The Haunting of Lockwood Estates | Nancy Drew x Supernatural Crossover 01

Chapter 3 - Dean

Lockwood Estates

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Sunday 9 March 2008

Almost seven hours, one shitty motel room, and two uncomfortable suits later we pull up to Lockwood Estates. There is a ghost hunting van at the front of the property. I sigh. The last thing we need is more Ghostfacer-type douchebags.

Then my eyes land on the house.

"Are you serious," I state grumpily as we pull into the property, parking next to an old police cruiser. This mansion could have been pulled straight out of a horror movie, with peeling paint, rotting wood, and overgrown plants covering the porch. If anywhere were to be haunted, it'd be here.

From what Bobby told us en route, he doesn't know much about the guy who called us in, only as much as he'd told me. But Bobby was able to dig up some info on the property. Apparently, the owner--Sherman Lockwood--hanged himself in his room a couple centuries back. Unexplainable deaths have been plaguing the property since, and it has been officially abandoned for over a decade. That's all we have to go on, and it's already enough to convince me that those who ignore the legend are idiots. I am reminded of our last job, at a place called the Monroe house.

"What moron would want to spend the night here?" I ask.

"You're telling me," Sam agrees as we step out of the car. We head past the line of cars and crunch through the snow towards the building. I shiver. New England is always cold, especially this time of year, but is it usually this cold? Crime scene tape surrounds the entrance to the house, and cops are crawling over every inch of the place.

I freeze, my sour mood dissipating. Several yards away from us stands one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. She is small, has soft round curves, and is impressively well put-together.

"Dean?" Sam asks, a few steps away from me.

"Look at this car, Sammy!"

"Yeah, that is a cool car, Dean, but—"

"You don't get it, Sammy!" I say, smacking him on the arm with the back of my hand, "I haven't seen a car this old in such good condition since, well, since my Baby." I almost feel like I am cheating on my own car looking at this beauty.

It is a cobalt blue 1968 Chevy Camaro convertible, with a single, pristine white stripe running down the side and a clean fabric top. It must have either been painted recently--or very well-maintained over the years--to retain that metallic sheen, which is only dimmed by the dirt and ice splattered on the front. An occupational hazard of the season, as I very well know.

What I would give to be able to drive her. I have to meet the owner of this car, I think to myself, giving a small audible moan.

"Dean," Sam nags.

I look longingly at the car and purposely give a long sigh to show my annoyance. I'll have to get a closer look later. "Fine." He is always so serious. He needs to get laid. I follow him the rest of the way to the crime scene. We wave our badges in front of the cop guarding the entrance to the mansion grounds. "Agents Wood," I gesture to myself, then look to Sam, "and McKellen," I introduce. The cop glances at our badges and pulls the crime scene tape up for us to enter the grounds. I glance back just in time to see the driver door of the Camaro open. I can't believe my eyes.

My heart flutters, my breath catches, and something in my brain freezes.

A young woman, with long, silky, red hair steps out. In her early twenties, if I have to guess. She shakes out her locks as she straightens her jacket's collar, the strands catching seductively in the sunlight. Using her hip to knock the car door shut leaves her hands free as she pulls her hair back into a high ponytail. She looks to be shorter than me by almost a foot, but has a thin and curvy figure that more than makes up for it. She is wearing a pleated skirt to boot. This girl, paired with this car? I have never seen anything sexier in my entire life. "Dude," I smack Sam again, a little harder than last time.