On an early November night in 1983, in a simple home in Lawrence, Kansas the Winchester family's lives were changed forever. And not necessarily for the better.
Inside the house, a blonde woman wearing a white nightgown - Mary Winchester - carried her four-year-old daughter Deanna into a dark room. "Come on, let's say goodnight to your sister," she told the child.
Mary flicked the light switch of the room, lighting up a nursery . In the middle of the room sat a crib in which lay a baby girl, Samantha. Baby Samantha looked over at her mother and sister as Mary set Deanna down. Deanna ran over to the crib, leaning over the rail and bending to kiss her little sister on the forehead.
"Night Sam," Deanna said.
Mary leaned over Samantha as well. "Goodnight, love," She brushes Samantha's hair back and kisses her forehead.
A rough, male voice speaks from the door. "Hey, Deanna,"
Deanna turns around and sees her father, John Winchester standing in the doorway. She rushes over to him, exclaiming "Daddy!"
"Hey, sweetie," John replies as he scoops his eldest daughter up. "So, what do you think?" he asks her. "You think Sammie's ready to toss around a ball yet?"
Deanna shakes her head, laughing at her father's question. "No, Daddy,"
John laughs and agrees with her. "No,"
Mary stops by John and Deanna on her way out of the room. "You got her?" she asks him.
"I got her," John assures his wife, hugging Deanna closer.
Mary leaves the room and heads for her and John's bedroom.
John turns toward the crib and says to his baby girl, "Sweet dreams, Sam," before he carries Deanna out of the nursery, flipping off the lights.
Samantha watches them go, gurgling while she reaches for her toes.
The animal-themed mobile above Samantha's crib begins to spin on its own while she watches, transfixed. The transportation-themed clock on the walls ticks, ticks, stops. The moon-shaped nightlight flickers.
Several hours later, Mary was sound asleep in her and John's room. At least she was until strange noises began to come through the baby monitor on the nightstand next to the bed. Mary groggily opened her eyes and turned on the light. "John?" she asked sleepily.
She turned to the other side of the bed, but it is empty. Mary got to her feet.
She walked down the hall to Samantha's nursery. The silhouette of a man – whose build is similar to John's – stands over Samantha's crib.
"John?" Mary asked. "Is she hungry?"
"Shh," 'John' told her.
"All right," Mary said, too tired to argue. She went back into the hallway and saw that the stair light was flickering. She frowned and tapped the light until it steadied. "Hm," she murmured. She could see a bit of flickering light coming from downstairs; Mary descended the stairs to investigate. When she reached the living room she saw that John was asleep on the couch as a war movie played on the TV.
The realization slowly sunk in… if John was down here, than the man upstairs was not and must be an intruder. Mary's only thought immediately after that was: Sam. She took off in a sprint back up the stairs, calling out, "Sammie! Sammie!"
Mary stopped short when she reached Samantha's nursery, taking in the sight before her.
~ SPN ~
Back in the living room, John was awoken suddenly at the sound of Mary screaming. "Mary?" Terrified, John scrambled out of the chair and headed for the stairs. "Mary!" he called.
He burst through the closed door of the nursery, panting, "Mary," He looked around the room for his wife, but she wasn't there. The room appeared to be quiet and empty, except for Samantha, who was awake in her crib. John glanced around once more and pushed down the side of his daughter's crib. "Hey, Sammie. You okay?"
John was completely focused on the baby, until he saw something dark drip onto the crib rail. He reached down and touched it as two more drops landed on the back of his hand. He realized now that these drips looked an awful lot like blood.
Feeling his heart stop, he risked a look upwards and was instantly petrified. Mary was sprawled out up on the ceiling, the stomach of her nightgown red with blood and she was staring at John, struggling to breathe. In horror, John collapsed to the floor, staring his dying wife. He cried out in desperation. "No! Mary!"
At that moment, Mary burst into flames, the fire spreading from her body to the rest of the ceiling and the rest of the room. John could only stare at his wife, his body frozen. He wasn't taken out of his stupor until her heard Samantha begin to wail. With the sudden reminder that he was not alone, John stood up and scooped Samantha out of her crib into his arms and rushed out of the room.
Out in the hall, Deanna was making her way towards her sister's room. She'd been woken up by someone yelling and was on her way to investigate. Before she made it to the nursery, she was met by her dad exiting the room. "Daddy!" she called out walking over to him.
John shoved Samantha into Deanna's arms and told her, "Take your sister outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Deanna, go!"
The seriousness in John's voice kept Deanna from asking questions. She did as she was told and ran down the stairs, clutching her baby sister tightly.
John turned back to the nursery. "Mary!" The fire had spread to the entire room, the nursery now a blazing inferno. His wife's body could barely be seen through the flames. "No!" John cried in despair.
~ SPN ~
Deanna ran out the door into the yard, protectively clutching Samantha in her arms. "It's okay, Sammie," she comforted her sister. Whether or not she was lying, Deanna didn't know.
She looked back up at the window of Samantha's nursery, which was now lit with gold. It would have been pretty, had it not be for the worry clawing its way through Deanna's chest.
John burst through the front door, running towards his daughters. Not stopping, he scooped them into his arms. "I gotcha," he whispered to them as he carried them away from their home just in time.
At that moment, fire exploded out of the nursery window.
~ SPN ~
The house was surrounded by dozens of people from firefighters to police officers to paramedics. Firefighers were working to put out the flames while police officers were trying to keep people drawn to the blaze out of curiosity away from the house.
Across the street from the commotion sat the Winchesters, on the hood of John's Chevy Impala. John held Samantha in his arms while Deanna sat by her father's side.
John looked at the remnants of the fire, his mind whirling. What the hell had just happened? Mary, his wife, was dead. How was that possible? And why?
