Hey guys… I just got the idea for this… I thought you might enjoy to read it, as much as I am enjoying writing it…

Tyranusfan is graciously working as my beta on this story, and for that I cannot begin to express my thanks… But I'll try anyway… THANK YOU!

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Supernatural or Shakespeare's works… I only own the insane muses that tempt me to write pieces like this…

So I hope you all enjoy, and remember, leave feedback to tell me what you think, it always stimulates an author to either keep writing as they are, or change something to make their writing better.


Tempest - Chapter 1

'Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.'
-Act 3, Scene 2 - The Tempest by William Shakespeare


Sam threw the shovel-full of dirt to the side and bent back down to get another spade-full. He hit something solid, and smiled, hoping that the hunt was soon to be over. Setting the shovel down, Sam grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialed his brother's number waiting for the older man to pick up.

"Yeah?" The gruff voice answered.

"Found it," Sam said.

"I'll be right there." A second later, Sam heard the tell-tale click as Dean ended the call.

Turning his attention back to the monster in front of him, Sam felt a blade stab through him. He felt his skin give way to the sharp steel and let it pass into his stomach. He grabbed the handle, his hands overlapping incorporeal ones, and fell to his knees. Looking up in shock Sam found himself face to face with the deformed ghost, a small, sad smile quirked at his lips.

"Guess you win after all Caliban." Sam told the spirit in a whisper as he fell the rest of the way to the ground.


Earlier that same day…

"All the victims' statements say the thing that attacked them was he's 'like a deformed monster of a man.'" Dean told Sam, as they walked out of the small diner that was just down the street from their motel.

"Couldn't be a Wendigo…." Sam mused.

"No, they said he was definitely a man, but there was something seriously wrong with his appearance," Dean replied as they walked to opposite sides of the Impala.

"So he's like Caliban."

At Dean's quizzical look, Sam explained. "Caliban was a deformed monster in The Tempest." Dean's blank stare didn't change, so he added, "Shakespeare."

The look on Dean's face turned to one of exasperation.

"Yeah, whatever geek boy. So this Caliban has been trying to kill anyone who enters the house. There's only been a few survivors, so it looks like we might have ourselves a somewhat dangerous ghost here, Sammy." Sam nodded in reply.

"Why were people even going in the house in the first place?" Sam asked after a moment.

"Well, supposedly there is a rumor going around that the place was haunted." Dean said, and turned to his brother. "Most of the victims were kids, none older than seventeen, and you know how teenagers are when they think something is haunted. They figure that they have to go and see it for themselves."

"Figures," Sam breathed, his face scrunching in annoyance. "You know, I wish that when someone says a place is haunted, people would just stay out of it. Maybe then the idiots wouldn't get themselves hurt or killed." Sam's tone was unusually harsh, and Dean stared at him. He decided not to push Sam on the subject for the moment, and turned his attention back to the road.

"You up to going after this Caliban of yours tonight?" Dean asked a few minutes later as he pulled into the motel where they had been staying for the past few days.

"Yeah, sure." Sam mumbled and got out of the car. Dean frowned as he watched his brother walk to their room, apparently in deep thought.

What's up with him? Dean wondered to himself as he levered himself out of the driver's seat, unconsciously making sure that he shut the door lightly.

When Dean walked into the room, Sam was relaying the salt lines at the door and on the window. As Dean watched, his little brother meticulously checked the bathroom and under the bed for anything that was lying in wait.

As Dean watched, he couldn't help but feel worried about Sam. There was something going on with his little brother, and Dean decided to do his damnedest to find out what. He couldn't have Sam distracted during a hunt, while both their asses were on the line.


Three hours later found the boys once again in the classic Chevy, as Dean drove towards the mansion where the killings had been taking place. After researching the stories and the mansion, the boys had concluded that there were two places where the spirit killing people could have been buried. Sam was going to take the basement, while Dean was going to try the small family cemetery in the back-lot of the mansion.

Neither brother was keen on the idea of splitting up, but they knew the hunt needed to be finished as soon as possible. The best way to do that was to go their separate ways, and hope they found the gravesite before the spirit found them. So the plan was to get in, find the man's bones, burn 'em, and get out.

That was the plan, now all they needed was for it to work.

Dean slowed the car in front of a huge gothic mansion, and Sam let out a low whistle.

"Wow," he breathed, taking in the place in front of him as he slid his long legs out of the car.

"Yeah," Dean breathed as he too stepped from the Impala. "It's big… Nothin' we can't handle though."

"Yeah, nothin' we can't handle," Sam echoed, walking around to the trunk, all the while throwing glances back at the mansion.

Dean watched his brother, his eyes taking in every movement of the younger Winchester. Something had been off with Sam all day, and though Dean wanted to know what it was, he wasn't about to ask his brother now. He just hoped that whatever it was that was bothering Sam wouldn't be too much of a distraction especially during a hunt where they were dealing with a homicidal ghost.

"You ready?" Dean asked as Sam pulled a pre-filled pack, shovel, and sawed off shotgun out of the trunk.

"Yeah," Sam answered, and reached back in the trunk to grab a handful of rock salt rounds for the shotgun. He shoved them in his pocket and turned to Dean. "You?"

"I was born ready," Dean smirked. "Let's go."


A/N: So I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and remember to tell me so… Even if you didn't.

Take care,