ONE
Tonopah, Nevada, present day
The ghost collided with Sam Winchester with surprising force, sending him sprawling onto the desert floor. He rolled as its spectral boot came down toward his head. Raising his shotgun, Sam aimed it at the phantom's chest and fired. With a boom, shells erupted, spraying the ghost with rock salt. The apparition vanished in an angry swirl of smoke. While salt didn't get rid of ghosts permanently, it usually bought Sam a little time. But the spirit of George Drechler wasn't as affected as most. Sam glanced around the forsaken cemetery, reaching into his jacket pocket for the last of his ammunition. "I hope you're right about where the bones are this time, Dean," he shouted, struggling to his feet. "Drechler's a mean one. Salt barely fazes him."
A few yards away, his brother, Dean Winchester, stood chest deep in a grave, digging furiously with an old shovel. Sweat dripped from his brow and his shirt was drenched. "Hey, how was I supposed to know about some secret Murderer's Row?"
This marked their third digging expedition on this hunt. They'd dug up a false grave at Drechler's original house in nearby Goldfield, Nevada, then another in the main cemetery of Tonopah, and finally discovered Murderer's Row in the town's old archives. It stood apart from the graves of law-abiding Tonopah citizens, and was now forgotten by history.
Before Sam had a chance to reload, the ghost reappeared. "He's back!"
Sam braced himself. Drechler circled him, eyes furious. Dressed in a dirty brown duster, leather vest, gun belt, and hat, he looked the part of an Old West gunslinger. The ghost glanced over his shoulder at Dean and then abandoned the attack on Sam and barreled toward his brother instead. Sam ran after him, catching him just as he hovered above the rim of the grave. Sam pulled out an iron dagger and sank it into the ghost's back. Drechler spun, eyes fiery, then shrieked and vaporized, but Sam knew he would be back in a few seconds.
"You almost down to the coffin?" he called out.
Dean straightened, leaning his elbow on the shovel. "You're welcome to come down here if you think you can dig faster, sunshine."
Sam darted away from the graveside as the ghost reappeared. From the depths of his sweeping duster, Drechler produced a rusty Bowie knife and began circling Sam again. The ghost sprang, blade thrusting upward. Sam dodged, but the tip caught in his jacket, ripping the material. Sam lashed out with the iron again, driving it deep into the ghost's chest. Drechler screamed and atomized.
Dean hurried, shoveling away mounds of dirt. Damn. How deep had they buried the guy?
At last Sam heard Dean's shovel hit something hollow. Dean scraped the rest of the dirt away, then brought the edge of the shovel down hard on the exposed old wood. It splintered, and he got down on his knees, ripping away planks. Inside lay the bones of George Drechler, who'd murdered fifteen people when he was alive, and ten more after he died.
"Got it!"
Dean reached into his jacket and brought out a cylindrical container of salt. He poured it over the remains, glancing up to see if Sam was okay. Their eyes met as Sam searched the darkness for the spirit. He felt Drechler behind him suddenly and whirled just as the Bowie knife lashed out again. Sam thrust one hand up, striking the ghost's arm and deflecting the blade.
Dean poured lighter fluid on the bones. As Sam struck out with the iron blade again, Dean leapt up out of the grave, pivoting at the edge. He struck a match and dropped it into the splintered coffin.
With a whump, the bones caught, fire lighting up the night. Drechler cried out in anguish as his ghost body lit up with flames at the same time. Salting and burning human remains was one way to vanquish a ghost forever. Embers glowed within the ghost's form, creating jagged lines in his face and clothing. Fire snaked and devoured, ashes spiraling up into the night. Then Drechler vanished, whirling away into a puff of smoke.
