The Winchester Horror Picture Show
E/O Drabble Challenge, task: make it a 1000 words (on the dot) around the picture of a creepy mansion.
Summary: If you think it's all just on the screen – well, think again. And pray that a Winchester is nearby...
A/N: Hi Enkidu, great idea – loved the special challenge and the license to go wild :-) Well, I'm afraid I didn't read the whole story about the house, I only used it as a base. Anyway it was a brilliant base, hope you like the result. I'm so curious to see what everyone here came up with... Love all the crazy girls out there :x
The streets were dark and quiet, the tarmac shimmering from the short shower that had washed away the heat and dust of the day.
The backdoors of the small cinema opened to spit out the visitors of the late-night horror movie. Some of them were a bit green around the gills, others headed yawning towards the waiting cars in the parking lot. A group of young girls were giggling slightly hysterically while secretly looking up and down the road, searching black shadows for something unspeakable, unthinkable…
The giggling was interrupted by an exaggerated whisper to return with new power as two strangers exited the cinema, one tall and lanky, the other one dangerously sexy in his dark leather jacket and threadbare jeans.
Longing glances followed them when they turned around a corner, the arm of the larger man around the shoulders of the one with the spiky hair. Awww, so cute – but queer, obviously. The giggling reached frightening heights.
"Dude, that was friggin' hilarious", Dean wheezed, "come on, 'Haunted House' my ass – not even our demented ghost hunters would've fallen for that piece of crap."
"I think they didn't miss one single cliché", his brother chuckled, both men walking down the small road where the Impala was parked.
"The face behind the curtains, when the house was supposed to be empty", Dean listed.
"The bunch of stupid teenagers sneaking in with an Ouija board", Sam continued, opening the trunk to grab a shovel and the sawed off. He flinched when he recalled the day he'd bought one, desperate enough to try everything to make contact to his fatally injured brother – and the onslaught of emotion when he'd actually got an answer. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shivering.
"The blonde girl, climbing down into the basement with a candle – alone! Hell, never watched 'Scary Movie', baby?" Dean fetched his duffel bag from the back seat and followed his brother to the entrance of the old cemetery.
"Yeah", Sam grinned, expertly handling the picklock to open the huge iron gates. "And guess what: the big bad ghost isn't afraid of a self-made wooden cross – Boohoo!"
"You know what would freak people out?" Dean asked, while they searched row by row of graves for the right one. "That most ghosts are found in places where they would be least expected."
"True. Remember the company where good old Zachariah sent us along? State-of-the-art, well, at least the offices of the higher ranks…" Sam chuckled, when he remembered Dean wolfing down a healthy low-carb-something in his Armani suit. "Who'd have thought that the boss never left the building."
They stared at a white marble figure, kneeling over a grave with her face buried in her hands, the wings gracefully curved. Oh yes, the Winchester knew that most things were utterly different from the way they were described in fairy tales – or the bible, for that matter.
"Sammy, over here", Dean shouted softly. His brother hurried to a mausoleum with the classical pillars and the pointed roof of a roman temple. Over the entrance a large engraving read "CARLEOTTI".
"See what I mean?" Sam stated pointing at the delicately carved door and the impressive windows made of colored lead glass. "Famous family, the founders of the city, actually. Rich, successful, and still they somehow managed to piss their ancestor off."
"Quit rambling, jerk, let's get the ghost roasted – I'm tired."
Three pairs of eyes followed the men entering the family grave.
Three shapes darted through the night, gathering under one of the huge windows, huddling together.
"If my mom finds out that I'm not at home she's going to kill me", Sybil whispered. "Shush". Alex pushed her friend with the elbow, glowering. "What on earth are they doing?" her younger sister Kathy asked.
The two men had placed their flashlights on top of nearby graves to illuminate the cold and moldy room. Grunting and cursing they shoved away the heavy stone lid of Sergio Carleotti's tomb.
"No, they won't…" Sybil groaned in horror. Kathy watched with fascination. "Can you see the corpse?" she whispered excited.
The tall one opened the bag and grabbed a box, removing the cap and pouring white stuff allover the bones.
"Maybe its some sort of ritual" Alex mused.
"Or they are necrophiliac" Kathy suggested. "You know, I've read an article about psychological aberrations and…"
"Your sister is such a nerd", Sybil moaned.
Alex sighed dramatically. "No shit! Sometimes we wonder where…"
A shout interrupted the dispute. Three heads flew back into position, watching in horror how an invisible power tossed the guy with the long hair across the room where he collapsed with a dull thud.
The air in front of him shimmered, slowly shaping into the frame of an old man in a three-piece suit. He lifted his right arm, but before he could do anything a gunshot echoed through the grave. The ghost vanished with a shrike.
The girls stood stunned, not able to utter a single word.
"Sammy". The shorter guy hurried to his friend, gently laying two fingers at his throat to feel the pulse. He exhaled, looking around frantically and taking a little bottle out of his jacket. He spread the clear liquid into the grave, fumbling with a lighter when the ghost reappeared, grabbing him by the neck and strangling him.
"We gotta…" Sibyl started, as suddenly Justin Bieber's latest song blared through the night.
She nearly fainted, feeling her cell phone vibrate in her jeans.
The ghost turned his head, letting go of the choking man and materializing beside the gaping girls.
Three young throats were crying murder in wordless terror.
A cruel smile split the crinkled features of the old men. He opened his arms – and burst into flames, like a vision from Hell.
When the Winchesters exited the tomb, only a patch of trampled down grass indicated that they'd had uninvited guests.
"Guess they didn't like the real Horror Show", Sam coughed.
"Yeah, definitely funnier with popcorn and coke."