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Saturday, August 18, 2012

When is a Ghost Town Not a Ghost Town?

        Dean’s cell phone started ringing on the table between the beds he and his brother were sleeping on.  Sam heard it and called out his brother’s name and turned over, ignoring it.  The older Winchester groaned and slowly turned, reaching for the phone.


        “Hey, Dean.  This is Garth.”

        “Garth?  Do you know what time it is?”

        “Well, if you are in the time zone I’m in, it’s two in the morning. I’m in a ghost town, Dude.  Everyone here is acting crazy.  I’ve done salt and burns and it’s not helping.  I’m not sure what it is and I need help.”

        “Okay….okay.  Where are you?”

       “Terlingua, Texas.” 

        “Where the hell is that?”

        “The middle of nowhere, man,” the hunter replied and proceeded to tell the older Winchester how to find him.

        It took two days to reach the Big Bend country of west Texas.  Sam kept going over everything he could find on his laptop.

        “Dean, the only thing I can find is Terlingua is a very small town filled with ‘free thinkers’ and artists, and has a cemetery and ghost town that are historical.  He’s done salt and burns?”

        “Yeah, Sam.  What’s a ‘free thinker’?”

        “I’m not sure.  Maybe it’s something like a beatnik from the 1950’s.”

        The older hunter sighed, put his foot on the gas, and looked put out in a big way.   Sam stared at him and remained quiet after answering the question.

        Dean had followed his brother’s instructions and took highway 90 outside of San Antonio.  When they reached Marathon he headed south.  They pulled into the only motel they could find in Terlingua.  Stepping outside of the Impala, Dean swore, taking off his jacket and long sleeved shirt.
        “I wonder what the temperature is,” Sam murmured as they entered the motel.  The got a room with two beds and walked down the gravel road towards their room.
        Once inside the western style room, Dean threw his duffel on his bed and called Garth.  Hanging up, he turned towards his brother.

        “Looks like we’re eating ethnic food.  He’s at some place called India’s.”

        The boys drove down the highway and saw the restaurant in an ancient strip mall.  Garth was sitting on the porch, eating a pulled pork sandwich, potato salad, and beans.  He had a huge slice of apple pie beside his plate.

        Noticing the pie, Dean sighed in relief.  He didn’t like ethnic food. The brothers climbed the steps to the porch and sat down next to Garth.

        “Why are we eating outside in this heat?”

        “She cooks inside and it’s hotter than hell in there,” the skinny hunter replied, taking a large bite of his sandwich.

        “Is that barbecue?” Dean asked.

        “Yeah, and it’s good.”

        Sam ordered a salad and Dean asked for what Garth was having.

        After the food was brought out to them, the brothers ate their meal while Garth filled them in on what was happening.

        “I don’t know if the place is really haunted or if it’s a major possession problem, but it’s insane in that place.  I would suggest you go as tourists.”

        “Tourists?” Dean queried, talking around a large bite of the barbecue sandwich.

        “Yeah, the place draws them in.”

        “Tourists will be a nice change, Dean.  No suits and ties in all this heat,” Sam commented.

        “Yeah, we’ll head on up and take a look after we finish eating.  This is good.”

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