Step Right Up (Part One)

Status: Part 1 of 4 Word Count: 4.5K Category: Mini-Series; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Mystery; On-the-case Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Sam, Dean, various circus folk, special guest star Warnings: None Author’s Note: Post-story  Overall Summary: Sam is trapped in what’s left of a burnt-down circus while attempting to assist a tormented soul, when a mysterious ringmaster arrives.

* ~ * Series Master Post * ~ *

The fog had turned to smoke, the kind that filled every crack in a head, so thick that he was able to brush it away from his face in bulky clumps. No brushing away the thoughts it conjured, though; Sam never had been able to get the picture of his first hunter’s funeral out of his mind. Not the sight, not the smell, not the feel of the wood, not the sparks that would pop away and hit his skin. There was plenty of time to make the memory; it took a while to burn a body to dust.

The clouds cleared after he walked out of the trees and into the open field, much of the grass brittle black, then he saw the source: a quite large, still smoldering, partially collapsed tent.

"Dean!" he hissed, moving forward, but in a slight crouch, gun out and at the ready. He received no reply, instead being startled by the sound of a horse's gallop, prompting him to turn in a full circle, scanning his surroundings - there was nothing. No brother. No horses. No signs of life. Nor - interestingly - death.

But now, as he went on, that gray returned, not as thick, though it had morphed into an obstructive wall of ash in flight. It stung his eyes, and he stopped his progression, blinking, rubbing, and coughing as it turned tornado, oozed around him, then after a swirl or two, quickly flew away. And when he felt it leave and raised himself tall, he momentarily forgot to raise his gun because of what he saw.

Sam now found he was in a thoroughfare of sorts, standing in between rotted wooden wagons with cracked axles, their surfaces barely hanging on to ribbons of chipped paint. He walked on, in the direction of his intended target, the edges of the collapsed tent now just barely visible in the distance, despite the shabby passage being lined with precisely spaced poles, strings of small round bulbs connecting them, most of them lit, lazily swaying in a nonexistent breeze. The gray remained, though it was staying a polite distance ahead of him, and a peek over his shoulder revealed it was also keeping pace from behind. And his pace, understandably, was more creep than walk.

Broken popcorn stands rested on their sides, streamers from what must have been thousands of balloons littered the ground here and there, kept company by fallen bunting, yellowed, wrinkled tickets, and the glass from all the other quaint booths, all the customary fairground attractions. It crunched under his boots with every step, and that was another hair-raising thing: no footprints beyond his own. Not a trace, neither animal nor human, no indication this place - whatever or wherever this place was - had ever been inhabited, evidence to the contrary be damned.

Blocking his way was what was left of the strength test, the gauge stuck fast by the bell, and as he stepped over it, he mumbled, "Least there's no clowns."

And that was when he saw her.

Supernatural Stories To Die For: A Halloween Collection By YOU!

To celebrate the holiday, please find below a list of stories with a variety of themes. Some may thrill you and chill you, others may make you feel cozy and warm on this fall evening; some are pointedly about Halloween, others are case fics featuring a bump-in-the-night. There’s a little something for everyone!

As always, if you enjoy a story, encourage you to reblog it and let the writer know so, it’ll be the best treat you could give ‘em this Halloween. 😉

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN, SPN FAMILY! 👻