Sam is not a Wincester, but is Azazel's son and must find his way.

~ Writer's note:

This is my first published story here. I have it titled as Wizards in my documents though I don't think there will be any wizards I believe I will leave the name. I do enjoy feed back of all kind so please feel free to let me know what you think.~

Sam pov:

Sam put the cigarette to his lips and took in a huge breath, then withdrew and discarded the remains on the ground, grinding it with his boots as he released the heavy smoke from his lungs to swirl lazily in the frigged late autumn air. The pounding in his head abated for now but the vision was fresh in his mind. Soon. He would meet them soon.

He pulled the huge heavy and old dark brown leather jacket closer to his 6'1" body as a strong breeze whipped by blowing his shaggy ear length brown hair into his currently hazel eyes. The cold seeping deep into his being through the ripped and faded jeans and nipping at his bare fingers.

He then made his way down the road to the old decrepit cabin at the edge of town near the woods he was currently squatting in as the light of the day had begun to wain.

He had decided earlier that he would do the salt and burn tomorrow night when the moon was full and the light plenty seeing as the batteries for his piece of crap flashlight had died and he currently didn't have the money to by more and still feed himself for the next two days. Food and bullets where expensive theses days and he needed all the money he could get.

Coming to the cabin after the 45 minute walk he sighed deeply and walked carefully and silently up the rotted steps to the four roomed, dangerously tilted, and weather damaged cabin. Opening the creaking door he stepped agilely around the hole in the floor and made his way to the small wood stove in the corner of the main room.

Opening the door to the stove he used a stick to bring the remaining coals from the fire this morning forward and placed wood and some dry kindling he had gathered three days ago when he had found the place, in.

He had come to Arcadia, Ohio five days ago from Newburn, Tenneesee because of a couple of strange murder cases. Six young blonde women between the ages of 20 to 33 who had gotten into fights with their boyfriends or significant others and left their houses and wandered town. Reportedly around nine at night screams could be heard and when people came to investigate they would find the women with their hair ripped out and their tongues and eyes removed.

At first it was passed off as just regular murders but there had been reports of a short brunette woman in a fancy Victorian style dress seen around each of the incidents. Doing some digging he found that in 1941 a woman named Rebeca Thompson aged 45, murdered a blonde woman aged 23 after she discovered her and her husband having an affair. She knocked out the blonde with a vase and stabbed her husband with a piece of glass, killing him. Then she took the woman and stabbed her in the heart and cut out her tongue and eyes, then proceed to rip out her hair. Afterward she was struck with so much grief she took her own life with that same piece of glass used to kill both victims. Her and her husband are buried in a field where their old estate used to stand. Thus he concluded that this was most likely a haunting and would put his theory to test tomorrow night, and with the eight o'clock curfew he needn't worry about any more murders in the mean time.

With the fire going strongly he closed the door then moved to his bag that was 5ft away from the stove and was packed tightly and ready to go should he had to have evacuated quickly. He unpacked his old and tattered sleeping bag that he has had for about as long as he could remember and placed it on the floor next to him. He then removed his jacket and boots setting them neatly aside and grabbed form his bag a granola bar and a half drunk bottle of water. Eating slowly so as not to upset his stomach that has been working on one small meal a day for the last three weeks. Afterward he burned the trash from his granola bar grabbed the hunting knife from his jacket and placed himself in his sleeping bag to sleep lightly for the next five hours with the knife griped tightly in his left hand and his ears open for any disturbances.

It was 4:30 and the sun wasn't even up however, Sam was. He was currently doing sit ups on his sleeping bag, having already done his stretches and push ups. Finished he put on his boots, rolled up his sleeping bag and put it away, putting on his jacket he slipped his knife into the inner pocket.

Walking out into the frozen morning, the ground covered in frost and angry clouds keeping it dark he worried about the salt and burn tonight and hoped the clouds would be gone by then allowing the moon to bestow upon him enough light to get the job done.

Pulling his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and looked to see five left before pulling one out and placing it between his lips and putting the pack back into his pocket. Pulling his silver zippo lighter from his jean pocket he brought it to the cigarette and light it thinking about how he would need to get more before placing the lighter back where it belonged. He definitely needed cigarettes more then he needed food.

He took a deep drag and removed the cigarette from his lips between his right pointer and middle fingers. Releasing the smoke he began his trip into town knowing he needed to get more information and supplies before tonight.

Having finished uncovering the dirt from the grave, Sam brought his shovel up and down onto the casket. Opening it released an old moldy smell and reviled the remains of Rebeca Thompson. Having already put the salt and gasoline on the bones he brought out a match book however, before he could light it a strong force threw him back into a tree 12ft from the grave.

Looking up he saw Rebeca Thompson in her Victorian style dress, her brown hair once in a neat bun now lopsided with strands in her crazed face. She snarled and brought her hand up to strangle him her other hand holding the glass she was about to stab him with.

He knew this was going too smoothly. Using all his will power he reached to the back of his jeans and took the gun he had prepared for such an occasion and quickly brought it forth and shot her between the eyes. She screamed and disappeared dropping him. Making the most of the fall he sprung up, ran to the matches, did a barrel roll picking them up, light them and through them into the pit just as she reappeared screaming as her body caught fire and she disappeared for good. Making full use of the full moon he quickly reburied the grave and left.

An hour later he arrived at the old cabin and garbed his bag leaving just before two in the morning, not leaving a trace he was ever there other then the footsteps on the frost covered ground.