The two sounds resonating in the quiet, empty house were the ticking of a grandfather clock as its pendulum swung back and forth, and the quick swiping of a brush drawn through long red hair. Slowly she began to hum her favorite song, and stood up, bare feet padding along the carpeted halls. Flicking on the TV next to the clock, she ignored the drawling news reporter in favor of getting a snack from the fridge in the kitchen.
Her song continued, she began to whisper the words to the chorus, the only part she really remembered: "Listen to your heart... when he's calling for you..." the girl continued to work the brush through a particularly annoying tangle, while bending over and rummaging around deep inside the big refrigerator, looking for something that didn't need to be reheated.
"Listen to your heart... there's nothing else you can do..."
The cloudcover outside was heavy. A storm was coming, but it wasn't here yet. She went back out into the livingroom holding a small cup of yogurt, and a spoon. The reporter wasn't talking anymore... in fact, she wasn't even visible, the screen was just static.
"Hm." the girl stopped singing, and shrugged, setting the yogurt down on a table, and going back to her room to get her IPod instead. She came back a minute later, singing, "...I don't know where you're going, and I don't know why..." a glance at the TV showed her that it was still just grey, she shook her head and shrugged, ignoring it and flopping down on the couch, picking up her yogurt.
The blaring remix in her headphones kept her oblivious to her surroundings as she spooned the yogurt into her mouth, setting down the cup on the table as she finished, "But listen to your heart... before you tell him goodbye..." as the last note faded away, she turned toward the TV, about to shut it off and go to her room to sleep.
What she saw made her eyes go wide. The headphones clattered to the ground as she stood up. Having no idea what to do, and a look of blatant disbelief on her face, only one thought came to her mind: 9-1-1! she splashed through the growing puddle on the floor in front of the television set while running for her room, but the girl standing in the middle of it reached out a decayed grey arm and grasped her by the shoulder.
The two sounds resonating in the quiet, empty house were the bloodcurdling shrieking of the captive girl, and the IPod headphones blasting out their next song:
'This is my last time' she said as she faded away,
'It's hard to imagine, but one day you'll end up like me'
then she said 'If you wanna get out alive
run, run for your life.
If you wanna get out alive
hold on for your life.'
"That's another one!" came a man's defiant voice from across the diner's cheap plastic table, as he slapped down a newspaper and pointed to an article in the obituaries, staring pointedly past it with a look that said 'I told you so'.
His companion sighed, grudgingly putting down his coffee mug, "All right, lemme see it." he frowned as the paper was pushed across toward him, and he turned it around to read it upright. "Girl of nineteen... found dead by her parents when they came home... pool of water, man this is just a regular suicide drowning."
"Dean..." he said as he watched him from beneath curly dark bangs, "...she was in her livingroom."
He sighed again, "Then I don't know."
"So this could be our thing." he said even a little hopefully.
"We should at least check it out." he muttered, slightly disheartened.
"Okay, how do you plan to do that? They had her cremated, it says right there in the article. Funeral was private, and it's over."
"We can try some of the others." he suggested, shrugging, "You know how many have been popping up in the papers lately."
He frowned, and fingered his wallet, "Yeah, and I know how obsessed you've been about it."
"I'm telling you, I have a feeling..." he looked worriedly at the picture in the obituary.
Dean sighed, leaning forward and taking another swig of coffee, "All right, if you're that avid about this thing."
"And what makes you not?"
"Spirits in TVs, Sammy? That's sure what it sounds like, if we follow the pattern. That sounds... kinda lame. And fake. All the deaths were drowning or heart attack, you don't suppose a couple of idiots spilled some water on the floor then tried to turn the thing on and electrocuted themselves or something?"
"That's a weak excuse and you know it." he rolled the paper up and stuffed it in the backpack beside him.
"Yeah, maybe." he stood, and dropped down a few bucks for tip, then heading to the little counter by the door with the receipt to pay for the rest of their breakfast.
Sam sighed and stood up as well, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and following his brother out. "So what're we going to do?"
"I don't know. Like you said, you wanted to check out some of the other victims, then pick one, we'll go there."
"All right, uhh..." he walked out into the parkinglot and opened up the passenger side door to the Impala, kneeling on the seat and reaching into the back where there was a growing collection of newspapers. He sifted through them, just glancing at each one until he got the one he desired. He handed it to Dean while sitting down properly, and pointed to the right article, "Here."
Dean got in, looked at it, and nodded. "All right, then. I guess we're off."
"Sam, you sure about these people?" Dean asked after they'd knocked on the door of an out-of-the-way little house, "Them making all that fuss in the papers and things..."
"That's exactly why we're here." he muttered, "They don't believe the reasons the doctors fed them, they're all the more likely to go along with our theory. You should know this by now."
"Yeah, yeah-" he started, but was cutoff as the door before them opened.
"Hello?" came a timid female voice, as a girl poked her head through the door to look up at them.
Dean's face broke into a warm grin, "Hel-lo..."
Sam rolled his eyes, and quickly nudged him, making the man jump a little and look over, "Don't..." he muttered.
"Um... who are you?" asked the girl, glancing down at their feet, then scanning them over from the bottom up with slightly red eyes.
Sam looked back down at her, "Hi, we're writing an article, and just want to ask some questions. Are your parents home?"
She shook her head, "No. But they won't answer your questions, they're sick of being ridiculed..."
"Well, we promise we won't ridicule them." Sam tried again, "Do you know when they'll come back?"
The girl's face twisted into a contemplative scowl for a moment, "They don't even know what's going on anyway..." she muttered.
"No-one believes them..." she explained, "But they don't believe me. Not when I tell them what really happened to Kayla."
Dean raised an eyebrow, looking at Sam, recognition of the name she'd mentioned sparking as being the same in the second obituary Sam had handed him today, the one they used to get here, "And... what was that?"
"Is Kayla your sister?" Sam asked.
She nodded, before licking her lips thoughtfully, "You probably won't buy it either..." she muttered.
Dean chuckled softly, "Oh, don't worry about that... we believe all sorts of weird stuff."
"I'm not buying it." Dean stomped back into their hotel room and frustratedly threw down his keys on the nightstand.
"How can you say that?" Sam sighed, walking to his own bed and sitting down just as his brother flopped over on the other, "That's why she didn't want to tell us... and we of all people should understand."
"Come on, man!" he growled, putting his hands over his face tiredly, "Evil Videotape? You've got to be kidding me."
"A bunch of teenagers get a little drunk and creative one Halloween night and borrow their dad's old camera..."
"I mean seriously, this is like the oldest rumor in the book! It can't be real it's like... like... Escaped Convict Hook-Hand Man."
"And that turned out to be true!" Sam stood up and leaned over the bed, glaring down angrily at his brother, with a background of brown-patterned bed quilts, "And so did Bloody Mary, Dean we can't just sit and let this pass."
Dean shook his head, "What're we supposed to do? I know there's alot of deaths... if you're right about this whole stupid thing, there's bound to be alot more, but it's not like we can watch the tape to find out what, and why the spirit's doin' what it is... if what they say is true..."
"We might not need to. All we need to know is how to stop its curse from spreading."
"Yeah, if it even has a curse."
"Yeah, all right, all right." he sat up again, looking up at Sam, "What time is it?"
Sam glanced over at the mostly-hidden-by-things clock on the rickety nightstand, "Just a little past noon." he answered.
"Too early to get drunk yet?" Dean asked hopefully. His brother frowned.
Sighing, he stood up and rubbed the back of his head, "Right, then, well... I suppose we should go and find out more about this tape, huh? I mean, it can't be that hard, just walk into any highschool dance, if they let us, and start interrogating the couples who watched because they mistook it for a porno."
"Dean!" Sam glared at him severely.
"Just kidding, Sammy." he waved it off with a mischievous smile, "Lighten up."
Author's Ending Note Thingy: Decided to try something new here, after I realized how perfectly wonderfully well these two genres fit. This just preliminary, might change a few things, probably add more than take away. Roleplaying and whatnot got me out of my FF7 and specifically Vincent craze, and into a couple of the more interesting crossovers I'd come up with. Hope you all like, please review, it's very encouraging.
Oh, P.S. not a songfic... well, I might incorporate more lyrics into chapters like that, but it's definitely not a songfic. The first song was actually just in there 'cause of a friend. wink