?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
25 May 2007 @ 04:35 pm
Another Gig (FIC)  
Title: Another Gig
Author: </a></b></a>hidden_easel
Rating: PG-13 (he says Fu**)
Warnings: Cursing
Summary: A short three chapter story about a hunt from Dean's perspective. Trust me It's GOOD! It has a Dog-eating house!
Spoilers: None

I own nothing blah blah….

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Another gig in another town with another spook.

It’s amazing how things that seem like they would be different;

motels…

small back water towns…

even spirits… can be so repetitive and droning.

Another gig? Yeah, seems there have been complaints from a certain half-century young house including horrific screaming heard throughout the neighborhood, blinking lights being seen from the windows, and oh yeah…

…it flippin eats dogs.

Now that’s probably an exaggeration (the dogs probably just ran away from their deluxe canned dinners and diamond studded collars) but, we gotta check out the obvious haunted dog-eating house because well sooner or later it’s not going to be a dog getting eaten house, it will probably be some over-curious civilian eating house.

And that would be bad.

Probably…

So here I am. Shotgun in hand, simple flask of holy water in my pocket, and my geek brother right by my side.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Shit Sam! DOWN!!”

Damn his reflexes have gotten good…

Another gig, another ghost, another lamp thrown at Sammy’s head.

Same old, same old.

So, turns out that dog-eating house seems to have a taste for humans as well, because about four hours ago someone decided to neglect there ten year-old daughter as she went looking for Scrappy the family terrier.

And she didn’t come out. Who would have guessed.

So two hours ago me and Sam walk in to the sociopathic house and we are still here.

We found the little girl though, wrapped around little Scrappy in the downstairs closet crying louder than the houses poltergeistic-sounding winds blowing inside.

Ok. Getting out… Getting out…

Tried the doors. Was like kicking three brick walls stacked next to each other.

Sam had to grab me by the collar before I shattered my ankle kicking at that thing...

The windows are no good either.

They were already boarded up with rusted nails peeking out and they were just as solid as the doors with a little more added pain when Sam got stabbed in the side of his fist as he pounded on the boards neither of us thinking about the nails.

Wouldn’t be his first tetanus shot.

Or his last.

So here we are.

I got a ten year-old girl tucked awkwardly underneath my jacket, this damn house has us locked inside and seems obligated with not only killing us but making sure our corpses will be bruised and bloody.

So many things are flying everywhere that finding any form of shelter goes into the air and tries to attack us as well.

The girl, Molly has stopped crying and has decided that screaming herself hoarse is a better idea.

Looking across the room through flying lamps, portraits, and other seemingly non-threatening objects I see Sam leaping over a fallen table.

One of his hands is surrounding the outside of his jacket trying to keep the panicking dog from escaping the somewhat safe confines of a large inside pocket.

Thank God it was a toy terrier mutt.

Can’t believe that thing was even still alive when we got here.

Molly has been somewhat quite with her awkward hiccupping sobs as I also navigate through the inside tornado.

This house needs to be cleansed and purified, like right NOW!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Pantry!

Three solid walls and a small spot might do well about now.

I run into the shambled kitchen and yell in triumph at the small walk-in closet.

I don’t want to leave her alone, but nothing will crush her if she stays in the modest pantry.

Molly has miraculously stopped screaming but apparently not letting go of me is her only train of thought.

I mean you can’t blame the kid, hell I’d probably do it too.

If I was ten years-old.

And previously alone in a haunted house.

And a girl.

Ok, Sam. Sam definitely would be clinging to someone.

…such a girl

Jesus this is frustrating!

“Molly I’ll be right back ok, just let me get rid of the bad things and then I’ll come get you ok?”

Molly is still locked onto my arm as I try lowering her to the ground into the pantry.

She looks up at me with these giant blue teary eyes that aren’t filled with what you would hope to be puppy-dog cuteness, but with fear.

The kind of fear that goes beyond having a nightlight to scare away the shadows.

True God-sparing fear.

You never want to see that look in the eyes of an innocent ten year-old girl.

Never.

A knife flies an embeds itself to the wooden door-way of the small suppose-to-be haven/

I guess Molly wasn’t done screaming

Shaking my arm is just tightening Molly’s grasp as I desperately try to figure out how to get the girl off my arm without hurting her.

I’m about to just cram us both in there but I gotta get Sam and get rid of this stupid Mutt-Eating… aww…!

DAMN IT!!!

SAM!!!”

Three plastic plates smash overhead as I shield Molly and Sam seemingly slides into the kitchen out of no where.

“What? What is it?!?” Sam screams over the noise all the house is making

You know rogue vacuum cleaners… garbage disposals… turkey carvers… god I didn’t even think they had those anymore. God people are lazy. It’s a fucking cooked bird not a hunk of ice…. Oh right the house.

I start shaking my arm harder trying to dislodge the child while talking to Sam.

“We gotta get this spirit to settle or it’s going to start throwing fucking support beams at us!” I screamed

“Dean, shut up. Don’t curse around the kid!” Sam screamed back.

And as luck would have it, a plunger decided to strike Sam from behind, hitting him square in the back.

Buutt of course the damn wouldn’t stick (clothes don’t have suction capabilities) that would have been too funny…

Another knife (butcher this time) struck between my legs dangerously close to Molly.

This House Sucked…. HARD

Screw this, screw the kid I’m about to just exorcise the house with her latched on.

God!…. FINE!

Damn rationality…

THE HOUSE SAM!!! AND THIS KID!! GET HER OFF ME!!!”

Sam got this look on his face that was just kind of priceless.

A goofy geek boy grin just kind of…appears on his face.

A kind of look that made me felt like I really have been baby-sitting a child for 24 years.

He holds his hand out in a “one moment” signal while he digs into his jacket with the other a produces the scrawny terrier mutt Scrappy.

YES!”

Unfortunately I don’t think we were on the same train of thought as I grab the dog, hold it in front of Molly and promptly throw it into the Pantry.

She FINALLY lets go of my arm and runs after the dog into the small pantry when I immediately shut and lock the door, closing Molly inside and keeping her safe.

Sam is looking at me in complete shock (yes things are still flying everywhere and he can still glare at me)

DUCK!” Sam screams and we both hit the linoleum as the dryer flies overhead.

Both of us crouched on the floor of a Dog/Possible-little-girl-eating-house with a 10 year-old crying in a pantry is not how I want this night to go.

Don’t even get me started on the flying cutlery, apparently this spirit has realized that after throwing a knife at you and missing, it can grab it out of the wall and throw it again…and again… anddddd again.

Sam is bitching again too.

“You didn’t have to throw the damn dog Dean! You could have bribed her!”

Ohmy God! Can we please just stop the killer house first! And that kid wouldn’t have gotten off me any other way! Not to mention we really did not have the time to deal with her and bribery!”

Sam slams his head against the ground in annoyance

“How do we do this one?!?! Your research said there was just some demented kid who use to play doctor on the family pets right?!?!? So is the house possessed by the nutso kid or the pissed off pets?!?!” I scream.

Sam raises his head and grins suddenly

God my brother is weird when he has an ace up his sleeve.

Or thinks he does at least.

Leaping up from the ground and dodging almost everything (ouch iron…) Sam runs down to the basement where we found Molly earlier.

Running after Sam is a little easier considering that he is now the aim for everything.

Being a moving and threatening 6’4 object and all.

Ahhh Shit… he better not get acquainted with anymore fucking lamp cords.

Running faster I finally jump the last few stairs and find Sam opening the closet we found Molly in, and he takes a step back with a look of disgust on his face.

He found the dogs.

There must be about two dozen dog bones pilled into the large supply closet.

Unfortunately about three of those dogs are still decomposing doggies and I have no clue how Molly didn’t realize where she was earlier by the smell alone and the sounds of newly hatched buzzing flies.

Crap. Did she?

That kid does not need this kind of memory plaguing her.

“Gas.” I say simply.

Spark of a flint…

The rest of the job becomes a blur of a bright light and dozens of ghostly white balls of energy leaving the house with a long howl still echoing through the house.

The Dog Eating House was indeed haunted by dogs.

Huh. Never thought I’d ever see that.

Lumbering through the house I finally reach the kitchen.

Opening the pantry Molly rushes my knees crying hysterically and throws me off balance as Sam catches us both.

Good thing he was standing there.

Still a lot of pointy things on the ground.

Soooooo…

The house has settled.

The Damsel (and dog) are saved.

Dozens of doggie spirits have moved on.

And Sam and I have a few more scars to boast about (what?!?… chicks dig scars!)

And for all of our heroics of battling the dog-eating house

I earned a kiss on the cheeks by the lovely little Miss Molly Summers.

And Sam got a slobbered face wash from Scrappy the mutt terrier.

All in all?

A great Hunt.

THE END!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author Note:

You all like it? I did! I thought I wrote a little too much for this chapter though.

I liked little Molly, though a bit clingy ehh?

Thank God Scrappy wasn’t a German Shepard would’ve humped the hell out of----

GIMMIE REVIEWS!!!! (I’m being blunt here people!)