The Winchester brothers, Sam and Dean, walked up to Lucas and Andrea Barr in a quiet park nearby. Sunlight slipped through the trees, warming the bench where they all sat. Dean took the lead, crouching down to Lucas' level. His eyes softened—he got what it was like to see stuff nobody else believed.
"Hey, Lucas," Dean said, keeping his voice low. "I know it's rough when people don't get what you've seen. They miss the real deal sometimes."
Lucas stared at the ground, not saying a word. Dean let out a quiet breath. He remembered being a kid, carrying secrets nobody understood, feeling alone with it all. Just as he started to pull back, Lucas caught him off guard.
With a small move, Lucas tugged a folded paper from his pocket and handed it over. Dean opened it, eyes going wide. It was a drawing of a house—every line sharp and exact, like a photo.
Andrea watched, jaw dropping. "Lucas doesn't open up to anyone. Him giving you that? That's wild."
Dean's brain kicked into gear, staring at the sketch. This wasn't just some kid's doodle—it felt important. He knew he'd need Sam and John to crack it, so he tucked it away for later.
That night, back at their temporary spot, the brothers huddled around a table. Dean slapped the drawing down, voice buzzing. "Lucas gave me this. It's a house. I'm betting it's not random."
John leaned in, eyes tracing every detail. "This isn't just a kid messing around. There's something behind it."
Sam frowned, wheels turning. "Think it's tied to the drownings? A hint maybe?"
Dean nodded, fired up. "Yep. We've got to figure out what this house means and how it fits."
A phone rang, cutting them off. Sheriff Devins was on the line, saying they'd started draining the lake to stop more deaths. Things were moving, but the clock was ticking.
Over at the Carlton place, Will Carlton stood in his kitchen, feeling off. His sister Sophie was gone—drowned—and the air felt thick, cold. Something wasn't right.
He scrubbed a plate, lost in thought about her. Then a chill brushed his hand, sharp and icy. He yanked back, heart picking up. The sink water started swirling, fast and wild, like a mini tornado. Before he could bolt, it shot up, wrapping around his face, dragging him down.
Will thrashed, gasping, clawing for air. The water wouldn't let go—something strong and angry held tight. One last breath, and he was gone, swallowed by the cold.
Next morning, Sheriff Devins called with the news—Will was dead, drowned right in his own house. It hit the brothers hard. This wasn't some animal or accident anymore.
Dean groaned, giving in. "Fine, Sammy. It's a ghost thing. You win."
Sam grinned, poking at him. "Took you long enough. Can't call it a fluke now, huh?"
John laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, you two, settle down. Look—we've got a pattern. The victims? All tied to the Carltons or Devins. This spirit's got a grudge, and it's zeroing in on the Carltons."
He grabbed Lucas' drawing, holding it up. "Check this out. Doesn't it look exactly like their house?"
Sam's eyes lit up. "You're right—it matches. And with the lake draining, this thing's rushing to finish the job before its playground's gone."
Dean's fists tightened, all in. "No way we let it take anyone else. We're stopping this ghost."
They dove into research mode, digging through old Carlton and Devins records. Names piled up—victims linked to both families, stretching back years. It was a loop of revenge, like a bad dream that wouldn't quit.
Talking it out, they bounced ideas around. Lucas' drawing sat in the middle, a puzzle piece they kept flipping over. John chimed in with his ghost-hunting know-how, tying threads together.
Sam finally pieced it out, voice steady. "It's after the Carltons and Devins. The lake's draining, so it's hitting hard before it's stuck."
Dean nodded, jaw locked. "We've got to end this. No more deaths."
John's eyes sparked with a plan. "There's a shot here. Every spirit's got an anchor—something tying it to all this anger. Break that, and we might shut it down for good."
Sam leaned in, urgent. "How do we find it? What's the root of all this mess?"
John stayed calm. "We dig deeper into the families' past. Something big happened—some awful moment that kicked this off."
Hours later, they hit gold in the records—a forgotten disaster years back. A night where both families lost people in a brutal accident. Pain like that? It sticks, even after death.
Night fell as they regrouped around the table, air thick with tension. They were close—real close—to cracking this thing wide open, bringing peace to a town chewed up by revenge.
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Think of the last time you lost something—like a favorite toy sinking in a puddle. You'd feel it, right? That's Will in his kitchen, except it's way worse—something mean yanks him under. The brothers? They're like detectives chasing a bully nobody can see, using Lucas' drawing like a map. It's all made-up, but it's how they're feeling—pushed to stop this thing fast.
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Author's Note:
Thanks for sticking with Chapter 8 of Supernatural Chronicles: The Arc of Destiny. The brothers score a big win, linking Lucas' drawing to the Carlton house. Will's drowning proves this is a ghost gig, so they dig into the Carltons and Devins' past. Finding that old accident puts them on track to stop this spirit's revenge spree. Next chapter, they'll face it head-on and dig up the truth lurking in Lake Manitoc's shadows. Keep reading—we're almost at the good stuff!
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