"Sweet dreams, babydoll." A mother kissed her daughter on the forehead and tucked her into bed. The little girl, of no more than 8 years old, smiled and snuggled down with her favorite stuffed animal. Her mother turned on a nightlight and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Later that night, the house was silent and dark. The clock in the hallway read 1:13 A.M. as it ticked away the minutes of the very early morning. What can only be described as a shapeless shadow slipped through a small opening of one of the windows. The young girl stirred as the old house made a creaking sound as it settled. She rolled over and opened her eyes; a dark, formless being stood at the end of her bed. The little girl stared, frozen with fear, as the shadow-like amorphous began to take the shape of something only her darkest nightmares had showed her before. The girl screamed, then all was silent.
Sam rolled over on an overly-firm, hotel mattress. He felt around the nightstand for his watch. Finally locating it, he learned that it was 7:23 A.M. Sam put the watch on his wrist and sat up, putting his legs over the side of the bed. He looked over at his brother's bed; Dean was sprawled over most of the mattress, his face buried in his pillow. Sam stood up quietly, careful not to wake his brother. Their last hunt had been particularly trying, and he knew that Dean needed the rest. Sam uplled on his jacket and jeans and went out the hotel-room door. He squinted at the sun as he walked towards the lobby.
"Morning, sir." greeted the woman behind the counter. Sam smiled back.
"Morning, may I have a newspaper, please?" Sam reached into his jean-pocket and took out 3 quarters, he exchanged them for the daily newspaper. After getting a cup of coffee, Sam went outside and to the Impala; he didn't feel like dealing with any questioning looks while he leafed through the obituaries. Sam leaned against the trunk of his brother's prized car and opened the newspaper, turning to the obits in the back. He read a few notices and shook his head at the irony of a 99 year old many dying in a tragic racing-bike accident. After looking through all the announcements, Sam closed the paper. His eyes fell upon a headline on the front page that he had not noticed before. "Children's Deaths Still A Mystery" the headline read. Sam read the article, folded the newpaper under his arms, and huried back to the hotel-room. Not bothering to be quiet anymore, Sam quickly opened the door and let it slam loudly behind him. Dean's head shot up, startled by the sudden noise.
"Oh, you better be holding coffee, Sammy." Dean turned his head and opened one eye sleepily. Sam sat down on the bed accross from Dean.
"I think I found something." Dean let his face fall back on his pillow.
"Good for you, Sherlock." His voice was muffled.
"Dean, I think it would be something for our next hunt." Dean breathed noisely into the pillow and sat up, putting his feet on the floor. Sam handed him the article.
"3 deaths have occured in the last week; all are young children, all in their beds and all of unknown causes." Dean gave Sam a puzzled look and snatched the coffee out of his hand. He sipped the coffee and studied the newspaper.
"It says that they all died with looks of terror on their faces?" said Dean after reading a few lines. Sam nodded.
"And the coroner said that it appeared as if they were scared to death." Dean gave another inquisitive look to Sam.
"I thought that was just an expression." Sam shrugged.
"What if it's not?" Dean let out a heavy sigh, tossed the newspaper on the floor and took a long drink of coffee.
"Well..." he said, rustling his hair a little. " We're gonna need to see those police files."