Chapter Two: Dear Guinness Book of Records
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******Chapter Two: Dear Guinness Book of Records
When Dean returned to the motel room, he found his brother typing furiously on his laptop. He used that thing so much it was like an extra arm.
“Excessive computer use is one of the prominent causes of childhood obesity, Sammy,” Dean said. “Kids like you should be playing outside, enjoying the subzero temperatures.”
Sam was accustomed enough to his brother’s wisecracking to pretend he hadn’t heard. “Absolutely nothing in the news archives. I even checked neighbouring counties, just in case our coordinates were off.”
“So in other words, I was right,” Dean said smugly. “You worry too much, grandma.”
“I still think we’d be better off hanging around for a few days, just to make sure.”
“Well, they always said you were the smart one,” Dean said innocently. “We’ll leave after the weekend.”
Sam looked at him sceptically. “And your agreeing with me would have nothing to do with a certain blonde Californian, would it?”
Dean snorted. “As if! Like a good tourist, I think it’d be a crime to leave beautiful Aspen without sampling its charming cultural offerings.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “So, Hooters?”
“Sam!” Dean cried in mock anguish. “What do you take me for?” He grinned, adding, “We’ll never find Buffy there.”
“And I thought I had no wholesome role models.”
“Just educating my little brother,” Dean said, winking. “Man, I could eat a horse. Let’s get some food.”******
“Wow, Xander,” Buffy remarked as she surveyed the massive living room around her. “This place is ... big.”
“And beautiful,” added Anya. “And full of expensive things. It’s nice to know that if we ever go bankrupt, we can rely on Xander’s parents to provide us with money.”
The house was certainly impressive. As Buffy had hauled her suitcase up the massive steps, a small mansion loomed over her. Inside was just as striking, especially the living room – plush leather sofas sitting smugly in front of a giant stone fireplace, heavy curtains framing the windows, ornate Persian rugs covering the timber floor which looked like it had been polished within an inch of its life.
“It sure is beautiful,” Willow said in awe. “Like something out of those home decorating magazines. How come you never told us your parents had this?”
“Well, I hardly came here as a kid,” Xander said sheepishly. “It was more a place for my folks to come to escape their stressful lives full of exhausting dinner parties and socialising.”
“Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say halleluiah for Mr Harris, and his office supply empire,” Buffy said. “It is because of your post-its and paper clips that we come together here today. Xander, can you show me to my room so I can put my suitcase down? Super strength doesn’t preclude the Slayer from heavy lifting-induced shoulder tension.”
“Sure,” Xander replied. “Up this way. Everyone else, try not to break stuff ... Um, Anya? That vase is a nineteenth-century genuine, not something that can be replaced from eBay.”******
“Buffy, you might like to check this out,” Xander called. Buffy emerged slowly from the kitchen, followed by a halo of black smoke.
“Do you think that anyone will remember that gingerbread cookies are not meant to be black?” she groaned. “There’s got to be an easier way. I’m going to the store.”
“You can put your Martha Stewart hat on later,” said Xander. “Look at this.” He turned up the volume as the television displayed a snow-covered graveyard.
“Xander, I get enough cemeteries in my life without having to watch some Nosferatu
rip-off on vacation,” Buffy said shortly. “Let’s see if I can keep business and pleasure separate for longer than twelve hours.”
“It’s not a vampire B-movie,” Xander replied. “As much as I hate to interrupt your annual leave, I think you should watch.”
Buffy sighed and collapsed on the sofa beside Xander, turning her attention from the burnt biscuit smell in her hair to the television.
“Local authorities are baffled at the state of some of the burial plots at the local cemetery,” came a woman’s voiceover as images of police and empty graves flickered on the screen. “Several coffins appear to have been dug up and pilfered of the bodies within them, with some graves now empty caskets left open, others merely a hole in the ground where the deceased once rest in peace. Police investigation is underway, but so far no clue has been uncovered leading to the identity of these corpse thieves.”
Buffy slumped back in her chair. “Just what I need. A mass rising of vamps on my holiday.”
“Buffy, Buffy!” Willow cried as she rushed down the staircase. “Grave robbers! I just saw on the local news!”
“Yeah, we saw it too,” Buffy replied.
“Do you think it could be a whole bunch of fresh vampires?” Xander asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Willow, her brow furrowed in thought. “I mean, I could go on the computer and check out the local news archives, but surely we would have heard about a recent massacre.”
“Maybe it’s something else?” Buffy suggested. “Maybe some creep has gone all O.D. on the gothic literature and is trying to pull a Dr Frankenstein?”
“Just what we all need,” Xander interjected. “Another Maggie Walsh trying to play God. What is it with these people? Personally I like my friends how I like my lunchmeat – all-natural and free from zany scientific engineering.”
“Either way, this is too big to ignore,” said Willow. “Vamps, the living dead or whatever, something supernatural is going on, which never leads to singing and dancing. Well, maybe once.”
Buffy pouted. “So ... we’re going to check it out?”
“I think we have to, Buff,” Xander said.
“Great. Dear Guinness Book of Records, I’ve just been on a three hour vacation ... is that a record?”