"I'm sorry?" Dean spluttered, properly off guard and Sam looked at the book in Liza's dainty hands. "What?"
"Oh no." Sam groaned out loud with a headache forming behind his brow. "Please don't tell me..."
"I've been reading this book." Liza said sheepishly and handed it to Sam. "It's about two brothers who... hunt monsters and... well, they pretend to be FBI agents."
"Damn stupid book." Dean cursed as he snatched the book from Sam's hand with a huff.
"And uh... they often use band names as agent names and well... my sister's favorite bands are Van Halen and Black Sabbath." Liza scratched that back of her head with a light pink flush over her cheeks. She dropped her voice down into a whisper. "I browse... forums."
Dean and Sam both looked at Liza.
"Oh my god." Sam let out with a hand to his forehead. "I hate these books!"
"I'd burn them all..." Dean muttered darkly as he read a familiar line filled with fluff and prose to his inner character or whatever.
"So... you guys are the Sam and Dean, right?" Liza questioned with hopeful eyes and hands clutched together on her lap. "Sam and Dean? Hunters since forever with gorgeous faces, but emotionally stunted, yet dedicated to family, and—!"
"Yes, okay, yes." Sam quickly agreed so she'd stop going on about it. Immediately Liza gasped and covered her mouth as she stared at them both with a wide-eyed, incredulous gaze. "Hey, listen. Please just, don't tell anyone."
"Of course! Of course!" Liza nodded rapidly with growing awe. "Wow, I just... you're real!"
"Yes, we are real." Dean confirmed grouchy. "We aren't book characters. We are real which means our world is real. Our world is dangerous. And our world is your world. Which means you live in a dangerous world."
That seemed to sober Liza up because she immediately slumped forward in her seat.
"Right, right... well, that confirms some things..." she mumbled and before either brother could ask what she meant, Liza pulled out an old envelope with creases. She handed it over once again to Sam who opened it curiously. "I think you guys should have this."
29 July 1958
Today unraveled like a nightmare, each moment a blur of chaos and desperation, as relentless grip tightened around my throat, suffocating me with his insatiable thirst for control.
It began with a demand, sharp and unyielding, for a granite circle to encircle the church grounds. My wife's objections fell on deaf ears, her pleas drowned out by the cacophony of ambition. And so, against my better judgment, I acquiesced, watching helplessly as the granite was laid into the earth like a tombstone marking the death of reason.
But as the days wore on, my unease grew, a festering wound gnawing at the edges of my sanity. My wife's disappointment was a weight upon my shoulders, her silent reproach a dagger to my heart. And so, driven by a desperate need to reclaim what little control remained, I ventured out into the night, armed with nothing but a shovel and a tenuous grip on reality.
With each strike of the shovel, I felt the tendrils of madness creeping ever closer, threatening to engulf me in their suffocating embrace. The granite circle loomed before me like a monument to my folly, its cold, unyielding surface mocking my feeble attempts at redemption. And as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, I stood amidst the ruins of my own making, a fractured soul teetering on the brink of collapse. For though the granite circle may remain with two pieces missing in the sidewalk, a silent sentinel of my descent into madness, I know that I have done what was necessary to preserve what little remains of my shattered sanity--
"These are-"
"My great grandfathers." Liza answered. "I found them in Bella's room underneath the floorboard when we were kids. Crumpled up and just... like that."
"No kidding?"
"A Ruth ladies truth is not to be questioned."
Dean picked up a random page and so did Sam, ignoring the serious state being sent their way.
July 5, 1959
Today, I stand at a crossroads, torn between the insidious influence of 's ambition and the steadfast guidance of my wife's wisdom. It has become clear to me that 's intentions are not pure, his relentless pursuit of control a poison seeping into the very fabric of our community.
My wife's warnings, once dismissed as the idle chatter of a concerned spouse, now ring with the clarity of truth. actions have brought nothing but misery and discord into our lives, a dark cloud that threatens to overshadow the light of faith and reason..
The time has come for me to take a stand, to reclaim what little control remains over my own destiny. grip may be strong, but I will not let him win. The people must know the truth, the insidious influence that threatens to tear us apart from within.
And so, with a heavy heart and a resolve born of desperation, I vow to expose for what he truly is – a charlatan masquerading as a savior, a wolf in sheep's clothing preying upon the innocent and the vulnerable.
And so, as I prepare my sermon, my pen writes what could be the end.
"I was 6 when my grandfather passed away and my aunt had been watching me at the time, but uh, left suddenly. I got to hear him say his final words, which I only barely remember really..."
"F-finish... the circle. He's coming."
With those final eerie words and because of how late in the night it was, the Winchester brothers drove the still awed and mildly enamoured Liza Abel back home. No one question them and they remained parked in the church lot until she snuck back in. When they removed themselves from the Impala, sure that no one was around, they began their search of the church.
"I'll check over here, you get over there." Dean ordered with a point to the other side of the church. Sam responded with a nod before he disappeared around the building and Dean took steps towards to the bushes going all the way around the holy site.
Dean went into the rounded bushes with his hands to push them aside. With his other hand he dug at the dirt until he struck the rock mentioned in the writings.
"Rock." Dean called out to Sam who confirmed his own findings on the other side with the same word. A perfect circle except for two feet on either side of the church where the gravel side walk was drawn through. "Damn." The eldest brother walked around the inner circle gardens while Sam dug around the rock.
"What is going on here?"
"Someone was really into gardening."
Everything seemed to be normal. Flowers. Shrubbery. Beautiful. Maintained. And a weird out of place two feet of stone hiding behind a bush inside the circle. It seemed almost deliberate stuffed around the bush, slight curved, and almost the same color of the rock he had just discovered in the ground.
Carefully Dean put his hand on the left over stone and moved it. There was a hole on the side and when Dean looked through, he could barely make out the other side. He placed a finger to see if it was smooth and a course, white residue came back.
"Dean, come here!"
He hurried over and in Sam's hand was exactly what was on his own.
"Salt."
"Our mystery man was making a safe place for everyone, that's for sure." Dean showed his own findings and the two brothers were able to find the last missing piece of stone in the back of the church. "Safe from demons and the supernatural."
They both looked over at the house down the street and a watched as a figure darted from window on the second floor. Immediately, Sam and Dean walked over to the impala and made their way back to the motel, hoping that the figure was only a coincidence.
"Old town, close town. Everyone goes to that church in this town." Sam recalled their past conversations with Rachel and the pastor. "That means someone was there for the beginning. Someone has to know who really helped build that church."
Sam happened to come across the original article and read it over once again... before eyeing the name of the woman mentioned.
"Wasn't the woman we saw on Tuesday named Miss Michaels?" Sam asked Dean who confirmed it. "And didn't she also bring food on Thursday according to Liza?"
"Well, son of a bitch. 88 years old? I think we might owe an old lady a visit."
"It's not everyday we get visitors." Miss Michaels hurriedly pleasantly as she handed a cup of coffee to her guests with a cup of tea herself. "I hope you don't mind the mess."
"Not at all, Miss Michaels." Sam smiled pleasantly and took a sip of his coffee. Dean helped himself to the sugar in front of him, mixing it in with a small dainty spoon. "You have a lovely home."
"Oh, honey, called me Henrietta," she grinned with a wave, her voice carrying a warmth that matched the cozy atmosphere of her home.
Her quaint abode exuded a welcoming charm, adorned with smiling faces captured in frames of all ages. Knickknacks dotted the space, each telling a story of a life well-lived, adding to the comforting ambiance.
"I hope you don't mind, but we're here to gain insight into the town and understand more about what's been happening with the suicides," Sam explained, his tone gentle yet earnest.
Immediately, Henrietta's lips pursed after the final word, and she gracefully set her cup down with a tink, her expression shifting to one of concern, mingled with a hint of sadness.
"Then damned officers ain't know a thing." She grumbled sourly. "Suicides? The lot of 'em? Ain't none of them had that in 'em and everyone knows it."
"So, you think it's a murder?"
"No, I think it's the tooth fairy." Henrietta snarked back before standing up aggressively. She grabbed her cane and teetered over to a bookshelf in the wall where she was quick to grab an old Manila folder. "Damned sheriff can't do nothing just like his father before 'em."
Sam and Dean watched in silence as the old woman hobbled over and tossed the folder onto the table in front of them. Settling back into the cushions, she gestured for them to open it.
"I've been around long enough to see generations come and go," she began, her voice firm. "And I knew this would come in handy." The folder contained a news article from 1959.
In a somber corner of Turner Falls, a heartbreaking discovery unfolded as two young sisters, aged 17 and 18, were found lifeless, hanging from a tree. The town, shrouded in grief, struggled to comprehend the tragic loss of these beloved members of their community. We offer our condolences to the Michaels family.
"I had three kids before 1959." Henrietta huffed angrily. "They were taken in the dead of night while my husband was away and I had a glass of wine to sleep. It's why I ain't drink anymore."
"I'm so sorry for your loss." Sam responded honestly.
"Yeah, well... they didn't get my boy." She sniffed and eyed the portrait of what appeared to be her son and his own family. "He was with his father and because that I have my granddaughter, grandsons, and grandchildren."
Dean dug deeper into the folder and pulled out a small photo. Black and white, grainy, but even he could make out the two young girls hanging by a tree branch.
"Everyone in this town goes to church on Sundays," Henrietta began, hesitating slightly as she took out the next photo. "Everyone knows the Abels."
Sam stared at the image of two men, their arms draped over each other's shoulders, tools in hand, and wearing sweaty white shirts. The year 1953 was written in familiar script in the back corner along with two names.
"My husband..." she trailed off.
April 1953
The first few pews completed!
Chaplain J. Abel & M. Michaels
"My husband helped build that church, designed it, and what did we get from it?" Henrietta spat out bitterly. "Three graves."
"Hold on, three?"
"Guess who took the blame, that son of a bitch," she whispered into her cup, her wrinkled hands trembling around it. "His brother Mordecai, hung by his own."
"Whose—?"
"My husband," Henrietta elaborated, pressing a hand to her forehead with a heavy sigh. "I-I can't... I can't tell you any more."
"Miss Michaels—"
"No, no," the old woman shook her head, her weathered hands trembling slightly as she lifted her cup to take a sip. "That's it. I can't. We aren't allowed—"
"That's nine," Dean interjected gravely, his gaze piercing as he leaned forward slightly. Henrietta froze, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for unseen listeners.
"Please..." she pleaded hoarsely, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands gripping the cup tightly.
"Please help us, Henrietta. What happened to your husband?" Dean's tone softened just slightly, a mix of empathy and determination in his eyes as he reached out to her. "Tell us what happened for the first pastor of the church to erase him from existence. If not for us, for your daughters."
"He's... gone," she whispered, her voice quivering with emotion, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Struck down in the dead of night, savagely beaten, forced to witness his brother's death... and his daughters... then cast out, forbidden to ever return."
As if on cue, her delicate porcelain cup slipped from her trembling hands, crashing to the floor with a shattering sound. Her body convulsed uncontrollably, as if it were no longer her own, leaving her with a vacant stare and limbs wracked with spasms, while the brothers sprang into action.
"Damn it!" Dean's expletive rang out, a mixture of frustration and concern, as he swiftly moved to guide the elderly woman away from any potential hazards, while Sam frantically dialed 911. "Miss Michaels! Can you hear me?"
Her lips moved soundlessly, as if struggling to form coherent words, her gaze distant and unfocused. Dean leaned in closer, straining to catch her faint whisper, just as a strange purple smoke began to emanate from her parted lips.
"He's coming," Dean's muscles tensed involuntarily, a shiver coursing down his spine, as the ethereal words enveloped him. "Fixit. Fixit. Fixit."
"Fix what?" Dean demanded and when she coughed, more smoke lift her lips.
"The circle. Run, run, run." Henrietta recited hysterically through blood, purple smoke, and gasps of breaths that seemed to escape. "Into the circle. He's comin'."