Ghosts In The Machines III
Part Three of Approximately Six
Crossover Between Insidious and Supernatural
PG 13 for Language
Updates Weekly (Fridays)
Link to the previous chapter
Summary: Ben Winchester has taken his first steps to becoming a hunter. He has more trouble than he expects with a simple spirit until art student Dalton Lambert offers some tips. The amateur leading the amateur may just be worse than the blind leading the blind.
After asking around the halls, Ben found out that the professor who had discovered the girl electrocuted by the copier was the same professor who taught Biology 100. For the first time all day, luck seemed to be on his side.
He wound up ten minutes late for the class, but he was still able to slip through the door and into a seat without attracting too much attention.
The professor, named Dr. Gallagher, was in the middle of berating the class.
“-and if I catch anyone trying to boil ramen on the Bunsen burners again, that lucky student will help me clean the lab equipment for the rest of the semester, am I clear?”
She folded her arms across her chest as her eyes scanned the class. After a moment, she sighed, “Today, since all of you apparently missed the day laboratory safety was taught at your high school, I’m going to go back to the basics. Any one of you know how to sterilize dissection equipment? No? Very well, let’s move to the lab and I’ll show you.”
Dr. Gallagher made a sharp motion toward the back of the room. The class stood up and began a mass migration to the lab table. Ben made sure he blended into the crowd, content to watch and wait until class was over to speak with the professor.
She found a scalpel and held it up.
“This is a scalpel. You blockheads at least know what that is, right? It’s made of steel, so to sterilize it after you use it, all you need is clean water and heat.”
She walked away and flipped a switch on the wall, “You can get that heat using the Bunsen burners at any of the stations. The Bunsen burners only work when the natural gas is turned on, like I just did.
“Even with the natural gas running, there’s a second defense so that you don’t blow yourself sky high with the burner. To properly expose the flame to the oxygen it needs, you need to slide open the vents at the base of the burner.”
She demonstrated what she was talking about, then ran her fingers up the length of rubber tubing that connected the Bunsen burner to the natural gas nozzle.
“This tube connects the burner to its source of fuel. We check the tubing for cracks or tears every afternoon, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure there’s no damage to the tube. Everything done to lower the risk of you guys blowing up the lab is less our insurance company has to pay.”
“Now, the natural gas still won’t flow to the burner until you move this lever on the gas nozzle. I cannot stress this enough, do not yank the lever all the way over. You need to push it maybe a quarter turn, at most. Any further and you risk making your flame too strong.”
Dr. Gallagher moved the lever carefully, then picked up a metal tool Ben wasn’t familiar with.
“This is a striker. You have to squeeze and push the two sides at the same time to make a spark. Hold it to the side of the burner like so and…”
She tried to spark the striker and failed, “Well, it can be a bit finicky.”
Ben’s attention had wandered, but it was brought back immediately by the fwoosh of a large scale flame and a sudden barrage of screams.
It seemed the professor had not taken her own advice and overestimated how much gas she would need. The Bunsen burner had become a fountain of flames, gushing an awesome wave of heat that buckled the ceiling tiles and rippled over the panicking students. The water sprinklers kicked on, but they did absolutely nothing to help.
Ben’s training kicked in and he shouted loud enough to be heard over the roar of the blaze.
“Everyone head for the door at the front of the classroom NOW.”
Those who were closest to him, Ben began to push in the direction of the door as he made his way over to the burner. Once the other students got the idea, he had to fight against the tide of bodies. He cursed his bow-legged stature, not for the first time.
Ben finally made it to the lab table, the heat from the burner blistering against his forearms as he raised them to protect his face. He tried to locate the teacher, but as soon as he saw the motionless, charred form slumped over a different lab table, he knew she was a lost cause. He checked for pulse out of habit, and moved on when he found none.
It then became his single-minded goal to shut off the burner, aware that the fire would be impossible to put out as long as the pillar of fire continued to feed off the school’s natural gas supply.
His first impulse was to try the lever he’d watched the professor nudge open mere minutes ago. The reward for quick thinking this time was a seared hand and the unpleasant realization that it was now his own flesh he smelled burning.
After another moment of thought, he cursed his own stupidity and sprinted to the back wall, groping blindly through the smoke that was stinging his eyes. Ben’s injured hand protested painfully as it came in contact with the switch, but he ignored the discomfort and pulled the switch down forcefully.
He took a moment to be sure the Bunsen burner had really stopped putting out flames. With the ceiling now burning merrily, it was hard to tell through the smoke, but the roar of natural gas being incinerated at an alarming rate had faded to the crackling of more solid materials crackling.
He left the rest of the disaster for the fire department to deal with.
As he jogged out of the same door his fellow classmates had stampeded through, Ben grabbed his bag, slowing to a walk to blend in with the rest of the students crowded in the evacuating halls.
He didn’t lower his guard until he was breathing the fresh air of the parking lot across the street, the black smoke of the burning building already visible high in the sky behind him if he felt like looking.
Ben had a feeling this latest incident had burned more than a few holes in his ghost principal theory.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m telling you, she took every precaution when she was setting up the burner. She was giving a goddamn safety lecture, what kind of teacher would be dumb enough to make a mistake while showing students how not to make mistakes?”
Ben ran his bandaged fingers through his hair, flopping back on his motel bed. Miles away, Sam continued his cross-examination of Ben’s first day hunting.
“So, it wasn’t the professor’s fault. Do you still think it’s spirit activity?”
“No,” Ben said. “No cold spots, no telekinesis bullshit- the lever, vents, and switch were in the same place Dr. Gallagher left them.”
He had the shiny, blistered palm to prove he’d seen that fact more closely than he would have preferred.
“Besides, it doesn’t fit the principal’s hypothetical MO. He used to be the science department head himself. It was well known that he thought the arts were a waste of time, but there was no reason for him to attack his own major.”
“I told you not to go in without an open mind,” Sam reminded him, to Ben’s irritation.
“Honestly, I don’t even know if there’s a case here, Sam. The lab accident just looked like pure mechanical failure.”
“Coincidences don’t happen in our line of work, as Dean likes to say. No, your instincts weren’t wrong here, Ben, it just wasn’t a ghost.”
Sam’s statement caught Ben’s attention, and he made a connection with a groan.
“That creepy bastard was actually right!”
“Come again?” Sam asked.
Ben told him about his encounter with the art student, Dalton, earlier that morning, including their confrontation in the hallway. The revelation piqued Sam’s interest.
“And you didn’t ask him what he thought? He might have known something.”
“And he might have been a pretentious bag of bullshit,” Ben said. “I didn’t want to waste my morning chasing a fairy tale about aliens and Bigfoot conspiring with the American government to deprive the public of the next great generation of art students.”
“I take it he rubbed you the wrong way.”
Ben thought back to Dalton’s enthusiastic attitude, infused with a streak of conceit.
“Like sandpaper made of broken glass and poison ivy.”
“Well pull on your big boy panties and deal with it,” Ben winced at the voice on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, the trip here was fine, thanks for asking, Dean.”
His adoptive father ignored him, “You signed up for this job, kid. The benefits of hunting are meeting assholes, hiding from bureaucratic assholes, and shitting out questionable food until you no longer have an asshole. Occasionally, you get to kill an asshole.”
“Give the phone back to Sam.”
There was a pause, then Dean gave him a curt piece of advice, “Follow every lead, kid. It’s usually the most ridiculous one that’s true.”
The sound of annoyed voices and hands fumbling the phone could be heard over the line, then Sam was back, apologetic.
“He took it when I wasn’t paying attention; you know how he is-”
“Forget it,” Ben said. “Do you have any advice about this job, Sam?”
“I think Dean’s right about this one,” Sam said. “Talk to the art student. If he knows something you don’t, you need to convince him to tell you what is going on.”
“Torture is always an option,” Ben said under his breath.
o Sam, he said something a little less threatening, “I guess I can ask around and find him. It’s not like I have any other leads to go on- my last one blew up.”
Privately, he hoped the same would happen to this one.
“I’ll do some research into paranormal mechanical failure when I can,” Sam promised. “Until then, take care of yourself, Ben.”
“I will,” Ben closed his phone and sat up, looking around his motel room moodily. As much as he hated to admit it, Dalton Lambert really had become his only link to this hunt.
The idea of seeking out the art student after their shouting match in the hall this morning made Ben even more irritable, but it couldn’t be helped.
Hopefully, Dalton hadn’t eaten lunch yet either; Ben was starving.
If he knew a good burger place nearby, he might even gain some respectability in Ben’s eyes.
Crossover Between Insidious and Supernatural
PG 13 for Language
Updates Weekly (Fridays)
Link to the previous chapter
Summary: Ben Winchester has taken his first steps to becoming a hunter. He has more trouble than he expects with a simple spirit until art student Dalton Lambert offers some tips. The amateur leading the amateur may just be worse than the blind leading the blind.
After asking around the halls, Ben found out that the professor who had discovered the girl electrocuted by the copier was the same professor who taught Biology 100. For the first time all day, luck seemed to be on his side.
He wound up ten minutes late for the class, but he was still able to slip through the door and into a seat without attracting too much attention.
The professor, named Dr. Gallagher, was in the middle of berating the class.
“-and if I catch anyone trying to boil ramen on the Bunsen burners again, that lucky student will help me clean the lab equipment for the rest of the semester, am I clear?”
She folded her arms across her chest as her eyes scanned the class. After a moment, she sighed, “Today, since all of you apparently missed the day laboratory safety was taught at your high school, I’m going to go back to the basics. Any one of you know how to sterilize dissection equipment? No? Very well, let’s move to the lab and I’ll show you.”
Dr. Gallagher made a sharp motion toward the back of the room. The class stood up and began a mass migration to the lab table. Ben made sure he blended into the crowd, content to watch and wait until class was over to speak with the professor.
She found a scalpel and held it up.
“This is a scalpel. You blockheads at least know what that is, right? It’s made of steel, so to sterilize it after you use it, all you need is clean water and heat.”
She walked away and flipped a switch on the wall, “You can get that heat using the Bunsen burners at any of the stations. The Bunsen burners only work when the natural gas is turned on, like I just did.
“Even with the natural gas running, there’s a second defense so that you don’t blow yourself sky high with the burner. To properly expose the flame to the oxygen it needs, you need to slide open the vents at the base of the burner.”
She demonstrated what she was talking about, then ran her fingers up the length of rubber tubing that connected the Bunsen burner to the natural gas nozzle.
“This tube connects the burner to its source of fuel. We check the tubing for cracks or tears every afternoon, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure there’s no damage to the tube. Everything done to lower the risk of you guys blowing up the lab is less our insurance company has to pay.”
“Now, the natural gas still won’t flow to the burner until you move this lever on the gas nozzle. I cannot stress this enough, do not yank the lever all the way over. You need to push it maybe a quarter turn, at most. Any further and you risk making your flame too strong.”
Dr. Gallagher moved the lever carefully, then picked up a metal tool Ben wasn’t familiar with.
“This is a striker. You have to squeeze and push the two sides at the same time to make a spark. Hold it to the side of the burner like so and…”
She tried to spark the striker and failed, “Well, it can be a bit finicky.”
Ben’s attention had wandered, but it was brought back immediately by the fwoosh of a large scale flame and a sudden barrage of screams.
It seemed the professor had not taken her own advice and overestimated how much gas she would need. The Bunsen burner had become a fountain of flames, gushing an awesome wave of heat that buckled the ceiling tiles and rippled over the panicking students. The water sprinklers kicked on, but they did absolutely nothing to help.
Ben’s training kicked in and he shouted loud enough to be heard over the roar of the blaze.
“Everyone head for the door at the front of the classroom NOW.”
Those who were closest to him, Ben began to push in the direction of the door as he made his way over to the burner. Once the other students got the idea, he had to fight against the tide of bodies. He cursed his bow-legged stature, not for the first time.
Ben finally made it to the lab table, the heat from the burner blistering against his forearms as he raised them to protect his face. He tried to locate the teacher, but as soon as he saw the motionless, charred form slumped over a different lab table, he knew she was a lost cause. He checked for pulse out of habit, and moved on when he found none.
It then became his single-minded goal to shut off the burner, aware that the fire would be impossible to put out as long as the pillar of fire continued to feed off the school’s natural gas supply.
His first impulse was to try the lever he’d watched the professor nudge open mere minutes ago. The reward for quick thinking this time was a seared hand and the unpleasant realization that it was now his own flesh he smelled burning.
After another moment of thought, he cursed his own stupidity and sprinted to the back wall, groping blindly through the smoke that was stinging his eyes. Ben’s injured hand protested painfully as it came in contact with the switch, but he ignored the discomfort and pulled the switch down forcefully.
He took a moment to be sure the Bunsen burner had really stopped putting out flames. With the ceiling now burning merrily, it was hard to tell through the smoke, but the roar of natural gas being incinerated at an alarming rate had faded to the crackling of more solid materials crackling.
He left the rest of the disaster for the fire department to deal with.
As he jogged out of the same door his fellow classmates had stampeded through, Ben grabbed his bag, slowing to a walk to blend in with the rest of the students crowded in the evacuating halls.
He didn’t lower his guard until he was breathing the fresh air of the parking lot across the street, the black smoke of the burning building already visible high in the sky behind him if he felt like looking.
Ben had a feeling this latest incident had burned more than a few holes in his ghost principal theory.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m telling you, she took every precaution when she was setting up the burner. She was giving a goddamn safety lecture, what kind of teacher would be dumb enough to make a mistake while showing students how not to make mistakes?”
Ben ran his bandaged fingers through his hair, flopping back on his motel bed. Miles away, Sam continued his cross-examination of Ben’s first day hunting.
“So, it wasn’t the professor’s fault. Do you still think it’s spirit activity?”
“No,” Ben said. “No cold spots, no telekinesis bullshit- the lever, vents, and switch were in the same place Dr. Gallagher left them.”
He had the shiny, blistered palm to prove he’d seen that fact more closely than he would have preferred.
“Besides, it doesn’t fit the principal’s hypothetical MO. He used to be the science department head himself. It was well known that he thought the arts were a waste of time, but there was no reason for him to attack his own major.”
“I told you not to go in without an open mind,” Sam reminded him, to Ben’s irritation.
“Honestly, I don’t even know if there’s a case here, Sam. The lab accident just looked like pure mechanical failure.”
“Coincidences don’t happen in our line of work, as Dean likes to say. No, your instincts weren’t wrong here, Ben, it just wasn’t a ghost.”
Sam’s statement caught Ben’s attention, and he made a connection with a groan.
“That creepy bastard was actually right!”
“Come again?” Sam asked.
Ben told him about his encounter with the art student, Dalton, earlier that morning, including their confrontation in the hallway. The revelation piqued Sam’s interest.
“And you didn’t ask him what he thought? He might have known something.”
“And he might have been a pretentious bag of bullshit,” Ben said. “I didn’t want to waste my morning chasing a fairy tale about aliens and Bigfoot conspiring with the American government to deprive the public of the next great generation of art students.”
“I take it he rubbed you the wrong way.”
Ben thought back to Dalton’s enthusiastic attitude, infused with a streak of conceit.
“Like sandpaper made of broken glass and poison ivy.”
“Well pull on your big boy panties and deal with it,” Ben winced at the voice on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, the trip here was fine, thanks for asking, Dean.”
His adoptive father ignored him, “You signed up for this job, kid. The benefits of hunting are meeting assholes, hiding from bureaucratic assholes, and shitting out questionable food until you no longer have an asshole. Occasionally, you get to kill an asshole.”
“Give the phone back to Sam.”
There was a pause, then Dean gave him a curt piece of advice, “Follow every lead, kid. It’s usually the most ridiculous one that’s true.”
The sound of annoyed voices and hands fumbling the phone could be heard over the line, then Sam was back, apologetic.
“He took it when I wasn’t paying attention; you know how he is-”
“Forget it,” Ben said. “Do you have any advice about this job, Sam?”
“I think Dean’s right about this one,” Sam said. “Talk to the art student. If he knows something you don’t, you need to convince him to tell you what is going on.”
“Torture is always an option,” Ben said under his breath.
o Sam, he said something a little less threatening, “I guess I can ask around and find him. It’s not like I have any other leads to go on- my last one blew up.”
Privately, he hoped the same would happen to this one.
“I’ll do some research into paranormal mechanical failure when I can,” Sam promised. “Until then, take care of yourself, Ben.”
“I will,” Ben closed his phone and sat up, looking around his motel room moodily. As much as he hated to admit it, Dalton Lambert really had become his only link to this hunt.
The idea of seeking out the art student after their shouting match in the hall this morning made Ben even more irritable, but it couldn’t be helped.
Hopefully, Dalton hadn’t eaten lunch yet either; Ben was starving.
If he knew a good burger place nearby, he might even gain some respectability in Ben’s eyes.