"So tell me again what we're doing here?" asked Dean, shutting the door of the Impala behind him.
Sam looked up at the Best Wester sign standing above them. They had made their way to a small, out-of-the-way town called Iola, Kansas, to investigate a supposed haunting. "Working on a case," Sam reminded his older brother. He unzipped his duffel bag and took out the newspaper that mentioned the local haunting. "'August 19, Iola resident Emily Walker claims she saw a woman in black stab her husband. She further claims that this woman looked exactly like her daughter, Karen, but that it could not have possibly been her daughter, as Sharon was taking a ducha, ducha de at the time. Further, the woman in black seemed to appear and disappear very rapidly, disappearing completely after the man had died.'"
Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like a ghost."
Sam tucked the newspaper back in his duffel bag and closed the Impala door. "Like the kinds of things we used to hunt."
"Back in the good old day," Dean said, smiling.
Sam smiled a little, too. Dean's comentario would sound strange- even insane- to the casual listener, but Sam knew exactly what he meant. After the whole Apocalyptic Lucifer vs. Michael battle, a simple little ghost would be like a breath of fresh air.
"Let's get ourselves a room," Dean suggested, "and then we'll check out the Walkers."
Duffel bags in tow, Sam and Dean started towards teh registration office. On the way, they passed a room where the cream-colored curtains were opened just a crack. Dean, out of the corner of his eye, caught a small glimpse inside. He stopped just beyond the window and took a couple of steps backward to see what was inside.
Sam had reached the front office and laid his hand on the door pull. He looked back at Dean and frowned. "What are tu doin?" he asked disapprovingly.
"Dude, check it out," Dean said, beckoning to Sam. "It's some girl's hotel room."
Sam's jaw dropped. "Dean!"
Dean frowned at him. "I'm serious. Come take a look."
Reluctantly, Sam peered in through the curtains. It was the kind of place that they would usually stay in- a small room, twin beds, ten-inch TV siguiente to the wall, and a round mesa, tabla with two chairs por the window. A young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, stood por one of the beds, unpacking a grayish-green duffel bag. She had dark, bluish-gray eyes and long, dishwater blonde hair. She wore dark blue jeans, layered long and short sleeved shirts, and a tan chaqueta like Sam's.
Sam frowned at Dean. "Dean, I think this is going just a little too far to pick up a date."
Dean shook his head i frunstration. "I wasn't even looking at HER!"
Sam raised his eyebrows.
Dean looked even más surprised than Sam. "Did I just say that?" He looked back inside. "Anyway, I was talking about her stuff."
Sam peeked inside again and frowned, looking over the luggage, the black laptop sitting on the table, the black leather chaqueta hanging on the wall. "Dean, that's our stuff!"
Dean frowned in disbelief. "Nah, it just looks like our stuff."
"Dean, I'm telling you, that's our stuff- my duffel bag, my clothes, my computer, your jacket-"
Dean happened to glance up at the far end of the parking log and saw a sleek, shiny, black '67 Chevy Impala. "My car!" he roared. He looked up at Sam, who was giving him a mild I-told-you-so look. "Okay, this is más than a coincidence," Dean conceded. "We better check this out."
Sam looked up at the Best Wester sign standing above them. They had made their way to a small, out-of-the-way town called Iola, Kansas, to investigate a supposed haunting. "Working on a case," Sam reminded his older brother. He unzipped his duffel bag and took out the newspaper that mentioned the local haunting. "'August 19, Iola resident Emily Walker claims she saw a woman in black stab her husband. She further claims that this woman looked exactly like her daughter, Karen, but that it could not have possibly been her daughter, as Sharon was taking a ducha, ducha de at the time. Further, the woman in black seemed to appear and disappear very rapidly, disappearing completely after the man had died.'"
Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like a ghost."
Sam tucked the newspaper back in his duffel bag and closed the Impala door. "Like the kinds of things we used to hunt."
"Back in the good old day," Dean said, smiling.
Sam smiled a little, too. Dean's comentario would sound strange- even insane- to the casual listener, but Sam knew exactly what he meant. After the whole Apocalyptic Lucifer vs. Michael battle, a simple little ghost would be like a breath of fresh air.
"Let's get ourselves a room," Dean suggested, "and then we'll check out the Walkers."
Duffel bags in tow, Sam and Dean started towards teh registration office. On the way, they passed a room where the cream-colored curtains were opened just a crack. Dean, out of the corner of his eye, caught a small glimpse inside. He stopped just beyond the window and took a couple of steps backward to see what was inside.
Sam had reached the front office and laid his hand on the door pull. He looked back at Dean and frowned. "What are tu doin?" he asked disapprovingly.
"Dude, check it out," Dean said, beckoning to Sam. "It's some girl's hotel room."
Sam's jaw dropped. "Dean!"
Dean frowned at him. "I'm serious. Come take a look."
Reluctantly, Sam peered in through the curtains. It was the kind of place that they would usually stay in- a small room, twin beds, ten-inch TV siguiente to the wall, and a round mesa, tabla with two chairs por the window. A young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, stood por one of the beds, unpacking a grayish-green duffel bag. She had dark, bluish-gray eyes and long, dishwater blonde hair. She wore dark blue jeans, layered long and short sleeved shirts, and a tan chaqueta like Sam's.
Sam frowned at Dean. "Dean, I think this is going just a little too far to pick up a date."
Dean shook his head i frunstration. "I wasn't even looking at HER!"
Sam raised his eyebrows.
Dean looked even más surprised than Sam. "Did I just say that?" He looked back inside. "Anyway, I was talking about her stuff."
Sam peeked inside again and frowned, looking over the luggage, the black laptop sitting on the table, the black leather chaqueta hanging on the wall. "Dean, that's our stuff!"
Dean frowned in disbelief. "Nah, it just looks like our stuff."
"Dean, I'm telling you, that's our stuff- my duffel bag, my clothes, my computer, your jacket-"
Dean happened to glance up at the far end of the parking log and saw a sleek, shiny, black '67 Chevy Impala. "My car!" he roared. He looked up at Sam, who was giving him a mild I-told-you-so look. "Okay, this is más than a coincidence," Dean conceded. "We better check this out."
