I squinted to those two guys who were-once-phone-company-maintenance-crew. They had just told me that my house might had been a witch lair— or something like that. None of their words made any sense to me. I mean, come on! It is 21st century and they talked about Supernatural things? I starred at my house, the light was back, but some lamps flickered weirdly. I have live there since I was a kid. My parents live there, my grand parents live there and nothing strange ever happened in the house.

"Okay Bobby, thanks," the taller boy—Sam, said as he turned off his phone.

"So, what did Bobby said?" asked the other guy, Dean.

"Uh, it wasn't a witch lair," Sam answered. I inhaled sharply, thanking God. "But, it was once a sacrificial spot for witches who wanted to have some kind of greater power. For centuries, this entire estate was an open land. Here, they did the sacrificing ritual every 13th full moon each year. This, um, witches, sacrificed women—sometimes virgins' blood, first-borns internal organs like hearts and brains to the demon, and," Sam cut his words, seemed disgusted, "eat soup of their victims' body parts."

I gasped. That was just the grossest horror story I've ever heard. Both Dean and Sam shared the same disgusted expression.

Sam continued his story. "Then, about 60 years ago, people started building houses here. It was when the murdering and kidnapping started of people who residence in this house started."

"Why would they kidnap the house owner?" Dean frowned.

"So that they could use the house freely to do the ritual. The sacrificing ritual could only be done with the witch and their victims in the sacrificial spot," Sam explained. "Three years after the serial killing at the house, a man named Franz bought the house. It seemed like he was the one who planted the hex bag."

"Franz was my grandpa," I told the boys. "But he never told us anything about the hex bag thing."

Sam ran his hand through his hair. "I've told you, Dean. This is such a unrevealed mystery case."

Dean sneered, "Yeah, right you self-righteous kid. And what about the black smoke there? Was that a demon? Does Bobby know anything about it?"

Sam shook his head no. "Bobby had no idea what that thing was. Do you think it was a poltergeist, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Cause it was afraid of pure iron? But ghost never took a form of black smoke before."

The boys keep arguing about things I didn't understand at all. This conversation about evil things made me sick.

"Guys, could you please knock it off?" I half shouted. "I don't understand what the hell are you guys talking about. This horror things, witch, demons, ghost, supernatural things are so overwhelming. You two said you are hunters, right? It's your job to take care of these things. Can't you just, do your job; exorcise the house or anything just to make that thing leave?"

Sam looked at me, seemed concerned. "Yes, yes, we will do our job. But firstly, we have to make sure what kind of thing that almost attacked you there."

I pressed my head against the cold car window as I closed my eyes, tried to rest my mind for a while.

"You should get some rest, Lady. You look real tired," Dean suggested.

"Yeah, I am," I whispered.

"Maybe you can go back to your room. We'll salt the doors and we'll look after you as we work for the research of this bwitchy things," Dean told me.

"NO," I said defensively. "I'm not going back to my room, to my house with that witch ghost around during this sacrifice season."

"Ah! To the magic fingered motel then," there's a burst of excitement in Dean's voice, "I'm thinking of how comfortable sleeping with the Magic Finger on my bed."

"My brother is still out there, and he could have gone home any time. He would be worried if he couldn't find me anywhere," I told him. "Plus the mess inside the house would just add up his nerve. And the ghost what-so-ever could attack him too."

Dean looked disappointed, but he agreed me.

"If I may, uh, I'd like to sleep here, in the car," I suggested, looking nervously to the car's owner.

"You what?" Dean asked in confirmation tone, I barely read his expression. "A baby wants to sleep on my baby Impala?"

Not a good idea, I suppose. But then Dean broke into a big grin.

"It's alright, Gracey. Every chick is allowed to sleep on my baby Impala."

Sam shut his laptop, looked confused. "No lore about things that attacked Grace."

"Yeah," Dean agreed as he flipped his phone off. "No books in Bobby's library tell something about it."

"Cause it's not something ordinary."

Dean and Sam turned their head in the same time to the sound that came from the back seat.

"Dammit Cas! Not only suck on goodbye, you also suck on polite unshocking hellos," Dean hissed.

Castiel sat in the back seat, next to the sleeping girl. "I apologize."

"Then what is it?" Dean demanded.

"Something that would bring Lilith back," Castiel answered.

Sam frowned "It's one of the seal?"

"Yes," Castiel said without a tone of doubt. "We must stop it before demons break it."


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