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Title: Salt and Sonic
Author: uh, me
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence that's normal for an episode
Word Count: 4163, OpenOffice word count
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Doctor Who and Glee are not mine.
Summary: John Winchester gets word of a ghost over in Westerville, OH. The Doctor, wants a adventure. The TARDIS gives him one.
Author's Note: This is sort of a prequel to Trenchcoats, a drabble that I wrote a while ago.
Art Post (done by the lovely viviantanner over on Livejournal)- Linkly Link
1990
Bobby called him around two in the afternoon. John was loading more rock salt rounds to replace his stock. He had the room phone positioned next to him so he could grab it quickly. He had the next round filling up with the phone rang. “Yeah?” he answered.
“Got a hunt for ya. Just across the border in Ohio. Ya interested?” Bobby inquired.
“What is it?”
“Salt 'n' burn. Ghost attributed to a couple of deaths. Old building that used to house some moonshiners and local 'gangsters'.”
“Deaths?”
“Two reported.”
He grunted, “What town?”
“Westerville.”
“I'll go tomorrow and check it out.” He hung up on Bobby and noted down the city and made plans to see who the victim was. He told the boys over dinner.
“How long?” Dean asked.
“Should only be a day or two. Discover the identity, find, salt and burn the bones,” he explained, “I'm leaving you with thirty dollars. You know the rules.”
“Five dollars for each of our lunches, twenty for the diner and no candy,” Dean listed.
“Don't talk to anyone and check everyone,” Sam added.
“We'll be fine, Dad,” Dean finished.
“That's what you said last time, and Sam ended up eating three candy bars.”
*
The Doctor, in his eighth regeneration, was getting a bit bored. The last few places had been relaxation and education filled, but there hadn't been a good adventure in a while. He hasn't even dealt with an uprising. “All right, I'm right due for some running. What do you got for me, old girl?” he questioned. He didn't look at any screens as he ran around the console, flipping switches, turning dials and knobs. He initiated the landing sequence and heard her land. “Now,” he smiled, “Lets go see where we are.”
*
John ended up at the site early. The decrepit building smelled of chemicals mixed with machine oils. The main double doors were locked with a couple of deadbolts. He walked around the perimeter for an open door or busted window. There was a single door that was bolted, but the hinge that was supposed to be screwed in was flapping freely. Shotgun held out in front, he yanked the door open and walked in, letting it shut behind him.
*
Opening the door, he was hit with the smell of grass and earth. The Doctor had landed in a park, surrounded by trees for coverage if necessary. He walked out into the playground area, where there was a child on the swings. On a bench not far away was a possible parent or babysitter, watching while reading a book.
He walked out of the park and on to a bust street. Several cars were going both ways, several parking in front of storefronts. A free standing clock next to the city hall said the time was eight-oh-five. He took it to mean morning, considering the sun was rising. The city hall also announced the city to be Westerville. A nearby sign proclaimed 'Go Buckeyes!'
“Buckeyes?” he questioned.
A young sounding voice mocked him. “The Ohio State Buckeyes.” The Doctor looked down to someone about seven years old. “Where have you been, living under a rock?”
“First time in Ohio,” he retorted, “Don't get to the States that often.”
The kid crossed his arms. He was unable to argue back as a man, his father, started yelling at him to 'Get back here' and 'Don't bother the man.'
“Dad, that guy over there didn't know who the Buckeyes were,” he defended.
“He's probably a visitor, Cooper. Not everyone knows about Ohio State.”
“But how can that be possible?”
The rest of the conversation faded as the Doctor began walking again. Businesses and people faded as he walked into a disused part of town. Several buildings that used to house blue and white collar workers were deteriorating with help from the elements and human vandals.
He passed by a factory, chemicals and oils lingering in the air and ground around it. He stopped and smelt something below that, a scent not connected with manufacturing. Curious, he walked over to the building, inspecting it from the outside. Nothing with a perception field, no aliens (other than him) and no technology that wasn't supposed to be there. One sonicked lock on a side door and he was walking right in.
The work floor had scraps of furniture fabric and wooden pieces all over. Dust was all over everything, but the imprints of the machines that had once run there were still noticeable, along with the bolt holes. The offices were open and dark, windows that were supposed to provide light grimy.
The scent was stronger, but not by that much. He began searching around, sonic in hand to check everything for possible alien. The walls were checked and found clean. Next would be the offices over at the other side. As he walked over, the scent that he had been following blasted him in the face. He circled to find what exactly was causing it.
“Who are you?” a voice asked. The Doctor spun to see a man standing near him. He looked like one of those movie gangsters. The suit was pinstripe black, but faded of color. In fact, he looked all faded of color, including skin tone. The scent picked up again and while the being in front of him looked human, something told him he wasn't. “Hey, I ain't going to ask ya again. Who are ya?”
He didn't answer, a gun appearing in the man's hand. Just appeared, not taken out of a holder or anything. Wary, the gun was brought up to point at him. He sonicked in the direction, but nothing really happened. He saw the finger pull on the trigger and waited for the bullet to hit. He did not expect what actually hit him.
*
John wasn't having the best of luck finding this specter. He didn't know what the previous victims had done to set the ghost off so it wasn't attacking at first. He checked and mapped out exits and stairwells before going through offices, starting at the top and working down quickly. He got to the bottom level when he saw the ghost pop up. He wasn't looking at him.
“Who are you?” Gangster. He figured, with the accent and suit playing up on the old movie stereotypes. He readied the shotgun in case the ghost turned his attention onto him. “Hey, I ain't going to ask ya again. Who are ya?” the ghost questioned, angered. The arm that held the gun raised to point at something else and he fired to stop the specter. He couldn't be sure what would happen if the ghost actually fired the weapon he had.
Rock salt flew through the ghost, making him disappear. What John saw next was the shot hitting a man that had been standing behind the specter. “Ow,” he groaned, “I got shot.” He ran his hands over his chests to try and find the bullet that was supposed to be there. His brain must have connected the fact that there was no wound and he wasn't bleeding and started checking out the floor. “I got shot; what did I get shot with?”
“Rock salt,” John answered, and brought the man's attention to him.
The man's eyebrow raised at the answer, and focused on the shotgun. “You mind pointing that thing somewhere else? Still bloody hurts, even if it doesn't cause open wounds,” he demanded.
He lowered it, wary of the ghost coming back. “Any specific reason why you're here?”
“I would ask you the same thing,” he denied. Neither talked, and neither wanted to move, lest they startle each other and started attacking.
Instead, the ghost decided to show up again, this time looking at John. This time, the gun was being raised at him. He couldn't see the man, just started reloading the shotgun. There was a weird buzzing that started, stopped, started and stopped again. “Got it,” he yelled, and pointed something at the specter to make it disappear again. He went back to the object in his hand. “It reads as energy. How can something read as energy and take human form?” he complained.
John stared at the item in his hand. Whatever it had done had gotten rid of the ghost like iron and salt had. He shook off his staring. “We need to get out before he comes back. They get nastier every time someone temporarily destroys them,” he revealed.
Watching where they walked and for a reappearance, they hurried to the door the man had come through and relocked it upon exiting. “It's not going to follow us?” he asked.
“No, they're usually tied to one area,” he said.
“Usually?”
“Look, there haven't been any deaths outside of this building, just inside. We're safe, for now.”
“Deaths?” He sounded remorseful, but the end of his voice tinted toward glee. “Finally, some excitement,” he muttered.
John glared at the man. He thought this was some form of entertainment. I don't need some goddamn jackass getting himself killed because he thinks hunting's fun. “You think this is some type of game. It's dangerous.”
It was the man's turn to glare. “I know,” he denounced, before seemingly cheering up, “but I've been on vacation for a while and this is just the sort of adventure I can get into.” He asked, “So, what is he?” John ignored the question and stalked off, hoping he wouldn't follow. He was disappointed.
Traffic had gone down to a trickle when John crossed the street to get to the library. It looked small, but he didn't read into it. Local libraries, no matter how small, were the best for information. The main desk held a middle aged woman who was going through book returns. A quick look around found the film reader and reels of old newspaper in a glass case next to it. He saw the man wander among bookcases and walking away from him.
Starting in the 1920's just around Prohibition, he watched a tale of Moonshiners and gangsters evolve. The building used to be a furniture manufacturing plant that also had hideaways for gangster meetings. “Didn't find any of those,” he noted. He found a few shootouts and wrote down the names to try and find the bodies, if they matched the one in the plant.
After an hour of going through reels, he was surprised to see the man walking over with a book opened to a specific page. “I love the history of this town. Fascinating, right out of a movie,” he whispered, “Hidden passages, criminal enterprises, might even be love triangles that weren't known.” He stopped John from asking what he was going on about when he showed a page of the book and the picture of the man from the plant.
James Smythe was born in Westerville in 1890. His father had started the manufacturing plant just as the Industrial Era was starting to fade. Coming back from college in 1915 to a failing business, he took over from his father, who he claimed needed to retire. Within a few years, the business was profiting again. At a cost. It turned out he made deals with the local mob connection for money. In return, his plant was used for hiding. Alcohol, gangsters, evidence.
Police eventually found out, and although several had been paid off or threatened, a few honest ones got a hold of an Untouchable that was able to come down and help gather evidence for prosecution. Going to arrest him, there were a few associates hiding out that thought the police were there for them. A shootout occurred and Smythe was one of three that died that day.
John handed the book back to the man could keep reading it. He searched for Smythe's obituary, hoping that the body hadn't been burned. Then he would have to find who kept a piece of the body and destroy it. Bodies were easier to dig up and burn than trying to steal someone's family heirlooms. “Entombed in a crypt next to his parents,” he mouthed, “Need a crowbar.” He wrote the new information down and slipped the paper in an inside pocket.
*
“You never did tell me what he was,” The Doctor started. Both were sitting in a small diner. John had a sandwich and coffee while he had tea. Not a good cup, but better than the bitter sludge John was going through.
He laughed, once. “You wouldn't believe me.”
The Doctor laughed as well. “I try to believe five impossible things before breakfast.” The unsaid words Try me hung in the air.
John started the explanation. “The thing that we saw is a ghost, specter, spirit, whatever you want to call it. They're usually created through violent death. Murder, suicide, possibly fatal accidents. If they're pissed off enough, they stay around, usually where they died, but some ghosts do attach to objects.”
“The violent death's certainly there. I thought ghosts weren't suppose to be able to hurt people, but this one's killed?”
“Ghosts can hurt the living and kill them. A lot do. I've never met a ghost that could be Casper.”
“So, how do you get rid of it? Priest? Blessing? Native American shaman?”
“Blessing a house doesn't stop it; it makes it angrier when it can come back. Priests aren't that much of a help; official Church doctrine makes it longer to get help than what people have time for. Salting the remaining body parts and burning them is a sure way of getting rid of them.”
“Salt, for purification?”
John nodded, “That's what they say. I don't really get it. I just do it.”
“Ghosts,” he repeated. John thought he heard a kind of questioning tone in the word. At least he's not calling me crazy or running away from the situation.
*
The other man said they needed to wait until dark for the next plan of action. He headed over to the plant to make sure no one got in and the ghost didn't attack or kill anyone. The Doctor was reading the local paper, trying to go slow. Feeling the gaze of someone, he lowered the paper to see the child from this morning. “Hello,” he greeted, immediately looking for his parents, “School out already?”
“Yeah,” he defended. After an uncomfortable minute, he asked, “Where're you from?”
Wondering if he should actually tell the truth to a child, he dismissed it and answered, “England, close to the border of Scotland.”
“Oh. What's with the funny voice?” he queried, sitting next to him.
“Funny voice,” he blustered, “This is an accent. People talk differently depending on where they come from.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Lots of different reasons,” he ended.
“Cooper!” The Doctor saw a woman yelling for him instead of the man from that morning.
“Bye.” He ran off to her, who scolded him for a few minutes while walking away.
Bored again, he opened the paper and started reading. Local Beauty Queen arrested for DUI. What passes for news these days?
*
John was already by the entrance to the cemetery when the man walked up. “Westerville got rid of the watchman they used to have. Deemed the cost unnecessary,” he reported.
“And you're about to prove them wrong,” he observed, “Let's go find James Smythe's body.”
The walk to the crypt was quiet, John taking the lead. A bag on his side clanged with a tin of salt, gasoline and a crowbar. He didn't have a second one to share with the man. If he still had the silver thing from last time, he might be set. First block was a chain and lock on the door to the crypt. John went for the crowbar, but the thing was in the man's hand and the lock fell apart before he could get it out. “Show off. What the hell is that thing anyways?” he grumbled.
“Uh.... it's sonic,” he deferred, throwing the chain off, “Let's leave it at that.”
John pulled out a compact flashlight and shinged it over the wall. A minute of scanning found James Smythe. “Nineteen-eighteen. Too early.”
“You found senior,” he declared, “Junior's over here.”
He quickly switched over. “All right.” The flashlight went to his mouth, getting the crowbar out.
“Oh give me that,” he huffed, grabbing the light. John started slamming into the recess, knocking out concrete pieces that glued the slab in place.
“Hey,” someone boomed. The man turned his head to see the ghost standing behind him. 'James' raised his arm, this time no gun, and he flew back into a wall next to the door.
“Damn, he knows,” John cursed, trying to work faster.
“I thought you said he would stay around the plant,” he accused, picking himself up.
“He felt the disturbance of his bones.” The crowbar sunk into the open area, allowing him to leverage the slab off. It fell and smashed on the ground.
“Felt the disturbance? Star Wars?” he snapped.
'James' began to look annoyed at the bickering and disappeared. The man caught something the ghost was saying. “Deal with those kids.”
“Right,” he fumed, “It sounds like someone got into the plant. He's also going back after them.”
“Can you get there in time?” he questioned, getting out the ingredients.
He smiled, “Time is my speciality.”
*
Thomas Anderson was pissed. Being called to babysit your younger cousin when you're supposed to be with friends sucked. So after his aunt and uncle left for the dinner date and he locked Cooper in his room, he slipped out. Cooper ended up sneaking along.
“Finally, what the hell took so damn long?” a bleached blonde named Steven complained.
“Shove it, man; I'm here.”
“Let's just get in, find the secret room so we can get drunk off the stuff they left behind,” a dark haired named Allen cut off. The three of them walked to the door John had gone through earlier in the day. It hadn't completely shut for their follower to get in.
“Which room was the manager's? Good shit should be in there,” Steven proposed.
“Biggest room?” Thomas suggested. The three of them headed to the rows of offices crowding one wall. Each took a room and started hitting everything they could, just mainly banging around while there were times they were listening for hollow areas. Their little shadow had stuck to the shadows of the wall, looking around at the dust and imprints on the floor from old machines.
Steven was stomping on the floor when the ghost showed up behind him. “Who the hell are you?” 'James' demanded.
“None of your fucking business,” he cussed, going back to stomping on the floor.
“Dude, who the hell...” Allen asked, coming from his room and spotting 'James', “Where the hell did he come from?”
“Don't know,” he muttered, ignoring them all.
Cooper had made his way around the manufacturing floor to the offices. Thomas had taken one room at the far end. He avoided that one. Steven and Allen had ended up in the middle one, with someone else. The third person made him scared and he quietly slipped over to the room Allen had been in.
Allen had been taking a more cautious approach, using his switchblade to go at cracks in the walls and floor. None of the walls had panels popping out at them. The floor was made of boards that were supposedly hammered together and glued to the floor. One piece, however, had been lifted out of place. Curious, Cooper lifted it more and found that several others came off, showing a trap door underneath. He found a ring that must have acted like a handle and tried lifting it up.
The man that had been in the other room just appeared in front of him. Cooper shrieked and jumped back. “You wanna know what's down there?” he threatened. Something started pulling him toward the hole.
The Doctor had sonicked the car John had parked outside, TARDIS not in sight, and was roaring away in a minute. The streets were clear and he got there in less time than he thought. He ran through the unlocked door, ready to hit the ghost with the sonic. He saw a boy, teenager, standing next to the door of an office. He moved quickly to yell at him when he saw the ghost dragging the boy, Cooper across the floor to a dark hole.
“Oi!” he shouted. The Sonic whined until it forcibly disappeared. “Cooper,” he called, motioning him over. Cooper ran out of the room and stood on his other side, away from the trapdoor.
“Dude, who are you?” Allen asked.
At this point, he was about ready to start shouting again, but they wouldn't be paying attention anyway. Instead, he pulled out the psychic paper. “Police. You're trespassing. How many of you are here?” he ordered.
Allen looked at the paper, apparently seeing what the Doctor was projecting on it and answered, “Steven's back there and Thomas is in another room.”
“Right, gather your friends, you're all out,” he declared. Steven looked annoyed to be interrupted by his search, but seeing the paper in his hand that said he was police, he didn't argue. Thomas came out of the last room and saw his cousin standing next to the new man.
“Cooper! What the fuck are you doing here?” he yelled, grabbing his hand and dragging him a few feet away.
“Oi, don't swear in front of him,” he snapped.
“His parents do it all the time, and they don't care,” he bounced back.
“Then they're not that great of parents, considering they hired you to babysit,” he retorted back. “Come on, everyone out.” He started pushing Thomas and Steven toward the door, Allen following along.
Thomas and Cooper were going to be the first one's out when the door slammed shut in front of them. The Doctor had his sonic out and was watching for it to come out in the open. “It won't open,” he said, pushing on it a few times before backing off.
“Weak,” Steven scoffed, moving forward and ramming it a few times before falling on his back.
“Dude, that was open before.” Trying the other doors were useless as they were bolted on the outside, but the teens did anyway, Cooper standing next to the Doctor when Thomas ran to the double doors. 'James' showed up behind Steven and started levitating him. He leveled the Sonic at him, but he disappeared before he could do anything, dropping the teen.
“Everyone, around me. Now,” he ordered again, the Sonic ready. The teens gathered behind him, somewhat fearful of what was going on. They had a minute before the ghost showed up again. He swerved to point, but it was useless.
'James' was only there for a minute before he looked like a paper burning. His gun disappeared before the rest of his body followed, the edges charred red before dissolving into smoke. After ten seconds, he completely disappeared, nothing left behind. He must have finished. “All right, everyone out.”
The teens went out ahead, eager to get home. Cooper waved to him as Thomas started dragging him along. The Doctor shut the door and sonicked the hinges so they couldn't move. He got back into the car, started it and went back to the cemetery.
The real owner of the car was standing outside of the gates. “I don't think I recall being asked permission to take my car,” he complained.
“Well, my ride decided not to show up,” he explained, stepping out.
“Kids alright?”
“A little terrified.” He got out of the driver's seat and stood back while he took it back. “So, I don't believe I ever got your name. I'm the Doctor,” he introduced.
He just nodded at that, not even asking him about it. “John.” And with that, he rode off.
He only watched until the man's rear lights faded, then looked back at the direction of the plant. “I think I'll go looking for those hidden rooms.”
Author: uh, me
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence that's normal for an episode
Word Count: 4163, OpenOffice word count
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Doctor Who and Glee are not mine.
Summary: John Winchester gets word of a ghost over in Westerville, OH. The Doctor, wants a adventure. The TARDIS gives him one.
Author's Note: This is sort of a prequel to Trenchcoats, a drabble that I wrote a while ago.
Art Post (done by the lovely viviantanner over on Livejournal)- Linkly Link
1990
Bobby called him around two in the afternoon. John was loading more rock salt rounds to replace his stock. He had the room phone positioned next to him so he could grab it quickly. He had the next round filling up with the phone rang. “Yeah?” he answered.
“Got a hunt for ya. Just across the border in Ohio. Ya interested?” Bobby inquired.
“What is it?”
“Salt 'n' burn. Ghost attributed to a couple of deaths. Old building that used to house some moonshiners and local 'gangsters'.”
“Deaths?”
“Two reported.”
He grunted, “What town?”
“Westerville.”
“I'll go tomorrow and check it out.” He hung up on Bobby and noted down the city and made plans to see who the victim was. He told the boys over dinner.
“How long?” Dean asked.
“Should only be a day or two. Discover the identity, find, salt and burn the bones,” he explained, “I'm leaving you with thirty dollars. You know the rules.”
“Five dollars for each of our lunches, twenty for the diner and no candy,” Dean listed.
“Don't talk to anyone and check everyone,” Sam added.
“We'll be fine, Dad,” Dean finished.
“That's what you said last time, and Sam ended up eating three candy bars.”
*
The Doctor, in his eighth regeneration, was getting a bit bored. The last few places had been relaxation and education filled, but there hadn't been a good adventure in a while. He hasn't even dealt with an uprising. “All right, I'm right due for some running. What do you got for me, old girl?” he questioned. He didn't look at any screens as he ran around the console, flipping switches, turning dials and knobs. He initiated the landing sequence and heard her land. “Now,” he smiled, “Lets go see where we are.”
*
John ended up at the site early. The decrepit building smelled of chemicals mixed with machine oils. The main double doors were locked with a couple of deadbolts. He walked around the perimeter for an open door or busted window. There was a single door that was bolted, but the hinge that was supposed to be screwed in was flapping freely. Shotgun held out in front, he yanked the door open and walked in, letting it shut behind him.
*
Opening the door, he was hit with the smell of grass and earth. The Doctor had landed in a park, surrounded by trees for coverage if necessary. He walked out into the playground area, where there was a child on the swings. On a bench not far away was a possible parent or babysitter, watching while reading a book.
He walked out of the park and on to a bust street. Several cars were going both ways, several parking in front of storefronts. A free standing clock next to the city hall said the time was eight-oh-five. He took it to mean morning, considering the sun was rising. The city hall also announced the city to be Westerville. A nearby sign proclaimed 'Go Buckeyes!'
“Buckeyes?” he questioned.
A young sounding voice mocked him. “The Ohio State Buckeyes.” The Doctor looked down to someone about seven years old. “Where have you been, living under a rock?”
“First time in Ohio,” he retorted, “Don't get to the States that often.”
The kid crossed his arms. He was unable to argue back as a man, his father, started yelling at him to 'Get back here' and 'Don't bother the man.'
“Dad, that guy over there didn't know who the Buckeyes were,” he defended.
“He's probably a visitor, Cooper. Not everyone knows about Ohio State.”
“But how can that be possible?”
The rest of the conversation faded as the Doctor began walking again. Businesses and people faded as he walked into a disused part of town. Several buildings that used to house blue and white collar workers were deteriorating with help from the elements and human vandals.
He passed by a factory, chemicals and oils lingering in the air and ground around it. He stopped and smelt something below that, a scent not connected with manufacturing. Curious, he walked over to the building, inspecting it from the outside. Nothing with a perception field, no aliens (other than him) and no technology that wasn't supposed to be there. One sonicked lock on a side door and he was walking right in.
The work floor had scraps of furniture fabric and wooden pieces all over. Dust was all over everything, but the imprints of the machines that had once run there were still noticeable, along with the bolt holes. The offices were open and dark, windows that were supposed to provide light grimy.
The scent was stronger, but not by that much. He began searching around, sonic in hand to check everything for possible alien. The walls were checked and found clean. Next would be the offices over at the other side. As he walked over, the scent that he had been following blasted him in the face. He circled to find what exactly was causing it.
“Who are you?” a voice asked. The Doctor spun to see a man standing near him. He looked like one of those movie gangsters. The suit was pinstripe black, but faded of color. In fact, he looked all faded of color, including skin tone. The scent picked up again and while the being in front of him looked human, something told him he wasn't. “Hey, I ain't going to ask ya again. Who are ya?”
He didn't answer, a gun appearing in the man's hand. Just appeared, not taken out of a holder or anything. Wary, the gun was brought up to point at him. He sonicked in the direction, but nothing really happened. He saw the finger pull on the trigger and waited for the bullet to hit. He did not expect what actually hit him.
*
John wasn't having the best of luck finding this specter. He didn't know what the previous victims had done to set the ghost off so it wasn't attacking at first. He checked and mapped out exits and stairwells before going through offices, starting at the top and working down quickly. He got to the bottom level when he saw the ghost pop up. He wasn't looking at him.
“Who are you?” Gangster. He figured, with the accent and suit playing up on the old movie stereotypes. He readied the shotgun in case the ghost turned his attention onto him. “Hey, I ain't going to ask ya again. Who are ya?” the ghost questioned, angered. The arm that held the gun raised to point at something else and he fired to stop the specter. He couldn't be sure what would happen if the ghost actually fired the weapon he had.
Rock salt flew through the ghost, making him disappear. What John saw next was the shot hitting a man that had been standing behind the specter. “Ow,” he groaned, “I got shot.” He ran his hands over his chests to try and find the bullet that was supposed to be there. His brain must have connected the fact that there was no wound and he wasn't bleeding and started checking out the floor. “I got shot; what did I get shot with?”
“Rock salt,” John answered, and brought the man's attention to him.
The man's eyebrow raised at the answer, and focused on the shotgun. “You mind pointing that thing somewhere else? Still bloody hurts, even if it doesn't cause open wounds,” he demanded.
He lowered it, wary of the ghost coming back. “Any specific reason why you're here?”
“I would ask you the same thing,” he denied. Neither talked, and neither wanted to move, lest they startle each other and started attacking.
Instead, the ghost decided to show up again, this time looking at John. This time, the gun was being raised at him. He couldn't see the man, just started reloading the shotgun. There was a weird buzzing that started, stopped, started and stopped again. “Got it,” he yelled, and pointed something at the specter to make it disappear again. He went back to the object in his hand. “It reads as energy. How can something read as energy and take human form?” he complained.
John stared at the item in his hand. Whatever it had done had gotten rid of the ghost like iron and salt had. He shook off his staring. “We need to get out before he comes back. They get nastier every time someone temporarily destroys them,” he revealed.
Watching where they walked and for a reappearance, they hurried to the door the man had come through and relocked it upon exiting. “It's not going to follow us?” he asked.
“No, they're usually tied to one area,” he said.
“Usually?”
“Look, there haven't been any deaths outside of this building, just inside. We're safe, for now.”
“Deaths?” He sounded remorseful, but the end of his voice tinted toward glee. “Finally, some excitement,” he muttered.
John glared at the man. He thought this was some form of entertainment. I don't need some goddamn jackass getting himself killed because he thinks hunting's fun. “You think this is some type of game. It's dangerous.”
It was the man's turn to glare. “I know,” he denounced, before seemingly cheering up, “but I've been on vacation for a while and this is just the sort of adventure I can get into.” He asked, “So, what is he?” John ignored the question and stalked off, hoping he wouldn't follow. He was disappointed.
Traffic had gone down to a trickle when John crossed the street to get to the library. It looked small, but he didn't read into it. Local libraries, no matter how small, were the best for information. The main desk held a middle aged woman who was going through book returns. A quick look around found the film reader and reels of old newspaper in a glass case next to it. He saw the man wander among bookcases and walking away from him.
Starting in the 1920's just around Prohibition, he watched a tale of Moonshiners and gangsters evolve. The building used to be a furniture manufacturing plant that also had hideaways for gangster meetings. “Didn't find any of those,” he noted. He found a few shootouts and wrote down the names to try and find the bodies, if they matched the one in the plant.
After an hour of going through reels, he was surprised to see the man walking over with a book opened to a specific page. “I love the history of this town. Fascinating, right out of a movie,” he whispered, “Hidden passages, criminal enterprises, might even be love triangles that weren't known.” He stopped John from asking what he was going on about when he showed a page of the book and the picture of the man from the plant.
James Smythe was born in Westerville in 1890. His father had started the manufacturing plant just as the Industrial Era was starting to fade. Coming back from college in 1915 to a failing business, he took over from his father, who he claimed needed to retire. Within a few years, the business was profiting again. At a cost. It turned out he made deals with the local mob connection for money. In return, his plant was used for hiding. Alcohol, gangsters, evidence.
Police eventually found out, and although several had been paid off or threatened, a few honest ones got a hold of an Untouchable that was able to come down and help gather evidence for prosecution. Going to arrest him, there were a few associates hiding out that thought the police were there for them. A shootout occurred and Smythe was one of three that died that day.
John handed the book back to the man could keep reading it. He searched for Smythe's obituary, hoping that the body hadn't been burned. Then he would have to find who kept a piece of the body and destroy it. Bodies were easier to dig up and burn than trying to steal someone's family heirlooms. “Entombed in a crypt next to his parents,” he mouthed, “Need a crowbar.” He wrote the new information down and slipped the paper in an inside pocket.
*
“You never did tell me what he was,” The Doctor started. Both were sitting in a small diner. John had a sandwich and coffee while he had tea. Not a good cup, but better than the bitter sludge John was going through.
He laughed, once. “You wouldn't believe me.”
The Doctor laughed as well. “I try to believe five impossible things before breakfast.” The unsaid words Try me hung in the air.
John started the explanation. “The thing that we saw is a ghost, specter, spirit, whatever you want to call it. They're usually created through violent death. Murder, suicide, possibly fatal accidents. If they're pissed off enough, they stay around, usually where they died, but some ghosts do attach to objects.”
“The violent death's certainly there. I thought ghosts weren't suppose to be able to hurt people, but this one's killed?”
“Ghosts can hurt the living and kill them. A lot do. I've never met a ghost that could be Casper.”
“So, how do you get rid of it? Priest? Blessing? Native American shaman?”
“Blessing a house doesn't stop it; it makes it angrier when it can come back. Priests aren't that much of a help; official Church doctrine makes it longer to get help than what people have time for. Salting the remaining body parts and burning them is a sure way of getting rid of them.”
“Salt, for purification?”
John nodded, “That's what they say. I don't really get it. I just do it.”
“Ghosts,” he repeated. John thought he heard a kind of questioning tone in the word. At least he's not calling me crazy or running away from the situation.
*
The other man said they needed to wait until dark for the next plan of action. He headed over to the plant to make sure no one got in and the ghost didn't attack or kill anyone. The Doctor was reading the local paper, trying to go slow. Feeling the gaze of someone, he lowered the paper to see the child from this morning. “Hello,” he greeted, immediately looking for his parents, “School out already?”
“Yeah,” he defended. After an uncomfortable minute, he asked, “Where're you from?”
Wondering if he should actually tell the truth to a child, he dismissed it and answered, “England, close to the border of Scotland.”
“Oh. What's with the funny voice?” he queried, sitting next to him.
“Funny voice,” he blustered, “This is an accent. People talk differently depending on where they come from.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Lots of different reasons,” he ended.
“Cooper!” The Doctor saw a woman yelling for him instead of the man from that morning.
“Bye.” He ran off to her, who scolded him for a few minutes while walking away.
Bored again, he opened the paper and started reading. Local Beauty Queen arrested for DUI. What passes for news these days?
*
John was already by the entrance to the cemetery when the man walked up. “Westerville got rid of the watchman they used to have. Deemed the cost unnecessary,” he reported.
“And you're about to prove them wrong,” he observed, “Let's go find James Smythe's body.”
The walk to the crypt was quiet, John taking the lead. A bag on his side clanged with a tin of salt, gasoline and a crowbar. He didn't have a second one to share with the man. If he still had the silver thing from last time, he might be set. First block was a chain and lock on the door to the crypt. John went for the crowbar, but the thing was in the man's hand and the lock fell apart before he could get it out. “Show off. What the hell is that thing anyways?” he grumbled.
“Uh.... it's sonic,” he deferred, throwing the chain off, “Let's leave it at that.”
John pulled out a compact flashlight and shinged it over the wall. A minute of scanning found James Smythe. “Nineteen-eighteen. Too early.”
“You found senior,” he declared, “Junior's over here.”
He quickly switched over. “All right.” The flashlight went to his mouth, getting the crowbar out.
“Oh give me that,” he huffed, grabbing the light. John started slamming into the recess, knocking out concrete pieces that glued the slab in place.
“Hey,” someone boomed. The man turned his head to see the ghost standing behind him. 'James' raised his arm, this time no gun, and he flew back into a wall next to the door.
“Damn, he knows,” John cursed, trying to work faster.
“I thought you said he would stay around the plant,” he accused, picking himself up.
“He felt the disturbance of his bones.” The crowbar sunk into the open area, allowing him to leverage the slab off. It fell and smashed on the ground.
“Felt the disturbance? Star Wars?” he snapped.
'James' began to look annoyed at the bickering and disappeared. The man caught something the ghost was saying. “Deal with those kids.”
“Right,” he fumed, “It sounds like someone got into the plant. He's also going back after them.”
“Can you get there in time?” he questioned, getting out the ingredients.
He smiled, “Time is my speciality.”
*
Thomas Anderson was pissed. Being called to babysit your younger cousin when you're supposed to be with friends sucked. So after his aunt and uncle left for the dinner date and he locked Cooper in his room, he slipped out. Cooper ended up sneaking along.
“Finally, what the hell took so damn long?” a bleached blonde named Steven complained.
“Shove it, man; I'm here.”
“Let's just get in, find the secret room so we can get drunk off the stuff they left behind,” a dark haired named Allen cut off. The three of them walked to the door John had gone through earlier in the day. It hadn't completely shut for their follower to get in.
“Which room was the manager's? Good shit should be in there,” Steven proposed.
“Biggest room?” Thomas suggested. The three of them headed to the rows of offices crowding one wall. Each took a room and started hitting everything they could, just mainly banging around while there were times they were listening for hollow areas. Their little shadow had stuck to the shadows of the wall, looking around at the dust and imprints on the floor from old machines.
Steven was stomping on the floor when the ghost showed up behind him. “Who the hell are you?” 'James' demanded.
“None of your fucking business,” he cussed, going back to stomping on the floor.
“Dude, who the hell...” Allen asked, coming from his room and spotting 'James', “Where the hell did he come from?”
“Don't know,” he muttered, ignoring them all.
Cooper had made his way around the manufacturing floor to the offices. Thomas had taken one room at the far end. He avoided that one. Steven and Allen had ended up in the middle one, with someone else. The third person made him scared and he quietly slipped over to the room Allen had been in.
Allen had been taking a more cautious approach, using his switchblade to go at cracks in the walls and floor. None of the walls had panels popping out at them. The floor was made of boards that were supposedly hammered together and glued to the floor. One piece, however, had been lifted out of place. Curious, Cooper lifted it more and found that several others came off, showing a trap door underneath. He found a ring that must have acted like a handle and tried lifting it up.
The man that had been in the other room just appeared in front of him. Cooper shrieked and jumped back. “You wanna know what's down there?” he threatened. Something started pulling him toward the hole.
The Doctor had sonicked the car John had parked outside, TARDIS not in sight, and was roaring away in a minute. The streets were clear and he got there in less time than he thought. He ran through the unlocked door, ready to hit the ghost with the sonic. He saw a boy, teenager, standing next to the door of an office. He moved quickly to yell at him when he saw the ghost dragging the boy, Cooper across the floor to a dark hole.
“Oi!” he shouted. The Sonic whined until it forcibly disappeared. “Cooper,” he called, motioning him over. Cooper ran out of the room and stood on his other side, away from the trapdoor.
“Dude, who are you?” Allen asked.
At this point, he was about ready to start shouting again, but they wouldn't be paying attention anyway. Instead, he pulled out the psychic paper. “Police. You're trespassing. How many of you are here?” he ordered.
Allen looked at the paper, apparently seeing what the Doctor was projecting on it and answered, “Steven's back there and Thomas is in another room.”
“Right, gather your friends, you're all out,” he declared. Steven looked annoyed to be interrupted by his search, but seeing the paper in his hand that said he was police, he didn't argue. Thomas came out of the last room and saw his cousin standing next to the new man.
“Cooper! What the fuck are you doing here?” he yelled, grabbing his hand and dragging him a few feet away.
“Oi, don't swear in front of him,” he snapped.
“His parents do it all the time, and they don't care,” he bounced back.
“Then they're not that great of parents, considering they hired you to babysit,” he retorted back. “Come on, everyone out.” He started pushing Thomas and Steven toward the door, Allen following along.
Thomas and Cooper were going to be the first one's out when the door slammed shut in front of them. The Doctor had his sonic out and was watching for it to come out in the open. “It won't open,” he said, pushing on it a few times before backing off.
“Weak,” Steven scoffed, moving forward and ramming it a few times before falling on his back.
“Dude, that was open before.” Trying the other doors were useless as they were bolted on the outside, but the teens did anyway, Cooper standing next to the Doctor when Thomas ran to the double doors. 'James' showed up behind Steven and started levitating him. He leveled the Sonic at him, but he disappeared before he could do anything, dropping the teen.
“Everyone, around me. Now,” he ordered again, the Sonic ready. The teens gathered behind him, somewhat fearful of what was going on. They had a minute before the ghost showed up again. He swerved to point, but it was useless.
'James' was only there for a minute before he looked like a paper burning. His gun disappeared before the rest of his body followed, the edges charred red before dissolving into smoke. After ten seconds, he completely disappeared, nothing left behind. He must have finished. “All right, everyone out.”
The teens went out ahead, eager to get home. Cooper waved to him as Thomas started dragging him along. The Doctor shut the door and sonicked the hinges so they couldn't move. He got back into the car, started it and went back to the cemetery.
The real owner of the car was standing outside of the gates. “I don't think I recall being asked permission to take my car,” he complained.
“Well, my ride decided not to show up,” he explained, stepping out.
“Kids alright?”
“A little terrified.” He got out of the driver's seat and stood back while he took it back. “So, I don't believe I ever got your name. I'm the Doctor,” he introduced.
He just nodded at that, not even asking him about it. “John.” And with that, he rode off.
He only watched until the man's rear lights faded, then looked back at the direction of the plant. “I think I'll go looking for those hidden rooms.”
