Twelve Days 3/12
Title: Twelve Days
Authors: princess_schez & mlebayre
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone’s been reenacting a beloved holiday song, but with a very dark twist.
Authors Notes: Set during S2. Banner by princess_schez
“On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three French hens…”
--
The man kept running, hoping to outrun his attacker. He couldn’t believe his neighbor just… snapped like that. He had always been so nice.
There was a little farm house just up ahead, maybe he could hide out there until Mr. Holdson passed… and regained what sanity he had.
This was just crazy.
Heart pounding, lungs burning, he ran straight ahead toward the building. He hoped he could get safely inside, away from the crazed person and keep warm from the freezing cold.
Knocking on the door, and twisting the handle, proved futile. Pounding, he pleaded with whoever lived there. “Please, someone let me in!”
Nothing.
Taking his chances, he went round toward the back, hoping he could find shelter. It wouldn’t be long until the sunrise.
A henhouse stood in the back. It looked promising and just large enough for him to hide from his attacker. Slipping inside, he took a deep breath and hoped things would straighten themselves out soon….
But it would be the last breath he ever took….
-0-
Dean turned the TV up as the anchorman delved further into the bizarre case, involving another dead body, this one having been choked to death with hen feathers.
“Viewers, it would seem more reports are just starting to come in from Danbury farms. Let’s head over to Jan who is at the farm now. Jan, do you have any more info regarding this bizarre murder?”
The scene changed to a woman standing near a farm house, microphone in hand. She smiled blithely at the camera, despite the grim news she had to give.
“Sure thing, Steve. Coroner couldn’t give many details at this time, but he did say the victim’s throat was stuffed full with hen feathers. At the current time, the cause of death appears to be asphyxia.”
The camera scanned away the reporter, taking in area where three hens - sans a few of their feathers - were frantically fluttering by. The camera cut back to the news woman preparing to interview an older man, but Dean didn’t listen to the rest of it. He turned the TV off and turned to face Sam. “Choked to death with feathers? It’ll be a while before I touch chicken again.”
Sam said nothing. Instead, he sat there staring at the blank TV, his head processing the info.
“Uh, Sammy? You okay?”
Sam looked up. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I was thinking about something.”
“Care to share with the class?”
“I think I know why burning the body didn’t work. Remember how the dirt looked like it had been recently dug up? Well, what if Father Gregory was buried with the athame? And whoever dug him up, took the athame, and since his spirit was attached to it, he’s back and roaming around… committing more murder.”
Dean nodded. “Makes sense. But how are we going to find out who did it? It’s not like we can just go up and ask someone if they’ve dug up any old graves recently and stole a magical athame.”
“I read something interesting on the computer before you came. There’s an old, urban legend floating around town, mostly among the older townsfolk about Father Gregory. Think about it, Dean. What if someone heard about it and wanted to disprove or prove it? Who do you think would be brave enough - in this case - stupid enough, to go digging around?”
Dean thought about it for a moment. “Teenagers. Definitely teenagers. So little Johnny or Suzie dug open a grave and stole an athame. Great.”
“So where do we begin?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. “Uh, my guess would be to poke around a bit and see what comes up.”
“Don’tcha think their parents would’ve seen them carrying around an athame or something?”
“Not unless they kept it in their locker. It’s a long shot, but what other choice do we have at the moment?”
-0-
The next day the news had a field day with the recent murder. Everywhere they went, Sam and Dean found the little town buzzing. By the looks of things, every news station in the state was corralled into the town.
“Damn, news sure traveled fast,” Dean said as they drove though the main street in town.
“This is just going to make our investigation a whole lot harder,” Sam said.
“Tell me about it.”
Dean flipped the radio on again as the Twelve Days of Christmas began playing.
“12 Lords a leaping!”
“11 Pipers piping!”
“The holidays won’t be over soon enough, will they?” Dean sighed as he changed the channel. Sam knew better than to say anything.
They drove a little further to the outskirts of town, following the directions Sam printed out taking them to the local little high school. It was dinky, and the Winchesters would know. They had been in some small schools in their day, but this one had to top them.
Pulling the Impala into the parking lot, they got out and checked to make sure no one was around. Dean pulled out a lock-pick set and began working on the front entrance. It was a testament to the idyllic small town that there were no security cameras or guards roaming the building.
After a moment, Dean had the front door open and he and Sam strolled in, locating the lockers down at the end of the hall. There were at least forty lockers they needed to go through, so this was going to take some time.
“Quicker way to go through ‘em, Sammy….” Dean began, almost reading his brother’s mind as he held up his EMF detector. “If the athame is the key to these murders, then it should be giving off some big ass EMF readings.”
Sam nodded, pulling out his own EMF detector. Each brother took a side, working their way through the lockers, but neither had come up with anything when they met in the middle. Not one little blip or disturbance.
“Well hell, that was a bust,” Dean said with frustration in his voice as they left the empty school.
“Well, maybe we should check around the school instead.”
“Beats just driving back into town and dealing with the teeming hoards of the media.”
The winter chill bit at their faces, but neither one complained as they followed a trail toward what was the school’s track and field, their EMF readers out once more. It was Dean who noticed something odd in the distance next to the edge of the track.
“Do you see that?”
Sam squinted. There was something large and black in the distance, but whatever it was wasn’t moving. Even from a distance, they could tell it was almost human-sized.
“Not again,” Dean mumbled. A feeling of dread filled them as they hurried over to the spot, finding another gruesome remain.
“You’re right; someone does have a bird fetish,” Sam sighed.
Authors: princess_schez & mlebayre
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone’s been reenacting a beloved holiday song, but with a very dark twist.
Authors Notes: Set during S2. Banner by princess_schez
“On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three French hens…”
--
The man kept running, hoping to outrun his attacker. He couldn’t believe his neighbor just… snapped like that. He had always been so nice.
There was a little farm house just up ahead, maybe he could hide out there until Mr. Holdson passed… and regained what sanity he had.
This was just crazy.
Heart pounding, lungs burning, he ran straight ahead toward the building. He hoped he could get safely inside, away from the crazed person and keep warm from the freezing cold.
Knocking on the door, and twisting the handle, proved futile. Pounding, he pleaded with whoever lived there. “Please, someone let me in!”
Nothing.
Taking his chances, he went round toward the back, hoping he could find shelter. It wouldn’t be long until the sunrise.
A henhouse stood in the back. It looked promising and just large enough for him to hide from his attacker. Slipping inside, he took a deep breath and hoped things would straighten themselves out soon….
But it would be the last breath he ever took….
-0-
Dean turned the TV up as the anchorman delved further into the bizarre case, involving another dead body, this one having been choked to death with hen feathers.
“Viewers, it would seem more reports are just starting to come in from Danbury farms. Let’s head over to Jan who is at the farm now. Jan, do you have any more info regarding this bizarre murder?”
The scene changed to a woman standing near a farm house, microphone in hand. She smiled blithely at the camera, despite the grim news she had to give.
“Sure thing, Steve. Coroner couldn’t give many details at this time, but he did say the victim’s throat was stuffed full with hen feathers. At the current time, the cause of death appears to be asphyxia.”
The camera scanned away the reporter, taking in area where three hens - sans a few of their feathers - were frantically fluttering by. The camera cut back to the news woman preparing to interview an older man, but Dean didn’t listen to the rest of it. He turned the TV off and turned to face Sam. “Choked to death with feathers? It’ll be a while before I touch chicken again.”
Sam said nothing. Instead, he sat there staring at the blank TV, his head processing the info.
“Uh, Sammy? You okay?”
Sam looked up. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I was thinking about something.”
“Care to share with the class?”
“I think I know why burning the body didn’t work. Remember how the dirt looked like it had been recently dug up? Well, what if Father Gregory was buried with the athame? And whoever dug him up, took the athame, and since his spirit was attached to it, he’s back and roaming around… committing more murder.”
Dean nodded. “Makes sense. But how are we going to find out who did it? It’s not like we can just go up and ask someone if they’ve dug up any old graves recently and stole a magical athame.”
“I read something interesting on the computer before you came. There’s an old, urban legend floating around town, mostly among the older townsfolk about Father Gregory. Think about it, Dean. What if someone heard about it and wanted to disprove or prove it? Who do you think would be brave enough - in this case - stupid enough, to go digging around?”
Dean thought about it for a moment. “Teenagers. Definitely teenagers. So little Johnny or Suzie dug open a grave and stole an athame. Great.”
“So where do we begin?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. “Uh, my guess would be to poke around a bit and see what comes up.”
“Don’tcha think their parents would’ve seen them carrying around an athame or something?”
“Not unless they kept it in their locker. It’s a long shot, but what other choice do we have at the moment?”
-0-
The next day the news had a field day with the recent murder. Everywhere they went, Sam and Dean found the little town buzzing. By the looks of things, every news station in the state was corralled into the town.
“Damn, news sure traveled fast,” Dean said as they drove though the main street in town.
“This is just going to make our investigation a whole lot harder,” Sam said.
“Tell me about it.”
Dean flipped the radio on again as the Twelve Days of Christmas began playing.
“12 Lords a leaping!”
“11 Pipers piping!”
“The holidays won’t be over soon enough, will they?” Dean sighed as he changed the channel. Sam knew better than to say anything.
They drove a little further to the outskirts of town, following the directions Sam printed out taking them to the local little high school. It was dinky, and the Winchesters would know. They had been in some small schools in their day, but this one had to top them.
Pulling the Impala into the parking lot, they got out and checked to make sure no one was around. Dean pulled out a lock-pick set and began working on the front entrance. It was a testament to the idyllic small town that there were no security cameras or guards roaming the building.
After a moment, Dean had the front door open and he and Sam strolled in, locating the lockers down at the end of the hall. There were at least forty lockers they needed to go through, so this was going to take some time.
“Quicker way to go through ‘em, Sammy….” Dean began, almost reading his brother’s mind as he held up his EMF detector. “If the athame is the key to these murders, then it should be giving off some big ass EMF readings.”
Sam nodded, pulling out his own EMF detector. Each brother took a side, working their way through the lockers, but neither had come up with anything when they met in the middle. Not one little blip or disturbance.
“Well hell, that was a bust,” Dean said with frustration in his voice as they left the empty school.
“Well, maybe we should check around the school instead.”
“Beats just driving back into town and dealing with the teeming hoards of the media.”
The winter chill bit at their faces, but neither one complained as they followed a trail toward what was the school’s track and field, their EMF readers out once more. It was Dean who noticed something odd in the distance next to the edge of the track.
“Do you see that?”
Sam squinted. There was something large and black in the distance, but whatever it was wasn’t moving. Even from a distance, they could tell it was almost human-sized.
“Not again,” Dean mumbled. A feeling of dread filled them as they hurried over to the spot, finding another gruesome remain.
“You’re right; someone does have a bird fetish,” Sam sighed.