Science Fiction Multi-Feature Picture Show

The Demon and Mrs. Lincoln (Part 3)

The Lincoln household was quiet, clean, and comfortable. Despite the apparent late hour, Mary was awake to greet both husband and 'cousin'. Dean shuffled in, hoping he didn't look as awkward as he felt.

"Good to see you again, Dean," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Mary was shorter than he expected, he towered over her by nearly a foot, her petite frame further exaggerated by Lincoln's lanky form. She wore her dark brown hair in modest looped plaits and smelled heavily of lavender. So strong the scent made his eyes water. Her eyes widened at the sight of her mussed husband. "Why, Abe, what happened to your hat?"

Dean left the couple murmuring to each other in the front hall as he made his way through the house. A collection of family portraits was clustered on the fireplace mantel. He counted four individual boys. Odd, he could have sworn Lincoln didn't have that many children. He shrugged, wandering around, casually examining the contents of the room. Passing the open living room window, he caught a familiar whiff.

There, dusting the open parlor window, was a line of sulfur.

He didn't need to find the demon stalking Lincoln, the demon already found them. Dean swore under his breath, spinning around as husband and wife entered.

"Abe, we gotta talk," he glanced at Mary, "alone."

His expression puzzled, Lincoln sent her off with a reassuring smile. Dean waited until she'd closed the double doors before confronting 'Honest Abe',

"You need to tell me what happened on the road, all of it," he said, eyeing the closed door, "and keep your voice down."

Lincoln eyed him warily. "I was shot at on the road by an unseen assailant. Took my hat clean off my head. Don't tell Mary. She's been worried enough lately." The man's eyes were somber, flitting briefly to the cluster of pictures on the mantel. Dean snapped his fingers in front of his face, gripping his shoulders.

"What else? Did you see something, feel something odd? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Dean-"

"It's important."

Lincoln swallowed, sensing the urgency of them moment. "It went quiet right before, and cold."

Dean frowned, thrown. He was dealing with a demon right? "Did you see any apparitions? People there one second and vanished the next?"

The man shook his head. "No, but I felt watched. I'd be a dead man if the moon didn't hit the gun barrel just right. It was a feeling of something off. If that makes sense to you." He rubbed his forehead.

"More than you know," said Dean, peeking through the curtains out into the night. How long since the demon came through? Was it still here? Who was the lucky host? He hoped it wasn't one of the kids. That could get messy. Didn't that lady say she was sending in allies?

"To tell the truth, I've felt watch for months now," said Lincoln morosely, "ever since I started pushing for the abolition."

"You get any death threats?" he asked, squinting at the field across the road. He could have sworn he saw a small flare of light.

Lincoln snorted at the question. "You'll have to be more specific than that, cousin. They come with the job."

"Anything that would make you pack up the family and hang out in the country?"

Lincoln paused for a moment, considering his answer. "There was a young man. He started following Mary when she traveled through town, or the children. There were letters, quite descriptive, after the last one, I felt we needed to get away. Do you think he followed us?"

"I think something did."

The older man looked away. His eyes fell on the line of sulfur coating the window sill. "What's this?"

Dean weighed his answer. It was the eighteen hundreds. Chances were good if he told the President there was a demon in his house, the man as a god fearing citizen, would believe him. Could he really protect the man's family if they didn't believe him? "Demon dust," he murmured, waiting for the axe to fall. Sammy would be better at this. Dean was about as delicate as an anvil and twice as blunt.

To his surprise, Lincoln sighed. "Not again."

Dean blinked. "What?"

Lincoln put a finger to his lips, nodding to the closed door. He walked over, opening it to peer out.

The front door to the house was wide open. "Damn," said Lincoln. He sprinted away, pounding up the stairs to the second story. Dean ran after him, following his path past several closed doors until Lincoln slumped against the door frame of the last open door, relief and worry at war in his expression.

"She wouldn't let it hurt the children, not after last time."

"Whoa, we talking about Mary?" Dean peeked into the room, noting the two sleeping forms. "What happened last time?"

Lincoln's expression darkened. "We lost Willie." He made a dismissive gesture, stalking back up the hallway, his tailcoats flapping in his wake. "I know you missed much in your travels overseas. We told the family he passed from a fever. I don't think Mary could face what really happened."

Dean scrambled to keep up with the conversation. "So wait, you know there's a demon here?"

Lincoln reached a closed room at the end of the hall, withdrawing a key from his waist pocket. "My dear cousin," he said, unlocking the door, "it isn't the first, and it won't be the last." Lincoln pushed into the dark room. A match flared. Dean squinted around the sudden candle light, eyes going wide as he took in the contents of the room. The history books never mentioned this. Hell, he wondered if the Men of Letters had a record of this.

Abraham Lincoln was a Hunter.