It's now or never, Ally. Just go in there and get it over with. Sure it's a creepy, damp hole of a shack, and you are sure to be facing a dangerous and potentially angry spirit in there, but hey! you were the one who signed up for this job. And you've faced worse.

SHUT UP! My god, that voice in the back of my head was going to be the death of me. Luckily, it was only times like this that brought it out, but I still dreaded the moment when it made its debut with the usual "don't do this ally" "don't be stupid ally". And to my frustration the voice always sounded like my mothers.

But it was this voice that had me pushing myself harder on every single job I did. This voice made me save people. That thought was what made me keep going every day, even when things seemed so bad that I thought I would never make it.

My name is Ally Walker... and I'm a hunter. I don't hunt animals. I hunt demons, ghosts, spirits, you name it. Anything that seems to be endangering the lives of humans. The world of supernatural is guarded safely against ordinary people, I hate to imagine what the world would be like if everything was out in the open.

I feel guilty sometimes, after killing someone who was possessed or worse, but then they weren't human, so surely I wasn't to blame for their death? As far as I was concerned they were dead to the world, when they turned into something unnatural.

I suppose I was born into hunting. My mother died when I was a baby, leaving me up to my dad. I didn't have a normal, white-wash, suburban neighbourhood upbringing, but I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything. While the kids in town were playing with dolls, I was learning how to shoot with a gun, throw knifes, and perform complex exorcism rituals. Something that no one would dream a 7 year old girl could do. But I stacked up against the odds.

Growing up learning these things forged a unique bond between me and my father. I was mature beyond my years, and he trusted me so infinitely that I embarked on my first hunt when I was 10. It was a spirit, nothing too big, but for the first time, I felt wonderful. Like hunting was a job meant for me, waiting for me to find it, and being there with my dad, my best friend, was making this a moment to remember.

Everything was perfect. Until exactly one week ago, when my father went missing. He was laying low somewhere in Texas, working out the information for his next hunt, and he vanished. I was in Virginia, hunting a werewolf, and hadn't heard from him in a while. I found this strange as he always called me during my hunts; more than once. Often just to talk, nothing to do with the hunt. But this time, I had nothing, and that scared the hell out of me.

I stayed on to finish off the werewolf, and floored it straight back to Texas, with a feeling in my gut telling me something was dreadfully wrong. When I reached the little shack just outside the towns borders my shackles went up. There was a peculiar smell in the air, which drifted down to me, whispering secrets in my ears. I edged to the cabin, and pushed on the bruised door. It was open. Jeffrey Walker never left his door unlocked.

I entered the cabin and my heart sank. The room had been overturned; there were multiple signs of a struggle. Dad had put up a good fight. I scowered the room for any evidence, anything that would help me pick up the trail. Nothing. Apart from the general mess of the room, I could see nothing.

But then I realised I had overlooked something. The smell was not as strong in the cabin as it was outside. How odd. I headed back outside, and the scent nearly knocked me over. I looked around the cabin and very nearly missed the very cause of the smell. Ectoplasm. Thick and oozing around the edges of the windows. So that's how they got in. Dad had tried to put up salt but he'd been too late.

Why did they want him, of all people? It was a question I was still asking myself, one week later.

I sighed, and headed to the motel.

I pulled my dodge charger into the parking area at the motel. As I climbed out of my baby, I noticed another classic American muscle car- a Chevrolet impala. Not bad, I thought, admiring the ride. When I entered the reception room, I noticed I was not alone. There were two guys, around the same age as me, one maybe a little younger than I was. The older one, or so I thought, seemed to be hitting on the woman working at the counter. At least, until he saw me.

He smiled at me, in a grainy "I know you want me" kind of way. I smirked.

"Nice ride you've got there, 1967?" I asked, enjoying the way his expression changed from lust to surprise.

"That's right. So you're a car girl?" He answered back, winking. The 3 of us walked out of the reception room together and back to the car park.

I smiled and pointed to my dodge. "That's my baby." I sighed. Oh, how I loved my car.

The flirty one immediately moved to the car to get a closer look. He was murmuring to himself in approval. I smiled to myself. Boys and their cars.

However, his companion looked to me like he didn't really care about the car. He noticed me looking at him and gave me a half smile. My overall judgement of him was that he looked a little nerdy but nice enough.

I cleared my throat. "Er, I'm Ally. Ally Walker. Nice to meet you." I debated about sticking out my hand but decided against it.

The flirty boy answered first. "I'm Dean. And this is my brother Sam. Winchester."

I smiled. Winchester. Who would have thought?