Mistah Kurts – he is dead
A penny for the Old Guy
Jo can't remember the exact moment when the war started.
Maybe it was that night in '83 when Mary Winchester was burned alive on the ceiling of her son's nursery. Or perhaps a few months later when John Winchester left the house of one Missouri Mosely.
Some days she fancies that it was when the two Winchester boys first walked into her mother's roadhouse and set out on their mission to find all the "special children". A mission which grew into a quest, and finally an obsession. A spark that spawned a flame that lit Jo's world on fire, and left her to smoulder as it raged on. Once the fire burned you, and the flame licked your soul, the urge to hunt – to kill became a need.
Regardless of when, and who, the war came to be. As wars tend to do, it swept its way from town to town, state to state, country to country, until the whole world was aflame with supernatural activity in levels never recorded. The other world that Jo and her family were a part of slowly began to bleed into the natural world – the real world. No longer did parents comfort their children with assurances that there was no such thing as a boogeyman – instead, children slept in one room, guns were propped by the doors, curtains drawn and lights put out.
Where before people had brushed aside whispers of vampires, werewolves and devils, suddenly garlic was in high demand, silver jewelry mysteriously went missing, and church attendance skyrocketed. It was as if the world had previously had its fingers in its ears, humming away any mention of disorder and chaos, and suddenly, was forced to pay attention. Books were taken out of libraries, researched, reprinted and distributed from house to house. Headlines no longer read of global warming and political debate, but of mysterious disappearances and gruesome deaths. Salt and brick dust wassuddenly the hot commodity – stores everywhere were scrambling to provide for something no one quite believed was real, but feared all the same.
And then the hunt began.