the time she makes it back to the library, Sam is deep into research mode and barely notices the cup she sets down in front of him. He grunts his thanks, scribbling notes like a Freshman in sex ed.
"You get way too into research, dude."
"Shut up," he says, but even that is halfhearted. She scowls, browsing the selection of books until she finds a worn paperback of The Shining and a comfy chair to curl up in. By the time little Danny Torrance is seeing a roque mallet where a bag of groceries should be, Sam is hovering over her with his notebook in one hand and his coffee in the other.
"What's up?"
"Why does my coffee taste a little off?" She shrugs and marks her place in the book to really give him her attention. She furrows her brows and tilts her head, looking for all the world like a concerned friend.
"How so?"
"It's not as sweet as it should be. Almost like when you dip fries in my shake." She frowns and pretends to think that over but avoids tapping her chin and giving her act away.
"The guy that made our coffee did say it was his first day on the job. Maybe he mixed up some of the ingredients and was too afraid to start over again." Sam makes a considering sound, then nods his head and takes another drink. "My coffee tastes just fine, but I also flirted with him as an incentive."
"Did Dean mess with my coffee?"
"No, I kept it in my hand the whole time. I told him you already had yours and that I got two." He nods again and then shuffles off, leaving Elizabeth to her own devices. She allows herself a small smile and fingers one of the packets of salt, still half-full in her pocket near the broken tile.
Two hours later, Elizabeth is being fireman carried out of the library by Sam, the book and her empty cup left behind. Dean is just crossing the street when they come out into the muted sunlight, raising a brow when he sees how she's wriggling to be let down.
"Do I even wanna know," he asks.
"She refused to get up before she finished her book," Sam says. "She was only halfway through it and I didn't feel like spending another two hours getting the stink eye from some old biddy."
"She found The Shining?"
"Do you even have to ask?" Sam hefts Elizabeth back up onto his shoulder from where she'd started to slip down, ignoring the way her arms flail at the motion. "Did you find anything at the police station?"
"Zip. No one matching any description those kids gave has been reported missing in the past three months. How about you?"
"Turns out a guy named Martin Murdoch that lived in the house in the thirties. He had two sons and there's no record that he ever killed anyone." He sets Elizabeth back on her feet when they reach the car, grabbing the back of her jacket to keep her from going back for the book.
"I say this case is a bust. For all we know, those hellhound boys and the idiot kids made it all up for attention or a prank. Now, how about we find ourselves a bar and leave the legends to the locals?"
"Sounds good, man." Dean gets in the car, not noticing that the other two keep a short distance away. He turns the key in the ignition, jerking back in his seat when the windshield wipers flip on and the blare of a saxophone nearly deafens him. He turns his head slowly to take in the sight of Sam laughing his ass off, turning off the radio and the wipers before talking.
"You realize of course I'm going to make you pay for this."
"I'd like to see you try."