At Cassidy & Sons Lumber Mill, Henry stood at the entrance and quietly surveyed the abandoned building.
Broken windows lined the walls, rotten beams creaked with every gust of wind, and rusted machinery sat motionless beneath years of dust. The entire mill had long since been reclaimed by silence.
Henry wasn't carrying gasoline or a shovel. He didn't need either.
Luther Garland's body had been torn apart when Frank dragged him across the mill yard — no remains left to salt and burn. Under normal circumstances that would have made the ghost nearly impossible to destroy.
Fortunately, Henry wasn't planning to fight him the normal way.
A ghost born from fear could still be defeated through fear.
He reached into his coat and pulled out Frank's old photograph, studied it for a moment, then closed his eyes.
His face began to shift. Jaw widening, wrinkles spreading across his skin, hair changing color — within seconds the face staring back from the broken window was no longer his.
It was Frank's.
"Now, what's more terrifying than seeing the face of the man who killed you come back to haunt you?" Henry said quietly, walking deeper into the mill.
"Hello, Luther," he called out, his voice carrying through the empty building. "I came back to finish the job. Killing you once apparently wasn't enough."
Only the groan of old timber answered.
As he passed an old wooden cabinet with a drawer hanging open, he glanced inside. Faded paintings, their colors dulled by years of dust.
"Paintings?" he muttered, picking one up. "I wonder who made these."
The temperature plummeted.
An icy wind swept through the mill, sending the paintings scattering across the floor. Every chain hanging from the ceiling began rattling on its own.
Henry smiled. "About time."
A ghostly figure emerged slowly from the darkness.
Luther Garland.
The moment Luther saw Henry's face, the hatred drained from his expression. His eyes widened and he instinctively staggered back.
"Y-You're supposed to be dead..."
Henry took another step forward. "I am dead. What you're looking at is your nightmare."
Luther let out a furious roar.
"Dieeeee!!!"
With a wave of his hand, every loose chain in the mill sprang to life, shooting through the air like steel serpents from every direction.
Henry didn't move.
"Well..."
His eyes ignited with brilliant light.
"...I've had a few upgrades."
A burst of holy power rippled through the mill. The chains shuddered violently and exploded apart in midair, fragments of rusted metal scattering across the floor.
One chain survived.
Henry caught it with one hand. He looked down at the cold iron links, then slowly raised his eyes to Luther.
"You recognize this, don't you?"
Luther froze.
Henry wrapped the chain once around his hand. "I still remember it. You felt every inch of it tightening around your neck while I dragged you across the road."
Luther's confidence evaporated. He took a step back. Then another. For the first time since his death, genuine fear filled his eyes.
Henry walked toward him slowly, dragging the chain across the wooden floor. The harsh scraping echoed through the entire mill.
"Come here."
He flicked his wrist. The chain shot through the air, wrapped itself around Luther's neck, and tightened instantly.
CLANK.
Luther clawed frantically at it, his ghostly form flickering as panic overtook him. The fear he had inflicted on countless victims was consuming him now, his body growing increasingly unstable with every second.
Henry planted his feet and pulled hard.
CRACK.
"Fear cuts both ways, Luther."
The ghost cried out as pale spectral light spread across his body in jagged fractures, his form wavering like it could no longer hold itself together.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!"
With one final, terrified scream he shattered into fragments of pale light and dissolved into the empty air.
The freezing cold lifted instantly. The chains fell silent.
Henry let the rusted chain slip from his hand and exhaled.
"I hope your soul finds some peace, Luther." He couldn't help feeling a little guilty despite everything. He'd deliberately become the ghost's worst nightmare, but it had been the only way to save Dean.
He turned to leave.
A sudden warmth spread through his back.
He looked down and saw the gleaming tip of a silver blade protruding from his chest.
—gh.
His mind went completely blank.
"You abomination," a calm, emotionless voice said from behind him. "Die."
The blade drove deeper. Holy energy surged through Henry's body like liquid fire beneath his skin, burning through every nerve simultaneously.
SHHK.
The attacker wrenched the sword free and drove a boot into Henry's back.
CRASH.
Henry was launched across the mill and slammed into an old piece of machinery, the impact splintering rotting wood before he hit the floor hard and slid several feet to a stop.
Ugh—
He pushed himself up slowly, one hand covering the wound as blood seeped through his fingers, breathing ragged, the holy energy still burning through him like acid.
Standing where Henry had been moments earlier was a man in an immaculate gray suit. Expression utterly devoid of sympathy. In his hand rested a radiant angel blade glowing faintly in the morning light filtering through the broken windows.
He regarded Henry with unconcealed disgust.
"Hmph. A disgusting creature." He raised the blade again. "How dare an abomination like you exist in a world created by God."
*****
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