Something Wicked This Way Comes (Supernatural Fanfiction)

Chapter 16

"I have the records about who lived there." I said after what seemed to be at least ninety minutes. I flipped the yellowed paper to the back, squinting at the small, faded old writting. Dean sat up straighter in his chair, looking bored out of his mind. Sam, on the other hand, looked like he was having  the time of his life. Sam must like this half of the job: the research.

"What's the first name on the list?" Sam asked me, glancing up from a thick stack of papers that he was reading. I shrugged for the moment, concentrating hard on the barely legible writing. A Jacob something, I could read that. Jacob... Ali... Alimo... Alimony!

"Jacob Alimony died from blood loss about a hundred and fifty years ago. Slit his throat and wrists." Sam announced, grimacing slightly. The next page in this file was an already yellow, wrinkled newspaper clipping.  I grabbed the newspaper clipping that was on the table quickly. The old heading was smudged slightly, but clearly read 'Hell House Strikes Again!' with the rest of the article underneath. Sam slid it out of my hands and began reading.

"The house was called the Hell House even before he moved in." Sam said after reading the first few paragraphs. He continued, looking lost in thought. "There's a list of every person that died. The last time someone died in the house was in 1972." Sam muttered quietly, reading the last paragraph on the paper.

"Who?" Dean asked his brother, glancing at the paper to see if he could read it before Sam said it. Sam glanced at Dean in annoyance, pulling the paper further away from Dean's view.

"A fifteen year old girl named April Terse. Looks like she went into the house on a dare, then never came back." He replied, then added,"Before that, the Hell House was dormant for years."

"Let's check it out, talk to her family, figure out the pattern." Dean said, getting up. Sam and I did the same, stuffing most of the papers back into the boxes as we got up. We left the boxes for the frightened librarian and walked out the door, looking for April Terse's relatives. That is, if they're still alive.

About fifteen minutes later, we were pulling up to a small one story yellow house, April Terse's brother's house. We changed into our FBI clothing, Sam and Dean in suits, and me in dress pants and a nice button up shirt. I hate this, but at least I'm not forced into a dress. I would kill Dean of I had to. I thought.

Dean nudges Sam and whispers. Sam grabs a small brown box out of the glovebox before Dean snatched it out of his little brothers' hands and opened it. Inside were dozens of fake, handmade badges. Dean pulled out several, opening them for a few seconds before tossing them back in. After a few minutes of watching, he was left with three final badges and snapped the box shut. He then gave it and - presumably - Sam's badge to Sam. Dean put one in his pocket and the other to me. I flipped it open. Inside had a picture of me of when I had to get high school pictures. I had kept them because I thought I actually looked good in them and I don't look much older now. "How did you get this?" I asked him, tucking it into back my pocket of my dress pants. My heel strap is digging into my foot, reminding me that I haven't worn them in months.

"When we were at your house, I took one of your picture and then had one of the guys that we know in South Dakota make it." Dean said as he got out. Sam and I got out after him. My ankle wobbled, not use to the show before righting myself.

Sam knocked and waited patiently. A man around fifty answered,"I'm FBI Agent Graham, this is Agent Ralfs," Sam said, indicating me since I'm in the middle,"And Agent McCain and we'd like to talk to you about April." Sam said and it was pretty convincing. I steeled my facial expressions to look like what I would think an FBI agent would look like. Dean glanced at me, a hint of a smile upon his lips.

"Can I see your badges?" The man asked, his voice horse from age. We pulled them out and handed them to him. The man studies them for a moment before handing them back to us. "A lot of FBI here."

"Yeah. We're training Agent McCain. She's still new at this." Dean lied quickly. Although, that's not really a lie, compared to some of the other ones that we've said or I've heard of. Dean shot me a hesitant look, as if he wanted me to collaborate with him, then glanced at the elderly man.

"Yeah. Come in." The old man held open the door wider, buying our stories. When the man turned his back, Dean smirked at me. I stuck out my tongue at him, stepping on his foot with my heels as I followed Sam and the old man into his house. We entered what looked to be the living room, a pale white room filled with framed photographs hanging on the walls, a couch and chairs surrounding an old television."So, what questions did you want to ask?" The old man said, sitting in the new - looking blue chair. We sat down, squished on the worn out blue couch. Sam took out his black notebook that I recognized to be the same one he used with me.

"Well, what do you remember about April?" Sam started off, moving his pen around as he asked, the little black notebook he keeps for notes open at a clean page.

"She was a sweet girl. She didn't deserve what she got. Here." He handed Dean, who was closest to him, a framed picture. He took it and looked at it. He handed over to me and I nearly gasped. Brown curly hair and blue eyes. Just like me. Maybe I'm next, once again.