1.1 Mother Knows Best: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

Chapter VI: Helen Yorke

"So, what's our story?" Sam asked as Jay parked the car, turning off the engine. Her car smelled like coconut, and the soft leathery smell of the seats, and some...old scent he couldn't identify. It wasn't an unpleasant scent; not by long shot. It was just...familiar. As if it was linked to some forgotten memory that he couldn't quite recall.

"Okay. Our names are Kevin and Clara, dear brother and sister. Our grandmother, Betty Kurdt, once knew Deborah and Helen, but she died recently, and our mom thought it would be good for us to come visit." She told him without blinking, eyeing the large house with what might have been dread.

"Sounds good." Sam licked his lips. "Shall we go in?" He had his hand on the door handle, waiting to pull. Jay was still staring in distaste.

"Yeah, yeah." She sighed finally shaking herself and turning to open her door.

"Is everything okay?" He wondered aloud, climbing out and looking at her over the top of the car.

"Yeah, it's fine, it's just..." Jay grimaced, fidgeting with her hands. "Old people creep me out." She confessed.

Sam scoffed, giving her a shy smile. "Why's that?"

"They're just... All wrinkled and unfocused and shaky and they smell funny..." She frowned at him, huffing. Then she laughed a bit. "I know it's stupid and petty, but it's just too weird for me."

"I understand." Sam laughed, but he couldn't help but roll his eyes. Punching him playfully on the shoulder, Jay led the way up the long drive. She flashed him a crooked grin. Sam could see why Dean liked her. She was, truly, quite pretty.

The house was positively covered in ivy, the dark, leafy tendrils crisscrossing and wrapping all around as if trying to pull it down to the foundations. She liked that aspect of it, if nothing else. She didn't like the faded, cream-colored paint or the white trim or the fact that an old woman lived inside. But they had a job to do. So she shook her head and confidently plunged her finger into the doorbell.

Immediately she was answered by a sharp, incessant, high-pitched barking, followed by a shrill, "Jane, no! Quiet down! Er, just a moment, I'll be right there!" Jay and Sam shared a glance as they waited. Then the barking stopped, and the door opened and a thin, frail old woman tottered out.

"Hello, dears, what can I help you with?" She croaked. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, her skin mottled with age spots and wrinkles. Her long silver hair was pulled back into a bun, with flyaway bits sprouting from her temples. A small terrier stood growling and trembling at her thin ankles. Jay fought back the grimace threatening at her face and gave the old woman a strained smile.

"You're Helen Yorke?" She asked.

"The one and only." Helen grinned, baring a row of crooked yellowed teeth. Jay stiffened visibly, so Sam intervened.

"I'm Kevin, this is my sister Clara," he introduced, reaching out to grasp her hand in a firm shake. "Our mom sent us here. Apparently you knew our grandmother? Her name was Betty Kurdt."

"Sounds familiar." Helen creaked thoughtfully.

"Well, she passed away recently, and our mom just thought it would be a good idea to come visit you." Sam finished, making it sound completely true. Jay shot him a grateful glance behind Helen's back as she invited them in, ushering the dog away. Old-lady-smell hit Jay like a brick wall, and she had to be even more careful not to make a disgusted expression. Unconsciously holding her breath, Jay sat uncomfortably in a dusty, pale pink armchair at Helen's insistence. She took in the room, the floral wallpaper, the rows of plates and spoons on shelves. God, that's bizarre, Jay thought to herself. Sam was making small talk with Helen while Jay tried, honestly tried, to admire her home. Her eyes found a photograph of two women that was hanging above a doorway. It was framed in faux-brass and looked pretty old, but Jay couldn't really tell from where she was sitting.