The skirting and doors were painted in a kind of pale orange, which reminded Charlie of puke - not that inviting. Charlie refrained from rolling her eyes, 'what a stupid question! Is it far to our class? Of course, they were all going to be curious about the new girl, especially in a small school like this one, but she didn't want to be the centre of attention and she didn't want to have to repeat herself over and over and keep explaining about her Mom to all these perfect strangers.
It was a bright room with children's posters about Volcanoes all along one side and paper flowers around a large wall of windows opposite the door, which overlooked the school yard. Standing next to a desk at the front of the room was a slim lady, probably in her 40s. She had shoulder length curly blonde hair and she smiled at the girls as they came in. We're really happy to have you. In front of her were about 30 kids sitting in pairs at yellow tables set out in rows.
They were all staring at her curiously and she was blushing like crazy. I want all of you to make her feel welcome and be kind friends to her. Is there anything you want to tell us about yourself Charlie? Charlie's heartbeat increased even further at the thought of having to talk to the whole class, She shook her head and Miss Golding, noticing the look of terror on the little girls face gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and said 'That's ok.
There's a seat free just over there next to Theo', she pointed to a table where a freckled boy with sandy hair was currently sitting alone. Charlie nodded and trailed her way over to the desk at the back of the room, not making eye contact with anyone.
She slid into the chair next to Theo and shoved her bag under the desk once she had taken out a notebook and her pencil case. She looked down at her hands as Miss Golding started talking again. Charlie, Theo can fill you in on where we got to before you came in.
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You'll do just fine. Theo turned to Charlie and stuck out his hand and she raised her eyes to meet his, taking in his mischievous looking grin,. He was friendly at least and he wasn't complaining about being stuck with the new kid. She had always thought it must be good fun being a twin. Theo shrugged and rolled his eyes 'Yeah, I guess it's okay sometimes, except for when she steals all my Star Wars trading cards! Charlie grinned, she could tell the two of them were just kidding around and they really did like each other 'So how come you two are not partners?
Theo blushed slightly and explained 'Miss Golding split us up because we were goofing off too much. That's cool though or I wouldn't have got paired up with you, would I? Soon as I saw it I thought — "Friends we will be".. They came up with a pretty good alternative involving aliens and slime monsters. Infinitely superior to the original as far as Charlie was concerned.
As Charlie sat with her new friends at lunchtime she couldn't stop smiling inside and out. She was amazed at how easy it was to talk to Theo and that basically the first kid she had met at this school was on her wavelength, not counting Marcy, who she could tell she probably didn't have that much in common with from the get go. But Theo was funny, smart and a geek like her and when she met his sister, Leah at recess she soon realised she had found another kindred spirit.
Charlie nearly squealed when she heard the name, although apparently, she was named after an Aunt in Cincinnati and not the Princess and member of the Imperial Senate, whose name, Theo explained, was spelt Leia anyway — he sure knew his stuff! After all Charlie's fears and resistance to the whole school thing she was actually having fun and making at least two new friends right off the bat was something she had definitely not expected.
She hadn't felt like she was missing anything at the bunker, but she had to admit it was nice to have someone to be silly with and to act her age. Despite being smart the brother and sister duo were not goody two shoes and just like Charlie they had a mischievous streak, which would probably get them all into trouble before too long. They had also introduced her to a few other of their friends in the class, a plump boy called Marcus, who had a huge mop of curly blonde hair and seemed to be obsessed with dinosaurs since they were not only on his t-shirt and backpack but on his lunchbox and sneakers.
A pretty girl called Rachel, who had brown hair in a short bob and blue eyes. She was fairly quiet, but she was friendly and it was obvious that she and Leah were the best of friends, although Leah was by far the louder of the two. And finally, Grant, a tall skinny boy with dark hair and grey eyes, who seemed to find everything anybody said to be absolutely hilarious. They all seemed like nice kids and didn't seem to object to Charlie crashing their group for which she was very grateful.
When Dean came to pick Charlie up that afternoon she was waiting just inside the glass doors where Miss Winters was supervising her and a group of others who were being collected. Theo and Leah went on a school bus as they lived in the next town over. As soon as she heard the Impala's distinctive engine pulling up in the drop off zone, Charlie pointed out the black car to Miss Winters and she allowed her to leave. She came galloping down the stone steps as Dean got out of the car. Dean smiled as she barrelled towards him with a big smile on her face. After all her angst and doom and gloom over the school idea he had sincerely expected her to come out looking utterly miserable, but the opposite was clearly true.
The worst day ever…? So, it was a good idea to try it? Charlie tried to glare, but couldn't help a small smile as she clambered into the back seat and Dean slammed his door and started up the engine. Charlie chatted non-stop all the way back to the bunker about her new friends, about her teacher, about the easy math work they were doing and about her new and improved Goldilocks story, which had Dean laughing out loud. Normally Dean would have been weary of Charlie's endless chatter and breathe a sigh of relief on arriving in the garage of the bunker, but today he was just relieved that she was babbling.
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Babbling meant that she was happy and that was more than he thought he could have hoped for that morning when she left. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all Sam, but he hadn't been able to stop worrying about Charlie all day. Sam felt the same, but hadn't tried to hide it and Dean had distracted himself by pouring scorn on Sam's mother-hen act and his fussing over Charlie, not fooling Sam for one moment that he didn't feel exactly the same. Sam came to meet Charlie at the entrance of the garage, eager to find out how things had gone and see what kind of a mood she was in.
The cold water is rough and unappealing; it is a greenish-gray that crashes constantly and does not invite swimming. Emily Browning was hired to portray the lead Anna Ivers. She had originally auditioned for the role of Alex. The film is rated PG , and is visually less gory and bloody than the original film. The original score for the film was composed by Christopher Young , who recorded it with a piece orchestra and person choir.
His score features a glass harmonica , and the Yale Women's Slavic Chorus. The site's consensus was "The Uninvited is moody and reasonably involving, but suffers from predictable plot twists. Movies Critical Response, the average professional critical rating was a C according to 11 reviews. It did fairly moderately for a horror film in the US markets.
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Views Read Edit View history. This page was last edited on 8 December , at All John cared about was the she-devil standing between him and his boys-a living breathing threat to the only thing he had left of Mary. The silver bullets ended any hesitation and speculation along with the rougarou's unholy existence. So it was similar to some degree to a werewolf. He had been mostly right. Sam had come off the ground swinging. But his biting words and scathing rebuke were more lethal than any physical aggression. He was like his mother in that respect.
Dean might have looked like Mary, but Sam was wired like her. She could cut John off at the knees with a look, a calculated stinging rebuttal. John was no match for her in combat. He always felt the loser no matter how their arguments ended. It was the same with Sam. The boy had been furious, pissed the rougarou attacked during daylight. He rehashed their previous argument from the night before, pointing out flaws in his father's logic, laying ground for his closing statement.
It was the moment when John was suppose to cave, cop to being a stubborn bastard. A better man might have. The man he used to be. He did it often with Mary, bowed to her amazing insight and audacity to disagree with him. They'd quietly discuss it at dinner, laugh unabashedly about it while listening to old, scratchy BB King recordings and then forget it completely at their bedroom door. But that was before John lost his ability to rationalize, to accept defeat. There was no room for concession or retreat in battle even for those he loved most. John's life was now war. And war was ugly and bloody.
He didn't have the luxury of intimate chats over heartfelt meals, good blues or pleasures of the flesh that made a man's life worth living.
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All John had was his boys. And most days he could see nothing beyond that. He blamed the unfairness of it all for lashing back at Sam, for getting in his face, shaking him so hard he was sure he had felt the kid's teeth rattle. Then Dean was there, stepping in between, telling them to cool off. His eldest barked orders to Sam about getting salt before turning a fiery gaze on John. That boy of his was damn smart. John took another long drink of the bottled fire, wincing as it washed away more guilt and regret.
He glanced up at the dark windows, sensing movement; but all he caught sight of was his own sad likeness. He barely recognized it. Losing faith and hope was dangerous. It left pock-mocks in your soul. Dangerous, deep fissures waiting to be filled by other things not so nice. Things like grief, anger, rage and vengeance. Emotions brought in with the red tide of loss. John was full of these demons.
Instead of offering a buffer like hope, buoying him like faith, they drug him down. Sunk him to a level where he could punish his son for insubordination instead of conceding his faithlessness. The knock on the door turned him from his shattered reflection; anger flaring that Dean had stayed out so late and forgotten his fucking key. He'd have to have words with that son of his. You said you would be here tomorrow. Caleb had made his way to the table where he reached out and lifted the half-empty bottle of whiskey.
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John was in front of him in two steps, plucked the alcohol from the younger hunter's hand. He'd seen that disappointed look before. It was amazing that Caleb could so resemble Mackland Ames when there was no shared blood between them. Caleb stepped into the man's personal space. Send me to the brig? Sam's voice stopped John from replying. Both men turned to find the lanky teen leaning in the breezeway that led to the tiny living room. The teen snorted and moved around the two to make his way towards the refrigerator in the corner.
Caleb glanced at him and the kid smirked. He was tired of the insubordination. This was one of those nights when he regretted sparing the rod. Sam took out the milk and moved to the counter to grab a glass. There was no doubt of that. From the moment the scruffy, cocky thirteen-year-old was placed in his somewhat forced tutelage, a soft spot formed. Over the years he watched the kid become a man and warrior; his affection grew along with his pride in having a hand in the process.
Jim Murphy had known what he was doing. They didn't call him Merlin for nothing. John knew he was almost as responsible for the person Caleb Reaves was as Mackland. As much as that pleased him; it could also come back to bite him in the ass. Caleb could bestubborn and confrontational when backed in a corner. Sometimes his 'frogginess' forced him to jump out of the frying pan before he had a good mind as to the fire raging around him. Hewas fearless and loyal when it came to John's sons.
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It was a strength John cultivated as well as a flaw he manipulated when it suited his purposes. The hairs on the back of John's neck stood at attention at the blatant disrespect, his blood pressure inched up. John had never struck one of his own children in anger. It was probably the only thing saving Caleb at the moment.
You almost got him killed tonight. He would never make such a mistake. Not with his children. There would have been blood. Dean would have reported to him. If their victims aren't treated…". He met the teen's fearful gaze. John ran his hands through his hair. He knew better than to pull something so juvenile and idiotic not to mention…". His whole life you've pushed him aside for the ongoing battle with everything evil and now you have this war with Sam.
Sometimes it's easier to blend into the surroundings than get pulled apart in the thick of things. But even as John focused his anger and outrage on Caleb, he felt the ache of self recrimination. Jim was fond of saying the only thing that ended up getting hurt when two elephants fought was the grass. Was Dean being trampled in the wake of his and Sam's head butting?
He might have been a shitty parent; but he was still Dean's father. John had his hands in the younger hunter's shirt before a conscious thought entered his mind. He slammed Caleb against the wall. There was no flash of fear or surprise, but John read the disappointment and mixture of hurt easily enough. Caleb could pull off a 'fuck you' attitude; unless you knew him. He and Dean were a lot a like in that way.
If one was aware, all it took was a hard look in their eyes and you knew what was really going on beneath the tough veneer. John shook his head. He'd already done enough damage to his family for one day. He let go of Caleb's shirt, put some distance between them before he spoke again. That poison gets in the bloodstream and…" It was almost as deadly as a bite from a zombie. And to know just how badly he messed up. Caleb didn't keep quiet when it came to his concerns about Dean. He with him now? The anger was back in the gold gaze. Caleb stepped forward, but John's glare halted him.
I screwed up, but I'm still The Knight, and you better start showing me some fucking respect. John rolled his eyes. He never used his knightly position, and should have expected an older Caleb would show his smart ass side. First thing in the morning. Buzz said he needs to rest a few days. John clenched his jaw. Tried to remember every calming technique Mackland had so politely suggested to him over the years. Killing Caleb wasn't an option.
John let him go. He was too tired to continue their battle; too grateful Dean was alright. He felt Sam's angry gaze on him, the weight of it staggering. Take care of your brother. The boy moved passed him in a huff, slamming the door in his wake. The sound was as final and resolute as a gun shot. John made his way back to the table where his old friend Jim Bean was waiting. The burn of the bitter whiskey was welcomed. Sam wanted to scream at his father. I told you about the rougarou. I told you someone was going to get hurt. It was the same argument Sam had waged with his father for months.
Their luck was going to run out. John's obsession to kill more and more things evil was growing. Sooner or later his father would slip up, and the rest of their family would be lost. Dean could be lost. The idea of it haunted Sam's dreams. Left him living in constant fear. He was so tired of being afraid. For just a little while, he'd like to live in the blessed ignorance normal people survived in.
The teen watched Reaves as he stopped at the front of his Jeep. He rested his hand on the hood. The answer was quick and sharp, leaving no room for further inquiry. Sam didn't believe it for a minute. He understood all too well the feeling one walked away with after doing battle with John Winchester. Especially if you loved the bastard. The hint of anger directed at him didn't surprise Sam as much as it grated on his already frayed defenses.
He was used to anger.
In fact he fed off of it. Sam felt the overwhelming need to lash out at what he perceived as an accusing tone. It didn't hold water. Sam was finally seeing things as an adult. Sam shook his head. He wanted some breathing room. Caleb should have understood. It pissed him off he didn't. He won't listen to anything I say about the man. The psychic took a threatening step forward, pointed a finger at Sam. I have a mind of my own. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to protect him too. Blindly following Dad's orders is going to get him killed. Is that what you want?
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He understood it to be one of Caleb's biggest fears. He'd watched his father use it over the years to bend the psychic to his will. Just like John used Sam to keep Dean in line. Sam refused to let his father wield that kind of power over him. I've been fighting this particular battle a whole lot longer than you have. I get where you're coming from but you've got to stop dragging Dean in the middle.
Because from where I'm sitting, you have no fucking clue. You may have to endure John Winchester's wrath on occasion…but you get to leave. You don't live with it day in and day out. You went to college. Don't try to pretend you understand me or that we have some kind of bond because you've had to deal with Dad on some miniscule level. A myriad of emotions raced across Reaves's face and Sam realized he wasn't yelling at his brother or his father.
Sam had never argued with Caleb, not in any kind of hostile manner. Sure they had sibling-like squabbles; but honestly Reaves, like Dean, mostly brushed Sam's tirades off with a roll of his eyes and an infuriating head rub. But this look was different. Sam took a step back. You have a brother who would rather die than cause you any undo pain. You had years of shielding from the fucking monster that lurks in the dark. He grabbed hold of Sam's shirt, gave him a hard shake. Because we've marked time together. Because I've been there for you more times than I can count. Sam blinked, his chest clenched.