Questhaven 9b/12
Here is part 9 b. Make sure you didn't skip 9a!!
Previous Chapters:
9a/12
8/12
7/12
6/12
5/12
4/12
3/12
2/12
1/12
-9b- Don't skip 9a on accident: 9a/12
February 2008
Elfin Forest
Dean spread the map out on the hood of the Impala, adjusting the flashlight so the glare off the paper wasn’t so blinding, and rechecked his plan. He’d had hours to research the area and local lore while waiting for Bobby to arrive. Sam would have been pissed if Dean had gone out here half-cocked, so Dean had spent the time looking into Rebecca Barnett’s background. The Barnett family had owned a small farm on the northern edge of Elfin Forest and had lived there for three generations. Rebecca and her younger sister Elizabeth ran away to join a religious cult, rumored to actually be a witches coven, in Elfin Forest nearly fifty years ago. The girls’ family had spent a week looking for them but had been too late. The entire cult, including the young Barnett girls, had committed suicide just days after the girls had joined them.
Since then, the locals in the area had reported dozens of supernatural events: women in white, a witch on a black stallion, cattle mutilations, chanting or singing near the waterways, and a bird (sometimes an owl, other times a crow) that would swoop down and confuse your mind if you entered the forest with bad intentions. Mostly, though, the area had been a lightning rod for teens, party-goers and ghost stories, and the lore had never been backed by factual evidence.
He checked his position on the map. Back at the motel, he’d circled a possible location for the cabin Sam had mentioned. He was currently on Elfin Forest Road, which intersected with Questhaven Road at a point, the two roads forming a ‘V’. All the local reports of strange events had happened in between these two roads. A good portion of the land in between was made up of the old cemetery on the western side, bordering Elfin Forest Road, and a gated compound that housed a church right at the point the two roads met. He’d passed the church’s sign and the guard at the gate earlier. The map showed a curiously empty area behind the cemetery and he’d decided to start there. The empty spot was at the wider end of the ‘V’ and he’d be much better off getting to it via Questhaven Road- the only way to it from the other side was through a few miles of trees and rough terrain, which Dean would rather avoid.
He rolled the map up and threw it in the backseat.
He had to backtrack and come at Questhaven Road from the opposite end. The guard at the gate on the southern end hadn’t looked friendly and had seemed really into his job. Dean knew better than to try and make it past him. He drove through the outskirts of a residential neighborhood before he hit Questhaven and started heading south.
Trees encircled the narrow street, giving the illusion of driving through a tunnel. As with most unincorporated, wooded areas, small dirt roads branched off the from main road every few miles. Dean reached the mile marker he was looking for and pulled the car as far off the main street as possible without ending up in a ditch. He locked up and headed to the trunk for his already loaded duffel. Slipping his gun in his waistband, cocking the rock salt-loaded shot gun, and loading his pockets with extra salt and rounds, he headed off into the dense, overgrown brush. He flicked on the EMF device in his jacket.
As soon as he crossed into the foliage the air shifted. It was the feeling most people would describe as “giving them the creeps”, but it was only hunter’s intuition to Dean. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and the temperature dropped steadily. He glanced up at the canopy of trees. Small, wooden stick figures hung from the branches.
For the first time that night, Dean wondered if coming out here, alone, was perhaps the dumbest thing he’d ever done.
Top ten, maybe.
But really, what choice had he had? Sam’s visions were getting worse and increasing in their frequency. He couldn’t have brought him, and he needed Bobby to stay behind in case Sam had another vision or lapsed into seizures again. It was a spirit, that’s all. Dean had handled much worse on solo hunts before.
He was half a mile in when a light caught his eye. A dozen more yards and a ramshackle wood cabin appeared beneath a heavy covering of low hanging branches. The lantern on the porch was the only light for as far as Dean could see.
He crept around the outside of the building, investigating the premises, mapping out the terrain. The cabin was small: only a main room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Two ways in or out: front door or side door from the kitchen. Most of the rooms didn’t look like they had been occupied for years, but the lantern on the porch and the scene in the main room told him otherwise. Sitting in the middle was an ornate wooden table. The table was rectangular with detailed scrolling down the sides of each leg and a dark red cloth runner over the top of it, littered with lit candles of various sizes. A few bags of unidentifiable herbs sat atop it along with a jug of thick, red fluid that could only be blood. Dozens of books and a scrying bowl sat on the far end of the table.
During one of his visions, Sam had babbled about an altar in the cabin, and it was as good a guess as any for being the source of the spirit’s power. It was plan A: get in, destroy the altar. If that failed, Plan B was the same as C, D, E, and F: burn the whole place down.
Dean opted for the front door. Hefting the salt gun to a defensible position he made his way up the front steps and through the door without incident. He set the lantern on the floor just inside the door to add more light to the dim room. Regardless of the altar’s presentation and the welcoming, lit candles and lantern, it didn’t look or feel like the spirit was here. The EMF device was silent. Rebecca’s spirit wasn’t bound to the home, they knew that since she’d been at the cemetery, but Dean was relatively sure she was bound to the forest. For a moment, though, he wondered if he was wrong and if luring Dean away from Sam had been Rebecca’s plan all along. Bobby’s with him, Dean reassured himself. He knew Bobby was more than capable of warding off her spirit if it came to that.
Gun still raised, he headed straight for the altar. Movement behind him and a sudden blaring of the EMF device sent him swinging around, firing off a shot at the apparition by the front door. The door was forced shut, slamming so hard the wood cracked down the middle and the glass in the adjacent window rattled. The rock salt would only buy him a moment or two. Dean swung back around and upended the table, sending candles, books and herbs flying. He found the clay scrying bowl on the floor and ground it under his heel.
The cabin was silent and still, the only light coming from the lantern by the door. Dean reloaded quickly and grabbed the flashlight from his duffel, making a quick room-by-room search, but Rebecca’s spirit didn’t re-manifest.
Dean came to a stop in the middle of the main room. Something wasn’t right. It didn’t feel over, and Dean knew better than to doubt his instincts. He reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and began to dial Bobby to see if the spell on Sam had been broken.
No signal. Of course.
He was up against the wall, ice-cold invisible fingers clawing at his neck, before he knew what was happening. He lifted the shot gun and fired at where the nothing had to be and suddenly he was falling down the wall to land back on his feet. It was only a momentary reprieve, however, as his body was thrown back against the wall, this time with the shot gun hand forced up above his head. The spirit slammed Dean’s hand into the wood-paneled wall, over and over until Dean’s fingers gave up the grip on the shot gun. It clattered to the ground and was thrown across the room out of reach. His whole body was pressed up against the wall now, his throat being slowly crushed under the weight of the invisible hands.
“C’mon,” he croaked. “Show yourself you bitch!”
A young woman solidified in front of Dean’s eyes. Early twenties, long blonde locks, high, defined cheekbones and heart-shaped face, Rebecca would have been beautiful in life. As it was, though, her eyes betrayed the rest of her looks. They were slate gray and clouded with hatred, a hatred that seemed to be laser-focused on Dean himself. Her hand remained on his throat, the vice-like grip easing just enough to allow him another breath before tightening again.
He tried to lift his arms, kick his legs out, anything, but he was completely immobilized. All Dean could do was glare back into the spirit’s eyes and accept each breath she allowed him to take.
He was so screwed.
“Dean Winchester,” she said, her voice like silk. “I could only dream, for years, that you’d be stupid enough to walk through my forest again.”
She ran her free hand over his confused brow and continued gently down his cheek to his lips. She halted there for a moment, letting her fingertips dance over the soft flesh of his mouth.
“Listen, lady. I don’t know y-“ Her grip tightened around his throat.
Her fingers stopped dancing on his lips. She laid her index finger against his mouth with a “Shhhhh.”
“You don’t remember me because we’ve never been formally introduced. But I am going to give you a gift.”
Rebecca extended her free arm out to her side, palm up. The cabin shook as energy gathered at each corner of the room, crackling and sparking like a loose power line. Her palm closed to a fist as she called the energy from the four corners of the room to her hand. She held it up for him to see, her hand glowing and popping with green lightning that jumped and sparked against Dean’s cheek.
“Really, you could just let me go. No gifts required,” he tried, forcing the words out through her grip on his throat.
An evil smile spread across her features as she placed her hand on his cheek-
-and memories from five years ago that Dean had never believed he’d recollect came flooding back:
Dean scoured a school newspaper article:
Local Teens’ Memories Still Gone After Botched Séance:
Controversial School Project to Blame?
*
“Dad? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Please call me back, let me know you’re okay.”
*
Dean glanced at the headstone: Elizabeth Barnett, Beloved Daughter and Sister. He dumped salt on the old bones, drenched them in lighter fluid and flicked the match into the casket.
*
Dean ran through Elfin Forest, shooting useless bullets at the spirit that chased him. He’d run out of rock salt rounds and lost his shot gun somewhere along the way. He raised the 9mm Beretta again and fired at the spirit, hoping to distract her at the very least. Then he was flying over the brush, landing on his back in a clearing. The spirit, a beautiful blonde woman, manifested just yards away. She swung her arm in a diagonal slash and pain erupted on his chest, blood spurting through the cut across his torso. She slashed again, the opposite direction and another slice opened up on his chest.
He laid still. Panting. Waiting. She moved closer, skimming the forest floor with her bare feet.
“You killed her,” she said, her voice smooth and melodic. “Elizabeth was my little sister and you killed her.”
“Your sister was already dead. So are you, in case you missed the memo,” Dean said. He grunted as pain exploded behind his eyes as if he’d been kicked in the head. He felt a rib twist and pop and couldn’t hold back his strangled scream.
The spirit wafted forward and bent down beside Dean. “Elizabeth and I, we owned this forest. We protected it.” Her form wavered then solidified and Dean made his move. He raised his fist full of salt and threw it at the spirit, not sticking around to listen to her scream or watch her disappear. He picked himself up and ran, holding his arms across his bleeding chest and broken rib. From behind him, the woman screamed, bloodthirsty rage. He was nearing his car, knew it was just a few dozen yards through the brush and down the incline to the road.
Wind whipped around him, through the trees and lifting leaves and dirt into a whirlwind at his feet. A shock like lightning coursed through him and he almost fell. He gathered up a last burst of speed as the green lightning skidded over his arms, across his collar bone and up to his head. A push from behind sent him down the incline and rolling to a stop by the side of his car.
*
Rebecca removed her palm from Dean’s cheek and he jolted awake, still pinned to the wall by her hand around his throat. She smiled sweetly again.
“You took my memories?” he rasped. He felt the puzzle pieces clicking together as he replaced three weeks worth of missing time. December 5th 2003. The anniversary of Mom’s birthday and Dad had gone missing, leaving Dean behind. He’d looked for him and called him for weeks without any leads. Dean had gotten restless and headed out for a simple job, a spirit some stupid teens had conjured just off Questhaven Road in Elfin Forest, CA. Elizabeth Barnett. Or, at least Dean had thought the teens had conjured her. Apparently Elizabeth and Rebecca had been here all along. He’d woken up in the hospital a few days before Christmas without memories of the hunt, his family, his name… Sam had stayed with him, brought him to Palo Alto, and suddenly Dean’s memories, except for the hunt itself, had been replaced back in his head. He and Sam had fought- it was the last time Dean spoke to Sam until he came to ask for his help Sam’s senior year- and Dean had left Sam behind and rejoined his dad.
“Just a spell. It was all I could do once you’d passed the forest tree line. I wasn’t able to take much for long, but I couldn’t let you remember meeting me. I was weak without my sister’s power and I couldn’t have you coming back to kill me, too. I took just enough to mess with your head for a little while, make you forget everything you loved. The least I could do after you took Elizabeth away from me.” Rebecca’s eyes hardened and flashed. She removed her hand from Dean’s throat and he took a few gulping breaths but remained pinned to the wall. “But! Imagine my surprise when you came back for more… and brought me a new toy to play with. Someone you care about as much as I cared about Elizabeth. I’ve seen inside little Sammy’s head. Now there’s a guy who knows a little something about vengeance. When he gets here we can ask him all about it.”
Dean didn’t speak, but his glare said it all: touch Sam and I’ll kill you… then I’ll resurrect you so I can kill you again.
“Sam’s already on his way here. I took the liberty of calling him- a vision he won’t be able to ignore.”
end part 9b/12
Next Chapter Here: Questhaven 10/12
Author's Note: Parts 9a and 9b were really tough for me. I'd love some feedback good or bad. These parts put me through the wringer,LOL :)
Thanks for reading! We're nearing the end!
Previous Chapters:
9a/12
8/12
7/12
6/12
5/12
4/12
3/12
2/12
1/12
-9b- Don't skip 9a on accident: 9a/12
February 2008
Elfin Forest
Dean spread the map out on the hood of the Impala, adjusting the flashlight so the glare off the paper wasn’t so blinding, and rechecked his plan. He’d had hours to research the area and local lore while waiting for Bobby to arrive. Sam would have been pissed if Dean had gone out here half-cocked, so Dean had spent the time looking into Rebecca Barnett’s background. The Barnett family had owned a small farm on the northern edge of Elfin Forest and had lived there for three generations. Rebecca and her younger sister Elizabeth ran away to join a religious cult, rumored to actually be a witches coven, in Elfin Forest nearly fifty years ago. The girls’ family had spent a week looking for them but had been too late. The entire cult, including the young Barnett girls, had committed suicide just days after the girls had joined them.
Since then, the locals in the area had reported dozens of supernatural events: women in white, a witch on a black stallion, cattle mutilations, chanting or singing near the waterways, and a bird (sometimes an owl, other times a crow) that would swoop down and confuse your mind if you entered the forest with bad intentions. Mostly, though, the area had been a lightning rod for teens, party-goers and ghost stories, and the lore had never been backed by factual evidence.
He checked his position on the map. Back at the motel, he’d circled a possible location for the cabin Sam had mentioned. He was currently on Elfin Forest Road, which intersected with Questhaven Road at a point, the two roads forming a ‘V’. All the local reports of strange events had happened in between these two roads. A good portion of the land in between was made up of the old cemetery on the western side, bordering Elfin Forest Road, and a gated compound that housed a church right at the point the two roads met. He’d passed the church’s sign and the guard at the gate earlier. The map showed a curiously empty area behind the cemetery and he’d decided to start there. The empty spot was at the wider end of the ‘V’ and he’d be much better off getting to it via Questhaven Road- the only way to it from the other side was through a few miles of trees and rough terrain, which Dean would rather avoid.
He rolled the map up and threw it in the backseat.
He had to backtrack and come at Questhaven Road from the opposite end. The guard at the gate on the southern end hadn’t looked friendly and had seemed really into his job. Dean knew better than to try and make it past him. He drove through the outskirts of a residential neighborhood before he hit Questhaven and started heading south.
Trees encircled the narrow street, giving the illusion of driving through a tunnel. As with most unincorporated, wooded areas, small dirt roads branched off the from main road every few miles. Dean reached the mile marker he was looking for and pulled the car as far off the main street as possible without ending up in a ditch. He locked up and headed to the trunk for his already loaded duffel. Slipping his gun in his waistband, cocking the rock salt-loaded shot gun, and loading his pockets with extra salt and rounds, he headed off into the dense, overgrown brush. He flicked on the EMF device in his jacket.
As soon as he crossed into the foliage the air shifted. It was the feeling most people would describe as “giving them the creeps”, but it was only hunter’s intuition to Dean. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and the temperature dropped steadily. He glanced up at the canopy of trees. Small, wooden stick figures hung from the branches.
For the first time that night, Dean wondered if coming out here, alone, was perhaps the dumbest thing he’d ever done.
Top ten, maybe.
But really, what choice had he had? Sam’s visions were getting worse and increasing in their frequency. He couldn’t have brought him, and he needed Bobby to stay behind in case Sam had another vision or lapsed into seizures again. It was a spirit, that’s all. Dean had handled much worse on solo hunts before.
He was half a mile in when a light caught his eye. A dozen more yards and a ramshackle wood cabin appeared beneath a heavy covering of low hanging branches. The lantern on the porch was the only light for as far as Dean could see.
He crept around the outside of the building, investigating the premises, mapping out the terrain. The cabin was small: only a main room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Two ways in or out: front door or side door from the kitchen. Most of the rooms didn’t look like they had been occupied for years, but the lantern on the porch and the scene in the main room told him otherwise. Sitting in the middle was an ornate wooden table. The table was rectangular with detailed scrolling down the sides of each leg and a dark red cloth runner over the top of it, littered with lit candles of various sizes. A few bags of unidentifiable herbs sat atop it along with a jug of thick, red fluid that could only be blood. Dozens of books and a scrying bowl sat on the far end of the table.
During one of his visions, Sam had babbled about an altar in the cabin, and it was as good a guess as any for being the source of the spirit’s power. It was plan A: get in, destroy the altar. If that failed, Plan B was the same as C, D, E, and F: burn the whole place down.
Dean opted for the front door. Hefting the salt gun to a defensible position he made his way up the front steps and through the door without incident. He set the lantern on the floor just inside the door to add more light to the dim room. Regardless of the altar’s presentation and the welcoming, lit candles and lantern, it didn’t look or feel like the spirit was here. The EMF device was silent. Rebecca’s spirit wasn’t bound to the home, they knew that since she’d been at the cemetery, but Dean was relatively sure she was bound to the forest. For a moment, though, he wondered if he was wrong and if luring Dean away from Sam had been Rebecca’s plan all along. Bobby’s with him, Dean reassured himself. He knew Bobby was more than capable of warding off her spirit if it came to that.
Gun still raised, he headed straight for the altar. Movement behind him and a sudden blaring of the EMF device sent him swinging around, firing off a shot at the apparition by the front door. The door was forced shut, slamming so hard the wood cracked down the middle and the glass in the adjacent window rattled. The rock salt would only buy him a moment or two. Dean swung back around and upended the table, sending candles, books and herbs flying. He found the clay scrying bowl on the floor and ground it under his heel.
The cabin was silent and still, the only light coming from the lantern by the door. Dean reloaded quickly and grabbed the flashlight from his duffel, making a quick room-by-room search, but Rebecca’s spirit didn’t re-manifest.
Dean came to a stop in the middle of the main room. Something wasn’t right. It didn’t feel over, and Dean knew better than to doubt his instincts. He reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and began to dial Bobby to see if the spell on Sam had been broken.
No signal. Of course.
He was up against the wall, ice-cold invisible fingers clawing at his neck, before he knew what was happening. He lifted the shot gun and fired at where the nothing had to be and suddenly he was falling down the wall to land back on his feet. It was only a momentary reprieve, however, as his body was thrown back against the wall, this time with the shot gun hand forced up above his head. The spirit slammed Dean’s hand into the wood-paneled wall, over and over until Dean’s fingers gave up the grip on the shot gun. It clattered to the ground and was thrown across the room out of reach. His whole body was pressed up against the wall now, his throat being slowly crushed under the weight of the invisible hands.
“C’mon,” he croaked. “Show yourself you bitch!”
A young woman solidified in front of Dean’s eyes. Early twenties, long blonde locks, high, defined cheekbones and heart-shaped face, Rebecca would have been beautiful in life. As it was, though, her eyes betrayed the rest of her looks. They were slate gray and clouded with hatred, a hatred that seemed to be laser-focused on Dean himself. Her hand remained on his throat, the vice-like grip easing just enough to allow him another breath before tightening again.
He tried to lift his arms, kick his legs out, anything, but he was completely immobilized. All Dean could do was glare back into the spirit’s eyes and accept each breath she allowed him to take.
He was so screwed.
“Dean Winchester,” she said, her voice like silk. “I could only dream, for years, that you’d be stupid enough to walk through my forest again.”
She ran her free hand over his confused brow and continued gently down his cheek to his lips. She halted there for a moment, letting her fingertips dance over the soft flesh of his mouth.
“Listen, lady. I don’t know y-“ Her grip tightened around his throat.
Her fingers stopped dancing on his lips. She laid her index finger against his mouth with a “Shhhhh.”
“You don’t remember me because we’ve never been formally introduced. But I am going to give you a gift.”
Rebecca extended her free arm out to her side, palm up. The cabin shook as energy gathered at each corner of the room, crackling and sparking like a loose power line. Her palm closed to a fist as she called the energy from the four corners of the room to her hand. She held it up for him to see, her hand glowing and popping with green lightning that jumped and sparked against Dean’s cheek.
“Really, you could just let me go. No gifts required,” he tried, forcing the words out through her grip on his throat.
An evil smile spread across her features as she placed her hand on his cheek-
-and memories from five years ago that Dean had never believed he’d recollect came flooding back:
Dean scoured a school newspaper article:
Local Teens’ Memories Still Gone After Botched Séance:
Controversial School Project to Blame?
*
“Dad? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Please call me back, let me know you’re okay.”
*
Dean glanced at the headstone: Elizabeth Barnett, Beloved Daughter and Sister. He dumped salt on the old bones, drenched them in lighter fluid and flicked the match into the casket.
*
Dean ran through Elfin Forest, shooting useless bullets at the spirit that chased him. He’d run out of rock salt rounds and lost his shot gun somewhere along the way. He raised the 9mm Beretta again and fired at the spirit, hoping to distract her at the very least. Then he was flying over the brush, landing on his back in a clearing. The spirit, a beautiful blonde woman, manifested just yards away. She swung her arm in a diagonal slash and pain erupted on his chest, blood spurting through the cut across his torso. She slashed again, the opposite direction and another slice opened up on his chest.
He laid still. Panting. Waiting. She moved closer, skimming the forest floor with her bare feet.
“You killed her,” she said, her voice smooth and melodic. “Elizabeth was my little sister and you killed her.”
“Your sister was already dead. So are you, in case you missed the memo,” Dean said. He grunted as pain exploded behind his eyes as if he’d been kicked in the head. He felt a rib twist and pop and couldn’t hold back his strangled scream.
The spirit wafted forward and bent down beside Dean. “Elizabeth and I, we owned this forest. We protected it.” Her form wavered then solidified and Dean made his move. He raised his fist full of salt and threw it at the spirit, not sticking around to listen to her scream or watch her disappear. He picked himself up and ran, holding his arms across his bleeding chest and broken rib. From behind him, the woman screamed, bloodthirsty rage. He was nearing his car, knew it was just a few dozen yards through the brush and down the incline to the road.
Wind whipped around him, through the trees and lifting leaves and dirt into a whirlwind at his feet. A shock like lightning coursed through him and he almost fell. He gathered up a last burst of speed as the green lightning skidded over his arms, across his collar bone and up to his head. A push from behind sent him down the incline and rolling to a stop by the side of his car.
*
Rebecca removed her palm from Dean’s cheek and he jolted awake, still pinned to the wall by her hand around his throat. She smiled sweetly again.
“You took my memories?” he rasped. He felt the puzzle pieces clicking together as he replaced three weeks worth of missing time. December 5th 2003. The anniversary of Mom’s birthday and Dad had gone missing, leaving Dean behind. He’d looked for him and called him for weeks without any leads. Dean had gotten restless and headed out for a simple job, a spirit some stupid teens had conjured just off Questhaven Road in Elfin Forest, CA. Elizabeth Barnett. Or, at least Dean had thought the teens had conjured her. Apparently Elizabeth and Rebecca had been here all along. He’d woken up in the hospital a few days before Christmas without memories of the hunt, his family, his name… Sam had stayed with him, brought him to Palo Alto, and suddenly Dean’s memories, except for the hunt itself, had been replaced back in his head. He and Sam had fought- it was the last time Dean spoke to Sam until he came to ask for his help Sam’s senior year- and Dean had left Sam behind and rejoined his dad.
“Just a spell. It was all I could do once you’d passed the forest tree line. I wasn’t able to take much for long, but I couldn’t let you remember meeting me. I was weak without my sister’s power and I couldn’t have you coming back to kill me, too. I took just enough to mess with your head for a little while, make you forget everything you loved. The least I could do after you took Elizabeth away from me.” Rebecca’s eyes hardened and flashed. She removed her hand from Dean’s throat and he took a few gulping breaths but remained pinned to the wall. “But! Imagine my surprise when you came back for more… and brought me a new toy to play with. Someone you care about as much as I cared about Elizabeth. I’ve seen inside little Sammy’s head. Now there’s a guy who knows a little something about vengeance. When he gets here we can ask him all about it.”
Dean didn’t speak, but his glare said it all: touch Sam and I’ll kill you… then I’ll resurrect you so I can kill you again.
“Sam’s already on his way here. I took the liberty of calling him- a vision he won’t be able to ignore.”
end part 9b/12
Next Chapter Here: Questhaven 10/12
Author's Note: Parts 9a and 9b were really tough for me. I'd love some feedback good or bad. These parts put me through the wringer,LOL :)
Thanks for reading! We're nearing the end!