I've been locked in this attic for what feels like forever. This chain around my ankle connecting me to the radiator is really starting to hurt and chafe. The days seem to run together. It's cold up here and it stinks. The smell of mold and dust makes me want to retch. The room is only big enough for me, this radiator, and a dilapidated wooden chair.
Sometimes, when I have the strength, I crawl to the tiny window to peer out. The house is a ways from the street. The people on the street look small from way up here, but I scream at them for help anyway. I scream until my lungs burn and I lose my voice. Nobody seems to hear me. Why can't they hear me? That's when the tears start. I cry until I'm completely exhausted. I curl up into a ball on the cold wooden floor and wait for sleep to finally creep up on me. That's when I heard it.
~~~
"Sam? You sure we have the right house?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "Of course, Dean. This isn't my first salt and burn."
The two hunters continue their sweep of the old mansion. It was once a beautiful home, now covered in cobwebs and graffiti. Sam and Dean came here to, Winchester, VA, on a hunch. A local 12-year-old kid, Dylan, was found dead in his bed after sneaking into the house with his buddies the night before. The coroner couldn't find a cause of death.
According to Sam's research, a textile tycoon, Julian Van Buren, built the mansion in 1880 for his wife, Emily. And according to every piece of information Sam came across, the man was a terrible human being. His wife died mysteriously five years after moving into the house.
"I don't know, Sam. Shouldn't he be jumping from around the corner and slamming me or you against a wall by now?" Dean asked, shining his flashlight around one of the many bedrooms.
Sam furrowed his brow, his flashlight illuminating the graffiti on the wall of the hallway. "Maybe we're looking for the wife?"
Another fifteen minutes of careful searching turns up nothing. "Alright. Let's just go burn everyone's bones and be done, huh?" Dean finally declared, done with the whole ordeal already. "Yea. The family cemetery is out back under the oak." Sam closed the drawer he was rifling through. He noticed something under the desk he hadn't before. It was an old, yellowed photo of Julian and a girl that looked no older than 21.
"Huh. Wonder who this could be?" he mumbled to himself. Slipping it into his jacket pocket, he followed Dean to the Impala to grab the salt and lighter fluid.
~~~
They still couldn't hear me. I was for sure the tall one would hear me. He found the photo I placed at his foot though. The one of Uncle and I. He took it with him. Maybe he'll hear me yet.
~~~
Sam found himself on the ground. He was on a wooden floor of a house that looked oddly like the old mansion he and Dean were just investigating. He checked himself and found no injuries. Nothing bleeding or broken. "Where the hell am I?" he mumbled. He tried to stand, finding his legs not wanting to cooperate. Sitting back down, he waited for his vision to clear.
He heard muffled voices down the hall from where he was. One sounded like a man and the other a young girl.
"What did I say, child? You do not sass me, girl! And in front of my guests!" the male voice boomed. "I'm sorry, Uncle!" the young girl squeaked out through tears. Then Sam heard a thud as if a punch was thrown and someone falling to the floor.
Slowing inching toward the doorway of the bedroom, he saw a large man looming over a girl. Looking closer, he realized it was the girl from the photo he had found. Sam gasped as the girl was staring straight at him. The man didn't seem to notice Sam there as he turned to hunt through a desk drawer.
