Monachopsis

Chapter XVI: Trailer Park Nerdmobile

Tracking down Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler wasn't hard. All I had to do was walk up to the trailer park manager and ask for the Ghostbusters. Their trailer looked about as ridiculous as I'd expected. Stickers quoting horror movies and sci-fi movies alike were plastered across the metal door. The plastic pink lawn flamingo stared at me with soulless eyes as Dean stepped forward and pounded on the door.

There was a yelp, then a quavering voice--I think it was Harry's--called out, "Who is it?"

"Come on out here, guys," Dean shouted. "We hear you in there."

There as the sound of muffled grumbling, then the door swung open. Ed and Harry leaned out of the doorway, bodies semi-hiding the cluttered interior of their trailer. Immediately, two pairs of eyes fixed on me warily. I shot them a thin smile.

"Look at that," marveled Dean. "Action figures in their original packaging--what a shocker."

I snorted.

"Guys, we need to talk," said Sam. Despite his tone being much more gentle and friendly than Dean's, Zeddmore narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yeah, um," The two of them leapt from their trailer, both being too short to just step down. Spengler was not so subtle in his avoidance of me. "Sorry guys," said Zeddmore. "We're a little bit busy right now."

"Okay, well, we'll make it quick," said Dean. "We need you to shut down your website."

Zeddmore coughed out a laugh and turned to Spengler. "You know, these guys get us busted last night. We spend the night in a holding cell. . ."

"I had to pee in that cell, you know," Spengler told us accusingly, "in front of people. And I get stage fright."

"Why should we trust you guys?" Zeddmore asked. "Especially after Chun-Li over here tried to take our heads off last time."

He thrust his chin at me. My smile froze on my face, my lips curling back to expose teeth. Spengler took one step back.

"Look, guys," said Sam, drawing their attention away from me. "We all know what we saw last night, what's in the house. But now, thanks to your website, there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai."

"That's right," said Dean, "which means people are gonna keep showing up to Hell House and running into him in person. Somebody could get hurt."

"Yeah . . ." said Zeddmore, not looking the least bit convinced.

"Ed, maybe he's got a point . . ." started Spengler.

"No," said Zeddmore.

"Nope," Spengler agreed.

"He's dangerous," Sam cried, staring at the two incredulously. He pointed to me. "Look at what going after him caused!"

I shuffled nervously, not liking being put on the spot. Spengler swallowed hard at the sight of my shredded face.

Zeddmore continued, "Okay, we have an obligation to our fans, to the truth."

Dean chuckled humorlessly. "Well, I have an obligation to kick both of your little asses--"

"Don't be ridiculous," I said to him. "Nobody deserves to pummel these two idiots more than me."

Sam held out a hand. "Guys, hey, hey. Just forget it, alright? These guys--you could probably bitch-slap them both. I could probably tell them that thing about Mordechai. But they're still not gonna help us. So let's just go."

The three of us turned to leave. As expected, Zeddmore and Spengler followed behind us. They demanded to know what we knew, stuttering and stammering through their questions.

"Don't tell them, Sam," Dean said.

"But if they agree to shut their website down--" Sam argued.

"They're not gonna do it," Dean reminded him. "You said so yourself."

"Besides," I quipped. "Who knows how many more people they'll send to that house? Better keep sensitive information like this to ourselves."

"No, wait, wait," protested Zeddmore from behind us. "Don't listen to her, okay? We'll do it."

We'd reached the Impala. Zeddmore repeated, "We'll do it."

Sam turned to them, seemingly conflicted.

"It's a secret, Sam," Dean warned.

"Don't," I growled, grabbing Sam's wrist as if to pull him away.

After a moment, Sam heaved a gusty sigh. "Look, it is a pretty big deal, all right," Dean and I turned away from him, seemingly disappointed, "and it wasn't easy to dig up, so only if we have your word that you'll shut everything down."

"Totally," breathed Zeddmore, a very unconvincing smile on his eager face.

There was a pause. Dean nodded his consent. "Okay," said Sam. He turned to me. I pretended to be stubborn, shaking my head and huffing in faux- frustration. I gave it a minute, then bit my lip and shrugged.

"Whatever."

"All right," said Sam.

Dean reached into his pocket and produced a crimpled, old-looking document. Contributed by the Richardson Town Library Printer. Zeddmore and Spengler stood there expectantly.

"It's a death certificate," Sam explained, "from the thirties. We got it at the library."

Dean surrendered the paper grudgingly. Zeddmore and Spengler examined it curiously.

"According to the coroner," Sam continued, "the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

"He's right," said Dean. "He didn't hang or cut himself."

"Just loaded a gun and blasted his brains on the ceiling," I added, shrugging simply. I suppressed my smirk when Spengler turned a shallow shade of green.

"He shot himself?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Yep!" Sam said. "With a forty-five pistol. To this day, they say he's terrified of them!"

"As a matter of fact," Dean cut in. "They say if you shoot him with a forty-five loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, you'd kill the son of a bitch."

Spengler gasped in excitement. He was still for a fraction of a second, then he bolted for the trailer, footsteps harried and stumbling. Zeddmore was more composed, going after his friend with slow, measured steps. I could hear him murmuring to himself as he walked away.

Triumph was a giddy flutter in my chest. I quivered with delight, shooting Sam a smirk. My brother appraised me with amused eyes. I tilted my head. "What?"

"Did you really have to mention the brains?" he asked. "I think Spengler was about to puke his guts out."

"That was the point," I said. Wasn't it obvious? "I live to make those two uncomfortable."

"Well, congratulations," Dean drawled. "It worked."

I smiled. Good.