Science Fiction Multi-Feature Picture Show

The Demon and Mrs. Lincoln (Part 4)

"Holy crap, you really do hunt vampires," Dean muttered. Lincoln gave him an odd look, his eyebrows creeping up to his hairline.

"I do believe there is no such thing, lad. Now come help me with these manacles."

Dean decided not to enlighten him on the matter, doing another glance-over of the equipment. The Lincoln's certainly possessed the trappings of any born and bred hunter but there were key items missing, down to the manacles in his hands.

"There's no devil's trap on these. No salt, no holy water, who the hell taught you to hunt?"

"What are you on about, Dean?" Lincoln peered at him, confusion etched in the crags of his face. "I learned to hunt from my father, same as you, but these aren't for game birds or deer."

The man wasn't a hunter? Dean pondered the chains, the branding irons, the various guns, and Lincoln's talk about Mary. The pieces fell into place. The man wasn't a taught hunter, he became one through necessity.

"How many times has Mary been possessed?"

Lincoln's shoulders sagged. "Since we were married, at least a dozen times."

"I...how...is that even possible?"

"Oh, I assure you it is," said a new voice from the door. Dean spun around, studying the newcomer. The clothing was a bit sharper, the fabric a bit finer, but he was dressed in the same style as Dean himself. The newcomer was young, younger than Dean, heck, younger than Sammy. He'd peg him in his early twenties, with too serious eyes and lines carved too early on his features.

"What are you doing here, John?" Lincoln growled. "You were supposed to be watching the front of the house."

"I was until your devil spawn of a wife came flouncing out. You know she's in the barn right now, spooking the horses?"

"Why didn't you stay there to keep an eye on her?" Lincoln snapped, effortlessly scooping up the entire pile of chains before hurrying from the room. John and Dean studied each other. The younger man huffed, blowing his mustache up in tufts.

"So you're the cavalry, huh?"

"You've seen her?" said Dean.

"You mean the lady in white? Oh yeah. She's something. You look kinda pretty for a hunter," he jerked his head toward the stairs. "We should probably follow before he gets himself killed."

Dean didn't see how he had much choice, not if Lincoln insisted on rushing half cocked into the fray.

"How has she survived being possessed so many times?" Dean asked as they hustled through the open front door. "Why was she possessed so many times?"

John gave a half shrug as he walked. "Mary attracts them. They just find her. She's survived because her dear husband ties her down until she can push the bastards out herself." He looked sidelong at Dean. "It doesn't always go smoothly. Last time one found her was two years ago. It tricked her son, Willie, to his death. She's been pretty resistant to them since but this one's....different."

"You're right," said Dean, pausing in the parlor. "This one doesn't belong here."

A snort answered him. "Do any of them belong here? Come on, I don't want to leave him alone with her."

"Wait, does he have any flasks, a bucket, anything to hold water?"

John gave him a worried look. "You're stopping for a drink?"

"Just give me an answer, smart ass." Dean snapped.

"There's a thin vase there, but what would you need it for?"

Dean ignored him, dumping the dried out flowers as he darted around the first floor of the house. "Where's the damn faucet?"

"What?" John leaned away from him.

"Water! Where can I fill this with water?"

"There's a pump outside but-"

Dean ran. Chills raced down his arms. There was no sound coming from the barn. That was a bad sign. A water pump, just like the old timey movies, rose out of the ground halfway between the barn and the house. "Help me with this!" He shouted at John, forcing the man into action through the urgency in his voice.

The water seemed to take forever to emerge, finally sputtering free in a trickle so cold it numbed his fingers. The vase full, he took off, stumbling over the words as he drew a cross over the rim. Come on, work!

The manacles and chains were carelessly dropped at the entrance, tangling around his ankles. The water sloshed, precious drops falling to the ground. Dean yanked himself free, his nerves screaming as he rushed inside.

It took a split second to register the scene. Mary, black eyed, her shadow yawning monstrously huge behind her, as her hands wrapped around her husband's throat. Lincoln was collapsed to his knees, struggling to yank her hands off him.

"I will not fail," the demon hissed.

"Hey! Douche bag!" Dean yelled, tossing the contents of the vase at it.

Holy water, works every time. The demon reeled back, releasing its chokehold on the president as it howled in rage. It scrubbed at its face, screaming. Lincoln collapsed to the all fours, coughing and gasping for air. Dean didn't have much in the way of time or tools. He had an empty glass vase, a pissed off demon, no devil's trap, and no handy demon killing weapon.

It was time to improvise.