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"What the..?" Dean pulled out what appeared to be a dusty and ragged pile of cloth. Only the cloth was thick and full and it was attached to a wooden block. Sam came over and shone his flashlight on it, raising an eyebrow at Dean as the shape became familiar.
"A doll?"
Dean shook out the cloth and found the hole where a hand would go. Sliding his in, he felt the pegs and posts that the wielder would use to manipulate the facial expressions and mouth movement. "Ha! It's a ventriloquist dummy." Dean cocked his head to the side. "Looks a bit like Carrot Top." Dean grinned and waggled the wooden head.
Sam rolled his eyes and smacked Dean on the shoulder. "Put it back, jerk. If it's in here, there's probably a reason. Dad wasn't the kind to keep things without cause. Maybe it's an evil dummy." Sam eyed it warily. To be fair, it did sort of resemble Carrot Top. If Carrot Top was an evil clown that sucked souls up through a straw. Sam mentally cringed and tried to suppress a shudder.
"Aww, wassamatta, Sammy? Is the mean doll scaring you?" asked 'the doll' in a high falsetto, its eyebrows waggling lewdly. Dean grinned and nudged Sam with the doll.
"I hate you. I really, really hate you."
"That's alright, Sammy. I love you... even if you are freakishly huge."
"Cut it out." Sam pushed at the dummy being thrust in his face. "OW! Dammit Dean," he jerked his hand to his chest and glared at his brother.
"What?" Dean frowned and pulled the doll away from Sam, trying to look at the hand Sam was cradling against his chest.
Sam raised his face with an incredulous look on it. "It," he gestured at the wooden toy with the flashlight, "It freakin' bit me!"
Dean scoffed. "Sure, Sam. He chomped you with his George Washington dentures. You probably just got a splinter, you big baby."
Sam held up his hand and shone the light on it with the other. "Does this look like a splinter, Dean?"
Dean eyed the bleeding wound on Sam's hand. It was hard to mistake the crescent-shaped mark for anything other than a bite. Dean looked down at the dummy on his hand and shook it, throwing it back into the box he'd pulled it from. "What the hell? A flesh-eating ventriloquist dummy? Who the hell would make that? And what for?"
Sam shook his head and tucked the flashlight under his arm, using his now-freed hand to wrap a handy bandanna around it. "Who knows? Maybe it was for a psychotic carniv-" Sam gaped as the 'doll' started to lift itself up, its beady little eyes glued on the smears of blood staining Sam's hand.
Dean followed Sam's gaze and flinched. He kicked at the doll as it flailed at him, eyes trained on Sam. "Bad Chucky. Get back in the freakin' box." Sam moved over to push the lid closed while Dean kept kicking at the cloth arms and legs that were trying to escape the box and come after Sam.
The lid closed and Dean shoved the lock through the slot. Silence suddenly engulfed the small storage locker, making the heavy breaths coming from the boys mouths seem louder. Then a piercing wail came from inside the box, along with sounds of scrabbling wooden fingers and cloth shoes trying desperately to claw their way out. Sam flinched as the shrieking seemed to ricochet around the room. "What are we going to do with it now?"
Dean picked up the box and gave it a hard shake. The wailing stuttered, then carried on again. "Sounds like time for a bar-b-que to me, Sammy."
Sam perked up and looked thoughtfully at the box. "Lighter fluid or gasoline?"
Dean looked down at the box and grinned back up at Sam.
"Gasoline." They both chimed.
They made their way out of the storage room. Dean 'accidentally' banged the box against every surface he could as they strolled back to the car to head to some out-of-the-way and lonely place to cremate the dummy.