Supernatural Fan Fiction One Shot.
What happens when the creature the Winchesters have gone to kill is the person who needs their help the most?
Confused ghost Emily leads the narrative in this short story detailing her brief encounter with the Win...
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I'd been born in the house.
Literally.
Dad would recount the story to any friend, boyfriend, casual acquaintance, or stranger on the street if it meant I would shrink into myself in humiliation. A quick ruffle of my dark hair and a smile was a sure sign that he was about to recount the tale of how I was too damn impatient to wait for him to find his car keys. That he'd had to deliver me in the entrance hall atop Mom's favorite jacket because he didn't want to ruin the rug. He'd tell them that being impatient had become a trait of mine. An incurable one. Something I must've had in my genes.
Maybe so, but patience could be taught, and I'd had no choice but to study it.
I patiently watched my family pack up and move away.
I patiently watched when people came to view the property.
I patiently watched when the house was occupied by squatters until even they couldn't stand to be in it.
I watched the wallpaper peel at the corners to reveal black mold which speckled the chipped, crumbling plaster beneath. I heard the mice scurry in the crawl spaces; the birds nesting in the rafters, and the crash of tiles as they slipped from the roof and landed in the yard. Damp seeped in from the foundations to warp, bubble, and fester in the corners. The house creaked and groaned, hollow and aching, sagging in despair with each lonely day that passed.
Together, we waited, the house and me. We longed for the family who'd abandoned us. Missed them. Resented them. Swore to never think of them again, only for the feelings of misery and loss to flood us all at once and threaten to drown us in darkness.
We hated them.
Sometimes, I would be seen. Families would pass by the house on the street below. The adults didn't notice. They never did. Their minds weren't open to the possibility. Children, on the other hand, often saw me in the windows. Some said nothing at all. It wasn't odd to see a person inside a house. There was no need to point it out, nor to wave or try to communicate. Others would gape and stare. They understood the state of the house. That no one could still live in it comfortably. They clung tighter to their parents, wide-eyed with fear, and hurry their steps as they sought to escape the oppressive aura that vibrated grim and forbidding around the property.
Still, a few were unafraid.
Houses didn't remain vacant forever. Not when they were in short supply and there were people in the world who couldn't resist a fixer upper. Sophie had been an only child when her family had moved in, but it wouldn't remain so for long. Her mother was pregnant. I liked her. I was reminded of the way my mother had glowed with warmth and joy when she'd been carrying my siblings. Like my mother, the woman made her way around the house while her husband was at work, slowly chipping away at the tattered wallpaper and sweeping away the grime, humming to the radio all the while. Sophie was happy to help. She waved the broom around haphazardly when it was out of her mother's hands and dropped chunks of broken plaster into the trash.
