Winchester

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dean smacked his lips together and nodded. "That sounds like us." I just shook my head at him with an amused smile on my lips.

"Yeah. Also, no link between any of the victims. Uh, one was a real-estate agent. Another was a local historian. Woman killed last night was a teacher." I sat up straighter, my gears turning as I thought about what it could be.

"So, chupacabra," I commented. Sam just chuckled at me. "What do we got? Power tools gone rogue?" I paused, thinking. "Wait -- are we talking a-a "Maximum Overdrive" situation here?" I was really into this now.

"I don't know." Sam shook his head. "Worth a shot, though. I'll grab my gear. We should probably leave in five," Sam told us, looking between Dean and I.

"Mm-hmm." Dean's focus was still on the magazine.

"'Less, of course, you need some more time with Miss October," Sam commented as he looked at his brother.

"What?" He asked confused. "Oh." He looked down at the book magazine. "Yeah. Yeah, make it 10." Sam and I chuckled, got up and left.

THE MORTON HOUSE -

"We just have a few routine follow-up questions about your wife, sir," Sam told Mr. Morton. "Did she have any enemies?" Sam asked him as Dean and I glanced around the room.

"Ann?" Mr. Morton asked. "Honestly, I can't think of a soul who'd want to hurt her, even after everything that happened," He told us honestly.

"Everything that happened?" I asked, tilting my head a little. We had told the guy that I was new to the whole Fed's thing so I had to play along.

"About a week ago, something changed in Ann. She was out of sorts, not herself at all." He looked down sadly at the floor.

"Out of sorts how?" Sam asked, taking a step forward while raising his eyebrows.

"It'd be better if I show you."

INT. MORTON HOUSE, BASEMENT -

"She stopped sleeping." We walk down stairs into the basement with limited lighting, Mr. Morton turns on a switch that lights only half of the basement. "She stopped eating. She went out in the middle of the night, going God knows where." Mr. Morton stands on the darker side of the basement. "I tried to talk to her, but, uh... She would just mutter to herself." We walk to the lit side of the basement. There's a large table covered with a miniature village, little plastic bags dangle over the table.

"About what?" I asked as I narrowed my eyes at the table.

"Something... about an orchard?" We got a better view of the contents on the table. It's the model replica of a village made out of metal containers, cardboard boxes, a birdhouse, everything an ash grey in color. "Finally, I just followed her one night, and she went to the playground. Over here -- the elementary school." Mr. Morton points to a section that looks like the replica of a school and playground. It's surrounded by a wall, has open areas, trees, miniature people. There are even several Matchbox cars on the "road" that surrounds the school, properly positioned to show traffic flow. "And she started digging. She would leave with these little bags full of dirt. Hung them here." We looked up and saw dirt filled plastic baggies hanging over the table. "All these bags represent holes that she dug in the ground."