Dean looked over his shoulder at Cas one last time, before turning and walking into the room. By the looks of it, he'd pulled the short straw; his room had to take up at least three quarters of the whole basement, unless Cas' extended further than Dean's. Shutting the door behind him, Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened his torch app. They seriously needed another torch now that Cas had joined Hunters Incorporated. They'd get round to it after finishing this hunt. Speaking of which, they didn't have long. An ambulance took 10 minutes on average. Cas and Dean had spent around 3 upstairs in total, and another minute making out in the corridor. So they had 6 minutes or so to find the vamp, then get the hell out of there. Easy as pie.
The torch on his phone cast a dim, white light on his surroundings, creating more shadows than light, if anything. The basement was even creepier: Dean hadn't thought it could get much worse. Opaque plastic sheets were suspended from the concrete ceiling, which was quite low compared to the ground floor ceiling. Rickety shelves were hanging off of the concrete walls, jars of weird liquids trying not to slide off. Dean didn't want to know what was in them. Many shelves had already fallen away from the wall, making others crash to the floor in the process and their contents too, creating a gooey, gross mess. Some, however, were still hanging on for dear life, despite the rotting wood and the weak screws. Moving away from the shelves, Dean turned his attention to what looked like furniture, scattered throughout the room and covered in more of the plastic sheets. Cautiously, Dean moved towards one of the covered objects. This one looked like a desk, but he couldn't be sure. Keeping his fingers crossed that nothing would jump out at him, Dean hesitantly took a corner of the plastic between his finger and thumb. Counting to three mentally, he pulled the plastic up in one flourish.
As he'd suspected, it was just a desk. Placing his machete and the dead man's blood on the desk top, Dean began to rifle through the draws. There was nothing useful, just bits of old newspapers and book pages. Curious, Dean read a couple of the articles.
Apparently, this house had been the home of a family of five back in the 50's. The father worked as a businessman, but when the Vietnam war had rolled around, he'd been inevitably drafted. He'd left his wife and three daughters for Vietnam in '69, and returned in January 1971 a different man. Went crazy because there was no support for people with PTSD back then. So crazy that he couldn't determine who his family was and who the enemy was. It got to a point where one night, he killed all of his family, thinking they were VietCong soldiers. He was thrown into an asylum when the bodies were found. No one had inhabited the building since, either out of respect for the murdered family, or out of fear that it might be haunted. Hunters had probably cleared it up a while back if it had been haunted.
Dean found another article and skimmed through it.
The Mankato Mail, Saturday 17th October, 1990.
Brothers arrested after found dishonoring the lives of a family brutally murdered.
Two men, identified as Thomas and Finnan O'Brien, were found in 167 Green Boulevard, disrespecting the memories of the family that lived there from 1950-1971. The brothers claimed to have been cleansing the house, going on to explain that it was haunted. They were found yesterday night, throwing salt around the house and making symbols on the floor. When asked to defend themselves, they told us that the salt was pure, so would dispel evil spirits and demons. If this wasn't enough, we have reports that at one point, the brothers might have been speaking in tongues, or Latin. The brothers had no comment upon hearing this.
The house has been abandoned since the horrible tragedy took place on 4th June, 1971, when David Valentine murdered his wife and three daughters in their own home. Valentine had previously served 2 years in Vietnam, and returned to his family in January of the aforementioned year. Unfortunately, he went slowly crazy, as he never quite adjusted to normal life again. He left a part of himself, the good part, back in Vietnam. Only five months after his celebrated return, Valentine butchered his family while they were eating. The bodies were found the next day, in the dining room, with Valentine himself sat at the head of the table, covered in their blood. He was thrown into an asylum, where he committed suicide a year later. No one has moved into the house since, out of respect for the deceased. Unfortunately, this was disrupted by brothers Thomas and Finnan. Now, only one question remains. What should we do with these men?
