A Change in Pace

Only One

The drive to Nebraska was long and awkward. Neither of us knew what to say, so instead we quietly listened to Dean’s large collection of cassette tapes. McCook was a tiny town with only one motel. After a considerable amount of arguing we agreed to share one room with two beds. As long as Dean kept his hands to himself there shouldn't be a problem, but i knew how hard it was for him.

            He dropped me off at the hotel with a stolen credit card before speeding off to the house. The motel was shabby and very old. A very thin, pasty boy with brown-rimed glasses and a name tag that read, “HI MY NAME IS Gregory.”

            “Can I help you?” he asked, not bothering to look up from his book.

            “Uh yeah. One room please; two beds.” I placed the card on the counter.

            “None open.”

            “But the sign says you have a vacancy?”

            “No rooms with two beds. They’re all taken.”

            “Ehh but….” I took a deep breath. “Alright. I guess give me one of those.”

            He took the card. “How many nights?”

            “Umm three…” I figured that was a reasonable time.

            “K.” he handed me the card then a key that read “104.”

            “Thanks,” I mumbled.

            The rooms were just as shabby as the office. There was one large bed in the center of the room, one small nightstand with a single white lamp, and one tiny bathroom in the back corner.

            I set my duffle bag on the bed and sat down putting my face in my hands. What was I going to do? There was no way I could share a bed with Dean. I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep.

            Dean showed up a little while later. “Kevin’s file was accurate. The Dickenly’s died three days ago. They were found in their beds, but there were distinctive brusis around their necks, like they were choked to death. Doors locked, no sign of forced entry. The nanny found them in the morning.”

            “It’s strange they all died like that. A poltergeist usually picks them off one by one and doesn’t chock them to death.”

            “Yeah but that’s my best guess. EMF was off the hook, especially in their rooms.” He paused and looked around. “One bed?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

            I could feel my face heat up. “It was all they had.”

            “Okay…”

            “What do we do now?” I asked trying to change the subject.

            “Research. I took this before we left.” He pulled out Sam’s laptop with a sneaky grin.

            “Oh he’s going to kill you.”

            He shrugged. “He can try.”

            While Dean searched the web I looked through an a-old leather book. There wasn’t much to go on. We new it had to be a ghost of some kind. The question was who was it. The house was built back in 1800’s, so many people had lived there over the years.

            “Oh! Look at this. In 1879 Gretel Birch killed herself after she found out her husband was cheating on her. Apparently she had caught him in their bed with their neighbor Mary Ann. She then killed them with an axe and hung herself.”

            “Wow.”

            “Yeah.”

            “So you think she’s haunting the house?”

            “Yep. Now all we have to do is salt and burn her bones.”

            “She was cremated.”

            “What?”

            “It says right here ‘Mr. and Mrs. Birch were cremated upon their relives wishes.”

            Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead.

            “Also why only three families? Over the years many people have lived it that house. Why only kill them?”

            “I… don’t know. Guess we keep digging. Come on.” He stood and grabbed his jacket.

            “Where are we going?” I asked as I followed him out the door.

             “Talk to the victims families. According to public recorded Mr. Dickenly’s parents live on the outskirts of town.”