And the Guilty Soldiers Fall, 5/10, R, Gen
Okay, I didn't really mean to, but I DO spoil the plot, by quite a bit, for Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None". If you don't want to know what happens or how it ends...go read it before continuing on into this chapter. If you don't care, it might just make you want to read it. Fantastic, haunting book. I loved it. (The play that was adapted from the book, with the script actually having been penned by Ms. Christie, ended differently and on a happier note, but was no less scary.)
Also, the gore and violence are just getting started.
Title: And the Guilty Soldiers Fall
Rating: R for horror, gore, language
Chapter: 5 of 10
Genre: Horror, Gen, Suspense
Spoilers: Season 6, up through 6x14: Mannequin 3, the Reckoning. Spoilers also for Requiem of the Forsaken, last year's Halloween fic that's set in Season 5. Also, spoilers for Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" of which I refer to by a lot. Annnnnd pretty much spoil the whole plot. Be warned.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Sequel to Requiem of the Forsaken. Another haunted hotel appears on the Winchesters' radar, and the boys reluctantly take the case. When they find themselves locked in with a frightened group of civilians, and bodies begin to drop one by one, the brothers fight not only to find their ghost and guess the next victim, but to also keep each other alive until sunrise.
Wordcount: 4,291 for this chapter.
Previous parts here
Warnings: Okay, folks. Gore, death, mystery, hurt!boys, protective!boys, language, and some pretty graphic dying scenes. If you're squeamish, this...might not be for you.
A/N: You MUST have read "Requiem of the Forsaken" first before reading this, I cannot reiterate this enough. NO SENSE WILL THIS MAKE FOR YOU IF YOU DO NOT.
A/N the 2nd: As last year's fic came from an inspired source, so too does this one. Inspired by my crazy, evil brain and by Agatha Christie's creepy-as-fuck "And Then There Were None". What? It had to be done.
Sam had always hated that poem. It was the one and only time that he could think of where he'd dreaded going to school. They'd been focused on it for two weeks in English, and Sam had never been happier to leave that particular high school behind. It had given him nightmares, terrible nightmares, of the terror of people one by one by one being picked off, killed in horrible ways, only for the killer to have been among them the whole time, willing and able to take numerous lives. The poem had haunted him, buzzing around his head and leaving him perfectly able to recite the damn thing. He knew the order and the way the people in the poem would die. It was forever engraved on his memory. He'd faced it once in college, but it had been a quick mention in a class, and then Sam had left it behind forever.
But yet here it was again. Except now, now it was as real as the nightmares had felt all those years ago. He couldn't help the shivers that ran up his spine as he looked around the room. All of these people were slated to die in some manner. Picked off, one by one by one.
“Okay, someone explain this to me,” Teddy said, raising his hand much like Daniel had, and god, they'd lost the best person to guide them around the house. “I never read the book and I slept through, like, the last half of the film, so I have no idea what happens. I'm assuming it's nothing good.”
“No, it's not,” Sam said. He took a deep breath before continuing. “In the book, ten strangers get invited to an island by 'friends' and then are abandoned there. One by one everyone starts dying in the manner of the poem, which is posted in the house they're all staying in. Each person was brought to the island because they're guilty of a crime, usually the death of someone else, and they got away with it for various reasons. The man who dies first, the one who 'choked himself' on a poisoned drink, ran over children with his car and killed them.”
“Eventually there's no one left,” Amanda added, still playing with the hem of her shirt. “They all die.”
Teddy looked like he was sorry he'd asked. Sam certainly wasn't thrilled that he'd been forced to dredge up one of his, how had Monica put it, worst literary nightmares, next to Stephen King's It.
Speaking of Monica...
“How did you know, Monica?” Sam asked, and she glanced up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “How did you know to make the connection?”
“I was actually about to ask Amanda the same thing,” Dean said. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall near the door, and for anyone who didn't know his brother, Dean was the perfect image of nonchalance. But Sam knew that against his side, where no one could see, Dean was tapping his fingers nervously, and that he was poised and ready to move fast if he needed to.
Amanda pursed her lips. “I'm a fan of mystery novels,” she said. “Agatha Christie's a favorite. Well, she was, until tonight.”
Sam turned to Monica in askance. Monica wiped at her eyes, new tears forming. “I-I'm an English major,” she managed to choke out. “It's where...it's where Daniel and I met-” She cut herself off with a sob, burying her face in her hands again.
Sam's gut tightened in the face of her grief. He'd met Jess in a class, too. “It's gonna be okay,” he offered in a soft voice. “We'll get you out of here, Monica, I promise.”
“The best way to do that would be to start fessing up, right now,” Amanda said firmly. “It's the only way we can figure out who's next.”
“Excuse me?” Dean said incredulously. “'Fessing up' to what exactly?”
“To what you're guilty for,” Amanda responded. “That's why we're here, right? That's why we're dying? If your spirit or whatever is following the path of the poem, it stands to reason that we're guilty of something, of a death somewhere. That's why we're getting picked off.”
As much as Sam hated to admit it, it did make a logical sense. “Anyone?” he asked of the room at large. God knew he had enough blood on his hands to make him the spirit's number one choice.
No one said anything. Dean shifted casually against the wall, but he had to be nervous, too. Whether accidentally or not, he had innocent blood on his hands, too.
“What about those who have already died?” Harrison asked. “What have they done?”
It was a damn good question, and Sam was grateful that someone there had a level head. “If my phone worked, I could tell you,” Sam said, before pausing. “How much mingling did people do before Landon choked?”
“Only half an hour or so,” Paul admitted. “We hadn't been there long. I knew Landon from when we'd both taken a required first aid course together a few years ago. He liked it enough to go on as an EMT.”
“He was an EMT?” Clara asked, frowning. “He looked super familiar, I could've sworn I'd seen his face before.”
“Oh my god,” Teddy exclaimed, eyes widening. “That, that thing in the papers about a year back. About an EMT stepping up to help a choking customer at a restaurant and not being able to save them, do you remember that? His picture was in the paper-”
“That was him,” Paul said, blinking as if coming out of a stupor. “I remember recognizing his photo.”
Now they were getting somewhere, and Sam felt a surge of adrenaline spike through him. “Anyone know Devina?” Dean asked, pushing away from the wall, eyes quickly scanning the group. “Monica?”
Monica shrugged. “I'd met her at the party for the first time, never knew her. Landon seemed to have recognized her, though.”
“Her family was a client of mine,” Harrison said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew she looked familiar. It was a long battle with the courts, as to how Devina's father's estate would be divided, on account of the living will. Her father was in a coma, and he'd stated that his children would be allowed to decide how to deal with it if there was little to no chance he would wake up. The doctors had promised hope, but in the end...”
“She pulled the plug,” Sam said, swallowing hard. “Was it in the papers?”
“Not really,” Harrison said, looking up with a haunted look in his eyes. “But it was regular gossip for a long, long time.”
“And Daniel?” Amanda asked, turning to Monica. “You dated him, you should know.”
Monica wiped at her cheeks with shaking hands. “His...his friend,” she whispered. “They were out somewhere on a trip, and they ran out of gas. It was late at night. Daniel said he offered to go get some from the nearby exit, and left Michael behind. I-I guess Michael waited outside, and the driver didn't see him, and...” She looked up at Sam, biting her lip to try and keep her composure. “He left Michael behind,” she whimpered. “And I left him behind, and sh-she got him...”
It felt like being hit by a two by four, and Sam straightened at the realization. “Sammy?” Dean said, picking up on the change in attitude.
“It's not the same,” he said, shaking his head. “Because they're dying the same way.”
Dean gave him a look that said clearly, Explain, little brother, and raised his eyebrows. Sam shook himself and gazed around the room. “In the novel, the guests die in the manner of the poem,” he explained, hands gesturing wildly. “But they didn't kill someone in that manner. The guy who choked didn't choke someone else, he ran them over with his car. The one who overslept was rumored to have murdered her previous employer.”
“But in this case,” Dean said, picking up where Sam was going, “the punishment fits the crime.”
“But they're not guilty,” Amanda said, frowning. “They didn't commit the crimes, they were accidents!”
“Spirits don't see things that way,” Sam said. “It's black and white to them. If they were involved in a death somehow, then they're guilty.”
“I imagine those deceased would certainly feel that way,” Harrison said, his gaze locked outside at the growing storm. “Devina was wracked with guilt over pulling the plug on her father.”
Monica sniffled, wrapping her arms around herself. She seemed more coherent, though. “Daniel's been bringing up Michael a lot lately,” she said. “I think he said it would've been Michael's 25th birthday this month. The guilt's been eating him up. That's why he told me what happened.”
If the punishment fit the crime, then this wasn't just a spirit with a random crush on Agatha Christie's novel. No, this screamed vengeful spirit, and those were ten times more dangerous. He met Dean's eyes, knowing his brother was thinking the exact same thing. “Wonder what Joel Green was involved in,” Dean said softly.
Probably saw someone get pushed down the stairs and break their neck, was Sam's guess. Thank god he'd survived her attack.
Still, it didn't quite add up. Something was missing, but Sam couldn't quite put his finger on it.
“If that's the case, then people should definitely know which one they are,” Amanda said, picking right back up from where she'd left off. “We're all here because of the contest with the free night's stay-”
“And that's what I don't understand,” Paul interrupted. He shrugged his shoulders, looking nine types of confused. “I never signed up for the contest. I always assumed one of my friends had put my name down. I was blown away by the letter I got in the mail.”
Sam swore his heart stopped. “You didn't sign up?” he asked.
Paul shook his head. “I...I didn't either,” Clara said, biting her lip. “I just got the letter in the mail, figured it was a random 'congratulations, resident' sort of thing.”
“I was Daniel's guest,” Monica said tentatively. “I wasn't exactly invited, either.”
Well...shit. Then Amanda was right: they'd all been picked for a reason.
“The next one gets chopped up,” Amanda snapped, anger and fear in her eyes. “Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks, one chopped himself in halves and then there were six.” No one said anything, and Amanda continued on in a burst. “Six little soldier boys playing with a hive, one got stung by a bee and then there were five. Five little soldier boys-”
“God, stop,” Monica begged, her hands leaping up to cover her ears. “I hate that poem, just stop-”
“Five little soldier boys going in for law, one got in Chancery and then there were four,” Amanda kept going at a rapid fire pace. There was a gleam in her eyes that was starting to look crazed, and her voice began to sound high-pitched and bordering on hysterical. “F-Four little soldier boys going out to sea, a red herring swallowed one and then there were three. Three little soldier boys walking in the zoo, a big bear...” She gasped for air, her eyes starting to shine. “A b-big bear hugged one a-and then there were...were two-”
Sam stepped over and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She deflated at the touch, falling back into the chair behind her and shivering like she'd never get warm. Monica was nearly rocking in the corner, and Clara was trying to bury herself between Paul and Teddy, and all three of them were desperately trying to stare holes through the floor.
“Sonuvabitch,” Dean muttered under his breath, closing his eyes. Sam stood helplessly near Amanda, glancing up and around the room. His eyes landed on the mirror by the dresser, and despite the lights they'd turned on, everything looked grim and dark and hopeless. Sam shuddered and resisted the urge to run his hands up his arms. Even though she hadn't recited them, he still knew the last two phrases.
Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun, one got frizzled up and then there was one.
One little soldier boy left all alone, he went and hanged himself...and then there were none.
God but Sam hated that poem.
“So that means...we're all guilty?” Clara asked, voice trembling. “We've all had a hand in someone's death, somehow?”
“Not directly,” Dean started, but Teddy cut in before he could finish.
“Yeah, but as far as the ghost is concerned, we're guilty. That means we've all been responsible for someone's death. We've all 'killed', according to her.”
The atmosphere changed almost instantly. Everyone began moving their gaze to one another, as if trying to seek out a truth that the other was keeping hidden. A few glances were thrown Sam's way, and unbidden, names came to mind. Jess, Madison, Dad, Mom, Jo, Ellen, even Dean...
A hand caught his elbow and pulled him away towards the corner. “We weren't invited to this shindig,” Dean said, pitching his voice low. “This isn't on us, Sam.”
“It is, though, according to the spirit,” Sam countered softly. “She could take either of us for a spin on practically every single one of the stanzas.” God but he hated not knowing who she'd go for next. There was a whole room of people that the mystery ghost could tackle, and he didn't even know what she looked like. No one except Clara had seen her.
Actually, Sam had to admit that that was part of what had his stomach tied in knots. “Don't you think it's weird, that we haven't seen more of the spirit yet?” Sam asked. “She's been violent and not afraid to do so, but only Clara's seen her.”
Dean stared at him. “You want to see a ghost,” he said flatly.
“Honestly, it would make more sense,” Sam defended, giving his brother a look. “And you know it. And her escalation of violence is weird: she's gone from pushing kids down the stairs to some sort of vengeful death routine according to a mystery novel?”
“Was there anything in And Then There Were None about someone getting pushed down the stairs?” Dean asked, but Sam shook his head. It didn't make any sense.
Dean held his hands up in a 'don't look at me' manner. “Dude, no one said spirits had to make sense.”
“Yeah, but there's usually a motive, a reason,” Sam said.
“Maybe she was murdered while reading the book. It's the one thing that's stuck with her through the afterlife.”
It was one of the lamest ideas Sam had ever heard, but it sort of fit. “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted.
Dean snapped his fingers suddenly. “Maybe she'd have started this whole mystery novel thing with the kids if she'd gotten a hold of them. Maybe she was trying to choke Joel and he got away, but tumbled down the stairs?”
Now that, Sam was willing to bet, was plausible. “Still, she appeared to the kids, and we've only had one sighting so far. It just...there's something wrong with this.”
“There's something wrong with haunted hotels in general,” Dean muttered.
“You said we could keep her away.”
Sam turned away from Dean back towards the group, who were all staring intently at the both of them in the corner. “You said you needed something to keep her away,” Amanda repeated. “If this is a real ghost, then what do we need?”
The salt. They'd gotten so wrapped up in the damn deaths that they'd forgotten about the salt. “We need salt,” Sam told her. “And a lot of it. Spirits can't cross salt, it's a purifying agent.”
“The kitchen was stocked, sort of,” Monica offered. “Basics that people might need. I helped haul some of it in with Daniel. They've probably got salt.”
“That helps,” Dean said, turning towards the door. “We just need to-”
He froze, and Sam saw the minute it hit Dean just what they'd have to do. The kitchen was downstairs. The room they were in was upstairs and unprotected. Which meant one of them would have to go down to get it, guarded with what limited iron rounds they had in their guns, and the other would have to stay up here to protect the group.
In other words, they'd have to split up.
“I'll go,” Sam said softly, and Dean immediately turned around, shaking his head furiously.
“No, you're not.”
“I'll be quick-”
“She'll be quicker and you know it. Dammit Sammy, she's already killed three people-”
“Dean,” Sam said firmly, and Dean clenched his fists but said nothing. Sam softened. “I'll be quick,” he said again.
“I'll go with him,” Amanda said, surprising Sam. Amanda didn't look exactly comfortable with the idea, but she tipped her chin up anyway. Whatever breakdown she'd had earlier seemed to have been put firmly in the past. “We'll do a buddy system. Safety in numbers, right?”
Teddy pushed himself up from his seat. “I'll go too,” he said. “If there's a lot of salt, you need people to carry it, right?”
Despite the situation, Sam couldn't help but smile. Freaked out civilians who were willing to do what they had to in order to keep everyone alive. “Okay,” Sam said, nodding. “We'll go together.”
“Don't sing the Grease song,” Amanda said, waving her hand off. “I can't stand that musical.”
Sam's lips turned up into a grin. Dean, for once, didn't appreciate the random tidbit of humor. “You both listen to Sam,” he demanded. “He tells you to cluck like a chicken-”
“I'll tell him to fuck off,” Teddy said, glaring at Dean. “We get it, okay? None of us wants to die. Shut up already, man.”
Dean glanced at Sam, and the pure fear Sam saw in his brother's eyes was enough to leave him humbled. “It'll be all right,” Sam told him. “If we need you, we'll yell. Okay?”
Everything in Dean's look screamed that no, it was not okay, but he said nothing. Sam took a deep breath and deliberately stepped past Dean to the door. Footsteps behind him came closer until Amanda and Teddy were right behind him. “Stay with me,” Sam said, and they both nodded rapidly. Cautiously he reached out for the handle, finding it cool but not too cold. If she was here, it wasn't right outside the door at least.
With one last glance back at Dean, who looked ready to jump out of his skin, Sam carefully opened the door, hand at the small of his back to find his gun. Amanda and Teddy crowded in, and as quickly as they could they stepped out into the darkened hallway, shutting the door behind them.
The lights in the stairwell were still on, and down the hallway, Sam could see the glow from the lobby. It lit up once, twice, bright and flaring all of a sudden, and then he heard the thunder roll to follow the lightning. Amanda shivered behind him. “It was a dark and stormy night,” she muttered. “Of course it had to be a dark and stormy night.”
“We hurry downstairs, get into the kitchen, get the salt, get out,” Sam said. He reached out to test the doorknob to the stairwell and found it cool but not chilled as well. He opened the door and moved through, Teddy and Amanda right on his tail. “Nothing more. We only need the salt to keep us safe.”
He hesitated as they moved cautiously down the stairs, cringing as he remembered what was waiting beyond the door. “Um, don't look at the floor,” he told them, earning two frowns. “Try not to, at least.”
The doorknob on the bottom felt about right as well, and he opened the door slowly as could be. The hallway only held residual glow from the lobby and the exit sign above them: the kitchen itself was completely dark. He stepped out, waving for Amanda and Teddy to follow. The silence that surrounded their movements was eerie, and Sam warily looked at the door to the basement. Still shut and locked.
“Oh god,” Teddy choked out, and Sam winced. Well, he'd tried.
“Just...just focus on the kitchen,” Amanda said, but her voice was shaking. “And not on the floor. The doors, not the floor. Doors, not the floor.”
Sam glanced all around and behind their small trio, scanning the hallway for any movement. But it was still and silent, clean and new. The only thing that suggested that there was something wrong was the feeling in the air, the anxiousness that buzzed through Sam's very being.
That and the blood stains on the floor. Those didn't help.
Carefully they stepped through into the kitchen, pushing the swinging door inward. “Hold the door,” Sam said, reaching blindly to the sides to try and find a switch. Cool tiled walls met his fingertips as he slowly inched his way around to the lights. God, if they were on the other side of the room...
Finally his fingers met cold metal, and Sam eagerly found a switch and flipped it. The room was bathed in light, revealing a stainless steel, modern kitchen that would more than satisfy any guests that could come calling. Pots and pans of every shape hung from the walls and over the island in the middle of the large room, clean enough to sparkle. Along the walls were freezers and ovens, stoves and sinks. Everything looked perfect.
To the left were open pantry doors, and Sam slowly edged inside the kitchen to see if salt of any sort was inside. “Find anything?” Amanda asked.
The lights flickered, and all three of them froze. “Get in here, now,” Sam ordered, racing over to the pantry. Sugar of all types, cocoa powder, noodles and pasta, cans of chicken broth-
There. The bottom shelf held six canisters of salt, all large volume. “Thank god,” Sam breathed, quickly grabbing the salt. Teddy appeared right at his side, arms open and ready. “Amanda?” Sam called, only to find her at the door, waiting. He quickly thrust three of the salt canisters into Teddy's grasp.
“Hurry!” Amanda yelled, nervously glancing out towards the hallway. Sam's heart beat even faster in his chest as he grabbed the last three canisters and dashed towards the door, Teddy hot on his heels. Sam thrust two of the canisters at Amanda as they raced past the basement access door, their shoes sticking to the blood on the floor and leaving Sam unsure of every step he took.
They only had to get upstairs. If they could get upstairs, they could stay away from her, they could last out the night-
“Go go go!” Teddy shouted when the lights flickered again but then stayed on. Sam grabbed the door to the stairwell and flung it open, dashing through, eyes searching out every corner of the stairwell. Was it colder? Had that been a shadow? Quickly he took the stairs, stopping on the middle landing to watch Teddy and Amanda race up the steps.
The door at the bottom suddenly slammed shut. Sam froze, staring at the door. Teddy turned on the stair two steps from the top, also staring at the door they'd just come through. Amanda kept racing ahead, nearly tripping on the stairs as she stepped up onto the middle landing. “Teddy, come on!” Sam yelled.
The lights went out. A scream echoed around them, loud and everywhere at once, and Sam shut his eyes, heart pounding up into his throat. There was no light and his weapon was in the back of his pants and the scream wouldn't stop, and something suddenly hit him hard and sent him flying into the wall. Pain radiated through his being, and god, he was dizzy and unable to get his gun out in the dark. Something covered his face, something warm and wrong, and Sam cried out.
The scream suddenly cut off as quickly as it had started. Pounding footsteps were suddenly close, too close, and before Sam could do anything the lights came back on. “Sammy!” was shouted above him, Dean bursting through the door above, Paul hot on his heels.
Sam couldn't say anything. Amanda had fallen on top of him and sent both of them sprawling onto the landing. The room spun around and around, and god, that wasn't even the worst part. No, the worst part was Amanda, staring with open-mouthed horror at the stairs leading down to the first floor, and Sam unable to tear his gaze away either.
Teddy was strewn across the steps, blood everywhere. His eyes were frozen open in terror, mouth forever locked in a silent scream. The three canisters of salt he'd been carrying were slashed and emptied all over his body, slowly turning pink from the blood. There were slashes and deep cuts across every part of his body, and even as Sam watched in horror, his right hand slowly fell away from his arm.
Something warm began to slide down Sam's face, and numbly he reached up to wipe it away. Blood. Teddy's blood. He and Amanda were absolutely covered in it, sprayed while Teddy had died two steps away from them in the dark.
Sam turned to look up the stairs at his brother. Paul had his hand covering his mouth, and Dean was staring at the body in stunned disbelief.
Dead. Chopped up on the stairwell.
And then there were six.
Chapter 6: The 5th Victim
~Nebula
Also, the gore and violence are just getting started.
Title: And the Guilty Soldiers Fall
Rating: R for horror, gore, language
Chapter: 5 of 10
Genre: Horror, Gen, Suspense
Spoilers: Season 6, up through 6x14: Mannequin 3, the Reckoning. Spoilers also for Requiem of the Forsaken, last year's Halloween fic that's set in Season 5. Also, spoilers for Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" of which I refer to by a lot. Annnnnd pretty much spoil the whole plot. Be warned.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Sequel to Requiem of the Forsaken. Another haunted hotel appears on the Winchesters' radar, and the boys reluctantly take the case. When they find themselves locked in with a frightened group of civilians, and bodies begin to drop one by one, the brothers fight not only to find their ghost and guess the next victim, but to also keep each other alive until sunrise.
Wordcount: 4,291 for this chapter.
Previous parts here
Warnings: Okay, folks. Gore, death, mystery, hurt!boys, protective!boys, language, and some pretty graphic dying scenes. If you're squeamish, this...might not be for you.
A/N: You MUST have read "Requiem of the Forsaken" first before reading this, I cannot reiterate this enough. NO SENSE WILL THIS MAKE FOR YOU IF YOU DO NOT.
A/N the 2nd: As last year's fic came from an inspired source, so too does this one. Inspired by my crazy, evil brain and by Agatha Christie's creepy-as-fuck "And Then There Were None". What? It had to be done.
Sam had always hated that poem. It was the one and only time that he could think of where he'd dreaded going to school. They'd been focused on it for two weeks in English, and Sam had never been happier to leave that particular high school behind. It had given him nightmares, terrible nightmares, of the terror of people one by one by one being picked off, killed in horrible ways, only for the killer to have been among them the whole time, willing and able to take numerous lives. The poem had haunted him, buzzing around his head and leaving him perfectly able to recite the damn thing. He knew the order and the way the people in the poem would die. It was forever engraved on his memory. He'd faced it once in college, but it had been a quick mention in a class, and then Sam had left it behind forever.
But yet here it was again. Except now, now it was as real as the nightmares had felt all those years ago. He couldn't help the shivers that ran up his spine as he looked around the room. All of these people were slated to die in some manner. Picked off, one by one by one.
“Okay, someone explain this to me,” Teddy said, raising his hand much like Daniel had, and god, they'd lost the best person to guide them around the house. “I never read the book and I slept through, like, the last half of the film, so I have no idea what happens. I'm assuming it's nothing good.”
“No, it's not,” Sam said. He took a deep breath before continuing. “In the book, ten strangers get invited to an island by 'friends' and then are abandoned there. One by one everyone starts dying in the manner of the poem, which is posted in the house they're all staying in. Each person was brought to the island because they're guilty of a crime, usually the death of someone else, and they got away with it for various reasons. The man who dies first, the one who 'choked himself' on a poisoned drink, ran over children with his car and killed them.”
“Eventually there's no one left,” Amanda added, still playing with the hem of her shirt. “They all die.”
Teddy looked like he was sorry he'd asked. Sam certainly wasn't thrilled that he'd been forced to dredge up one of his, how had Monica put it, worst literary nightmares, next to Stephen King's It.
Speaking of Monica...
“How did you know, Monica?” Sam asked, and she glanced up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “How did you know to make the connection?”
“I was actually about to ask Amanda the same thing,” Dean said. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall near the door, and for anyone who didn't know his brother, Dean was the perfect image of nonchalance. But Sam knew that against his side, where no one could see, Dean was tapping his fingers nervously, and that he was poised and ready to move fast if he needed to.
Amanda pursed her lips. “I'm a fan of mystery novels,” she said. “Agatha Christie's a favorite. Well, she was, until tonight.”
Sam turned to Monica in askance. Monica wiped at her eyes, new tears forming. “I-I'm an English major,” she managed to choke out. “It's where...it's where Daniel and I met-” She cut herself off with a sob, burying her face in her hands again.
Sam's gut tightened in the face of her grief. He'd met Jess in a class, too. “It's gonna be okay,” he offered in a soft voice. “We'll get you out of here, Monica, I promise.”
“The best way to do that would be to start fessing up, right now,” Amanda said firmly. “It's the only way we can figure out who's next.”
“Excuse me?” Dean said incredulously. “'Fessing up' to what exactly?”
“To what you're guilty for,” Amanda responded. “That's why we're here, right? That's why we're dying? If your spirit or whatever is following the path of the poem, it stands to reason that we're guilty of something, of a death somewhere. That's why we're getting picked off.”
As much as Sam hated to admit it, it did make a logical sense. “Anyone?” he asked of the room at large. God knew he had enough blood on his hands to make him the spirit's number one choice.
No one said anything. Dean shifted casually against the wall, but he had to be nervous, too. Whether accidentally or not, he had innocent blood on his hands, too.
“What about those who have already died?” Harrison asked. “What have they done?”
It was a damn good question, and Sam was grateful that someone there had a level head. “If my phone worked, I could tell you,” Sam said, before pausing. “How much mingling did people do before Landon choked?”
“Only half an hour or so,” Paul admitted. “We hadn't been there long. I knew Landon from when we'd both taken a required first aid course together a few years ago. He liked it enough to go on as an EMT.”
“He was an EMT?” Clara asked, frowning. “He looked super familiar, I could've sworn I'd seen his face before.”
“Oh my god,” Teddy exclaimed, eyes widening. “That, that thing in the papers about a year back. About an EMT stepping up to help a choking customer at a restaurant and not being able to save them, do you remember that? His picture was in the paper-”
“That was him,” Paul said, blinking as if coming out of a stupor. “I remember recognizing his photo.”
Now they were getting somewhere, and Sam felt a surge of adrenaline spike through him. “Anyone know Devina?” Dean asked, pushing away from the wall, eyes quickly scanning the group. “Monica?”
Monica shrugged. “I'd met her at the party for the first time, never knew her. Landon seemed to have recognized her, though.”
“Her family was a client of mine,” Harrison said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew she looked familiar. It was a long battle with the courts, as to how Devina's father's estate would be divided, on account of the living will. Her father was in a coma, and he'd stated that his children would be allowed to decide how to deal with it if there was little to no chance he would wake up. The doctors had promised hope, but in the end...”
“She pulled the plug,” Sam said, swallowing hard. “Was it in the papers?”
“Not really,” Harrison said, looking up with a haunted look in his eyes. “But it was regular gossip for a long, long time.”
“And Daniel?” Amanda asked, turning to Monica. “You dated him, you should know.”
Monica wiped at her cheeks with shaking hands. “His...his friend,” she whispered. “They were out somewhere on a trip, and they ran out of gas. It was late at night. Daniel said he offered to go get some from the nearby exit, and left Michael behind. I-I guess Michael waited outside, and the driver didn't see him, and...” She looked up at Sam, biting her lip to try and keep her composure. “He left Michael behind,” she whimpered. “And I left him behind, and sh-she got him...”
It felt like being hit by a two by four, and Sam straightened at the realization. “Sammy?” Dean said, picking up on the change in attitude.
“It's not the same,” he said, shaking his head. “Because they're dying the same way.”
Dean gave him a look that said clearly, Explain, little brother, and raised his eyebrows. Sam shook himself and gazed around the room. “In the novel, the guests die in the manner of the poem,” he explained, hands gesturing wildly. “But they didn't kill someone in that manner. The guy who choked didn't choke someone else, he ran them over with his car. The one who overslept was rumored to have murdered her previous employer.”
“But in this case,” Dean said, picking up where Sam was going, “the punishment fits the crime.”
“But they're not guilty,” Amanda said, frowning. “They didn't commit the crimes, they were accidents!”
“Spirits don't see things that way,” Sam said. “It's black and white to them. If they were involved in a death somehow, then they're guilty.”
“I imagine those deceased would certainly feel that way,” Harrison said, his gaze locked outside at the growing storm. “Devina was wracked with guilt over pulling the plug on her father.”
Monica sniffled, wrapping her arms around herself. She seemed more coherent, though. “Daniel's been bringing up Michael a lot lately,” she said. “I think he said it would've been Michael's 25th birthday this month. The guilt's been eating him up. That's why he told me what happened.”
If the punishment fit the crime, then this wasn't just a spirit with a random crush on Agatha Christie's novel. No, this screamed vengeful spirit, and those were ten times more dangerous. He met Dean's eyes, knowing his brother was thinking the exact same thing. “Wonder what Joel Green was involved in,” Dean said softly.
Probably saw someone get pushed down the stairs and break their neck, was Sam's guess. Thank god he'd survived her attack.
Still, it didn't quite add up. Something was missing, but Sam couldn't quite put his finger on it.
“If that's the case, then people should definitely know which one they are,” Amanda said, picking right back up from where she'd left off. “We're all here because of the contest with the free night's stay-”
“And that's what I don't understand,” Paul interrupted. He shrugged his shoulders, looking nine types of confused. “I never signed up for the contest. I always assumed one of my friends had put my name down. I was blown away by the letter I got in the mail.”
Sam swore his heart stopped. “You didn't sign up?” he asked.
Paul shook his head. “I...I didn't either,” Clara said, biting her lip. “I just got the letter in the mail, figured it was a random 'congratulations, resident' sort of thing.”
“I was Daniel's guest,” Monica said tentatively. “I wasn't exactly invited, either.”
Well...shit. Then Amanda was right: they'd all been picked for a reason.
“The next one gets chopped up,” Amanda snapped, anger and fear in her eyes. “Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks, one chopped himself in halves and then there were six.” No one said anything, and Amanda continued on in a burst. “Six little soldier boys playing with a hive, one got stung by a bee and then there were five. Five little soldier boys-”
“God, stop,” Monica begged, her hands leaping up to cover her ears. “I hate that poem, just stop-”
“Five little soldier boys going in for law, one got in Chancery and then there were four,” Amanda kept going at a rapid fire pace. There was a gleam in her eyes that was starting to look crazed, and her voice began to sound high-pitched and bordering on hysterical. “F-Four little soldier boys going out to sea, a red herring swallowed one and then there were three. Three little soldier boys walking in the zoo, a big bear...” She gasped for air, her eyes starting to shine. “A b-big bear hugged one a-and then there were...were two-”
Sam stepped over and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She deflated at the touch, falling back into the chair behind her and shivering like she'd never get warm. Monica was nearly rocking in the corner, and Clara was trying to bury herself between Paul and Teddy, and all three of them were desperately trying to stare holes through the floor.
“Sonuvabitch,” Dean muttered under his breath, closing his eyes. Sam stood helplessly near Amanda, glancing up and around the room. His eyes landed on the mirror by the dresser, and despite the lights they'd turned on, everything looked grim and dark and hopeless. Sam shuddered and resisted the urge to run his hands up his arms. Even though she hadn't recited them, he still knew the last two phrases.
Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun, one got frizzled up and then there was one.
One little soldier boy left all alone, he went and hanged himself...and then there were none.
God but Sam hated that poem.
“So that means...we're all guilty?” Clara asked, voice trembling. “We've all had a hand in someone's death, somehow?”
“Not directly,” Dean started, but Teddy cut in before he could finish.
“Yeah, but as far as the ghost is concerned, we're guilty. That means we've all been responsible for someone's death. We've all 'killed', according to her.”
The atmosphere changed almost instantly. Everyone began moving their gaze to one another, as if trying to seek out a truth that the other was keeping hidden. A few glances were thrown Sam's way, and unbidden, names came to mind. Jess, Madison, Dad, Mom, Jo, Ellen, even Dean...
A hand caught his elbow and pulled him away towards the corner. “We weren't invited to this shindig,” Dean said, pitching his voice low. “This isn't on us, Sam.”
“It is, though, according to the spirit,” Sam countered softly. “She could take either of us for a spin on practically every single one of the stanzas.” God but he hated not knowing who she'd go for next. There was a whole room of people that the mystery ghost could tackle, and he didn't even know what she looked like. No one except Clara had seen her.
Actually, Sam had to admit that that was part of what had his stomach tied in knots. “Don't you think it's weird, that we haven't seen more of the spirit yet?” Sam asked. “She's been violent and not afraid to do so, but only Clara's seen her.”
Dean stared at him. “You want to see a ghost,” he said flatly.
“Honestly, it would make more sense,” Sam defended, giving his brother a look. “And you know it. And her escalation of violence is weird: she's gone from pushing kids down the stairs to some sort of vengeful death routine according to a mystery novel?”
“Was there anything in And Then There Were None about someone getting pushed down the stairs?” Dean asked, but Sam shook his head. It didn't make any sense.
Dean held his hands up in a 'don't look at me' manner. “Dude, no one said spirits had to make sense.”
“Yeah, but there's usually a motive, a reason,” Sam said.
“Maybe she was murdered while reading the book. It's the one thing that's stuck with her through the afterlife.”
It was one of the lamest ideas Sam had ever heard, but it sort of fit. “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted.
Dean snapped his fingers suddenly. “Maybe she'd have started this whole mystery novel thing with the kids if she'd gotten a hold of them. Maybe she was trying to choke Joel and he got away, but tumbled down the stairs?”
Now that, Sam was willing to bet, was plausible. “Still, she appeared to the kids, and we've only had one sighting so far. It just...there's something wrong with this.”
“There's something wrong with haunted hotels in general,” Dean muttered.
“You said we could keep her away.”
Sam turned away from Dean back towards the group, who were all staring intently at the both of them in the corner. “You said you needed something to keep her away,” Amanda repeated. “If this is a real ghost, then what do we need?”
The salt. They'd gotten so wrapped up in the damn deaths that they'd forgotten about the salt. “We need salt,” Sam told her. “And a lot of it. Spirits can't cross salt, it's a purifying agent.”
“The kitchen was stocked, sort of,” Monica offered. “Basics that people might need. I helped haul some of it in with Daniel. They've probably got salt.”
“That helps,” Dean said, turning towards the door. “We just need to-”
He froze, and Sam saw the minute it hit Dean just what they'd have to do. The kitchen was downstairs. The room they were in was upstairs and unprotected. Which meant one of them would have to go down to get it, guarded with what limited iron rounds they had in their guns, and the other would have to stay up here to protect the group.
In other words, they'd have to split up.
“I'll go,” Sam said softly, and Dean immediately turned around, shaking his head furiously.
“No, you're not.”
“I'll be quick-”
“She'll be quicker and you know it. Dammit Sammy, she's already killed three people-”
“Dean,” Sam said firmly, and Dean clenched his fists but said nothing. Sam softened. “I'll be quick,” he said again.
“I'll go with him,” Amanda said, surprising Sam. Amanda didn't look exactly comfortable with the idea, but she tipped her chin up anyway. Whatever breakdown she'd had earlier seemed to have been put firmly in the past. “We'll do a buddy system. Safety in numbers, right?”
Teddy pushed himself up from his seat. “I'll go too,” he said. “If there's a lot of salt, you need people to carry it, right?”
Despite the situation, Sam couldn't help but smile. Freaked out civilians who were willing to do what they had to in order to keep everyone alive. “Okay,” Sam said, nodding. “We'll go together.”
“Don't sing the Grease song,” Amanda said, waving her hand off. “I can't stand that musical.”
Sam's lips turned up into a grin. Dean, for once, didn't appreciate the random tidbit of humor. “You both listen to Sam,” he demanded. “He tells you to cluck like a chicken-”
“I'll tell him to fuck off,” Teddy said, glaring at Dean. “We get it, okay? None of us wants to die. Shut up already, man.”
Dean glanced at Sam, and the pure fear Sam saw in his brother's eyes was enough to leave him humbled. “It'll be all right,” Sam told him. “If we need you, we'll yell. Okay?”
Everything in Dean's look screamed that no, it was not okay, but he said nothing. Sam took a deep breath and deliberately stepped past Dean to the door. Footsteps behind him came closer until Amanda and Teddy were right behind him. “Stay with me,” Sam said, and they both nodded rapidly. Cautiously he reached out for the handle, finding it cool but not too cold. If she was here, it wasn't right outside the door at least.
With one last glance back at Dean, who looked ready to jump out of his skin, Sam carefully opened the door, hand at the small of his back to find his gun. Amanda and Teddy crowded in, and as quickly as they could they stepped out into the darkened hallway, shutting the door behind them.
The lights in the stairwell were still on, and down the hallway, Sam could see the glow from the lobby. It lit up once, twice, bright and flaring all of a sudden, and then he heard the thunder roll to follow the lightning. Amanda shivered behind him. “It was a dark and stormy night,” she muttered. “Of course it had to be a dark and stormy night.”
“We hurry downstairs, get into the kitchen, get the salt, get out,” Sam said. He reached out to test the doorknob to the stairwell and found it cool but not chilled as well. He opened the door and moved through, Teddy and Amanda right on his tail. “Nothing more. We only need the salt to keep us safe.”
He hesitated as they moved cautiously down the stairs, cringing as he remembered what was waiting beyond the door. “Um, don't look at the floor,” he told them, earning two frowns. “Try not to, at least.”
The doorknob on the bottom felt about right as well, and he opened the door slowly as could be. The hallway only held residual glow from the lobby and the exit sign above them: the kitchen itself was completely dark. He stepped out, waving for Amanda and Teddy to follow. The silence that surrounded their movements was eerie, and Sam warily looked at the door to the basement. Still shut and locked.
“Oh god,” Teddy choked out, and Sam winced. Well, he'd tried.
“Just...just focus on the kitchen,” Amanda said, but her voice was shaking. “And not on the floor. The doors, not the floor. Doors, not the floor.”
Sam glanced all around and behind their small trio, scanning the hallway for any movement. But it was still and silent, clean and new. The only thing that suggested that there was something wrong was the feeling in the air, the anxiousness that buzzed through Sam's very being.
That and the blood stains on the floor. Those didn't help.
Carefully they stepped through into the kitchen, pushing the swinging door inward. “Hold the door,” Sam said, reaching blindly to the sides to try and find a switch. Cool tiled walls met his fingertips as he slowly inched his way around to the lights. God, if they were on the other side of the room...
Finally his fingers met cold metal, and Sam eagerly found a switch and flipped it. The room was bathed in light, revealing a stainless steel, modern kitchen that would more than satisfy any guests that could come calling. Pots and pans of every shape hung from the walls and over the island in the middle of the large room, clean enough to sparkle. Along the walls were freezers and ovens, stoves and sinks. Everything looked perfect.
To the left were open pantry doors, and Sam slowly edged inside the kitchen to see if salt of any sort was inside. “Find anything?” Amanda asked.
The lights flickered, and all three of them froze. “Get in here, now,” Sam ordered, racing over to the pantry. Sugar of all types, cocoa powder, noodles and pasta, cans of chicken broth-
There. The bottom shelf held six canisters of salt, all large volume. “Thank god,” Sam breathed, quickly grabbing the salt. Teddy appeared right at his side, arms open and ready. “Amanda?” Sam called, only to find her at the door, waiting. He quickly thrust three of the salt canisters into Teddy's grasp.
“Hurry!” Amanda yelled, nervously glancing out towards the hallway. Sam's heart beat even faster in his chest as he grabbed the last three canisters and dashed towards the door, Teddy hot on his heels. Sam thrust two of the canisters at Amanda as they raced past the basement access door, their shoes sticking to the blood on the floor and leaving Sam unsure of every step he took.
They only had to get upstairs. If they could get upstairs, they could stay away from her, they could last out the night-
“Go go go!” Teddy shouted when the lights flickered again but then stayed on. Sam grabbed the door to the stairwell and flung it open, dashing through, eyes searching out every corner of the stairwell. Was it colder? Had that been a shadow? Quickly he took the stairs, stopping on the middle landing to watch Teddy and Amanda race up the steps.
The door at the bottom suddenly slammed shut. Sam froze, staring at the door. Teddy turned on the stair two steps from the top, also staring at the door they'd just come through. Amanda kept racing ahead, nearly tripping on the stairs as she stepped up onto the middle landing. “Teddy, come on!” Sam yelled.
The lights went out. A scream echoed around them, loud and everywhere at once, and Sam shut his eyes, heart pounding up into his throat. There was no light and his weapon was in the back of his pants and the scream wouldn't stop, and something suddenly hit him hard and sent him flying into the wall. Pain radiated through his being, and god, he was dizzy and unable to get his gun out in the dark. Something covered his face, something warm and wrong, and Sam cried out.
The scream suddenly cut off as quickly as it had started. Pounding footsteps were suddenly close, too close, and before Sam could do anything the lights came back on. “Sammy!” was shouted above him, Dean bursting through the door above, Paul hot on his heels.
Sam couldn't say anything. Amanda had fallen on top of him and sent both of them sprawling onto the landing. The room spun around and around, and god, that wasn't even the worst part. No, the worst part was Amanda, staring with open-mouthed horror at the stairs leading down to the first floor, and Sam unable to tear his gaze away either.
Teddy was strewn across the steps, blood everywhere. His eyes were frozen open in terror, mouth forever locked in a silent scream. The three canisters of salt he'd been carrying were slashed and emptied all over his body, slowly turning pink from the blood. There were slashes and deep cuts across every part of his body, and even as Sam watched in horror, his right hand slowly fell away from his arm.
Something warm began to slide down Sam's face, and numbly he reached up to wipe it away. Blood. Teddy's blood. He and Amanda were absolutely covered in it, sprayed while Teddy had died two steps away from them in the dark.
Sam turned to look up the stairs at his brother. Paul had his hand covering his mouth, and Dean was staring at the body in stunned disbelief.
Dead. Chopped up on the stairwell.
And then there were six.
Chapter 6: The 5th Victim
~Nebula