Monachopsis

Chapter XII: The Commodores Did The Night Shift Better

Cops had set up a patrol around the house after that. Twenty-four hours a day, a marked car sat in front of Hell House, determined to catch any wayward teens sneaking around.

Not that crouching down in the bushes made me feel any more like an adult. Especially with two grown-ass men next to men whispering like they're at a slumber party. I had half a mind to storm out guns blazing and hope the cops standing watch didn't open fire, but the tiny part of my brain that was still rational kept me from completely committing suicide over a ghost.

Sam, Dean, and I stayed huddled behind the brush as a cop walked past, narrowly missing us with his flashlight. I tensed when the light came near, hissing silently between my teeth when it missed me.

"This should be interesting," I murmured, peering out at the treeline.

"Guess the cops don't want any more kids screwing around in there," said Sam.

"Yeah," said Dean, "but we still got to get in there."

I was in the middle of planning out how to get across the yard without getting arrested when the sound of twigs snapping echoed from my left. I whirled on instinct, reaching for my gun. Dean's arm shot out and stopped me in my tracks before I could. I turned to ask him what his deal was, but he made a motion with his hand, telling me to shut up.

His eyes were focused in the direction where the sound had come from. His voice sounded bemused, "I don't believe it."

I followed his gaze. Sam turned to see what we were looking at. With my eyes firmly adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the lumbering, cumbersome figures stumbling through the trees a few yards away. I caught the telltale glint of the cop car spotlight reflecting off Night Vision goggles and camera lenses.

"It's those Hellhound idiots," I whispered. "Great. One more obstacle to get around."

This hunt was just getting better and better.

"I got an idea," Dean said. I turned to him in confusion. Before I could decide whether or not I liked the excited glint in his eyes, Dean rose and cupped his hands around his mouth, "Who you gonna call?"

On instinct, the cops lifted their flashlights to search for the source of the noise. Luckily for us, Ed and Harry had never heard of stealth. Or, you know, common sense.

"Hey, you!" They shouted. Ed and Harry froze in their tracks, illuminated expressions full of shock like deer in headlights. "Freeze!"

The two "professionals" immediately turned and high-tailed it back the way they came. The cops were on their heels, shouting as they gave chase. The seamlessness in which Dean pulled off the ruse surprised me so much that I grunted.

"Huh," I said as we rose from the brush. "I can't believe that worked."

"Gray!" Sam whisper-shouted. "C'mon!"

They were already halfway across the lawn. I hurried to catch up, closing the front door behind us once we were inside. I groaned, stretching out my legs. After over an hour crouching in the trees, I was stiff and sore. Sam immediately went to work yanking rock salt shotguns out of the duffle bag. When he handed one to me, I immediately grasped the sawed off muzzle. The weight of it in my hand was oddly comforting against the shadowy, looming feeling of the house.

I cocked my gun. Dean lifted his flashlight, focusing the beam of light on a painted symbol under the stairs. He walked closer and hissed, "Man, where have I seen that symbol before? It's killing me."

"C'mon," Sam whispered. "We don't have much time."

The three of us slowly made our way through the house. The floorboards creaked under our weight, and the wind blowing through cracks in the walls made an eerie whistling noise that sent a shiver down my spine. The police had said that the young woman had hung herself in the cellar. So down we went, the wooden stairs screaming in protest.

I made sure to keep myself between Sam and Dean. I refused to admit my fear, but I adamantly believed that if Mordechai were to show up, my best chance of survival would be in the middle of a Winchester sandwich.

Dim moonlight streamed through holes in the dirt-encrusted windows. Not enough to light our path, but enough to cast an eerie glow through the ancient pickling jars stacked on the shelves. Dean's flashlight swept briefly along the length of the cellar before he focused on the bile-filled mason jars. He plucked one from its shelf and examined it.

After a moment he said, "Hey, Sam, I dare you to take a swig of this."

I heaved an exasperated sigh so heavy and weary I almost passed out. My impulse was to walk away, but the looming spirit of Mordechai kept me firmly in place between my two brothers.

Sam looked over at Dean. "The hell would I do that for?" he asked. His tone was no-nonsense.

Dean paused, then turned back with a shit-eating grin. "I double dare you."

Sam scoffed, turning away. I fought the urge to cuff Dean upside the head, opting instead to say, "You're a moron."

Dean frowned at me. But before he could think of a good comeback, a shuffling sound broke the silence. I straightened immediately, my fraying nerves jumping. Dean's quickly replaced the jar on the shelf and whirled on the wooden wardrobe the sound had come from. I raised my shotgun, my hands steady even as my heart pounded against my ribs.

Sam had his gun trained on the doors, his hand slowly reaching for the doorknob. He gripped it with his fingers, and--glancing first at me and Dean--ripped the door open.

My heart leapt in my chest, but the sight of frightened rodents darting for cover quickly made me feel like an idiot. You'd think that after so many years of doing this, I'd be able to tell the difference between rats and evil spirits.

"Ugh!" Dean groaned over the rats' squealing. He kicking at the rodents as they scurried past him. "I hate rats."

Again, Sam scoffed. "You'd rather it was a ghost?"

"Yes."

As soon as the word left Dean's mouth, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I sucked in a breath, tightening my grip on my gun, my heart beating so fast it felt like helicopter blades. There was movement in the corner of my eye, and I whirled around.

"Sam!" I cried. Faced with the barrel of a shotgun in his face, Sam ducked out of the way. I pulled the trigger, hitting what should have been the ghost's chest as the axe swung down.

My ears began to ring as Dean and Sam took their shots, the shotguns going off in my ears. It took a moment, Mordechai not seeming to react to the rock salt before he vanished.

"What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know," Dean said.

Not having the patience to entertain their conversation, I grabbed the boys by their sleeves and yanked them in the direction of the stairs. "If these guns can't hurt him, we need to get the hell out of here!"

As we passed by the shelves, they exploded in a spray of wood and glass and bile. Mordechai's axe sent debris flying across the room, and the side of my face began to sting as shards of wood and glass became embedded in my skin. Suddenly, Dean tackled me to the ground, the axe blade swiping the air where my head had been not a moment before.

"Go, go, go!" he shouted, shoving me in the direction of the stairs. I stumbled to my feet, Sam holding off Mordechai's blade just long enough for me to run past him. The sound of sparks flying accompanied a bright orange flash as Mordechai's axe missed us and struck a fuse box instead.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I sprinted for the front door. I didn't think to check behind me, but the sound of Sam and Dean's running footsteps at my heels was enough to reassure me that I hadn't left them to die. The front door came into view, but I couldn't afford to slow down. Mordechai's heavy breathing seemed to tickle the back of my neck, blood trickled into my eye, and I flung myself forward.

The front door gave under my weight. I tumbled off the porch, landing with Sam and Dean in a pile on the ground. Not even thinking anymore, I shot to my feet, following closely on Dean's heels and dragging Sam behind me. I briefly caught a glimpse of Ed and Harry standing in front of us, their camera focused on our faces.

"Get that damn thing out of my face!" Dean growled, shoving the two men aside as we ran for the Impala.