Dashing El Deano, left all by his lonesome as you'll no doubt recall after last week's stomach-churning end-of-episode drama, catches wind of a bizarre spate of gruesome deaths amongst the medium community in Lily Dale, New York, and so boosts yet another crapped-out piece of garbage to motor on up to Chautauqua County to investigate. Of course, he almost immediately runs into Sullen Sammy, who's there for the exact same reason, so the two reluctantly join forces to figure out what's actually going on. Seems one local supposed psychic of note got brained by her own crystal ball while another found her neck on the business end of a deadly airborne Ouija-board planchette, and their surviving compatriots in the hamlet's Spiritualist community are quite naturally on edge, especially after a third, spoon-bending mentalist ends up impaled on dozens of pieces of cutlery in his own salon.
After a brief bit of pointless misdirection involving a supposed "Orb Of Thessaly" that is actually a chunk of Made-In-Taiwan junk, Our Intrepid Heroes zero in on one of the psychics' granddaughters, a comely lass named Melanie who herself works the Spiritualist circuit despite being convinced it's all a load of crap. Through Melanie, Sam and Dean learn that Granny had a particularly vivid premonition of her own death mere hours before said death occurred, and after yet another supposed seer receives a similar vision, the boys realize they're dealing with the unquiet spirit of the infamous Kate Fox. Fortunately, in Supernatural Land, Miss Fox was buried in the local cemetery after her alcohol-related death in 1892, so Our Dear Boys are spared a lengthy road-trip down to Brooklyn and instead promptly desecrate the poor woman's grave right there in Lily Dale. Problem solved, right?
Wrong. Turns out Dead Kate was merely warning the various victims of her pissed-off sister Margaret's murderous intentions, and Dead Maggie wastes not a moment slaughtering her fourth target right before the horrified Melanie's eyes. Super-Smart Sammy does a little more investigating and quickly discovers that yet another local -- this one a true psychic who sucks at the whole entertainment aspect of the business -- wrapped the unquiet spirit of Dead Maggie up in some sort of binding spell to exact his jealousy-fueled vengeance on his more financially successful neighbors. So, Sam shoots the guy about a half-dozen times in the chest, then salts and burns Dead Maggie's bones, which the abject failure had been keeping in a sack by his bed.
And in the end, Our Intrepid Heroes finally -- finally -- hash out their differences regarding that recently deceased Special Guest Monster no one cares about, ever, and motor on off towards their next adventure most happily reunited.
Rattle, Rattle WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE THEN! And as this evening's THEN! is All Dead Amy, All The Time, we'll be skipping ahead to the...
...Rattle, Rattle STILL NOT GIVING A SHIT NOW! And when the dripping is done, the shot cross-fades to an image of hands clasped lightly over a candlelit Ouija board. The camera travels up the heavily be-bangled arms attached to one of those pairs of hands to land on the serenely euphoric face of the supposed psychic to which they belong, and once the camera settles, the psychic breathes, "Yes! A spirit has gathered around us!" One of the psychic's customers, a middle-aged woman with carefully dyed hair, glances around the room with a nervous excitement. For his part, her brother -- a gentleman who looks every single one of his fiftysomething years -- does little more than roll his eyes. "Are you with us, spirit?" the psychic inquires. As if by response, a breeze sends the tastefully appointed parlor's lace curtains billowing inwards, and the female client giddily claims, "I feel something!" "I have goose bumps!" she practically titters before lifting her eyes up to the ceiling and wondering, "Uncle Danny?" The psychic, clearly an old pro at this act, pulls back the reins on her client at that, and instructs both the believer and the skeptic to place their hands on the Ouija board's planchette, so the three might "connect" with the spirit together. "Oh, spirit," the psychic then intones, "are you Uncle Danny?" Naturally, the planchette crawls across the board to land on YES. The grouchy brother harrumphs something about the psychic dragging the planchette across the board herself, but his complaints do nothing to throw the old gal off her game. She smilingly allows that his doubt and mistrust have as much of a place in this evening's proceedings as his sister's fervent belief, or something like that, then abandons the planchette to lift her palms into the air and coo, "Danny! If you're with us, knock twice for yes!"
Naturally, the psychic receives two distinct, sharp raps by way of reply, and the female client -- by now nearly weeping with joy -- burbles, "Is he happy?" Two raps sound out, so the female client next asks about Sadie, much to her brother's immense irritation. "Now you're being ridiculous, Cynthia!" the man spits. "Who cares about Sadie?" The psychic slyly darts her eyes from one sibling to the other and back again, then hurls herself into the theatrical throes of a vision. "I see...a family pet?" she guesses, and when the Cynthia confirms that Sadie was, indeed, a Schnauzer, the psychic blissfully assures her that Sadie is now "chasing tennis balls in the afterlife." This last bit of nonsense is more than the brother can bear, and he snaps, "There were important papers -- no one could find them, they weren't in the safe -- can you ask him about that?" "Of course," the psychic assures him, but as she instructs the angry gentleman to place his hands with hers on the planchette, all of the lights in the parlor start buzzing and blinking and flickering on and off, seemingly of their own accord. DUN!