The Ghost and Mr. Guster
1989- Santa Barbara, California 3:17am
In the kitchen of the Spencer household, a very tired Henry Spencer sat with two very anxious twelve year olds. Though Shawn was beginning to show signs of sleepiness, Burton Guster was wide awake. His wide eyes darted to every noise he heard, imagined or real.
Henry may have been tired, but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed. He didn’t mind sleepovers. Heck, he even thought the Guster kid was a good influence on Shawn. What annoyed him was the negative effect Shawn seemed to be having on Gus. Henry doubted that Gus would have stayed up past the established curfew, let alone watched Poltergeist if Shawn hadn’t been behind it. Now that the local channel had stopped broadcasting and was only showing static, the boys were terrified. Well, at least Gus was.
“I don’t know how many times or how many different ways I can tell you, but there’re no such things as ghosts,” Henry said emphatically.
The boys nodded. Shawn looked squarely at his father. “What about killer clown dolls?”
Henry was stumped. “What?”
“Killer clown dolls,” Shawn repeated while Gus nodded enthusiastically. “Anyone in their right mind would be afraid of those things.”
“Don’t forget the killer trees,” Gus added. Henry closed his eyes and sighed.
1989- Housatonic, Massachusetts Earlier that same night…
John Winchester pulled his Impala into its spot in front of his rented room at the Mayflower Hotel. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His eye was beginning to blacken, his lip was split and swollen. “Damn poltergeist,” he muttered, knowing Sammy was going to worry about what had happened when he saw him in the morning.
Sighing, John made his way into his room and was surprised to see his boys were still awake. “Daddy!” Sammy yelled as he nearly tackled John in a hug, but not before John had noticed the tears streaming down his face.
“What’s wrong, Sammy?” John looked at his other son for an answer.
Dean looked exhausted. He rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the bed. “Sorry, Dad,” he began. “You know how Donna promised to take us to the festival tonight?”
John nodded as he picked his youngest up and carried him to the bed. “What happened? Did she cancel?”
“No, we went. But, the festival was crawling with clowns,” Dean replied with a sigh.
John shook his head. Ghosts, demons, those he could understand terrifying someone, but clowns? Gimme a break, he thought to himself. “Sammy,” he said, mustering a smile though it hurt his lip, “I promise no clown is going to get you now that I’m around.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Sammy yawned and allowed his father to tuck him into bed. Dean rolled his eyes again and shook his head. He had spent the last several hours saying the same thing. Not that it mattered, obviously.