~*****~

"We're agents Page, Plant, and Rook." I recite softly, flashing my badge.

"Gentlemen," The coroner hums. I raise a brow and he gingerly clears his throat. "Ma'am. What brings you by?"

"We need to see Amber Greer's body." I retort.

"Really? What for?" The man snorted.

"The police report said something clawed through her skull?" Dean mentions.

"You didn't read the autopsy report that I emailed out this morning?" The coroner asks.

I grunt. "We heard nothing about a report being sent over. The tech in the office has been a bit funky."

The coroner rolls his eyes at us before turning on his heel and into enters pulls out the gurney for Amber's body. I grimaced just a bit as the coroner lifted up the sheet and pulled it back. "When they brought her in, we thought she was attacked by a wolf or something."

"Or something," Dean grunts.

"But we were wrong." The coroner sighs before pulling out a small baggie.

"Is that a--" Sam starts.

"It's a press on nail. We found it in her temporal lobe." The coroner explained.

"Is that even possible?" I ask.

"Wait, are you-- you saying that she did this to herself?" Dean asked.

The coroner nods with a hum. "She scratched her brains out. It'd take hours, and it'd hurt like hell, but sure-- it's possible."

"How?" Dean asks.

"Pick your acronym-- OCD, PCP. It all spells crazy. My guess-- some kind of phantom itch." The coroner sighs. "I mean, an extreme case, but..."

"Phantom itch?" Sam echoes.

"Yeah. All it takes is someone talking about an itch-- or thinking about one, even-- and suddenly, you can't stop scratching." The coroner states.

"Thanks, doc." Sam hums.

~*****~

"Okay, now some of these questions might seem a bit odd, but please just bear with me." I state gently as we question Mr. and Mrs. Jansen, the two who found Amber's body. "Have you noticed any cold spots in the house?"

"Uh, no." Mr. Jansen replies.

"Okay? What about strange smells?" I ask.

I trailed off, asking each question I would think to about a possible haunting. It's not until Dean comes around the corner with a smirk and nods his head. I thank Mr. and Mrs. Jansen for their time and head out.

"Dean, there's no way that itching powder made that girl scratch her brains out," Sam mentioned as I gazed at the little packet. "It's just ground-up maple seeds."

"If you have any other theories, I'm open to 'em." Dean retorted.

"This stuff can induce a pretty good itch, but it's not that strong..." I mention irritably. Sam's phone begins to ring and he answers. We peer back at him and he grunts.

"Yeah, we'll be right there." Sam says almost immediately.

Back at the hospital, we see a body getting bagged up. "What happened?" I ask.

"Guy got electrocuted," The coroner hums.

"Any idea how?" Dean asks.

"Eh, maybe a loose wire or a piece of equipment shorted out. So far, we haven't found anything." The coroner sighs.

"Witnesses?" Sam asks.

The coroner nods. "Yeah, guy in there-- Mr. Stanley. He says he saw it, but he's not making a lick of sense. Senile."

Sam cast us a confused glance before we cautiously approached the old man. "Uh, Mr. Stanley?" Sam called out.

The old man didn't even look at us as he spoke. "It was just a joke. I didn't know it would really work."

"What would work?" I ask.

Mr. Stanley finally looks at us, his face pale and scared. "All I did... was shake his hand." Mr. Stanley murmured in a frightened tone while holding up a small toy buzzer.

"May I?" I ask as I reach for it. "Don't blame yourself, Mr. Stanley. It may have been defective. Rest assured, we will get to the bottom of this." I reassure the old man. Tears burn in his eyes as he curls his arms around himself, staring off into space again. We leave the room hurriedly and I turn my gaze onto Dean. "Dude... we gotta test this thing out."

Sam stared between the two of us in confusion. "I'll buy the ham." Dean urged as he rushed away from us.

"Children," Sam heaves out. "I can't believe you're nothing but children..."

~*****~

Back at the motel room, we hurriedly got prepared to try out the killing toy buzzer. Dean donned himself in rubber gloves and a fancy pair of welding goggles. "You ready?" Dean asks as he carefully slips the buzzer onto his hand.

"Hit it, Mr. Wizard," Sam retorts. He calls us children, and he's eagerly watching with his own pair of goggles.

Dean cautiously places his hand on the frozen ham and then the room is suddenly filled with the smell of cooking pork. I peer at the ham in amazement before peering up at Dean. "That'll do, pig!" I chirp excitedly.

"What the hell?" Sam gasps. "That crap isn't supposed to work!"

"This thing doesn't even have batteries," Dean comments.

"So... so, what?" Sam asks. "Are-- Are we looking at cursed objects?"

"Sounds like it," I shrug. "Maybe there's a powerful witch in town. That's... Did you wash that pocket knife?" I ask Dean as he carves into the ham for a bite.

He ignores the question. "Is there any link between the, uh, the joy buzzer and the itching powder?" Dean asks while continuing to eat.

"Uh, one was made in China, the other Mexico, but they were both bought at the same store." Sam explains as he stares in disgust.

Dean holds up a piece of ham to the both of us, which we decline with subtle grimaces. "That'll do, pig," I say again as I gingerly pull the tin away from Dean. "Time to get to work."

We arrive at the Conjurarium in town, and from the looks of it, it was an ordinary looking joke shop. "Sam, Lottie--" Dean hums as he plucks an item off the shelf. He beams like a little kid as he holds up the whoopie cushion. Sam glances down at me in exasperation before we roll our eyes and trail away from him. Just as I pass by the counter, a man steps around from the back.

"Welcome to the Conjurarium, sanctum of magic and mystery." The man hums.

"You the owner?" I ask.

"Yep," The man nods.

"You old any itching powder or joy buzzers lately?" Dean asks.

The man chuckles. "Yeah, a grand total of one each. They aren't exactly big-ticket items. Look, you guys here to buy something or... what?" The owner asks. Dean immediately flashes the whoopie cushion and pays for it.

I roll my eyes. "So, you get many customers?" I ask.

"Kids come in," The owner shrugs. "They don't buy much, but they're more than happy to break stuff. These days, all they care about are their iphones and those kissing-vampire movies. The whole thing makes me just..."

"Angry?" Dean asks.

The man nods after a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I am angry. This shop has been my life for twenty years, and now it's wasting away to nothing."

"Which is why you hate them," Dean adds.

"I suppose," The man shrugs.

"You wish there was something you could do about it." Dean continues.

"Yeah, I guess I do." The man nods again, seemingly fired up.

"So you're taking revenge..." Dean plucks a rubber chicken from the display on the counter and plops it onto the counter. "With this." Dean tugs out the joy buzzer. He presses it into the chicken and the smell of burning rubber invades the room.

The owner doesn't stare in shock, instead he shouts in surprise before collasping on the steps behind him. "Something tells me this guy is not a powerful witch," I comment lightly.

"Sorry," Dean says loudly. "Sorry."

We leave the joke shop as the man whimpers and shudders on the ground. "Now what?" I ask irritably.