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Free Supernatural Fanfiction – Chapter Summary:

A haunted painting leads the group to the Merchant mausoleum while Sam and Sera confront fear, grief, and the risk of getting close.

Rating: PG-13
Contains:   For paranormal danger, mild violence references, emotional intensity.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:  
Cemeteries

WE WENT BACK TO Evelyn’s house. The police had taped off the entry, but we didn’t let that stop us. The door was still locked, so Sam knelt down and started picking it.

Sera looked around, hugging herself. “Uh… isn’t this a crime scene?”

Dean shrugged. “You’ve already lied to the cops. What’s another infraction?”

That didn’t seem to ease Sera’s mind, but she followed Sam inside quickly. Dean and I came in behind her.

Once inside, Sam went straight to the painting and took it down. We all gathered around to examine it.

“Are you worried that it’s… going to kill us?” Sera asked.

“Nah. It seems to do its thing at night. I think we’re safe in daylight,” Sam replied.

Dean pulled out the copied photo and held it next to the painting. “Check it out. The razor’s closed in this one, but it’s open in that one.”

That explained the slit‑throat murders — the ghost used a razor.

“What are you guys looking for?” Sera asked.

“Well, if the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting, it’s doing it for a reason,” Dean said.

Sam’s face lit up. “Hey, hey — look at this. The painting inside the painting.”

“Looks like a crypt or mausoleum,” I said, squinting at it.

Dean glanced around and picked up a thick glass ashtray. He used it like a magnifying glass and read the inscription. “Merchant.”

“Time to take a trip to the cemetery,” I said lightly. Sera looked unsettled but didn’t comment.

WE WEREN’T SURE WHICH CEMETERY the Merchants were buried in. We tried the largest and most popular one first — assuming there was such a thing as a popular cemetery. Nothing. Then we tried an older cemetery, since the family had been buried nearly a century ago. Still nothing.

We pulled into another cemetery. Dean’s patience was wearing thin. I suggested we stop for something to eat if this one turned out to be another dead end.

The frozen grass crunched beneath our feet as we walked toward the large stone mausoleums peeking over the hill.

“This is the third bone yard we’ve checked. I think this ghost is jerking us around,” Dean muttered.

Sera asked, “So this is what you guys do for a living?”

“Not exactly,” Sam answered. “We don’t get paid.”

Sera smiled. “Well, mazel tov.”

We reached the top of the hill and saw the surrounding buildings more clearly. “Over there,” Dean said.

Of course, the mausoleum was locked — a minor deterrent. Dean broke the lock and we entered the cold, dark room. Cobwebs clung to the corners. Family nameplates lined the walls. On one side, four urns stood inside little glass boxes carved into the stone. Dean and I exchanged a look. Sera walked over to one, where a doll sat.

“Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, still staring at the doll.

Sam explained, “It was a tradition at the time. When a child died, sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case. Put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

I shivered as a breeze blew through the open door.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked, steering us back to the case.

“Ah, where do I start?” Sera replied sarcastically. Sam snorted.

“No, I mean look at the urns,” Dean said.

“There are only four,” I pointed out.

“Yeah — mom and the three kids. Daddy dearest isn’t here.”

“So where is he?” Sam asked.

BECAUSE NOTHING WAS EVER EASY, we had to track down Isaiah Merchant’s death certificate. Dean volunteered to go into the records building alone. I went across the street with Sera and Sam to grab some subs. We waited outside on a low wall. They sat close together on the same stone slab. I sat on the tier below, wrapping my coat tighter around me. A stray ray of sun burst through the overcast sky now and then, warming me briefly.

“So, what exactly is your brother doing in there?” Sera asked Sam.

“Searching county death certificates. Trying to find out what happened to Isaiah’s body.”

“How’d he even get in the door?”

“Lying and subterfuge, mostly,” Sam replied.

I couldn’t see her reaction. I pulled out my phone and pretended to use it. I felt like an intruder sitting there with them, the only focus between them being each other.

“You have a… uh… you have an eyelash on your right… no… uh… you know what…” Sam stammered. I turned my head and saw her reach up, searching for the lash.

“Mind if I get it?” Sam asked, laughing. Sera said no, and he reached up to her face and found it. He held out his finger. “Okay, I got it. Make a wish.”

Sera laughed and blew the eyelash off his finger.

After a moment, she asked, “Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I don’t mean to be forward, but a girl could wait here forever. Is there something here between us? Or am I delusional?”

“You’re not delusional,” Sam said quietly.

My phone buzzed. A text from Dean: HOW R THE LOVEBIRDS?

Sera sighed. “But there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“But… I don’t think this would be a good idea.”

Dean hovered by the front door. I texted back: STRUGGLING, BUT GIVE THEM A MINUTE BEFORE YOU COME OVER HERE AND HARASS THEM.

“Can I ask why?” Sera pressed.

Sam shifted and cleared his throat. “’Cause I like you.”

Sera scrunched up her face. “Wait, you lost me.”

They both laughed.

Dean texted again: WHAT’S HAPPENING?

I wrote a quick summary of what was said as Sam continued.

“Look, it’s hard to explain. It’s just… when people are around me, they get hurt.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean physically hurt. With what we do, it’s…” He took a breath. “Sera, I had a girlfriend. She died. My mom died too. Friends died. A niece. I don’t know. It’s like — like death’s always a step behind me. I’m not scared of much, but if I let myself have feelings for anybody…”

“You’re scared they’d get hurt too,” Sera finished. Sam looked down.

“That’s very sweet. And very archaic,” she said.

Sam looked up. “Sorry?”

“Look, I’m a big girl, Sam.”

And part angel, I thought. She’d be harder to kill supernaturally.

“It’s not your job to make decisions for me,” she told him. “There’s always a chance of getting hurt.”

“I’m not talking about a broken heart and a tub of Haagen‑Dazs. I’m talking about life and death.”

“And tomorrow I could get hit by a bus. That’s what life is. Look, I know about losing somebody you love… it’s terrible. You shut yourself off. Believe me, I know. But when you shut out pain, you shut out everything else too.”

Dean and I had this same conversation once — after the hellhound incident. Speaking of Dean, he noticed the couple getting into a slight argument and started heading over.

“Sera, you don’t understand. The pain I went through… I can’t go through it again. I can’t.”

Without Sam or Sera noticing, Dean appeared in front of them. They jumped when he asked, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Sam replied.

“Not at all,” Sera echoed.

Dean looked between them. He didn’t need my text to know what was going on. “Huh. Apparently.”

“So, what’d you get?” Sam asked, clearly relieved the conversation had stopped.

“Pay dirt. Apparently, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn’t want him interred with the rest of the family. So they handed him over to the county. The county gave him a pauper’s funeral. Economy style. Turns out, he wasn’t cremated. He was buried in a pine box.”

“So there are bones to burn,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. “There are bones to burn.”

He took his sandwich from my hands and started eating it on the way to the car.

Image by Copilot

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