Monachopsis

Chapter X: Six Little Darlings Hanging In A Row

'Hell House' was exactly the kind of creepy, abandoned shack I'd expect a homicidal ghost to shack up in. Even from down the road, the decrepit atmosphere radiating from the blackened collapsed house sent an instinctual shiver up my spine. My boots squelched in the soaked mud, drenched weeds splattering my pants with water.

The overcast sky was annoyingly suited for the nature of our visit. The wooded area surrounding the houses made it feel like we were encroaching on some abandoned village. The kind that had some kind of dark, sinister plague story. The cool air reeked of wet plants and mud.

I took a deep breath and sighed. "Looks like Craig wasn't a big fan of The Village."

Sam glanced around at our surroundings. "Can't say I blame the kid."

"Yeah," agreed Dean, "so much for curb appeal."

Hell House sagged on the very edge of the mud road. The wood was black with dampness and rot. The entire outside emanated the sickly sweet scent of wet decaying wood. Without waiting for a cue, I immediately leapt up the slope and began searching the perimeter.

"Hey, wait--" Sam called.

I ignored him, rounding the back corner of the house. I could hear some muffled grumbling from behind me, but I let it go in favor of peering into one of the dirt-encrusted windows lining the back wall. Most of them were too dirty to see through, but some of them had been busted in enough for me to get a glimpse of the inside. I took care to avoid the jagged edges as I stuck my face through the broken windows. The interior of the house was too dark to really see anything, but the air smelled of aerosol and chemicals.

As I drew out my face, a piece of broken glass caught my cheek. I jerked away, the irritated sting of the scratch throbbing. My fingers were dotted with specks of blood, but I dragged my clean sleeve across the wound and pushed it from my mind.

When I returned to the front of the house, Sam was peering into a pile of rotting lumber. I quickly reached out and yanked him away by his sleeve.

"What?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Old Murdoch won't have a chance to string you up if a Cottonmouth gets you first," I said.

"Technically, the kid said Murdoch only goes after girls," Sam replied, though he eyed the pile of wood warily. He glanced at me, and his eyebrows furrowed. "Hey, when--"

A familiar sound snagged my attention. Dean was standing a few feet away, tapping confusedly at a square plastic box. I walked over.

"That pick up anything?" I asked. The meter in his hand was whirring speradicly.

He shook his head. "Nothing useful. EMF's no good." He nodded upwards to the rusting transformer above us. "I think that things still got a little juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings."

Sam had joined us, and was squinting up at the telephone wiring. "Yeah, that'd do it."

Dean stuffed the EMF meter back in his jacket pocket. Sam suddenly leaned in close, stopping his face inches from mine.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, standing completely still under his scrutiny.

"Are you bleeding?" he asked.

The persistent needle-like pain didn't bother me, but I touched the raised scratch anyway. My fingers came away clean. "No."

"Well, here, let me--" His hand reached up with a tissue. I smacked it away.

"Come on," said Dean. "Gray, stay close. Wood's too wet to burn if Old MacDonald turns you into a party streamer."

I rolled my eyes, but followed after him. The front door of the house swung open easily. The interior was permeated with chemical fumes, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

"Ugh!" I cried, placing a hand over my nose in hopes of dissuading the offending scent.

"What?" Dean asked, seemingly oblivious.

"Do you guys seriously not smell that?" I demanded. Speaking only made the taste worse, so I covered my mouth too. The boys exchanged raised eyebrows. Dean shook his head in bewilderment.

Sam turned to me in confusion. The look on his face would have been endearing if not for how much it irritated me. "Smell what?"

I shook my head and dropped my hands, bracing for the smell. "Nothing. Never mind."

I took a deep breath to simmer down my growing annoyance and ease the throbbing in my temples. Already, I was beginning to regret not staying in the car. But at the same time, the last thing I needed was Sam and Dean thinking I couldn't handle myself. I was perfectly capable of handling a case like this. It was a walk in the park.

When I opened my eyes, the boys had begun moving on to the next room. The space located directly to the right of the front corridor seemed to have been some kind of living room. I could make out the skeleton of a mantle on the far side. However, my eyes were much more interested in the walls of the house than the dead fireplace.

Or rather, what was on the walls.

The stone walls were littered with painted symbols. Half-melted candles were scattered about the railing and window sills

Dean whistled in appreciation. "Looks like Old Man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger during his time."

Sam's eyes darted to the far wall. "And after his time, too." He approached a particular symbol painted of the wall in black paint and appraised it. "The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries, but the Sigil of Sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the sixties."

I was shocked by his knowledge on the symbol. He recited like he was reading from a textbook. I recalled how he'd mentioned at one point how he'd gone to Stanford.

Dean, on the other hand, was looking at his brother almost in disappointment. He pointed to Sam and said, "Exactly why you never get laid."

The comment caught me off guard, and I let out a bark of laughter before I could stop myself. As soon as I did, I covered my mouth to stop myself from doing it again. Both brothers raised their eyebrows at me before dismissing me in the same moment. I turned away, inspecting a cluster of candles on the mantle.

I stopped short. Upon closer inspection, they didn't seem as ominous as they had at first. In fact, they didn't even seem to be that old. When I peered closely at them, I noticed they had no dust collecting on the surface, and when I lifted them up, there was dust under them as well as around them. I hummed in confusion. If these candles had been used by Murdoch, they would have been completely covered in dust. Their place on the mantle would have been marked by their shape as dust collected around them. But these didn't have any dust at all.

Above them on the wall, creepy chicken feet were pinned to the wall. Nails ran straight through them into the stone. However, when I looked closely at these, the nails had no rust or grime on them. In fact, they were shiny and looked almost brand new. I had a sneaking suspicion about what was going on here, but before I could call over the boys, and crash from the other room stopped me in my tracks.

The three of us froze. My heart jumped in my chest, but I remained frozen. I glanced over at the boys. They took off in the direction of the noise. I followed close at their heels, plunging my hand down to my holster and drawing my pistol.

Dean and Sam dove to opposite sides of a doorway. I took my place beside Dean. Normally, I would have preferred Sam to his obnoxious brother, but with adrenaline pumping through me, I couldn't afford to choose favorites. I leaned over Dean to watch him as he silently counted down.

On his cue, the door was kicked open, and a blinding light seared my eyes.