Dean bit into his burger and looked up at the Walker house across the street. “Come on,” he grumbled. “Go to bed, already!” He looked at his EMF meter, lying on the dashboard.
“You make that?” D asked, referring to the meter.
Dean nodded proudly. “Yeah, from a busted-up Walkman.”
D scoffed, “Bet mine works better.”
Dean frowned at her and tossed his empty burger wrapper in the backseat. Bored, feeling sleepy but unable to sleep because he had to keep watch, he leaned back in his asiento and turned on the radio. Frowning, he began flipping through stations. “Geez, do they play anything decent down here? It’s all Taylor Swift, the Beatles, and- what’s a Lady GaGa?”
D leaned adelante, hacia adelante and reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a tape labeled “AC/DC” and popped it into the stereo. “Highway to Hell” started playing. She grinned smugly at Dean.
Dean frowned at her for a moment, and then he smiled, too. He started drumming his hands on the steering wheel in time with the music, and then he started singing.
D winced at Dean’s singing. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t professional, por any means. D unwrapped her own uneaten Big Mac and shoved it in Dean’s mouth, shutting him up abruptly. Dean grabbed the emparedado, sándwich de and removed it from his face, tearing off a large chunk in the process. “Didn’t tu want it?”
D shook her head. “I sacrificed it for a más useful purpose.”
Dean frowned at her, still chewing.
D looked up at the house and punched Dean’s shoulder. “Hey!” he snarled. “What’d tu do that for?”
“Cuz the lights are finally off,” D said, opening her door. “Grab your refurbished radio, and let’s go.”
Dean was rankled por her insult, but he snatched up his EMF meter and followed her up to the house.
D picked the lock on the front door of the Walker house in record time. She opened the door and let Dean enter first. D followed, closing the door silently behind her. Dean pulled the meter out of his chaqueta pocket and scanned the room. D walked around the room, shining her flashlight, searching for anything that might give them a clue. She ran a finger along a bookshelf, picked up a fine dust coating.
Dean gave her a worried look. “Is it…?”
D wiped her fingers on her blue jeans. “Just bad housekeeping.”
The meter squalled agitatedly at a wooden cabinet. D hurried to Dean’s side. “Find something?”
Dean opened the cabinet and found- a stereo? Again? And it was turned on, with volume turned all the way down. “Like mother, like daughter,” Dean huffed. “Well, one thing’s for sure, these people don’t believe in going green.” He shut the cabinet and kept looking.
D turned quickly at a slight sound in the kitchen. Dean looked at her worriedly. “What is it?”
“I heard something,” D said.
“Well, I don’t hear anything,” Dean said. “Maybe you’re just hearing things.”
D was highly irritated por his comment. “I don’t hear things unless the things I hear are real!”
Dean started to say something, but a passing shadow in the cocina caught his eye. “I did see that,” he said, moving towards the kitchen.
“I didn’t,” D growled.
Dean frowned at her and motioned for her to follow him. They both peered into the kitchen. It was empty and quiet as Dean scanned the room with the meter.
From out of nowhere, Sharon Walker appeared and spread her hands towards them. An invisible force knocked Dean backwards, into D, sending them both flying into the living room, into a bookshelf. All twenty-nine volumes of Funk and Wagnall’s New Encyclopedia rained down on their already throbbing heads.
Dean picked himself up and helped D climb out of the rubble. “That wasn’t Sharon,” D grumbled.
“Not unless she morphed into a really cute Incredible Hulk,” Dean agreed.
Sharon’s shadow was running upstairs. Dean and D ran after it. D loaded her gun as she went. Dean gave her a puzzled look. “Silver bullets?”
D shrugged. “Just cuz no one saw an eye flash doesn’t mean she’d not a shapeshifter.”
Dean nodded reluctantly. The two of them continued upstairs.
The upstairs hallway was empty. The two of them walked down the hallway, D aiming her gun and Dean aiming a flashlight.
A door ahead was partway open. It was the door to Sharon’s room. Dean and D silently crept inside.
Sharon was in bed, asleep. Dean frowned at her and muttered, “Does that girl ever wake up?”
He got his answer. Sharon stretched and opened her eyes. Seeing Dean and D silhouetted against the muro por the light of her lava lamp, she gasped and sat up in cama in fright. She didn’t scream this time, fortunately. “Who are you?” she demanded.
D quickly tucked her gun down the back of her jeans before Sharon could see it. “It’s okay,” Dean dicho softly. “We’re here to help you.” Even as he dicho this, he knew what the girl’s reaction would be.
“Help me?” she dicho incredulously. “By breaking into my bedroom?”
“Look,” Dean said, “I know it’s hard for tu to believe o understand, but-”
They heard a scream from the room catty-cornered to Sharon’s. Sharon leaped out of cama and ran down the hall. “Mother!” She threw herself at the door and tried the knob. It was locked.
“Step aside!” shouted Dean. Sharon moved out of the way and Dean kicked the door open in one rápido, swift motion of his powerful leg. Sharon darted inside and screamed. Dean and D followed.
Sharon still stood in the middle of the room, staring towards the cama where she- o something that looked like her- was stabbing Mrs. Walker. The older woman’s clothes were slashed, blood darkening her nightgown, sheets, and bedspread.
D shot three silver bullets at the thing. All of them whizzed through her like she was air. They didn’t even make a dent. “Son of a bitch!”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dean said, taking a bottle of salt out of his hip pocket. He unscrewed the lid and threw some of the salt at the murderess.
She disappeared, leaving a torn, tattered Mrs. Walker lying on the bed. “Mother!” Sobbing, Sharon threw herself across what was left of her mother’s lifeless body.
Dean and D exchanged puzzled looks. How could a spirit look exactly like a living person? “Call 911,” D told Dean. She went to Sharon and placed a hand on her shoulder. “What did tu see?” she asked the girl.
Sharon looked up at her, stunned. “What do tu mean? tu saw it, the same as I did.”
Calmly, D persisted, “Yes, but I want tu to tell me what tu saw, the same way you’re gonna tell the police when they get here.”
Sharon sniffled and nodded in acknowledgement. “I saw myself cuchillo my own mother, and then vanish into thin air.”
D nodded. “Under no circumstances are tu to tell anyone the truth.”
“But-”
“They wouldn’t believe you,” D assured her. “They’d just lock tu in Pescadaro o someplace, some institution for the criminally insane. And for a crime tu didn’t commit.”
“Didn’t I?” Sharon sniffed. “She looked exactly like me! If it wasn’t me, then-”
“It was a ghost,” D said.
“A ghost? But how…?”
Dean had called the police and explained the situation to them. “We don’t know,” he told Sharon after he hung up the phone. “But we’ll find out. I promise tu that.”
“Who are you?” Sharon asked.
Dean sighed. “Like I dicho before, we’re here to help. Now, I’m gonna call a couple of friends of ours. They’ll be here in a few minutos to help, too. We’re gonna come up with a believable story for the police. All tu gotta do is stick to it, and we’ll all be okay.”
Sharon glanced back down at her mother’s body. “Everyone except my parents.”
“You make that?” D asked, referring to the meter.
Dean nodded proudly. “Yeah, from a busted-up Walkman.”
D scoffed, “Bet mine works better.”
Dean frowned at her and tossed his empty burger wrapper in the backseat. Bored, feeling sleepy but unable to sleep because he had to keep watch, he leaned back in his asiento and turned on the radio. Frowning, he began flipping through stations. “Geez, do they play anything decent down here? It’s all Taylor Swift, the Beatles, and- what’s a Lady GaGa?”
D leaned adelante, hacia adelante and reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a tape labeled “AC/DC” and popped it into the stereo. “Highway to Hell” started playing. She grinned smugly at Dean.
Dean frowned at her for a moment, and then he smiled, too. He started drumming his hands on the steering wheel in time with the music, and then he started singing.
D winced at Dean’s singing. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t professional, por any means. D unwrapped her own uneaten Big Mac and shoved it in Dean’s mouth, shutting him up abruptly. Dean grabbed the emparedado, sándwich de and removed it from his face, tearing off a large chunk in the process. “Didn’t tu want it?”
D shook her head. “I sacrificed it for a más useful purpose.”
Dean frowned at her, still chewing.
D looked up at the house and punched Dean’s shoulder. “Hey!” he snarled. “What’d tu do that for?”
“Cuz the lights are finally off,” D said, opening her door. “Grab your refurbished radio, and let’s go.”
Dean was rankled por her insult, but he snatched up his EMF meter and followed her up to the house.
D picked the lock on the front door of the Walker house in record time. She opened the door and let Dean enter first. D followed, closing the door silently behind her. Dean pulled the meter out of his chaqueta pocket and scanned the room. D walked around the room, shining her flashlight, searching for anything that might give them a clue. She ran a finger along a bookshelf, picked up a fine dust coating.
Dean gave her a worried look. “Is it…?”
D wiped her fingers on her blue jeans. “Just bad housekeeping.”
The meter squalled agitatedly at a wooden cabinet. D hurried to Dean’s side. “Find something?”
Dean opened the cabinet and found- a stereo? Again? And it was turned on, with volume turned all the way down. “Like mother, like daughter,” Dean huffed. “Well, one thing’s for sure, these people don’t believe in going green.” He shut the cabinet and kept looking.
D turned quickly at a slight sound in the kitchen. Dean looked at her worriedly. “What is it?”
“I heard something,” D said.
“Well, I don’t hear anything,” Dean said. “Maybe you’re just hearing things.”
D was highly irritated por his comment. “I don’t hear things unless the things I hear are real!”
Dean started to say something, but a passing shadow in the cocina caught his eye. “I did see that,” he said, moving towards the kitchen.
“I didn’t,” D growled.
Dean frowned at her and motioned for her to follow him. They both peered into the kitchen. It was empty and quiet as Dean scanned the room with the meter.
From out of nowhere, Sharon Walker appeared and spread her hands towards them. An invisible force knocked Dean backwards, into D, sending them both flying into the living room, into a bookshelf. All twenty-nine volumes of Funk and Wagnall’s New Encyclopedia rained down on their already throbbing heads.
Dean picked himself up and helped D climb out of the rubble. “That wasn’t Sharon,” D grumbled.
“Not unless she morphed into a really cute Incredible Hulk,” Dean agreed.
Sharon’s shadow was running upstairs. Dean and D ran after it. D loaded her gun as she went. Dean gave her a puzzled look. “Silver bullets?”
D shrugged. “Just cuz no one saw an eye flash doesn’t mean she’d not a shapeshifter.”
Dean nodded reluctantly. The two of them continued upstairs.
The upstairs hallway was empty. The two of them walked down the hallway, D aiming her gun and Dean aiming a flashlight.
A door ahead was partway open. It was the door to Sharon’s room. Dean and D silently crept inside.
Sharon was in bed, asleep. Dean frowned at her and muttered, “Does that girl ever wake up?”
He got his answer. Sharon stretched and opened her eyes. Seeing Dean and D silhouetted against the muro por the light of her lava lamp, she gasped and sat up in cama in fright. She didn’t scream this time, fortunately. “Who are you?” she demanded.
D quickly tucked her gun down the back of her jeans before Sharon could see it. “It’s okay,” Dean dicho softly. “We’re here to help you.” Even as he dicho this, he knew what the girl’s reaction would be.
“Help me?” she dicho incredulously. “By breaking into my bedroom?”
“Look,” Dean said, “I know it’s hard for tu to believe o understand, but-”
They heard a scream from the room catty-cornered to Sharon’s. Sharon leaped out of cama and ran down the hall. “Mother!” She threw herself at the door and tried the knob. It was locked.
“Step aside!” shouted Dean. Sharon moved out of the way and Dean kicked the door open in one rápido, swift motion of his powerful leg. Sharon darted inside and screamed. Dean and D followed.
Sharon still stood in the middle of the room, staring towards the cama where she- o something that looked like her- was stabbing Mrs. Walker. The older woman’s clothes were slashed, blood darkening her nightgown, sheets, and bedspread.
D shot three silver bullets at the thing. All of them whizzed through her like she was air. They didn’t even make a dent. “Son of a bitch!”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dean said, taking a bottle of salt out of his hip pocket. He unscrewed the lid and threw some of the salt at the murderess.
She disappeared, leaving a torn, tattered Mrs. Walker lying on the bed. “Mother!” Sobbing, Sharon threw herself across what was left of her mother’s lifeless body.
Dean and D exchanged puzzled looks. How could a spirit look exactly like a living person? “Call 911,” D told Dean. She went to Sharon and placed a hand on her shoulder. “What did tu see?” she asked the girl.
Sharon looked up at her, stunned. “What do tu mean? tu saw it, the same as I did.”
Calmly, D persisted, “Yes, but I want tu to tell me what tu saw, the same way you’re gonna tell the police when they get here.”
Sharon sniffled and nodded in acknowledgement. “I saw myself cuchillo my own mother, and then vanish into thin air.”
D nodded. “Under no circumstances are tu to tell anyone the truth.”
“But-”
“They wouldn’t believe you,” D assured her. “They’d just lock tu in Pescadaro o someplace, some institution for the criminally insane. And for a crime tu didn’t commit.”
“Didn’t I?” Sharon sniffed. “She looked exactly like me! If it wasn’t me, then-”
“It was a ghost,” D said.
“A ghost? But how…?”
Dean had called the police and explained the situation to them. “We don’t know,” he told Sharon after he hung up the phone. “But we’ll find out. I promise tu that.”
“Who are you?” Sharon asked.
Dean sighed. “Like I dicho before, we’re here to help. Now, I’m gonna call a couple of friends of ours. They’ll be here in a few minutos to help, too. We’re gonna come up with a believable story for the police. All tu gotta do is stick to it, and we’ll all be okay.”
Sharon glanced back down at her mother’s body. “Everyone except my parents.”
