How Not to Impress a Winchester

Some days you wake up and just know it is going to be a great day. The sun will be shining no matter what the weather man says.

Some days you wake up and know that the day will be horrible and your best defense is to just pull the covers up over your head and pretend morning never happened.

And some days you wake up tied to a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse. Its days like this you really don't expect.

The first thing you notice when waking up tied to a chair is how much your arms and shoulders hurt. It's this tingle, no worse, it's the older, monster brother of all legs that have ever fallen asleep. Then you have your first "Oh, shit" moment. Your heart races, your brain fills with static, lungs gasp for air. Panic just doesn't cover it.

"Stay calm," I told myself. By the way, that doesn't really help.

I caught a movement from the corner of my eye but before I could get a good look, my face was splashed with a cold liquid. Thoughts of acid and my impending death filled my brain as I sputtered.

"Holy water doesn't have any effect on her," observed a voice to my left, "It's not a demon".

"Could be a shifter," replied a second deep voice.

"I'm not a demon or a shifter," I gasped. Great, I had been kidnapped by mental health escapees. "My names is Helen, I'm just a person."

"Try the silver," psycho number one said.

A tall, dark, and crazy man stepped fully into my view. He held a long, sharp knife in his hand. I read a lot of sci-fi so my brain was full of helpful adjectives such as blade, short sword, dagger, and "Oh, God, I'm going to die".

I thrashed backwards in my chair to no avail. He reached out and ran the blade across my forearm. The edge was so sharp that I didn't feel the cut until after the blood started to flow. Then it hurt like hell.

"Are you insane?" I squeaked. Witty repartee is apparently not my strong suit when tied up.

"Not a shifter."

"Maybe a witch? God, I hate witches!"

"How about not a shifter, not a demon, and not a witch!" My voice went shrill and high with fear. My two captors stood behind me mumbling about witches. I could hear the pages of a book being flipped.

"Burning kills witches. We need to make sure we have this right. We don't want to gank the wrong person."

"You've defiantly got the wrong person, "I added. "And FYI, burning kills normal, non-witch people too!" But the psycho twins paid me no mind.

"We need to check with Bobby before we go any farther with this. Maybe he's found something," said the taller man.

"We need to put an end to this killing spree before the civilians get their panties in a wad," added the shorter man as they walked out of the room.

I twisted back and forth, desperately trying to loosen the ropes that bound me to the chair. No luck except that I now had a better view of the work table behind me. The table was dominated by a large, ancient looking book. If you watch scary shows then you know the type. The rest of the table was filled with assorted sharp instruments that I had no desire to see up close. I am a firm believer that intestines should stay safely wrapped up inside your body.

I wish I could say that I reached deep inside myself and bravely forged a plan that would free me from the clutches of these fiends. (Have I mentioned I read possible too much?) But all I could do was gasp. Tears streaking my cheeks as I panted. "Somebody help me, God, somebody help me."

Pitiful, I know.

Between one shaky gasp and the next, the room became arctic cold. I watched my breath condense in front of my face. And then he was standing in front of me. He was obviously dead, ghost dead, horror story and nightmares dead. So I did what any normal girl would do. I screamed!

My towwo psychos came running to my rescue. Ghost boy sent them flying into the far wall with a glance and a slightly raised eyebrow.

"What the hell," growled the dusky blonde, "She is a witch."

Had I not been scared out of my gourd, I would have been impressed by the ease in which the ghost pinned the two men. He turned back toward me, did this mirage shimmer and was kneeling at my feet. The movies totally have ghost movement right, but it was even creeper than The Ring.

"What are you doing?" I stammered.

Dead eyes glanced upward, "Helping", her replied.

His hands hovered over the ropes at my ankles, never touching them but the ropes loosened on their own. I could feel the rope on my wrists following suit. With a soft slithering sound, I was free.

I pushed to my feet and backed away from ghost boy until my back hit the table behind me. Gotta think, gotta think, my brain yammered at me.

"Thank you," I managed to get out. Never hurts to be polite to the undead. "Could you help me get out of here?"

A cold nod was reply enough.

"Okay, can you keep those two from following me until I get away?"

Ghost boy shimmered again and reappeared in front of the men. One arm flung out straight into the taller one's chest. He let out a strangled scream as his back arched away from the wall. His partner cussed and struggled helplessly beside him.

"No," I screamed, "Stop! You can't kill them. I just want you to hold them until I get away."

Another shimmer and I was again face to face with ghost boy.

"Okay," I stammered, "you keep them pinned on the wall until I can get away and you won't kill them."

Ghost boy's only reply was a slow nod.

"Wow, you're a real talker." I moved through the room looking for my best way to get as far away from crazy land as I could. There was a beat up, old pick up and a sleek black car parked just outside the warehouse doors.

"Keys," I mumbled, "Where are the keys?"

"Pocket," ghost boy's voice was like the sound of dry leaves on concrete.

I slowly made my way to the far wall. The psychos were still pinned to the wall like giant beetles in a science display. Except pinned insects don't squirm and twist.

I reached into the taller one's pocket, fishing for the keys.

"This is a little kinky when you haven't even had your first date," growled his partner. "Are we having fun yet, Sammy?" I guess witty repartee is blondie's strong suit when pinned to a wall.

No keys in the first pocket. "Damn, Murphy!", I grumbled as I searched the second pocket. Success!

Dashing out to the vehicles, I discovered that the keys belonged to the pickup, a stick shift. Crap! I never learned how to drive a stick. After glancing inside the black car to check for an automatic, I rushed back inside to get the other set of keys.

Ghost boy's dead eyes immediately met mine as I entered the room. The two men were still pinned to the wall, twisting and struggling in ghost boy's invisible grasp. But all motion stopped as soon as they registered my presence. I don't know why I was embarrassed, I shouldn't worry that crazy kidnappers might think I am a total dork. Three pairs of eyes, green, puppy dog brown and dead, stared at me as I crossed the room. "I can't drive stick", I sheepishly confessed. "I need the other keys."

You would have thought that I had just announced my plans to kill all the puppies in the world by the way the shorter man reacted.

"We will find you and kill you witch," he roared, voice rumbling and deep. Up close his features were finer than his partners. His eyes were a dark green, lined by long…..crap…..why am I gazing into my would be "let's tie her to a stake and burn her" guy?

I found the keys in the first pocket and made a hasty retreat to the door. I stopped at the threshold.

"What about you?" I asked ghost boy. "What will happen to you when I leave? You saved me." I paused, searching for words to explain the twist in my gut when I thought about leaving him. There was a yawning emptiness waiting if I didn't do the right thing. "I can't just leave you."

His eyes met mine from across the room, a shimmer later and his eyes met mine from less than two inches away. There was a sadness, an emptiness, and my heart gave a painful half beat in my chest.

"Hold them until I can get safely away. Then I want you to rest, or go in peace, or into the light, or whatever would be the best thing for you being kinda dead and all". Yep, that's me, the ghost whisperer. Color me totally unimpressed with myself but the ache in my chest dissipated.

Ghost boy's mouth turned just the slightest but upward and he nodded. Another shimmer and he was back at the wall with his pinned psycho collection and I was on my way out.

As the black car roared to life, I could hear screams of "I will hunt you down, bitch! One scratch and you will die slow."

I really need to start thinking my plans through because today's brilliant idea sucked.