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 Ain't it Fun?, Sam
Lawrence Tarwick
 Posted: Sep 28, 2017 | 3:14 pm
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player: Logan
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It was midnight, the roads empty besides one lone beat up Chevy trundling down a road. The dull headlights lit up a sign for the town he was entering and the man driving barely seemed to register it as he rolled on by. The town was quiet, his trucks rumbling engine making it feel more isolated than it really was. Soon the flickering neon sign for the motel came into his vision he breathed a sigh of relief. Slowing down he flicked his turn signal on and rolled into the parking lot. Parking in front of the office he shifted into park and turned off his vehicle. The silence seemed to draw on as he opened his door, the hinges creaking in protest. As his booted feet hit ground he shut it behind him with a dull clunk. Groaning he stretched, back popping as he did, a few staggered steps and a yawn and he headed to the front door. Rubbing one eye he glanced at the desk owner, "Called about'a room? Name'a Tarwick?" The man behind the desk hardly even looked at him as he slapped the room key on the desk.

"Thanks." Grabbing them up he headed out, grabbing his bag from the passenger side of his truck. Then off to the room, leaving his truck parked where it was for now. Once inside he dropped the bag in a chair and pulled the newspaper out of his bag, the very thing that had brought him here. A ghost. or ghosts plural, he wasn't sure yet. He was good with ghosts though, he'd gotten to know them well enough. The article he had used to get here was the first thing he looked over, pulling out a battered notebook from the same place he looked through his notes. In the morning he'd have to talk to the local leo's, victims family, coroner. For now he needed sleep, eighteen hour drives alone were brutal even for him. With a swipe of his eyes he got out of his travel clothes and then flopped back on the bed to get some sleep before the next day.

The blaring alarm the next morning was nearly blaring and sent shock waves through the headache and grogginess as he fumbled for his phone to turn it off. Glaring one-eyed at the blaring digital 0700 stared at him. Groaning he forced himself to get up, started some coffee on his way to the shower and was quickly swept away in his day. In a nice suit with fake ID's like he was in a bad tv sitcom. The day was spent talking to witnesses, family, police and coroner. Turned out there had been a serial killer here back in the day, lived in an old place by a graveyard south of the main town. He knew enough by then to get by with and was soon back at his motel room, comfortable, and looking over any other instances of the what he presumed was the ghosts activities. A little strange, maybe, but something seemed strange about the behavior. By sundown he had shaken his feeling of bad vibes and made a decision. Yawning and blinking he made more coffee and once he had drank half the black liquid, chasing away fatigue, he headed back out. Time to go end a ghost or two.

Luckily for him the place he was going was mostly in an abandoned area, the old house condemned. As he shifted his truck into park he peered out his windshield at the creepy building. It was rather large and he had to wonder at whether the house was creepy because it was condemned, or because a serial killer had once lived here. Whichever it was he didn't want to stay out here any longer. Night only lasted so long and he'd really appreciated getting the hell out of this town after this. The hair on the back of his neck raised and he had a feeling he was being watched. Great. How was he supposed to find a body, that cops never had, and get rid of it while the ghost was breathing down his neck? Shaking it off he climbed out of his truck. Plucking a shovel from the back he hooked a small backpack with it so he could retrieve salt and lighter fluid.

The house gave him the creeps as he swung the bag over one shoulder and held the shovel in the middle, intent on using its iron as a ghost deterrent. Taking a breath he then strode toward it, up the creaky and rotten stairs to the porch. The door knob was missing so he pushed the door open. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs. He didn't miss, however, the look of footprints on the floor. Odd. Local kids? Local police? Nothing he'd heard suggested anyone having come here. Maybe it was a squatter? Alarm bells were going off in his head though and he brought the shovel into both hands as his eyes scanned the room. No panicking, Tarwick, you got this. Nothing like a littler internal pep talk right? There were two doors to either side, a staircase in front and a hallway to the left of it. Nothing like clearing rooms on your own. Breathing out he chose to go left, pushing open a door and trying to monitor both behind and in front of him.

What he wasn't ready for was the door, on swing hinges, to slam into him and send him reeling to the dusty floor. Winded he slammed the shovel up out of instinct as a body came at him. Could ghosts have solid form? No, right? At least they hadn't thus far. Sure they could technically touch but this was a little to animated. With a grunt of effort he jerked the shovel, slamming it to the right to force whatever, or whoever, it was off him. Rolled onto his right side now he blocked the attacker as it came again, slamming his back against the wall near the door. To strong. Dammit if he'd been wrong. There was no way this was a ghost. Getting a good look at it, however, it looked human. A squatter like he had thought? This posed new problems however. If it was human he couldn't kill him. It couldn't be a ghost. But the strength was surprising. Maybe he was on drugs? Whatever it was he had no time to worry about it as another figure made its presence known and Lawrence began to feel cold dread.



@[Sam Winchester]
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