Blight, Part II
Title: Blight
Rating:PG-13 for language and violence
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: wee!chesters in peril!
Disclaimer: They'll be mine as soon as Kripke puts them up for sale on ebay.
Summary: Ryan Thompson is Sam’s only friend, and a mistake by the youngest Winchester could very well cost him his life. It's up to Dean to help Sam save Ryan from the clutches of a house that not only destroys people but also their souls.
“This town sucks major ass,” Dean hissed as he slammed an open book in front of Sam. The dust flare was considerable, but since the volume was the size of a six-year-old girl, Sam was surprised the entire reading room wasn’t hazy with dust.
“The library is awfully small…”
“That's not what I'm talking about,” Dean said and pointed at a page prominently featuring a poster for slavery auction. “Huckston’s main trade was slavery during the 1700’s and early 1800’s. Did you know that?”
Sam frowned and shook his head. “No, Mrs. Whimby told us about the local abolitionist’s movement but that’s about it.”
Dean crumpled his face in disgust and sat down. “A lot of people made money doing this creepy shit and this guy - Remigius Stanhope - got filthy rich on it. And guess what he bought with his blood money?”
“He built that house, didn’t he?”
Dean nodded. “Oh yeah, but back then it was called Stanhope House. That was until a slew of bad storms sank Stanhope's entire fleet and their cargo.”
“How many people died?”
“Hundreds, maybe even thousands. Stanhope was forced to sell the house to another slave trader named Edmund Swinton. That guy made himself even more money and really built up the place. Unfortunately for Mr. Swinton, this just pissed off his neighbors who already thought it was too showy.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t get invited to many dances.”
“Nope, but the dude got a wife anyway: imported her all the way from England. She got pregnant and gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Then it all went to hell.”
“Did she go homicidal?”
“No, Mrs. Swinton turned out to have balls and morals. She managed to wean her husband's finances away from the slave trade. Maybe she didn’t want little Swinton growing up with that kind of stigma, but by 1821, most of her husband’s business was focused on other things.
“Then, in the summer of 1821, a ferocious storm hit Huckston. Back then Wayland River was huge: ships could use it to sail right into town and drop off goods. Anyway, everyone was scrambling not to float away and I guess they forgot about the slaves. Mrs. Swinton heard them screaming from the house and went for help. Nobody would set a foot outside because they were terrified of the storm, so Mrs. Swinton ended up going at it alone.”
“Wait a minute,” Sam interrupted, “where were the slaves?”
“They had this holding cell ... prison thing built right next to the river to house them before auctioning them off. But yeah, the slaves were on the property, if not the house.”
“Oh my God, all that anger, fear and rage … that’s more than enough to charge up a house.”
“Yeah, soured the land too, I bet. No wonder that thing’s got so much juice.”
“Did she die?”
Dean softly said, “Yeah, she drowned along with all the slaves when the river flooded. Mr. Swinton went right into crazy land and killed himself and their baby boy not long after.”
“Dean, do you think the house is cursed?” Sam asked, “Because its history pretty much guarantees it.”
Dean gave a thoughtful look at the books spread out in front of them. “No, Sam, I don’t. I think some places are just bad, you know? There's a house like Merrimack out in Michigan. It's sitting on prime real estate but no one's gunning to buy the place and build condos on it. I bet it's the same story here: the good people of Huckston know enough about the friggin' place to stay the hell away from it.
“Did you find any Indian lore?”
“No,” Sam answered. “As far as I know this area’s never been populated by them.”
“That’s weird,” Dean said. “There’s a river that goes right out to sea. Must have been great to fish and dig for clams and stuff back in the day. Think about Chatham; it’s only ten miles west and it’s still has farms.”
“You're right; that is weird.”
“How about you? What did you find?” Dean asked.
“Huckston was one of the powerhouses when the Industrial Revolution got going here in the 1840’s. The town was famous for its glasswork and shipbuilding. It did well, got hurt with everyone else during the Great Depression but it bounced back pretty quickly when World War Two started.”
“Dude, I didn't ask for a history lesson," Dean said, grinning as Sam scowled. "So nothing fishy? No catastrophic accidents or psychos gunning down people on Thanksgiving?”
“Nope,” Sam answered. “What is weird is that Huckston hasn't grown much. The town limit was established in 1959 and it hasn't changed.”
“We’re in Rhode Island. The only way we could get bigger is if we start building in the ocean.”
“Dean…”
“Sorry,” Dean apologized immediately. “I’m just whistling in the graveyard.”
Sam looked woefully at his older brother. “I’m scared too, Dean, but I’m more scared for Ryan. He’s in trouble because of me and if we don’t save him … I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Dean placed a comforting hand on his brother’s trembling shoulders. “We will, Sammy. We’ll find a way.”
Sam suddenly perked up when he saw a librarian walk by. Dean asked, “What’s up?”
“That’s Mrs. Thurston. She’s the best librarian there ever was! And I bet she knows a lot about the house.”
“Okay, let’s see what the old broad knows.”
Sam kicked Dean in the shins before scrambling out of his chair. Dean took the blow good-naturedly. He made the smart comment to rouse Sam’s anger. Listening to Sam put himself down made Dean anxious. His brother was an emotional kid, and Dean was constantly worried about Sam's reaction when their father finally took the youngest Winchester on his first hunt.
“Mrs. Thurston,” Sam said as he caught up to the librarian. “Do you have some time to help me?”
The woman smiled with delight and for a moment Dean saw a resemblance to his mother. The smartass comment he was about to make died on his tongue.
“Of course I do, Samuel Winchester. How can I help?” Mrs. Thurston asked.
“We have to write ghost stories for Halloween. Dean told me about a spooky house he came across and I was wondering if you knew anything about it? It’s called Merrimack House.”
Mrs. Thurston wrinkled her nose in distaste and gave Dean a sharp look. “I wish you’d never seen that place. It’s awful, but it most certainly is appropriate as a topic for a ghost story. Couple of local historians wrote about the place back in the sixties. I believe Reference has both books. Let me go get them. I’m guessing you’re at your usual desk?”
Sam nodded.
“Excellent, I’ll swing by in few minutes.”
They returned to their desk and hid some of the books they had collected. Neither of them believed for a second that Mrs. Thurston would buy Sam’s cover story of homework if she saw their reading material.
It took the librarian less than five minutes to find the books. She put them on the table and said, “They’re not much but the authors were pretty thorough.”
Dean took a book and looked at the author’s bio on the back. “Do you know why they would write about the place?”
“What a strange question,” Mrs. Thurston said. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“It’s just that we couldn’t find much about it,” Sam replied.
“Oh, well, that’s because nobody really notices it anymore,” Mrs. Thurston said.
“The house looks like it has leprosy. How could the town not see it?” Sam asked.
“It’s like the retarded cousin nobody wants to talk about during the wedding,” Dean said carelessly.
Sam’s eyes widened in shock and frustration before he managed to shoot a contrite look at Mrs. Thurston.
The librarian's smile was thin but genuine. “Your brother could’ve phrased it better but he’s essentially correct. Everyone knows about the place so there’s nothing to discuss. And its history doesn’t make for a pleasant topic for conversation until Halloween.”
“Did something violent happen there? Like murder?” Sam asked.
“No, nothing like that. It’s just an unlucky place, for lack of better description,” Mrs. Thurston explained. “No massacres or shootouts if that’s what you’re thinking. There was one tragedy my grandmother told me when I was a little girl. It was the disappearance of a young woman. Let me see…”
Mrs. Thurston flipped through a book. “Yes, this is the girl.” She turned the book around so the boys could see the full-sized picture of an aristocratic, doe-eyed young woman in a fancy ball gown.
“Her name was Marianne Sayers. She was the youngest child of Judge Sayers who bought Merrimack House right after the Civil War. It hadn't been lived in for years and needed a lot of work, but Judge Sayers had money to burn and hired people from all over New England to fix up his new home. The family eventually moved in, and for a while the place was the most famous residence in all of Rhode Island.
“Marianne was only eighteen when she got engaged to a local boy. There was some talk about the engagement but the father approved of the match so that was that. Everyone knew the Judge was planning to host the biggest wedding in Huckston's history and the entire town went into a frenzy.
“Then, a week before the wedding, Marianne disappeared. Her mother saw her walking in the garden behind the house and went out to join her. But, when she got there Marianne was nowhere to be found. The Judge turned Huckston upside down but he found nothing - not one clue. Most town folk believed that she was dragged off to a boat on Wayland by some shady characters from Boston.”
“Why did they think that?” Dean asked, studying the picture of the lovely girl.
“Turns out her fiancé had a nasty habit with cards. He owed something like four thousand dollars to a loan shark in Boston. In those days that was considerable sum of money. He didn’t pay because he thought Marianne’s connections would shield him from harm.”
“What an ass,” Dean said, frowning. “Who hides behind his girlfriend’s skirts?”
“That was my grandmother's opinion," Mrs. Thurston said dryly. "As you can imagine her fiancé's reputation was ruined and he was forced to leave the state. The loan shark whose name I believe was Jebediah Stuart was brought in and questioned, but he claimed he had nothing to do with Marianne's disappearance because the last thing Stuart needed was an angry judge camped out on his doorsteps.”
“Did they believe him?” Sam asked.
“No, and a jury found Stuart guilty for her disappearance, but he wasn't executed because they never found Marianne’s body. In the end, it might have been better for Stuart if he was found guilty and hanged. You see he wasn’t a popular man and his enemies made a quick work of him when he went to prison.”
“Wow,” Sam said, eyes wide with wonder. “And I thought Huckston was a quiet town.”
Mrs. Thurston laughed. “We are, Sam. But we have our moments, and they are in one way or another connected to Merrimack House.”
“Mrs. Thurston, have you ever gone inside the house?” Sam asked innocently.
“Oh no, my mother strictly forbade me from even going near that hill. Besides, derelicts take shelter there so it’s too dangerous for children to visit. Sam, I know you like to be thorough but you can’t go into the house, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sam answered dutifully. “I think the books will be more than enough for me to write a really good story.”
“I’m glad to be of help,” Mrs. Thurston said.
By silent agreement they waited until the librarian was out of the room before speaking.
Sam looked at the picture of Marianne Sayers and said, “I know this girl.”
“Say what?” Dean asked, confused.
Sam pulled out the locket pin from his jacket and handed it to Dean. Dean studied the photo in the locket and compared it to the one in the book. "I found this in the garden house."
“Okay, I'm officially freaked out,” Dean muttered.
“Why?”
“It’s the same girl, but girl in the locket is older than the one in the book.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Are you sure?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, see for yourself.”
Sam studied the two pictures; his pallor growing. “But the photo in the book was taken few weeks before she disappeared.”
“So who took the photo in the locket?”
Sam’s eyes widened with terror. “The house? The house did this?”
Dean shrugged and asked, “Can we take the books home?”
“No, they belong to the reference desk so we have to give’m back before the library closes. I’ll read this one,” Sam took the thicker of the two, “and you read this one.”
Dean didn’t make a single joke about Sam’s choices. Instead, he steeled himself and began reading about the grim history of the house. Neither of the books was over 100 pages, so after two solid hours, they were both finished.
“Does you book tell you why it’s called Merrimack House?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, the architect was a guy named Jonas Merrimack. The house was his first commission in the States. He was pretty popular back in England so his reputation made it easy for him to find work here.”
“I don’t get it,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “If he was so popular in England, why did he come here?”
“A lot of people came to the new world,” Sam said, confused.
“No, a lot of poor people and outcasts came here,” Dean corrected. “If you had money and fame, wouldn’t you want to stay where you were wanted?”
Sam looked at Dean with respect. “You’re right. Something made him come to the States.”
“And I’m betting something also made him build that house,” Dean said. “And I found out why the Indians didn’t settle here. This entire area was a bog, and a big one at that. They might have been able to hunt and fish, but living in a bog couldn’t have been that tempting.”
“A bog?” Sam echoed. “I wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
“That was why whatever is inside the house never got out: it couldn’t leave so it had to set a trap and wait for its prey - like an antlion.”
“That sounds pleasant,” Dean said, “but you have a point.”
Sam rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Dean, we’re pissin’ in the wind, aren’t we?”
“Watch your mouth and no, we’re not. We did a really good research job, and now we have to contact people who know what to do with our carnivorous house.”
Sam’s head jerked up in panic. “You promised you wouldn’t talk to Dad!”
“Not Dad, you idiot,” Dean said with a tired smile. “I’m thinking Pastor Jim and maybe Uncle Bobby.”
“Oh, but can we use long distance? Wouldn’t it be too expensive?”
Dean felt a spasm of anger but quelled it. “We’ll make it short. If Dad asks, I’ll tell him I was trying to contact Pastor Jim to wish him a happy birthday.”
“When is his birthday?”
“January, but Dad won’t know that.” Dean replied, mentally adding, ‘cause stuff like that doesn’t mean shit to him.
“Okay, can we do it tonight?”
“Yeah, c’mon, let’s pack up all this stuff. We’ve got work to do.”
“What did Pastor Jim say?” Sam asked eagerly when Dean hung up.
“He said historically there have been places where people disappear all the time, like the Bermuda Triangle. He thinks that when some great evil thing dies, it leaves behind something that poisons the entire area.”
“So how do we clean the house?”
“With our problem it’s not so much a cleaning as giving it an enema.”
“What?” Sam’s face wrinkled with distaste.
“We want it to cough up Ryan, don’t we? Well, it ate your buddy so we’re gonna have to pull him out from the ass-end.”
“How the hell do we do that?”
“Well, we know this thing predates the pilgrims, and holy water didn’t do jack, so we’re probably not going to find the answer in the Bible.”
“Then?”
“Indian lore. I know the library has a huge section on Indian history because of that stupid assignment last week from Mr. Whitmore,” Dean grumbled.
“Dean, can we wait until tomorrow?” Sam asked anxiously.
Dean took one look at his brother’s tortured face and shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but we’re breaking into the library tonight.”
“Cool!” Sam's face lit up with excitement. “They don't have any security system. No sensors, nothing. I think the police swings by couple of times though.”
“Only you would know what the library uses for security.”
“What about Dad?”
“He’s doing double shift so we just have to be home by midnight.”
“Okay, what’s for dinner?”
Dean chuckled at Sam’s sudden switch in conversation topic. “Lasagna and salad. Do you know when the library closes?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Then we should go at eight-thirty, just to be safe.”
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
Dean wasn’t ready when Sam hugged him fiercely and whispered, “Thank you.”
Dean closed his eyes and wondered why their father deliberately avoided this every single day of his life.
“Don’t worry, Sam. I’m sure one day you’ll actually become a boy.” Dean felt his brother’s thin body shake with laughter.
“You’re such a jackass,” Sam said.
“Oh, what shall I do with myself?” Dean said and swooned dramatically. “My own flesh and blood has all but forsaken me!”
“Your own flesh and blood will start to dig into your hidden candy stash if you don’t start making dinner.”
“Touch that and die. Come help me make the salad. That you can do without burning the house down.”
“Man, give it a rest, will you?” Sam grumbled. “It was just one pot!”
“And two fire departments, three police cruisers, and one very angry landlord.”
Sam rolled his eyes and gave a pissy sigh. Dean chuckled at Sam’s petulance but decided not to egg his younger brother any further. He wanted Sam focused on what was ahead. Even though Sam said breaking into the library would be simple, Dean knew better. A small town like Huckston meant vigilant deputies and nosy old biddies with nothing to do but jealously spy on people passing by their windows.
Dean had to admit breaking into the library was a lot easier than he originally thought. It also helped that Sam seemed to have memorized the entire layout of the building, and was navigating in the dark like he had on night vision goggles. The section they wanted was located in the basement so they were able to use flashlights without fear of alerting anyone walking by the library.
“Oh man, this shit’s so boring,” Dean hissed as he flipped through a book that predated Vietnam War.
“Stop grumbling,” Sam snapped. “Did you find anything?”
“Like I said, it was a bog so not much happening.”
Sam sighed and picked up where he left off. He finished the chapter before speaking to his brother.
“I found something,” Sam said in a small voice.
“I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“The Narragansett Indians held control over most of Rhode Island, especially here, but they never settled near Huckston - just all around the place.”
“They were avoiding it, weren’t they?”
“Not completely. They used to make sacrifices to a god of theirs in the bog. I'm guessing it took place where Huckston is now.”
“What’s its name?”
“Doesn’t say, just that they did it to avoid evil befalling on their people." Sam shook his head, “It didn’t work though.”
“That’s kind of a given for all their religions,” Dean said. “But they were appeasing something so they knew what was here.”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “But wouldn’t someone have written it down?”
“No, they’re not like us. They have great oral tradition so…” Dean stopped talking and looked at the book resting in his hands.
“So?” Sam egged his brother.
“We have to find ourselves a genuine Narragansett storyteller.”
“How the hell are we going to do that?”
“Easy, we go to school tomorrow and ask around. Your Mrs. Whimby might be good for something besides telling little white lies about Huckston's past.”
“Okay,” Sam said reluctantly and began reshelving the books.
“Dude, no,” Dean said as he grabbed two volumes from Sam's hands. “We’re gonna take some of these home.”
“Dean, we can’t steal library books!”
“Sam, we have two stolen bikes stashed in a basement and you ditched school. Don’t worry, we’ll return them after we’re done.”
Sam’s grimace was the only answer and Dean was glad. After two hours of reading the last thing he needed to hear was Sam bitching. He ended up taking five books out of eleven and grumbled all the way back to the apartment because of their weight.
As Dean expected John Winchester was nowhere to be seen. Sam tucked the stolen books alongside the massive collection he legitimately borrowed from the library and began reading his notes. Realizing they weren’t going to get any sleep soon Dean reviewed his meager jottings. When he heard their father noisy stumble into the apartment at midnight Dean immediately knew it had been a mistake to allow Sam to stay awake.
“Stay here,” Dean said sternly before cautiously making his way to the living room.
“What are you doing up?” John said, blearily staring at Dean.
“Sam couldn’t sleep so we were reading.”
“Dean, you know your brother needs to rest. Put him to bed.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Dad?” Sam said as he entered the living room, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Sam - just go to bed.”
Dean gave a warning glance at his brother but Sam willfully ignored him.
“Are you drunk?” Sam asked, his voice harsh with disbelief.
“No, I’m not…”
“Yes you are,” Sam said, his voice rising in volume. “I can’t believe it! After all you said to Pastor Jim and to us, you’re drunk!”
“Don’t use that tone with me,” John said in a terrifyingly calm manner. “I had a drink with some of my…”
“I don’t care!” Sam yelled. “You promised! You promised!”
He whirled around and ran. The slamming of the bedroom door would probably wake everyone in the apartment building.
“Dean, get your brother ready for bed, and for the love of God, next time listen to me!”
Dean gave a curt nod and left his father. If he'd spent another moment in John’s presence he would've made Sam’s tantrum look mild in comparison.
Fuck ‘em, Dean thought as he locked the bathroom door behind him. Fuck Dad for breaking his promise and fuck Sam for being so goddamn stupid about it. Did he really think Dad was going to stay sober? How come someone so smart be so goddamn stupid about his own flesh and blood?
Dean was so focused on his internal struggle that it took him a while to hear the timid knocking on the door.
“What?” Dean said, hating the sound of defeat in his voice.
“It’s me,” Sam answered meekly. “I need to use the toilet.”
Dean opened the door with a smirk. “Dude, say you need to take a piss. Man, are you sure you’re a boy?”
“Dean,” John said threateningly from his room.
Sam’s face turned stony and pale. Dean said nothing and left the bathroom. For a moment he was overwhelmed with the crazy thought of running out of the apartment with just the clothes on his back and the boots on his feet. Run until he couldn’t, then knock on the door of the first nice house he saw and ask them if they needed a son - someone who could keep his word, get decent grades, have promising athletic career, and most of all know how to take care of people, drunk or sober.
With my fucking luck I’d probably end up with Mrs. Boston Strangler, Dean thought darkly. He heard Sam come out of the bathroom and quickly crawled into bed. He didn’t want to talk to his brother, not right now. He knew that if he saw the look of revulsion on Sam’s face, he’d probably punch it out.
“Dean?” Sam whispered in the darkness. “You awake?”
Dean closed his eyes and said nothing. Yeah, I’m awake. I’m too awake, in fact. It’s like the last time I had good sleep was when Mom was still alive and you were just a baby. I could sleep then, but not anymore. God, what I’d give for a good night’s sleep, Sam. What I would give just to close my eyes and not fucking worry about anything. Just for one goddamn night.
Sam fell asleep when Dean didn’t answer. It took Dean almost two hours and when he did his dreams were plagued with nightmares about the Merrimack House.
“Mrs. Whimby knows someone!” Sam whispered excitedly.
Dean grimaced as he watched the piece of corn kernel that got jammed into Sam’s teeth bob up and down as Sam talked animatedly.
“She says there’s a guy named Adam Keller who knows a lot of Narragansett folklore. And he’s still around.”
“Where?”
“At Bayview Retirement Home,” Sam said. “He’s old, like sixty-something.”
“Okay, we’ll see him after school.”
Sam suddenly looked fishy.
Dean couldn’t help but smile. “You want to ditch classes again?”
“I don’t want to but I think we have to.”
Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, whatever helps you to sleep at night.”
“Shut up,” Sam grumbled.
“You are fast becoming a delinquent, Sammy,” Dean said. “Next thing you know, you’ll be smoking between classes and hotwiring cars.”
“I already know how to hotwire a car, dumbass. You taught it to me!”
“I taught it but that doesn’t mean you can do it. Dad wasn’t too happy with your last piss-poor attempt.”
“Only in our family is felonious behavior considered desirable.”
“You know you have corn stuck in your teeth?”
“Do not!”
“Okay, you don’t,” Dean agreed cheerfully.
Sam’s eyes narrowed into slits then he ran his tongue over his teeth. There wasn’t just one kernel but three. He ignored Dean’s snickers and concentrated on getting them out without attracting any attention. Unfortunately, Dean’s presence guaranteed that at least eighty percent of the female population would be focused on their table, so it was useless to be furtive about it.
Sam could just imagine what the girls were thinking about them. How could someone like Dean be related to a loser like him? How was it that Dean could handedly fix any car that breaks down in the school parking lot (and there were quite a few, mostly belonging to the cheerleading squad) and Sam had to try at least twice to open his locker? And let’s not forget Sam’s favorite: Dean’s the bastard love child of Keanu Reeves and Demi Moore. Sam’s parentage includes Mrs. Whimby and Trey Mortensen, President of the Huckston Senior Chess Club.
“Earth calling Sammy,” Dean said, annoyed. “Dude, whenever you’re ready to blow this popsicle stand.”
Sam flushed and said, “Sorry, let’s go.”
“Okay, meet you in fifteen minutes.”
Dean left first and Sam followed few minutes after. They joined the crowd rushing to their afternoon classes but neither of them made it to his. Dean took his usual escape route through the back window in the boy’s locker room. Sam went to the library and used a fire door that had a broken lock.
The two used the stolen bikes again to make their way to Bayview Retirement Community. To their surprise the place wasn’t a dumping ground for the elderly. It took Dean some time to sweet-talk his way to seeing Keller. He was sure the nurse at the front desk didn’t believe a word of his bullshit, but he also suspected Keller didn’t get much visitors. The fact that the nurse allowed them entry was practically a confirmation of his suspicion.
Keller was supposed to be in the mid-sixties. Sam thought the guy looked old enough to be in his eighties.
“Mr. Adam Keller?” He said respectfully.
The old man turned his wheelchair around from its position facing the large sitting room windows. Sam blinked in surprise. Keller had one blue eye and one brown.
“It’s genetics,” Adam said with a smile. “Nothing fancy like David Bowie.”
“Bowie’s cool,” Dean said.
“That he is,” Adam agreed easily. “And who might you two be?”
“I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean,” Sam said. “We’re wondering if we could speak to you about the Merrimack House.”
Adam chuckled; it was a harsh, rasping sound, making the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand up.
“And I thought I was going to die and never speak about that cursed place,” Adam said. “Why are you two kids involved?”
“It took a friend of mine,” Sam said. “I think he’s alive though.”
“Maybe,” Adam said, “but not for long. The house has a healthy appetite.”
“So you know what it does,” Dean said, his voice hard and accusing. “Why didn’t you do something about it?”
“Dean!” Sam scolded his brother. He turned to Adam and said, “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t worry, boy. I’m not insulted. Your brother’s right. I could’ve done something - should’ve done something when I was young, but I was too scared. And nobody believed me enough to help me when I still had use of my legs.”
“Could we talk to you then?” Sam asked.
“Why not?” Adam whispered.
The two Winchesters sat on a small sofa, practically jammed next to each other but they took comfort from each other’s close proximity.
“What do you want to know?”
“What is taking the people?” Dean asked bluntly, “And how do we stop it?”
“The what I can answer, how - not as easily. The story goes a long time ago there was an earthquake and it left a deep crack on the land that Huckston would eventually be built on. A great evil rose from that crack and plagued the Narragansett Indians. A powerful shaman prayed to Manto, and the Creator answered. Water flowed from the crack and surrounded this evil creature. For reasons no one knows, the water paralyzed the monster long enough for the warriors to kill it.
"Unfortunately, they weren’t completely successful. You see its shadow survived but it was not powerful enough to leave from where the monster fell. As the years passed the Narragansett Indians checked to make sure its powers didn’t grow. Eventually they were driven out and the evil was left unguarded. The town was built around the bog at first, but as time passed the bog became smaller and smaller and the town bigger and bigger. You could guess what happened.”
“So the house sits on top of this … thing?”
Adam nodded. “Right on top. The legend says the creature was slain at the highest point of the land.”
“How do we kill it?” Dean asked, excited by the tale. “Take your best guess if you’re not sure.”
“Water,” Adam answered.
“We already tried holy water,” Sam said. “It didn’t do anything.”
“Son, you need to drown it in holy water is what I’m saying,” Adam said dryly. “A little sprinkle here and there won’t do anything.”
“How do we drown a house?” Sam asked, frowning.
“I can think of a way.”
Sam turned to Dean and noticed a fox-like smile that signaled trouble. However, instead of feeling anxious Sam felt grateful and exhilaration. Usually he would be extremely reluctant to participate in one of his brother’s insane pranks but this time he would be only too glad to.
“I know couple of people who could help you,” Adam said. “They’ll think I’m crazy for asking but they’ll do what I tell them.”
“Good, because crazy is just the beginning," Dean said and grabbed the phone sitting on the coffee table.
Rating:PG-13 for language and violence
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: wee!chesters in peril!
Disclaimer: They'll be mine as soon as Kripke puts them up for sale on ebay.
Summary: Ryan Thompson is Sam’s only friend, and a mistake by the youngest Winchester could very well cost him his life. It's up to Dean to help Sam save Ryan from the clutches of a house that not only destroys people but also their souls.
“This town sucks major ass,” Dean hissed as he slammed an open book in front of Sam. The dust flare was considerable, but since the volume was the size of a six-year-old girl, Sam was surprised the entire reading room wasn’t hazy with dust.
“The library is awfully small…”
“That's not what I'm talking about,” Dean said and pointed at a page prominently featuring a poster for slavery auction. “Huckston’s main trade was slavery during the 1700’s and early 1800’s. Did you know that?”
Sam frowned and shook his head. “No, Mrs. Whimby told us about the local abolitionist’s movement but that’s about it.”
Dean crumpled his face in disgust and sat down. “A lot of people made money doing this creepy shit and this guy - Remigius Stanhope - got filthy rich on it. And guess what he bought with his blood money?”
“He built that house, didn’t he?”
Dean nodded. “Oh yeah, but back then it was called Stanhope House. That was until a slew of bad storms sank Stanhope's entire fleet and their cargo.”
“How many people died?”
“Hundreds, maybe even thousands. Stanhope was forced to sell the house to another slave trader named Edmund Swinton. That guy made himself even more money and really built up the place. Unfortunately for Mr. Swinton, this just pissed off his neighbors who already thought it was too showy.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t get invited to many dances.”
“Nope, but the dude got a wife anyway: imported her all the way from England. She got pregnant and gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Then it all went to hell.”
“Did she go homicidal?”
“No, Mrs. Swinton turned out to have balls and morals. She managed to wean her husband's finances away from the slave trade. Maybe she didn’t want little Swinton growing up with that kind of stigma, but by 1821, most of her husband’s business was focused on other things.
“Then, in the summer of 1821, a ferocious storm hit Huckston. Back then Wayland River was huge: ships could use it to sail right into town and drop off goods. Anyway, everyone was scrambling not to float away and I guess they forgot about the slaves. Mrs. Swinton heard them screaming from the house and went for help. Nobody would set a foot outside because they were terrified of the storm, so Mrs. Swinton ended up going at it alone.”
“Wait a minute,” Sam interrupted, “where were the slaves?”
“They had this holding cell ... prison thing built right next to the river to house them before auctioning them off. But yeah, the slaves were on the property, if not the house.”
“Oh my God, all that anger, fear and rage … that’s more than enough to charge up a house.”
“Yeah, soured the land too, I bet. No wonder that thing’s got so much juice.”
“Did she die?”
Dean softly said, “Yeah, she drowned along with all the slaves when the river flooded. Mr. Swinton went right into crazy land and killed himself and their baby boy not long after.”
“Dean, do you think the house is cursed?” Sam asked, “Because its history pretty much guarantees it.”
Dean gave a thoughtful look at the books spread out in front of them. “No, Sam, I don’t. I think some places are just bad, you know? There's a house like Merrimack out in Michigan. It's sitting on prime real estate but no one's gunning to buy the place and build condos on it. I bet it's the same story here: the good people of Huckston know enough about the friggin' place to stay the hell away from it.
“Did you find any Indian lore?”
“No,” Sam answered. “As far as I know this area’s never been populated by them.”
“That’s weird,” Dean said. “There’s a river that goes right out to sea. Must have been great to fish and dig for clams and stuff back in the day. Think about Chatham; it’s only ten miles west and it’s still has farms.”
“You're right; that is weird.”
“How about you? What did you find?” Dean asked.
“Huckston was one of the powerhouses when the Industrial Revolution got going here in the 1840’s. The town was famous for its glasswork and shipbuilding. It did well, got hurt with everyone else during the Great Depression but it bounced back pretty quickly when World War Two started.”
“Dude, I didn't ask for a history lesson," Dean said, grinning as Sam scowled. "So nothing fishy? No catastrophic accidents or psychos gunning down people on Thanksgiving?”
“Nope,” Sam answered. “What is weird is that Huckston hasn't grown much. The town limit was established in 1959 and it hasn't changed.”
“We’re in Rhode Island. The only way we could get bigger is if we start building in the ocean.”
“Dean…”
“Sorry,” Dean apologized immediately. “I’m just whistling in the graveyard.”
Sam looked woefully at his older brother. “I’m scared too, Dean, but I’m more scared for Ryan. He’s in trouble because of me and if we don’t save him … I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Dean placed a comforting hand on his brother’s trembling shoulders. “We will, Sammy. We’ll find a way.”
Sam suddenly perked up when he saw a librarian walk by. Dean asked, “What’s up?”
“That’s Mrs. Thurston. She’s the best librarian there ever was! And I bet she knows a lot about the house.”
“Okay, let’s see what the old broad knows.”
Sam kicked Dean in the shins before scrambling out of his chair. Dean took the blow good-naturedly. He made the smart comment to rouse Sam’s anger. Listening to Sam put himself down made Dean anxious. His brother was an emotional kid, and Dean was constantly worried about Sam's reaction when their father finally took the youngest Winchester on his first hunt.
“Mrs. Thurston,” Sam said as he caught up to the librarian. “Do you have some time to help me?”
The woman smiled with delight and for a moment Dean saw a resemblance to his mother. The smartass comment he was about to make died on his tongue.
“Of course I do, Samuel Winchester. How can I help?” Mrs. Thurston asked.
“We have to write ghost stories for Halloween. Dean told me about a spooky house he came across and I was wondering if you knew anything about it? It’s called Merrimack House.”
Mrs. Thurston wrinkled her nose in distaste and gave Dean a sharp look. “I wish you’d never seen that place. It’s awful, but it most certainly is appropriate as a topic for a ghost story. Couple of local historians wrote about the place back in the sixties. I believe Reference has both books. Let me go get them. I’m guessing you’re at your usual desk?”
Sam nodded.
“Excellent, I’ll swing by in few minutes.”
They returned to their desk and hid some of the books they had collected. Neither of them believed for a second that Mrs. Thurston would buy Sam’s cover story of homework if she saw their reading material.
It took the librarian less than five minutes to find the books. She put them on the table and said, “They’re not much but the authors were pretty thorough.”
Dean took a book and looked at the author’s bio on the back. “Do you know why they would write about the place?”
“What a strange question,” Mrs. Thurston said. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“It’s just that we couldn’t find much about it,” Sam replied.
“Oh, well, that’s because nobody really notices it anymore,” Mrs. Thurston said.
“The house looks like it has leprosy. How could the town not see it?” Sam asked.
“It’s like the retarded cousin nobody wants to talk about during the wedding,” Dean said carelessly.
Sam’s eyes widened in shock and frustration before he managed to shoot a contrite look at Mrs. Thurston.
The librarian's smile was thin but genuine. “Your brother could’ve phrased it better but he’s essentially correct. Everyone knows about the place so there’s nothing to discuss. And its history doesn’t make for a pleasant topic for conversation until Halloween.”
“Did something violent happen there? Like murder?” Sam asked.
“No, nothing like that. It’s just an unlucky place, for lack of better description,” Mrs. Thurston explained. “No massacres or shootouts if that’s what you’re thinking. There was one tragedy my grandmother told me when I was a little girl. It was the disappearance of a young woman. Let me see…”
Mrs. Thurston flipped through a book. “Yes, this is the girl.” She turned the book around so the boys could see the full-sized picture of an aristocratic, doe-eyed young woman in a fancy ball gown.
“Her name was Marianne Sayers. She was the youngest child of Judge Sayers who bought Merrimack House right after the Civil War. It hadn't been lived in for years and needed a lot of work, but Judge Sayers had money to burn and hired people from all over New England to fix up his new home. The family eventually moved in, and for a while the place was the most famous residence in all of Rhode Island.
“Marianne was only eighteen when she got engaged to a local boy. There was some talk about the engagement but the father approved of the match so that was that. Everyone knew the Judge was planning to host the biggest wedding in Huckston's history and the entire town went into a frenzy.
“Then, a week before the wedding, Marianne disappeared. Her mother saw her walking in the garden behind the house and went out to join her. But, when she got there Marianne was nowhere to be found. The Judge turned Huckston upside down but he found nothing - not one clue. Most town folk believed that she was dragged off to a boat on Wayland by some shady characters from Boston.”
“Why did they think that?” Dean asked, studying the picture of the lovely girl.
“Turns out her fiancé had a nasty habit with cards. He owed something like four thousand dollars to a loan shark in Boston. In those days that was considerable sum of money. He didn’t pay because he thought Marianne’s connections would shield him from harm.”
“What an ass,” Dean said, frowning. “Who hides behind his girlfriend’s skirts?”
“That was my grandmother's opinion," Mrs. Thurston said dryly. "As you can imagine her fiancé's reputation was ruined and he was forced to leave the state. The loan shark whose name I believe was Jebediah Stuart was brought in and questioned, but he claimed he had nothing to do with Marianne's disappearance because the last thing Stuart needed was an angry judge camped out on his doorsteps.”
“Did they believe him?” Sam asked.
“No, and a jury found Stuart guilty for her disappearance, but he wasn't executed because they never found Marianne’s body. In the end, it might have been better for Stuart if he was found guilty and hanged. You see he wasn’t a popular man and his enemies made a quick work of him when he went to prison.”
“Wow,” Sam said, eyes wide with wonder. “And I thought Huckston was a quiet town.”
Mrs. Thurston laughed. “We are, Sam. But we have our moments, and they are in one way or another connected to Merrimack House.”
“Mrs. Thurston, have you ever gone inside the house?” Sam asked innocently.
“Oh no, my mother strictly forbade me from even going near that hill. Besides, derelicts take shelter there so it’s too dangerous for children to visit. Sam, I know you like to be thorough but you can’t go into the house, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sam answered dutifully. “I think the books will be more than enough for me to write a really good story.”
“I’m glad to be of help,” Mrs. Thurston said.
By silent agreement they waited until the librarian was out of the room before speaking.
Sam looked at the picture of Marianne Sayers and said, “I know this girl.”
“Say what?” Dean asked, confused.
Sam pulled out the locket pin from his jacket and handed it to Dean. Dean studied the photo in the locket and compared it to the one in the book. "I found this in the garden house."
“Okay, I'm officially freaked out,” Dean muttered.
“Why?”
“It’s the same girl, but girl in the locket is older than the one in the book.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Are you sure?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, see for yourself.”
Sam studied the two pictures; his pallor growing. “But the photo in the book was taken few weeks before she disappeared.”
“So who took the photo in the locket?”
Sam’s eyes widened with terror. “The house? The house did this?”
Dean shrugged and asked, “Can we take the books home?”
“No, they belong to the reference desk so we have to give’m back before the library closes. I’ll read this one,” Sam took the thicker of the two, “and you read this one.”
Dean didn’t make a single joke about Sam’s choices. Instead, he steeled himself and began reading about the grim history of the house. Neither of the books was over 100 pages, so after two solid hours, they were both finished.
“Does you book tell you why it’s called Merrimack House?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, the architect was a guy named Jonas Merrimack. The house was his first commission in the States. He was pretty popular back in England so his reputation made it easy for him to find work here.”
“I don’t get it,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “If he was so popular in England, why did he come here?”
“A lot of people came to the new world,” Sam said, confused.
“No, a lot of poor people and outcasts came here,” Dean corrected. “If you had money and fame, wouldn’t you want to stay where you were wanted?”
Sam looked at Dean with respect. “You’re right. Something made him come to the States.”
“And I’m betting something also made him build that house,” Dean said. “And I found out why the Indians didn’t settle here. This entire area was a bog, and a big one at that. They might have been able to hunt and fish, but living in a bog couldn’t have been that tempting.”
“A bog?” Sam echoed. “I wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
“That was why whatever is inside the house never got out: it couldn’t leave so it had to set a trap and wait for its prey - like an antlion.”
“That sounds pleasant,” Dean said, “but you have a point.”
Sam rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Dean, we’re pissin’ in the wind, aren’t we?”
“Watch your mouth and no, we’re not. We did a really good research job, and now we have to contact people who know what to do with our carnivorous house.”
Sam’s head jerked up in panic. “You promised you wouldn’t talk to Dad!”
“Not Dad, you idiot,” Dean said with a tired smile. “I’m thinking Pastor Jim and maybe Uncle Bobby.”
“Oh, but can we use long distance? Wouldn’t it be too expensive?”
Dean felt a spasm of anger but quelled it. “We’ll make it short. If Dad asks, I’ll tell him I was trying to contact Pastor Jim to wish him a happy birthday.”
“When is his birthday?”
“January, but Dad won’t know that.” Dean replied, mentally adding, ‘cause stuff like that doesn’t mean shit to him.
“Okay, can we do it tonight?”
“Yeah, c’mon, let’s pack up all this stuff. We’ve got work to do.”
“What did Pastor Jim say?” Sam asked eagerly when Dean hung up.
“He said historically there have been places where people disappear all the time, like the Bermuda Triangle. He thinks that when some great evil thing dies, it leaves behind something that poisons the entire area.”
“So how do we clean the house?”
“With our problem it’s not so much a cleaning as giving it an enema.”
“What?” Sam’s face wrinkled with distaste.
“We want it to cough up Ryan, don’t we? Well, it ate your buddy so we’re gonna have to pull him out from the ass-end.”
“How the hell do we do that?”
“Well, we know this thing predates the pilgrims, and holy water didn’t do jack, so we’re probably not going to find the answer in the Bible.”
“Then?”
“Indian lore. I know the library has a huge section on Indian history because of that stupid assignment last week from Mr. Whitmore,” Dean grumbled.
“Dean, can we wait until tomorrow?” Sam asked anxiously.
Dean took one look at his brother’s tortured face and shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but we’re breaking into the library tonight.”
“Cool!” Sam's face lit up with excitement. “They don't have any security system. No sensors, nothing. I think the police swings by couple of times though.”
“Only you would know what the library uses for security.”
“What about Dad?”
“He’s doing double shift so we just have to be home by midnight.”
“Okay, what’s for dinner?”
Dean chuckled at Sam’s sudden switch in conversation topic. “Lasagna and salad. Do you know when the library closes?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Then we should go at eight-thirty, just to be safe.”
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
Dean wasn’t ready when Sam hugged him fiercely and whispered, “Thank you.”
Dean closed his eyes and wondered why their father deliberately avoided this every single day of his life.
“Don’t worry, Sam. I’m sure one day you’ll actually become a boy.” Dean felt his brother’s thin body shake with laughter.
“You’re such a jackass,” Sam said.
“Oh, what shall I do with myself?” Dean said and swooned dramatically. “My own flesh and blood has all but forsaken me!”
“Your own flesh and blood will start to dig into your hidden candy stash if you don’t start making dinner.”
“Touch that and die. Come help me make the salad. That you can do without burning the house down.”
“Man, give it a rest, will you?” Sam grumbled. “It was just one pot!”
“And two fire departments, three police cruisers, and one very angry landlord.”
Sam rolled his eyes and gave a pissy sigh. Dean chuckled at Sam’s petulance but decided not to egg his younger brother any further. He wanted Sam focused on what was ahead. Even though Sam said breaking into the library would be simple, Dean knew better. A small town like Huckston meant vigilant deputies and nosy old biddies with nothing to do but jealously spy on people passing by their windows.
Dean had to admit breaking into the library was a lot easier than he originally thought. It also helped that Sam seemed to have memorized the entire layout of the building, and was navigating in the dark like he had on night vision goggles. The section they wanted was located in the basement so they were able to use flashlights without fear of alerting anyone walking by the library.
“Oh man, this shit’s so boring,” Dean hissed as he flipped through a book that predated Vietnam War.
“Stop grumbling,” Sam snapped. “Did you find anything?”
“Like I said, it was a bog so not much happening.”
Sam sighed and picked up where he left off. He finished the chapter before speaking to his brother.
“I found something,” Sam said in a small voice.
“I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“The Narragansett Indians held control over most of Rhode Island, especially here, but they never settled near Huckston - just all around the place.”
“They were avoiding it, weren’t they?”
“Not completely. They used to make sacrifices to a god of theirs in the bog. I'm guessing it took place where Huckston is now.”
“What’s its name?”
“Doesn’t say, just that they did it to avoid evil befalling on their people." Sam shook his head, “It didn’t work though.”
“That’s kind of a given for all their religions,” Dean said. “But they were appeasing something so they knew what was here.”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “But wouldn’t someone have written it down?”
“No, they’re not like us. They have great oral tradition so…” Dean stopped talking and looked at the book resting in his hands.
“So?” Sam egged his brother.
“We have to find ourselves a genuine Narragansett storyteller.”
“How the hell are we going to do that?”
“Easy, we go to school tomorrow and ask around. Your Mrs. Whimby might be good for something besides telling little white lies about Huckston's past.”
“Okay,” Sam said reluctantly and began reshelving the books.
“Dude, no,” Dean said as he grabbed two volumes from Sam's hands. “We’re gonna take some of these home.”
“Dean, we can’t steal library books!”
“Sam, we have two stolen bikes stashed in a basement and you ditched school. Don’t worry, we’ll return them after we’re done.”
Sam’s grimace was the only answer and Dean was glad. After two hours of reading the last thing he needed to hear was Sam bitching. He ended up taking five books out of eleven and grumbled all the way back to the apartment because of their weight.
As Dean expected John Winchester was nowhere to be seen. Sam tucked the stolen books alongside the massive collection he legitimately borrowed from the library and began reading his notes. Realizing they weren’t going to get any sleep soon Dean reviewed his meager jottings. When he heard their father noisy stumble into the apartment at midnight Dean immediately knew it had been a mistake to allow Sam to stay awake.
“Stay here,” Dean said sternly before cautiously making his way to the living room.
“What are you doing up?” John said, blearily staring at Dean.
“Sam couldn’t sleep so we were reading.”
“Dean, you know your brother needs to rest. Put him to bed.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Dad?” Sam said as he entered the living room, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Sam - just go to bed.”
Dean gave a warning glance at his brother but Sam willfully ignored him.
“Are you drunk?” Sam asked, his voice harsh with disbelief.
“No, I’m not…”
“Yes you are,” Sam said, his voice rising in volume. “I can’t believe it! After all you said to Pastor Jim and to us, you’re drunk!”
“Don’t use that tone with me,” John said in a terrifyingly calm manner. “I had a drink with some of my…”
“I don’t care!” Sam yelled. “You promised! You promised!”
He whirled around and ran. The slamming of the bedroom door would probably wake everyone in the apartment building.
“Dean, get your brother ready for bed, and for the love of God, next time listen to me!”
Dean gave a curt nod and left his father. If he'd spent another moment in John’s presence he would've made Sam’s tantrum look mild in comparison.
Fuck ‘em, Dean thought as he locked the bathroom door behind him. Fuck Dad for breaking his promise and fuck Sam for being so goddamn stupid about it. Did he really think Dad was going to stay sober? How come someone so smart be so goddamn stupid about his own flesh and blood?
Dean was so focused on his internal struggle that it took him a while to hear the timid knocking on the door.
“What?” Dean said, hating the sound of defeat in his voice.
“It’s me,” Sam answered meekly. “I need to use the toilet.”
Dean opened the door with a smirk. “Dude, say you need to take a piss. Man, are you sure you’re a boy?”
“Dean,” John said threateningly from his room.
Sam’s face turned stony and pale. Dean said nothing and left the bathroom. For a moment he was overwhelmed with the crazy thought of running out of the apartment with just the clothes on his back and the boots on his feet. Run until he couldn’t, then knock on the door of the first nice house he saw and ask them if they needed a son - someone who could keep his word, get decent grades, have promising athletic career, and most of all know how to take care of people, drunk or sober.
With my fucking luck I’d probably end up with Mrs. Boston Strangler, Dean thought darkly. He heard Sam come out of the bathroom and quickly crawled into bed. He didn’t want to talk to his brother, not right now. He knew that if he saw the look of revulsion on Sam’s face, he’d probably punch it out.
“Dean?” Sam whispered in the darkness. “You awake?”
Dean closed his eyes and said nothing. Yeah, I’m awake. I’m too awake, in fact. It’s like the last time I had good sleep was when Mom was still alive and you were just a baby. I could sleep then, but not anymore. God, what I’d give for a good night’s sleep, Sam. What I would give just to close my eyes and not fucking worry about anything. Just for one goddamn night.
Sam fell asleep when Dean didn’t answer. It took Dean almost two hours and when he did his dreams were plagued with nightmares about the Merrimack House.
“Mrs. Whimby knows someone!” Sam whispered excitedly.
Dean grimaced as he watched the piece of corn kernel that got jammed into Sam’s teeth bob up and down as Sam talked animatedly.
“She says there’s a guy named Adam Keller who knows a lot of Narragansett folklore. And he’s still around.”
“Where?”
“At Bayview Retirement Home,” Sam said. “He’s old, like sixty-something.”
“Okay, we’ll see him after school.”
Sam suddenly looked fishy.
Dean couldn’t help but smile. “You want to ditch classes again?”
“I don’t want to but I think we have to.”
Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, whatever helps you to sleep at night.”
“Shut up,” Sam grumbled.
“You are fast becoming a delinquent, Sammy,” Dean said. “Next thing you know, you’ll be smoking between classes and hotwiring cars.”
“I already know how to hotwire a car, dumbass. You taught it to me!”
“I taught it but that doesn’t mean you can do it. Dad wasn’t too happy with your last piss-poor attempt.”
“Only in our family is felonious behavior considered desirable.”
“You know you have corn stuck in your teeth?”
“Do not!”
“Okay, you don’t,” Dean agreed cheerfully.
Sam’s eyes narrowed into slits then he ran his tongue over his teeth. There wasn’t just one kernel but three. He ignored Dean’s snickers and concentrated on getting them out without attracting any attention. Unfortunately, Dean’s presence guaranteed that at least eighty percent of the female population would be focused on their table, so it was useless to be furtive about it.
Sam could just imagine what the girls were thinking about them. How could someone like Dean be related to a loser like him? How was it that Dean could handedly fix any car that breaks down in the school parking lot (and there were quite a few, mostly belonging to the cheerleading squad) and Sam had to try at least twice to open his locker? And let’s not forget Sam’s favorite: Dean’s the bastard love child of Keanu Reeves and Demi Moore. Sam’s parentage includes Mrs. Whimby and Trey Mortensen, President of the Huckston Senior Chess Club.
“Earth calling Sammy,” Dean said, annoyed. “Dude, whenever you’re ready to blow this popsicle stand.”
Sam flushed and said, “Sorry, let’s go.”
“Okay, meet you in fifteen minutes.”
Dean left first and Sam followed few minutes after. They joined the crowd rushing to their afternoon classes but neither of them made it to his. Dean took his usual escape route through the back window in the boy’s locker room. Sam went to the library and used a fire door that had a broken lock.
The two used the stolen bikes again to make their way to Bayview Retirement Community. To their surprise the place wasn’t a dumping ground for the elderly. It took Dean some time to sweet-talk his way to seeing Keller. He was sure the nurse at the front desk didn’t believe a word of his bullshit, but he also suspected Keller didn’t get much visitors. The fact that the nurse allowed them entry was practically a confirmation of his suspicion.
Keller was supposed to be in the mid-sixties. Sam thought the guy looked old enough to be in his eighties.
“Mr. Adam Keller?” He said respectfully.
The old man turned his wheelchair around from its position facing the large sitting room windows. Sam blinked in surprise. Keller had one blue eye and one brown.
“It’s genetics,” Adam said with a smile. “Nothing fancy like David Bowie.”
“Bowie’s cool,” Dean said.
“That he is,” Adam agreed easily. “And who might you two be?”
“I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean,” Sam said. “We’re wondering if we could speak to you about the Merrimack House.”
Adam chuckled; it was a harsh, rasping sound, making the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand up.
“And I thought I was going to die and never speak about that cursed place,” Adam said. “Why are you two kids involved?”
“It took a friend of mine,” Sam said. “I think he’s alive though.”
“Maybe,” Adam said, “but not for long. The house has a healthy appetite.”
“So you know what it does,” Dean said, his voice hard and accusing. “Why didn’t you do something about it?”
“Dean!” Sam scolded his brother. He turned to Adam and said, “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t worry, boy. I’m not insulted. Your brother’s right. I could’ve done something - should’ve done something when I was young, but I was too scared. And nobody believed me enough to help me when I still had use of my legs.”
“Could we talk to you then?” Sam asked.
“Why not?” Adam whispered.
The two Winchesters sat on a small sofa, practically jammed next to each other but they took comfort from each other’s close proximity.
“What do you want to know?”
“What is taking the people?” Dean asked bluntly, “And how do we stop it?”
“The what I can answer, how - not as easily. The story goes a long time ago there was an earthquake and it left a deep crack on the land that Huckston would eventually be built on. A great evil rose from that crack and plagued the Narragansett Indians. A powerful shaman prayed to Manto, and the Creator answered. Water flowed from the crack and surrounded this evil creature. For reasons no one knows, the water paralyzed the monster long enough for the warriors to kill it.
"Unfortunately, they weren’t completely successful. You see its shadow survived but it was not powerful enough to leave from where the monster fell. As the years passed the Narragansett Indians checked to make sure its powers didn’t grow. Eventually they were driven out and the evil was left unguarded. The town was built around the bog at first, but as time passed the bog became smaller and smaller and the town bigger and bigger. You could guess what happened.”
“So the house sits on top of this … thing?”
Adam nodded. “Right on top. The legend says the creature was slain at the highest point of the land.”
“How do we kill it?” Dean asked, excited by the tale. “Take your best guess if you’re not sure.”
“Water,” Adam answered.
“We already tried holy water,” Sam said. “It didn’t do anything.”
“Son, you need to drown it in holy water is what I’m saying,” Adam said dryly. “A little sprinkle here and there won’t do anything.”
“How do we drown a house?” Sam asked, frowning.
“I can think of a way.”
Sam turned to Dean and noticed a fox-like smile that signaled trouble. However, instead of feeling anxious Sam felt grateful and exhilaration. Usually he would be extremely reluctant to participate in one of his brother’s insane pranks but this time he would be only too glad to.
“I know couple of people who could help you,” Adam said. “They’ll think I’m crazy for asking but they’ll do what I tell them.”
“Good, because crazy is just the beginning," Dean said and grabbed the phone sitting on the coffee table.