The Witching Hour

“Sam!” Rachel screamed, and Sam forced himself to ignore the fear rising up through his body. He raced out of the room, right past where the creature had appeared, and rounded into the other room.

Rachel’s laptop was the only source of light, luckily bright enough to illuminate the whole room. Rachel was backed up against the wardrobe, tears glistening on her cheeks. Sam dropped onto a knee next to her and grabbed her shoulders gently.

“Are you okay?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief when she nodded quickly.

“Please tell me you saw it,” she hissed, her brown eyes still wide. Sam nodded slowly, turning on his knee to stare back at the hallway. It was barely lit up by the laptop, but he could see enough to know whatever had appeared was long gone.

Sam took Rachel’s hands and pulled her up, not taking his eyes off the hall. Something didn’t feel right. It was almost as if…

“I feel like we’re being hunted,” Rachel breathed, and Sam’s stomach dropped. She was exactly correct. It was as if something lingered just beyond the light of the laptop, on the very edge of the shadows-

The bed behind them creaked, and this time both Sam and Rachel screamed. They whirled, clinging to one another, staring at the bed. On the very middle, the mattress was indented, as if something was sitting, watching. As the two of them watched, the bed creaked and slowly the indent rose.

It was getting off the bed.

Sam and Rachel backed up so fast they slammed their backs into the door against the wall. A low, menacing growl rose up in front of them; the papers on the floor shifted as it got closer. Rachel broke from Sam and grabbed the main door handle, twisting it desperately; it wouldn’t open. Rachel’s laptop slid to the side, and Sam could barely see the shimmer of the figure as it passed by the light. Sam moved and put himself between the terrified girl and the creature as the laptop light began to flicker.

And now, in the depth of the dark room, he could see the shadow. Not human, like he had been foolish enough to hope for. It was taller than him by nearly a foot, and the shimmer of the dark brown shadow outlined the horns and tips of wings. A long, twisted arm reached forward, and icy fingers brushed his neck.

“So far to the bottom,” a cold, metallic voice snarled. Its fingers closed around his neck.

The lights snapped on the moment Dean and Lisa opened the door.

Sam and Rachel screamed again, making both Lisa and Dean leap back, startled. Instantly the grip of the beast withdrew, and it was gone as quick as it had attacked.

“What the hell, man!” Dean yelled, clutching at his chest. Rachel launched out of the room, plastering herself against the opposite wall as more tears ran down her face. Lisa moved to comfort her friend as Sam tried to slow the wild pounding of his heart. He locked eyes with Dean and gave him a look.

“I think things just got a little more serious, Dean,” he breathed.

It took close to half an hour to convince Rachel to come back into the room, and even then, she refused to go near the study room. Sam made some hot cocoa, and the girls curled up on Rachel’s bed as Dean fished out a piece of paper from his pocket. He pressed it into Sam’s hand and started to pace.

“I do recognize her tattoo, but I think it’s two symbols,” he explained. “A combination of Lucifer and alchemy.”

Sam frowned as he stared, and his eyes widened when he noticed what he was looking at. Seeing them as two symbols rather than one immediately registered them both in his mind. The outer diamond and the four lines were the morning star, and the line across the middle made a triangle; the double cross below it stood for the alchemist symbol for phosphorus. Both lead back to demonic possession.

“What do they have in common, though?” Lisa asked, frowning. Dean stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It could mean anything. But roughly, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” He sat down and pulled out his phone, then pulled up a picture. “Lucifer was the Latin name given to the morning star. Now we call it Venus, though it’s often referred to as Phosphorus, or Hesperus in mythology. This here,” he said, tracing the diamond and the four lines, “is the symbol for the morning star. And this,” he traced the triangle inside the diamond, “is the symbol for Phosphorus in alchemy. I’ve never seen them together like this, but both of them point towards Lucifer, and in this day and age-“

“Lucifer is Satan,” Lisa breathed, and it looked like both girls were ready to throw up. Sam let out a heavy sigh as he folded up the drawing.

“On top of that, more often than not, Lucifer is depicted as more creature than man,” he began, and he watched Rachel’s eyes widen. “It’s not often you see a brown-tinted apparition, but in this case-“

“It had horns, and wings,” she said quietly; Sam nodded grimly, and Dean let out a low whistle.

“Well between your shit-stained spook and your demonic roommate, I’d say we’ve got one hell of a case ahead of us.”

“We need to talk to Reagan,” Sam decided. “Do you think she’ll come back tonight?”

Lisa shrugged. “She does on occasion, but especially after dinner, and having you guys here, she’ll skimp out as much as she can.”

“I don’t like the thought of little miss Satan running rampant tonight,” Dean muttered. “Do you have any idea where she’d be?”

“Richardson,” the girls answered at the same time, almost before Dean had stopped speaking. He exchanged a glance with Sam, so Rachel elaborated. “It’s the academic building across campus. It’s where the haunted house was, and now it’s where Reagan spends all her time. If she’s not there, well, you won’t be finding her. But I think she’ll be there.”

“Right,” Dean decided, zipping up his jacket, but Lisa nearly dove on top of him.

“You can’t leave us here!” she pleaded, and Sam let out a sympathetic sigh.

“She’s right. It doesn’t seem very smart to just leave them here with that thing lurking around the room.”

“Then you stay here, and I’ll go get our little demonic friend.”

“I’ll go,” Sam immediately volunteered, and the other three looked up at him. Sam tried to reason logically; he couldn’t tell them all he just wanted to go because he was still hoping to piece together his dream. “Dean, you’re better with protection. You can keep them safe, and I can go scout out Richardson. If it gets dangerous, I’ll just head back.”

“Sammy-“

“Think about it, Dean. I’m a faster runner, and if we’re trying to persuade her, let’s face it. I’ve got a kinder face.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean argued as Sam grabbed a flashlight out of one of the bags. With it, he tucked his pocket knife into his waistband and accepted the bag of salt and sage that Dean handed him.

“Just in case,” his brother shrugged, and Sam gave a smile. He glanced at the girls and tried to look as optimistic as possible. Rachel sketched up quick directions and Sam glanced at them as he opened the door.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told the group, and then he was on his own.

It wasn’t hard finding his way through campus. He traced the path back towards the cafeteria, like Rachel said, and instead of going through the building, he skirted it along the sidewalk and came to a crosswalk. After consulting his map, he headed straight down the next walkway. It was a wide cement sidewalk, with old, deteriorating buildings on either side of it. Withering grass lined the path, and old lamps flickered in and out as he walked.

He passed the first three buildings swiftly, and when he came into view of the fourth one, he felt a tremor of unease run up his spine. According to Rachel and Lisa, it was the oldest building on campus. It was a large, brick building, with two large wings off either side of it. Perched on top was an old, crumbling white bell tower. None of it sat right with him.

The front door, of course, was locked. He skirted the building to the right only to find that door locked as well. As he headed around towards the back of the building, searching for a secluded window to break into, he spotted a narrow alleyway between the building and a furnace room.

He dashed back into the shadows before anyone could spot him, and edged down the dark alley. It opened up to the left into a big, open clearing. Blacked out windows lined the wall to the left and front, and to the right sat an old, black door. Precarious metal steps climbed up the side of the building, and it was clear this was possibly the most run-down area of the entire school.

But Sam was in luck; the old door was propped open, just slightly. He had a good feeling Reagan would be inside. Doing his best to soften his steps, he crept forward and grabbed the door, pulling it back. He opened it just enough to get through, and then slipped inside.

It only took his eyes a moment to adjust, and when they did, his heart nearly stopped. Dim, orange lighting. Old and decaying theatre seats, and – as he stepped out of the doorway – he came into view of a huge, empty stage, scuffed from year of wear and abuse.

Exactly like his dream.

It took all of Sam’s courage to keep walking forward, further into the auditorium. Only the two rows of lights on either side of the stage were lit; several bulbs were burnt out or flickering, and the ones still in tact were mottled and tainted from years of use.

Just to his right sat a metal set of stairs that led up onto the stage, and against his better judgment, he climbed up. He barely made any noise, but the subtle creaks and groans seemed to scream inside the empty building. From up on the stage, he could see the entire audience, and so far, no Reagan.

He let his feet take him to center stage, and again he looked around for any trace of her. Nothing. He pulled out the flashlight and clicked it on; the usually bright beam had trouble cutting through the thick dust. He let it dance over the seats, over the walls, and into the crevices of backstage. No moving shadows, and no hushed voices. Nothing.

Again his dream tugged at the back of his mind, and he turned to his right. Sure enough, through a battered doorway, he could see the tops of stairs, where the red-eyed man had appeared. Now it was empty. He half thought about exploring, but common sense told him to wait for Dean.

He’d had enough of the creepy auditorium; Reagan was nowhere in sight, and his nerves hadn’t felt right since he’d see the building. He backed away from the doorway and turned for the stairs.

His flashlight passed over a pair of eyes in the audience.

Sam immediately snapped back and landed the light on the front row of seats, just to the right. It was a small boy, not even big enough for his feet to touch the ground; he stared up at Sam curiously, head tilted to the side. He wore a pair of old jeans and a blue striped shirt. Tufts of brown hair stuck out from underneath a red baseball cap, and as he swung his legs back and forth, Sam caught green sneakers in the light.

“Hello?” he tried, his voice shaking just a bit.

“Will you play with me?” he asked; there was no malice in his question, as disturbing as it sounded in Sam’s head. Little children in creepy buildings didn’t sit well with him, but this little boy wasn’t that bad.

He slid off the chair and the springs sent it back up. He walked across the front of the stage, pausing at the base of the stairs Sam stood over.

“Where are your parents?” Sam managed, swallowing hard. The boy didn’t seem phased by his wariness.

“Daddy says I have to stay here until he’s done working,” the boy told him, shrugging and turning to run back for the seat he’d come from. Sam stayed on the stage, but he moved across to stand closer to the boy.

“What’s your name?”

The boy turned his head away, as if he was studying something in the shadows; he was distracted as he tried to climb back into the seat. Sam immediately sent the light to the back of the auditorium, but nothing was there.

“Charlie says I can’t tell you.”

“Who’s Charlie?” Sam tried. “Your daddy?”

The little boy paused his climbing, and took a step back.

“Oh. I don’t think Charlie likes you.”

Sam’s stomach dropped.

“Who’s Charlie?” Sam asked again; this time, the little boy turned to face him. His small face was twisted into unease, and he shook his head.

“Charlie says don’t talk to you.”

“Why?” Sam breathed, and now he noticed the lights had slowly been getting dimmer. The back of the auditorium seemed to grow even darker, if possible, and he felt a chill slide over his skin. The little boy looked anxiously back up the aisle, and then began to edge away from the seats.

“I think you should run away,” the boy said, his voice full of fear.

The lights shut off, and Sam jumped away from the edge of the stage. His light went right to where the little boy had been; he was gone. From the darkness in front of him, he could hear the thuds and clicks of different seats being bumped into.

He felt the cold, paralyzing fear from his dream beginning to take over. He spun wildly, shining the light everywhere he could. Because now the auditorium began to come alive; now he could hear the voices rising, hear the shadows beginning to stalk towards him.

He turned for the stairs; a shadow stood just feet from him, watching. Sam leapt back, his foot catching on the old stage. He fell hard, the light rolling away from him. He scrambled after it as the stage creaked. More shadows came towards him.

His fingers reached for the light, and he watched as it launched into the seats; it flickered out as it hit the ground. Raw fear strangled Sam. He shuffled back, as far as he could go, praying to find a door, or more stairs, or something.

Something grabbed his shoulder and forced his back against a chilled brick wall, and a dim flashlight snapped on. Sam’s panicked breath left him. Silver eyes met his, and wisps of brunette hair hung down around an angry female face.

“Did Lisa send you?”