Chapter One
Honey Wheeler slowly pulled up the driveway of the abandoned old house. Once a grand manor, the dilapidated old building was now in ruin. White paint had faded to gray, and laid cracked and peeling. Ivy ran wild over the trellises and big porch and shutters of a nondescript once-blue were falling off. The window panes were filthy and cracked, and weeds had overtaken what were once elaborate gardens. The water fountain in the middle of the yard was long dry and rusted, its well base filled with weeds and a thin layer of dark colored water.
“You sure this is it?” Honey asked, her hazel eyes doubtful.
In the passenger seat, Trixie Belden nodded vigorously, her sandy curls bouncing. “It's got to be.”
“You know Trix,” Honey said slowly, “we don’t have the best of luck with old houses on abandoned roads.”
Trixie smiled. “I know. But just think! I own what could be a haunted house!” her blue eyes twinkled. “Hey, drive around to the back. I don’t trust that front porch. It looks like it could fall off at any moment.”
Honey sighed and did as Trixie asked; thankful she had her little SUV and not the convertible. The driveway to the back of the house was also overrun with weeds and she carefully maneuvered the vehicle around the dilapidated building. Back here it was darker; with taller, thicker trees looming over the house. The setting sun cast a disturbing orange glow over the old mansion. Through the heavy foliage she could see glimpses of stones, probably the remnants of a forgotten pathway once. A decrepit bench sat near yet another fountain, but all that remained was a crater, leaving only weeds and more swampy water. Had the backyard ever been landscaped, the wild had long since reclaimed it.
“Good thing we’re wearing boots,” Trixie commented. “There are probably rats and snakes in that place.”
Honey shuddered, glancing down at the heavy hiking boots they both wore. “Please don’t tell me that.”
“C’mon,” Trixie said eagerly, blue eyes sparkling, “I’ll just die if I don’t get in there soon!”
Honey made a face and unenthusiastically left the vehicle. The hair on the back of her neck rose as Trixie headed towards the back door, pulling out a set of keys. Honey marveled at the sense of purposefulness in Trixie’s stride as she approached the door without hesitation. The back porch appeared to be in worse disrepair than the front, and Trixie gingerly tested the steps before she put firm weight upon them. Honey followed Trixie’s example cautiously. Trained to be prepared and not expecting working electricity, both girls carried heavy lamps.
As they proceeded to the back door, Honey felt her throat tighten. Looking around, she wished her brother Jim was there. Or Dan. Brian. Even Mart. The mosquito netting that had encircled the small porch was falling down and Honey shivered as she saw what appeared to be a massive wasp nest in the corner. She ducked under the netting so it wouldn’t drag through her honey colored hair.
“The key won’t work,” Trixie grunted, wrestling with the knob. “It seems stuck. Let’s try the front door.”
Blazing a trail through the weeds, the girls arrived on the front porch, Honey gingerly stepping in Trixie’s footprints. More confident here, Trixie bounced up the stairs, ignoring the railing that was almost falling off and the decaying state of the porch. Again, Trixie carefully tested the steps before she walked on up to the door. Reluctantly, Honey followed her partner. She knew Trixie had her 9mm under her jacket in the shoulder holster, and she was beginning to wish hers was on her instead of in the car. The private investigators were rarely without them, though Honey had yet to ever draw hers. Still it made her feel safer just knowing she had it.
Trixie fumbled with the door a bit, the door opening easily and swinging open with only a minor squeak.
“Hmm. Great Aunt Beatrix must have gone through the front door a lot. She probably didn’t use the back. This is oiled.”
Honey just mumbled an affirmative as they stepped inside.
Two months before, they had been contacted by an estate lawyer in Maine, trying to determine if Trixie was the named Beatrix Belden that was to inherit an estate. That had opened a large can of worms, as her father Peter Belden had no idea he had an Aunt Beatrix. He had named his daughter at the request of his mother, who had insisted there always be a Beatrix. Peter had indulged his mother, much to his daughter’s future dismay.
Once on the trail, Trixie and Honey had discovered Peter did indeed have an Aunt Beatrix. Peter’s mother Eunice had had an older sister who ran off with a man when she was sixteen, and never heard from again. It had been the scandal of the county, and the family was convinced the beau that Beatrix ran off with had killed her. Grief and disgrace led the family to consider her dead and never spoke of her again. Eunice had three boys, and they all thought the family insistence of a Beatrix was weird, but Peter went along with it, having the first girl. Eunice’s mother had been a Beatrix also, keeping the generational family name going.
The Beatrix who ran off years before had settled in Maine. There were no records of her marrying, or having children. No one was alive that could tell anything of her as a young lady, the only stories the girls had gathered was how she had been eccentric, bordering on crazy, always wearing black as far as anyone could remember. She wore her hair long and in a bun, and no one could remember her having any other hair color than steel gray. In recent years, she was never seen without a full head covering. Groceries were delivered once a week. There was rarely any mail, just monthly bills.
Trespassing boys daring each other to get close to the house had been shot at. Many claimed they heard howling and screaming, one swore he saw a vicious wolf in the moonlight. There had been an old beat up Ford in the garage, rusted and useless, along with old gardening tools.
Somewhere along the line stories evolved that told of a monster that hid on the property, seen only on nights when the fog was high and the moon dark. He could bee seen skulking around the property.
The old woman had been found in her bed, decomposing and covered in bugs last summer. When the delivery boy realized the previous week’s grocery cans were still on the porch, he had gone inside. One whiff told him what had happened. He fled the house, threw up, and called the police. A town as small as Guilford, Maine, didn’t have a forensics department and there was no evidence of foul play to warrant sending it to the nearest big city. The body was removed, cremated, and the cremains buried in the local cemetery with the family the house originally belonged to.
There was little money in her estate, but the land the house sat on was quite valuable, and left to the youngest living Beatrix Belden. The will was very specific. If there wasn’t a Beatrix Belden, then it went to the oldest living female descendant.
As a result, Trixie was here, bursting into the house she had inherited, Grislan Manor. Beatrix had never changed the name of the place when she took it over, but none of the townspeople could tell them for sure. That had resulted in a hunt through country records. A faded deed that was near impossible to read had been located, bearing the title change of one Beatrix Belden, after the house was willed to her by Theodore Grislan. It had taken a while to get everything processed through probate courts before Trixie could come investigate it.
The estate lawyer had warned her that the house came with stories of hauntings by the townsfolk, and local fraternity boys. That had only peaked Trixie’s interest. She owned what could be a haunted house!
Eagerly she walked inside.
***
Down the road, a sleek, black, ’67 Chevy Impala was headed towards Grislan Manor. The young man driving was tapping his fingers on the wheel to Black Sabbath, as his younger brother sat in the passenger’s seat.
Sam Winchester studied his notes from his online search of Grislan House. It sounded like a typical possession. The old abandoned house was used for hazings and dares, and had only recently become the site of several disappearances.
“You sure this is our thing?” his older brother Dean asked glancing at his passenger.
“Pretty sure. The witnesses describe typical paranormal activity, things being moved, cold spots, creepy feeling they’re being watched. Lots of rumors about the old woman who lived there. A Beatrix Belden. Crazy old bat, wore long black dresses, often thought to be a witch. Most likely a superstitious small town but let’s not take the chance. Rumors of a monster lurking around on certain nights.”
“Any town with less a thousand people has to do something for entertainment,” Dean answered.
“Oh come Dean, that old covered bridge was pretty interesting,” Sam chuckled.
Dean shook his head. “I can’t believe this pinhole town has 13 AM radio stations.”
“And one bank. Wow, they’re really happening,” Sam smiled as they drove down the dreary road. “I think we saw two gas stations.”
“Yeah, well, as long they have a place with decent coffee,” Dean grumbled.
“There’s probably a local diner, I don’t expect a Starbucks,” Sam said cheerfully.
Dean just grunted, his green eyes on the road as they headed towards the house.
***
With the house facing east, the dying rays of sun weren’t present to aid in their sight. The girls flipped their flashlight lanterns on, directing the beams of light into the corners of the room. Neither trusted the wiring in the old place.
What had once been lavish furniture was dusty and moth eaten. The weight of the books had collapsed the shelves and they lay covered in a heavy layer of dust. Pictures were dark and dirty. Tattered heavy curtains blocked the windows. The hardwood floor was littered with insect bodies and Honey grimaced as they crunched beneath her feet.
The fire place was smooth gray brick, with a large base and ornate mantle. Above the mantle a large portrait of an unsmiling woman hung. It too was covered in heavy dust. Her dark eyes stared at the girls intently, raising the hackles on Honey’s neck.
“She kind of looks like your dad,” Honey said. “Think that’s Beatrix?”
“Has to be. I’ve seen Uncle Harold frown like that,” Trixie answered. “That picture gives me the heebie jeebies.”
“Celia would scream if she saw this mess,” Honey commented, knowing how immaculate the maid kept her parent’s house.
“It’s like my worst nightmare,” Trixie muttered.
“Yeah no ‘lick and a promise’ here!” Honey laughed. Her voice echoed in the house, and the girls glanced at each other uncomfortably.
“Someone’s been in here recently,” Trixie said, shining her lantern around. “Look. Marks where things have been moved. The dust is disturbed.”
“Probably those frat boys, or even the investigators, if there were any after they found the body. Let’s keep moving,” Honey suggested. “Or better yet, since we’re coming back tomorrow anyway, we could just go back to the hotel and start fresh in the daylight.”
“I know but this is exciting!” Trixie protested.
Honey didn’t answer, her hazel eyes surveying the room warily. This house not only creeped her out, it worried her. There was distinct dark, ominous feel to it and she was sure they were being watched.
They moved through the hallway, studying old pictures. Their reflections were reflected in rusted, cracked mirrors. Trixie had to curb the temptation to write her name in dust that concealed the dining room table. The long buffet server was covered with what had once been elegant white lace, now heavily yellowed and full of holes. The large mirror on the wall above it was cracked.
“This is definitely Victorian,” Honey murmured. “I think all this furniture is. And look at the wallpaper Trix. This is heavy, heavy paper. I think this may be original.”
“After all this time? Honey, this house is over a hundred years old!” Trixie turned to stare at her friend.
“I’m telling you, wallpaper isn’t made like this anymore,” Honey answered. “This is old paper, and it that almost looks like real gold.” She held up her lantern to get a better look and ran her fingers over the wall. “I’m positive that’s what this is.”
“She’s blowing money on fancy wallpaper? Where was all that money when I was growing up?” Trixie laughed. “And Beatrix didn’t leave much in her bank account.”
Honey grinned. “Well, the house wasn’t hers originally, Trix. She might not have known. But if she did have a stash of money, what if it’s still in the house? That’s the rumor, that she hid a pile of it somewhere.”
“Like Jim’s uncle?” Trixie asked. “I’ve thought about it. I plan to cut open every mattress in this place!”
Laughing, Honey turned, and hesitated, before squinting into the shadows. She could have sworn she had seen something move.
“Honey, you okay?” Trixie asked.
“Yeah. C’mon.” Honey glanced over her shoulder one more time.
The kitchen was small with heavy wooden counters, an ancient refrigerator and a wood burning stove. The floor here was hardwood as well, the sink huge and deep adorned with an old fashioned faucet.
“I guess Beatrix was never into modernizing,” Trixie noted. “I don’t think that faucet would support a well pump, but it’s possible. Somehow it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“It probably has an old floor furnace or fireplaces in every room,” Honey said.
“Romantic if it wasn’t so creepy,” Trixie chuckled.
The girls continued through the house, shining their lights and poking their heads into various rooms and closets.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Trixie said eagerly.
Honey looked doubtful. She flipped a light switch but nothing happened. None of the chandeliers worked. Honey was reluctant to try any others, fearing an electrical spark would light the house on fire.
“Why don’t we wait until tomorrow?” she asked. “I’m really spooked, Trix.”
“Oh come on,” Trixie wheedled. “Just a quick glance okay?”
Honey sighed and followed Trixie up the old stairs. The fourth step creaked, and the sixth felt loose. Trixie turned to Honey to tell her to be careful, and frowned.
Honey glanced up at her. “What?” she demanded.
“Nothing. Must have been a shadow. Come on,” her blue eyes flicked to the doorway of the living room again. Nothing there, but she felt the base of her spine tingling. There was something here to be found, she thought.
There was a faint rumbling noise and the girls exchanged glances.
“Did you hear that?” Honey asked timidly.
“Just the house settling,” Trixie answered, trying to keep her voice firm. They continued up the stairs.
***
Dean shut the engine off and the brothers got out of the Impala, used to the squeaking of the doors as they shut. Dean had driven up to the front of the house, on what had been circlular drive, parking in a slightly barer patch that wasn’t so heavily weeded over. Standing on their respective sides of the car, they looked up at the scene of ruin before them.
“You know, these old houses are starting to look the same to me,” Sam commented, his hazel eyes taking in the wreck of house.
“Good to see you getting into the spirit of things,” Dean smirked.
“Always the job,” Sam muttered. He hadn’t slept well and was tired. It would be the same here as everywhere. A couple days to find the spirit’s bones, give them a good salting and burning, and then be off on the next case. Hopefully without any interference from the local authorities, though Sam doubted the competence of any cops in this place. Of course, with Dean’s proclivity to attract trouble, they could easily be on their way out of town by sundown- again, and again not by choice.
The town couldn’t be more than a few blocks in any direction. It had somehow kept the small town charm and he expected most people knew of each other. In a town with a population of 945, he’d expect it. Which made the Impala stand out even more and upped their risk of being identified. Sam was banking on the local sheriff not being up to date with the latest FBI’s Wanted List.
“Let’s find it,” Dean said, slipping his gun into his waistband. The shorter brother walked to the trunk of the car and retrieved the sawed off shotgun from the hidden arsenal. He checked to make sure it was loaded with rock salt shells and snapped the barrel into place.
“Let’s go in and check it out first,” Sam said. “There may be nothing here. I don’t want to waste the salt or gas; you know we’re low on cash. Besides, it might be more than just a silly legend playing on people’s imagination.”
“I’ll find a poker game tonight and get some money. Of course, it could be some dumb frat boys, in which case, we can give them a good scare.” Dean smirked as he took out the salt gun from the truck and they walked towards the front door.
Dean stopped short pointing to the slightly ajar door and footprints. “Someone’s been here’s recently. Probably more damn kids.” The familiar cocky grin spread over his lips. “We’ll definitely give them a good scare.”
***
The bedrooms were in the same sad state as the other rooms when they peeked in the first two. Dusty, moth eaten bedspreads and curtains, filthy carpet, old furniture growing mold. What had once been beautiful furniture was completely ruined. No one had even bothered to cover the furniture as it wasted away.
“I’m not even going to open the closet,” Trixie muttered. The air was heavier up here, thick, stale and she found it harder to breathe.
At the sound of a scuttling noise, Honey inched closer to Trixie. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
“Hear what?” Trixie asked absently, lifting her lantern.
“I don’t know.”
There was a loud groan below them and both girls froze.
“It sounded like the floor,” Honey whispered.
Trixie moved quietly towards the door.
A rat scuttled over Honey’s foot and she shrieked. Trixie whipped around.
“Sorry,” Honey squeaked. “It-that thing was huge!”
Trixie giggled. “Honey, it was probably just a little mouse.”
Honey glared at her.
“C’mon-” They hesitated as they heard another creak.
“Something’s here,” Honey whispered, her pretty face ashen.
Trixie unzipped her jacket and reached for her gun. “Stay put,” she ordered. Peeking around the door, she stepped into the hallway.
***
Downstairs, the Winchester brothers paused when they heard a woman scream. Dean pointed at Sam to hang back as he stepped forward, salt gun drawn. Sam slipped around his brother through the other room, working his way around so they could flank the intruder. Sam’s long legs moved him through the rooms and around the house quickly as Dean moved forward.
Was it a real woman? Was there someone here, and in trouble? Or was it the ghost making her presence known?
***
Trixie made her way to the stairs, swinging the gun around in cautious maneuvers. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she cautiously made her way down the stairs, taking care to avoid the fourth creaking step. Her eyes darted from side to side, watching the shadows.
***
Dean inched his way through the hallway towards the staircase when he heard a soft creak. Something was on the stairs.
Trixie saw the shadow in the hallway. There was something there all right. Raising her gun, she whipped herself into the hallway, ready to fire.
Dean stepped around the corner, gun drawn.
Trixie stopped short, coming face to face with the handsome, scowling young man in a leather jacket holding a gun on her.
Dean stopped, staring at the short, pretty blonde. She was clearly startled to see him, and he noted she held her gun steady. She was no novice shooter.
“Who are you?” they demanded in unison.
“You’re trespassing,” Trixie said quickly.
“And you’re not?” he retorted, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine but it was the intense green eyes she couldn’t seem to look away from.
“I own this place, buddy,” she snapped.
Dean frowned. “You’re Beatrix Belden? You look pretty good for a crazy old spinster’s corpse.”
“She was my great aunt. I’m Trixie Belden and I inherited this place. Would you please lower your gun?” she demanded.
“You first,” he gave her a devastatingly sexy grin. “How do I know you’re not a demon?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? I’ve been called a lot of things but never-”
“Nah, you talk too much to be a demon,” he interrupted her. “I’ll lower mine when you do.”
Slowly, synchronizing the timing, they lowered their weapons.
“You haven’t told me why you’re here,” she said rudely, holstering her gun.
“Trixie?” she heard Honey calling in a panic. She appeared at the top of the stairs as a very tall, broad shoulder young man entered from across the room, closer to the stairs.
“Dean, who-” the young man started when he saw Trixie.
Trixie gasped as something big and black and misty rapidly began to form in the space between her and Honey.
It all happened in a flash. Trixie saw the tall young man bolt up the stairs towards Honey. Dean grabbed Trixie and thrust her to the side, stepping in front of her. The tall young man tackled Honey and pinned her to the stairs, covering her body with his as Dean brought his gun up and fired without hesitation. Trixie could hear Honey screaming and in an instant the black mist dispelled.
“Sammy, you all right?” Dean called.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” the young man pinning Honey called over his shoulder.
Dean turned to Trixie, who was staring with at him with wide blue eyes. “You all right?”
“Who are you?” she whispered. “And what the hell was that?”
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Author’s Notes
-a huge “Zeppelin Rules!” to my fabulous editors, Jenn and Mary, who really helped me get this on track.
- How did Dean and Sam end up on the FBI's Wanted List? You'll find out soon! or you can watch the episode Nightshifter, from Season 2.
- Guilford, Maine, is a real town. Population – 945
http://www.city-data.com/city/Guilford-Maine.html
-Word Count, 3,748
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