Sam stared down the hall, it’s just a hall. A long, dark, dank hall. Twenty feet to the door at the end of the hall. Twenty feet to Dean. Twenty feet to the trap he and Dean set. Walk twenty feet to the end of the hall. Twenty feet with It.
“Whatever you do, don’t run, keep walking.” Those words had come repeatedly from Dean’s mouth. What he’d seen in Dean’s eyes, his face, was something else entirely. Don’t you dare screw up and run. Don’t be scared I’m right there, behind the door, It doesn’t stand a chance, It won’t get to you, not on my watch. Not that Dean would ever say those words out loud. Not that he’d ever have to.
Sam focused on the door, the closed door. Dean on the other side. The trap on the other side. It between here and there…somewhere. Sam between here and there.
It or rather They--Dean had a matching one on his side of the door—weren’t going to give up quietly. Samhain, pronounced Sow-en, he and Dean recited together as children, learning pagan roots to Halloween.
Just take the first step. A long hall, not nearly as frightening as sterile, antiseptic hospital halls he’d walked before, not knowing if his brother lived or not. This hall, today, he knew, Dean was alive and well at the other end. Filling his lungs, chest expanding, then deflating, standing here wasn’t going to get him there. He wiped moisture from first one palm against his thigh, shifted the shotgun to his other hand to repeat the action before gripping the weapon in his right hand again. A weapon he had no intention of using. They had to get this done, have it finished. Already it’d gone on a year too long.
Floorboards creaking under his boots startled him; something…sweat, just sweat, cold in here…coursed a small, nearly straight path down his spine, slipping over each small bump to settle in a chilly pool in the small of his back. Sam shivered. Daring a glance behind, foot frozen before the next step, his free hand jerked spasmodically to a spot under his ear, along his neck where another trickle…just sweat…started to ooze around and over to his Adam’s apple.
Samhain…remember, whatever you do, don’t run…Dean’s voice chanted in his head. Samhain, when souls walk the earth, all souls good and evil. Joseph Lorie his lovely wife Clarissa definitely fell to the evil side. Druids, not the new fangled neo-Druid type Druids either. Nooo…um-hum, they were the old-fashioned, serious about being pagan Druids, quite serious about Samhain. Halloween in their eyes was blasphemy, an abomination. Anyone trick or treating near their home was scared into running away…then unceremoniously shredded. Dying a few decades ago hadn’t slowed the Lories down. Samhain, when souls walked the earth, when Joseph and Clarissa walked among them killing, their victims mostly children. They couldn’t just set off car alarms like other ghosts?
In a few hours the street this old house sat on would be filled with children in costumes, Halloween revelers with no idea what they were celebrating, just out to collect some candy. Some might be scared by a shadow, an unexpected breeze, and run. Don’t run, Sammy, whatever you do, don’t run. How many more ways could Dean find to say that? It was when they ran, the Lories attacked.
Running meant dying.
It, Sam didn’t know if It was Joseph or Clarissa, didn’t matter, he didn’t care, but It wanted him to run. If he ran, he’d be shredded to bits. Soft rustling behind and to his right, or was it left? Something barely touched the skin above his left elbow. His stomach clenched, his feet stopped. Scrunching his eyes shut he pulled in a stuttering breath. Don’t shoot…don’t run. Sam wanted to run, to shoot, or was it shoot, then run? If he shot at the spirit, It would know, the trap Dean set down there, behind that door, would fail, Joseph and Clarissa gone for another year.
Keep walking, don’t look back, don’t run…open your eyes stupid.
A few steps, just a few more steps, fifteen feet and he’d be there; they’d put Them to rest once and for all. A feather-tip stroke brushed the back of his arm, making him jerk it forward. A quick glance behind, nothing there. The vaguest shadow skipped across his vision on his other side, causing him to falter a step. The muscles of his back rippled like dominoes from a touch along the base of his neck. Floorboards under his feet creaked and protested. Outside, the wind picked up, brushing stripped tree branches against the panes of glass, making screeching, scratching noises. His throat narrowed, muscles jittering up and down. Something wound through his hair, lifting a few strands. Samhain, wind, it was just the wind.
Sam’s forward progress halted. Spinning around, arms out and ready, he scanned the hallway behind him. Not quite halfway there. Nothing there, nothing behind me…wind, drafty old house, just the wind. Sure. Don’t you dare screw up and run, Sammy, whatever you do, don’t run.
All he had to do was walk to the end of the hall. Just walk. Dean had the more dangerous job. Once both spirits were together, the brothers suspected they’d become violent. Dean was behind the door, waiting in their trap, waiting to take the brunt of the attack. Waiting for Sam to lead them to him.
Those spirits didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s big brother.
Tongue scraping like dried, cracked sand paper over the roof of his mouth, swallowing the urge to run. Another step, just take another step. Breathe, walk and breathe. A few more steps brought him to a door, maybe it was a bedroom once, or bathroom. Sam couldn’t see into the room to know for sure.
Samhain, when the dead walked the earth, when they walked this hall. Soowweeennn…whispers from the dark room sang softly. Too much like the most frightening sound he’d heard, the voice of a doctor…we can keep your brother comfortable, he has maybe two months, his heart will give out…A long walk down a different corridor to alone.
His heel caught on something unseen, sticking in place for a second too long. Ice cold tendrils wound around Sam’s ankle, and were gone as soon as the sensation registered in his brain. Intestines slithered up and down, slamming into his stomach. Bitterness burned the inside of his mouth, careened over his tongue to settle underneath it.
Edging along the wall to the door, Sam stretched for the knob, to pull it closed. With a cool breath over his arm, the door sighed open far enough to be out of reach. Long branches outside cast shadows like skeletal fingers across the floor…the shadows slunk closer, under the door, pulling it open, darting across Sam’s legs then gone. Air wafting through a hole in one window sang softly Sowww-eeennnn. A cool breath touched his shoulder, blew softly across his neck.
“Sounds like Dean,” Sam responded in a breathless sing-song voice.
Fingers finally touching the door knob, he yanked it shut. Not before something cold and clammy, a shade darker than the air around him crept over his wrist, stinging his skin. Sam’s intestines tried clawing their way free of his body via his stomach. His knee caps wobbled.
One…two…three deep breaths. Fist clenched tight around his shot gun, free hand opening and closing in time with the pounding of his heart in his ears. Something chilled skipped over the material of his shirt, winding up and over his chest. Sam shut his eyes for a few steps, did his best to ignore it. It slithered across to the back of his neck, over his ear, and was gone with a waft of air.
Halfway there, he was halfway there. A walk down another hospital hall, long and terrifying, would he be left all alone? The walls creaked, groaned, the noise coming from nowhere, everywhere. Hearing, feeling the vibration of floor boards, steps behind him, Sam stopped and twisted around. Shadows oozed along the walls, crept up, over the ceiling and glided down in front of him, behind him.
Keep walking. Just keep walking, nothing there. Not alone, never alone.
The cracked window at the end of the hall rattled, pieces of glass dropping away. Cool, autumn air rushed in, pooled at his feet, traveled a path under his shirt, up his spine. Shivering, Sam focused on the door, the closed door. Something brushed his elbow, flittered across his forearm, invisible fingers, bone hard, scraped across the knuckles of his free hand.
Damp cool glided over his cheek, whispered breathlessly in his ear…Soooowweeeeeeennn…Sam’s chest clenched tight. Your brother’s in a coma, he won’t wake up…Go on alone Sam, all alone. He stumbled when something pushed against one shoulder, something not there. His toe caught. Icy tendrils snatched at his leg, making his shoulders jerk, his breath nothing but spasms. Almost falling to the floor, steadied himself and did his best to block out the wisps floating across the back of his head, the trembling of his arms, the quivering muscles of his back, the knots pulling tight across his abdomen.
Freezing cold surrounded him. His breath crystallized, white feathers moving in front and around him. Another tremor shivered along his back, down his legs, circled his stomach, turned it to a chunk of ice. Shoulders pulled together, trying to meet one another. Squeezing his eyes shut to the shadows floating across the floor between him and the door, doing their best to push him back, make him turn and flee. Frosty moisture…sweat…nothing but sweat…trickled along his collar bone, across his shoulder blade and prickled his armpit.
Soooowweeeeennnnnn…Wind rushed him, making his hair ruffle and flutter across his eyes.
Sam opened his eyes and stopped. The door was there, right there. Open the door; say a single word, the signal.
Samhain, when the dead walk the earth.
Steadying his shaking hand, Sam reached out, jerked back when the knob froze, bit his lip, and reached out again. He wrapped his fingers firmly around the door knob, twisting it at the same time, the door swung open.
Green, steely eyes met him, a nod from the firm jaw.
Samhain, when the dead walk the earth. If it’s the last thing I do, Sammy, I’ll save you.
Stepping in, drawing in breath enough to fill his quaking lungs, Sam exhaled one word. “Dean.”
Samhain, when the dead walk the earth. The dead minus two.
End
“Whatever you do, don’t run, keep walking.” Those words had come repeatedly from Dean’s mouth. What he’d seen in Dean’s eyes, his face, was something else entirely. Don’t you dare screw up and run. Don’t be scared I’m right there, behind the door, It doesn’t stand a chance, It won’t get to you, not on my watch. Not that Dean would ever say those words out loud. Not that he’d ever have to.
Sam focused on the door, the closed door. Dean on the other side. The trap on the other side. It between here and there…somewhere. Sam between here and there.
It or rather They--Dean had a matching one on his side of the door—weren’t going to give up quietly. Samhain, pronounced Sow-en, he and Dean recited together as children, learning pagan roots to Halloween.
Just take the first step. A long hall, not nearly as frightening as sterile, antiseptic hospital halls he’d walked before, not knowing if his brother lived or not. This hall, today, he knew, Dean was alive and well at the other end. Filling his lungs, chest expanding, then deflating, standing here wasn’t going to get him there. He wiped moisture from first one palm against his thigh, shifted the shotgun to his other hand to repeat the action before gripping the weapon in his right hand again. A weapon he had no intention of using. They had to get this done, have it finished. Already it’d gone on a year too long.
Floorboards creaking under his boots startled him; something…sweat, just sweat, cold in here…coursed a small, nearly straight path down his spine, slipping over each small bump to settle in a chilly pool in the small of his back. Sam shivered. Daring a glance behind, foot frozen before the next step, his free hand jerked spasmodically to a spot under his ear, along his neck where another trickle…just sweat…started to ooze around and over to his Adam’s apple.
Samhain…remember, whatever you do, don’t run…Dean’s voice chanted in his head. Samhain, when souls walk the earth, all souls good and evil. Joseph Lorie his lovely wife Clarissa definitely fell to the evil side. Druids, not the new fangled neo-Druid type Druids either. Nooo…um-hum, they were the old-fashioned, serious about being pagan Druids, quite serious about Samhain. Halloween in their eyes was blasphemy, an abomination. Anyone trick or treating near their home was scared into running away…then unceremoniously shredded. Dying a few decades ago hadn’t slowed the Lories down. Samhain, when souls walked the earth, when Joseph and Clarissa walked among them killing, their victims mostly children. They couldn’t just set off car alarms like other ghosts?
In a few hours the street this old house sat on would be filled with children in costumes, Halloween revelers with no idea what they were celebrating, just out to collect some candy. Some might be scared by a shadow, an unexpected breeze, and run. Don’t run, Sammy, whatever you do, don’t run. How many more ways could Dean find to say that? It was when they ran, the Lories attacked.
Running meant dying.
It, Sam didn’t know if It was Joseph or Clarissa, didn’t matter, he didn’t care, but It wanted him to run. If he ran, he’d be shredded to bits. Soft rustling behind and to his right, or was it left? Something barely touched the skin above his left elbow. His stomach clenched, his feet stopped. Scrunching his eyes shut he pulled in a stuttering breath. Don’t shoot…don’t run. Sam wanted to run, to shoot, or was it shoot, then run? If he shot at the spirit, It would know, the trap Dean set down there, behind that door, would fail, Joseph and Clarissa gone for another year.
Keep walking, don’t look back, don’t run…open your eyes stupid.
A few steps, just a few more steps, fifteen feet and he’d be there; they’d put Them to rest once and for all. A feather-tip stroke brushed the back of his arm, making him jerk it forward. A quick glance behind, nothing there. The vaguest shadow skipped across his vision on his other side, causing him to falter a step. The muscles of his back rippled like dominoes from a touch along the base of his neck. Floorboards under his feet creaked and protested. Outside, the wind picked up, brushing stripped tree branches against the panes of glass, making screeching, scratching noises. His throat narrowed, muscles jittering up and down. Something wound through his hair, lifting a few strands. Samhain, wind, it was just the wind.
Sam’s forward progress halted. Spinning around, arms out and ready, he scanned the hallway behind him. Not quite halfway there. Nothing there, nothing behind me…wind, drafty old house, just the wind. Sure. Don’t you dare screw up and run, Sammy, whatever you do, don’t run.
All he had to do was walk to the end of the hall. Just walk. Dean had the more dangerous job. Once both spirits were together, the brothers suspected they’d become violent. Dean was behind the door, waiting in their trap, waiting to take the brunt of the attack. Waiting for Sam to lead them to him.
Those spirits didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s big brother.
Tongue scraping like dried, cracked sand paper over the roof of his mouth, swallowing the urge to run. Another step, just take another step. Breathe, walk and breathe. A few more steps brought him to a door, maybe it was a bedroom once, or bathroom. Sam couldn’t see into the room to know for sure.
Samhain, when the dead walked the earth, when they walked this hall. Soowweeennn…whispers from the dark room sang softly. Too much like the most frightening sound he’d heard, the voice of a doctor…we can keep your brother comfortable, he has maybe two months, his heart will give out…A long walk down a different corridor to alone.
His heel caught on something unseen, sticking in place for a second too long. Ice cold tendrils wound around Sam’s ankle, and were gone as soon as the sensation registered in his brain. Intestines slithered up and down, slamming into his stomach. Bitterness burned the inside of his mouth, careened over his tongue to settle underneath it.
Edging along the wall to the door, Sam stretched for the knob, to pull it closed. With a cool breath over his arm, the door sighed open far enough to be out of reach. Long branches outside cast shadows like skeletal fingers across the floor…the shadows slunk closer, under the door, pulling it open, darting across Sam’s legs then gone. Air wafting through a hole in one window sang softly Sowww-eeennnn. A cool breath touched his shoulder, blew softly across his neck.
“Sounds like Dean,” Sam responded in a breathless sing-song voice.
Fingers finally touching the door knob, he yanked it shut. Not before something cold and clammy, a shade darker than the air around him crept over his wrist, stinging his skin. Sam’s intestines tried clawing their way free of his body via his stomach. His knee caps wobbled.
One…two…three deep breaths. Fist clenched tight around his shot gun, free hand opening and closing in time with the pounding of his heart in his ears. Something chilled skipped over the material of his shirt, winding up and over his chest. Sam shut his eyes for a few steps, did his best to ignore it. It slithered across to the back of his neck, over his ear, and was gone with a waft of air.
Halfway there, he was halfway there. A walk down another hospital hall, long and terrifying, would he be left all alone? The walls creaked, groaned, the noise coming from nowhere, everywhere. Hearing, feeling the vibration of floor boards, steps behind him, Sam stopped and twisted around. Shadows oozed along the walls, crept up, over the ceiling and glided down in front of him, behind him.
Keep walking. Just keep walking, nothing there. Not alone, never alone.
The cracked window at the end of the hall rattled, pieces of glass dropping away. Cool, autumn air rushed in, pooled at his feet, traveled a path under his shirt, up his spine. Shivering, Sam focused on the door, the closed door. Something brushed his elbow, flittered across his forearm, invisible fingers, bone hard, scraped across the knuckles of his free hand.
Damp cool glided over his cheek, whispered breathlessly in his ear…Soooowweeeeeeennn…Sam’s chest clenched tight. Your brother’s in a coma, he won’t wake up…Go on alone Sam, all alone. He stumbled when something pushed against one shoulder, something not there. His toe caught. Icy tendrils snatched at his leg, making his shoulders jerk, his breath nothing but spasms. Almost falling to the floor, steadied himself and did his best to block out the wisps floating across the back of his head, the trembling of his arms, the quivering muscles of his back, the knots pulling tight across his abdomen.
Freezing cold surrounded him. His breath crystallized, white feathers moving in front and around him. Another tremor shivered along his back, down his legs, circled his stomach, turned it to a chunk of ice. Shoulders pulled together, trying to meet one another. Squeezing his eyes shut to the shadows floating across the floor between him and the door, doing their best to push him back, make him turn and flee. Frosty moisture…sweat…nothing but sweat…trickled along his collar bone, across his shoulder blade and prickled his armpit.
Soooowweeeeennnnnn…Wind rushed him, making his hair ruffle and flutter across his eyes.
Sam opened his eyes and stopped. The door was there, right there. Open the door; say a single word, the signal.
Samhain, when the dead walk the earth.
Steadying his shaking hand, Sam reached out, jerked back when the knob froze, bit his lip, and reached out again. He wrapped his fingers firmly around the door knob, twisting it at the same time, the door swung open.
Green, steely eyes met him, a nod from the firm jaw.
Samhain, when the dead walk the earth. If it’s the last thing I do, Sammy, I’ll save you.
Stepping in, drawing in breath enough to fill his quaking lungs, Sam exhaled one word. “Dean.”
Samhain, when the dead walk the earth. The dead minus two.
End