tohellinahandbasket

Sore Thumb || Meg and Lisa

Once, joints like this had been thrilling–full of rowdy people and men with no mailing addresses and enough alcohol for her to forget her last name. Now, not so much. Lisa couldn’t afford getting drunk in public (or anywhere, really) anymore than she could afford to lose the bottle of holy water that sat in her purse. Things were different.
She sat at the bar with a half-empty bottle of beer and a head full of thoughts. (Options. Dean. Nicole. Ben. Claire. So many people she loved in a profession that would ruin them.) There weren’t any real cases in the area… in fact, things were strangely quiet nearly everywhere she went.
She was probably just being paranoid.

lifexofxpie:

to-hell-in-a-hand-basket:

Well there goes plan A… well what are you like seven? I could definitely be your babysitter! Fine… well since you’re a wee little lad too we’ll go out and Dean can be our one gay Dad. He’ll be Batman, you can be an oompaloompa and I’ll be my regular fabulous self. 

What the hell is this? Why are you two suddenly midgets?

I’m not a midget goddamnit!  I’M TEN.

Well… Physically. 

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream || Meg & Jo

Jo swept the last of the detritus from the Roadhouse floor, leaning wearily on her broom. It had been a busy night and a couple of guys had stayed far later than she would have liked, nursing their drinks from last call until theirs was the only table left to clean, the only chairs not stacked up to make cleaning the floor easier. She’d let the rest of the staff go once their final patrons had gotten the hint and moseyed out the door, finishing the rest of the cleaning herself. 

Putting the broom back into the storage closet, she double checked the locks and clicked off the lights, heading to the stairs leading up to her apartment by memory and touch. Her fingers grasped the cool handle at the top of the stairs, nimbly sliding her key into the lock and entering her small apartment. Instinctively, she bent and checked the devil’s trap under the rug in the entryway then pulled the door closed, locking it behind her.

She bother with any lights until she got to the bathroom, the sudden change making her blink rapidly. Jo shucked off her clothes and started the shower, letting the hot water soothe her tired muscles. When she was clean, she wrapped herself in a towel, brushed her teeth, and headed to her bedroom. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was nearly 3am and she groaned, drying her hair viciously with the towel before pulling her brush through the damp tangle. She tugged a pair of panties over her slim legs and dropped a t-shirt that was at least 4 sizes too big for her over her head before collapsing into bed. 

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, on her side wrapped around her pillow, damp blond curls spilling out behind her. Since being brought back, Jo’s sleep was often fitful, full of memories and things that go bump in the night. Tonight was no exception. 

It started innocent enough, Jo and Ellen back in the original Roadhouse, Jo no older than 13. She was complaining about her teacher, who’d taken Bill’s iron knife from her when it fell out of her backpack and telling her bother how she’d broken into her office to steal it back. 

“Joanna Beth, you shouldn’t be bragging about that! I don’t want you bringing that knife to school and I certainly don’t want you breaking into anything!”

“But, mom!” the young girl protested, “it was DAD’s. I had to get it back." 

"And now you have to leave it at home,” Ellen insisted in a voice that left no room for argument. 

Jo huffed and stormed off, turning her back on her mother. As she was walking away she thought she heard a faint growl behind her, making her blood run cold. She turned around to see the Roadhouse gone, her mother leaning against a counter of a hardware store with a bloody blonde woman slumped against her side. 

                                                                          Is that me?

Ellen looked at something invisible, the source of the growling, and muttered, “You can go straight back to hell, you ugly bitch.” Her finger pressed down on a button and an explosion ripped through Jo’s vision as a scream tore from her throat. She tried to run forward but it was too late, the explosion whitewashed her vision, leaving her blinking in a vast white expanse that slowly turned into an open field. No. Not a field. A cemetery. In the distance there was a figure of a woman, her hair was dark but her features indistinct. Jo started running, feet slipping in the wet grass.

“Mom?”