A/N: Hey everyone! Just wanted to let you know: this is my first Supernatural fanfic. So go easy on me, and review a ton! I'll try to keep crankin' out chapters! If you have any tips on how to make the story better/more believable, by all means just hit the review button. I want to make this first story as top notch as I can 

Prologue

Dean Winchester winced as an invisible force knocked him backwards. He slammed into the rotted out walls of the old plantation's large study, hitting his head against the bookcase with a sickening crack.

"Son of a bitch." He mumbled before slowly rising. His eyes darted to the corner of the room, spotting his younger brother Sam, still chanting in Latin in what seemed to be a futile effort to make this bastard corporeal.

"Why couldn't you have had your body in a damn grave like normal people, you damn freak!" Dean shouted to nothing. His question was answered with an unearthly battle cry. iShit./i Was all Dean could think before being batted away again, spilling onto the floor like nothing more than a rag doll.

"Hurry the hell up Sammy! I think Casper's gettin' bored!" He called to his younger brother.

A slow bead of sweat trickled down Sam's brow. His chanting began to grow louder and more intense. With his shakey palms raised towards the heavens, his nearly angelic face was staring straight into nothingness. Dean shuddered at the lack of life that dulled his brother's eyes. Blood began to seep from Sam's nose and Dean's fear for his brother grew more intense by the second.

"Deficit omne quod nasciture!" Sam finished the spell before dropping to the ground from exhaustion, still careful to not touch even a single grain of salt from his protective circle. Dean propped himself up on one arm and looked around seeing nothing but the same run down study.

"Fan-friggin-tastic." Dean muttered before pulling himself up. He motioned for the salt gun but slowed as an unnaturally frigid breeze picked up throughout the room. The older Winchester moved his hand towards his knife holster, which sat patiently on his belt, waiting for it's chance to shine. Dean took a step forward cautiously, eyeing the room for what he could only hope was John Malcoff.

From what Sammy's research had showed, John Malcoff was the master of a plantation in the early 1800's. He was well known for his inhumane torture of his female slaves, and the brutal killings of their male spouses. When his slave's finally rebelled, all that was found of Malcoff's body was his "baby maker," as Dean had so eloquently phrased it. Of course in those times, the fact of such a private body part being buried was almost considered a sin, so the pain's-in-the-Winchester-boys'-asses decided to burn the only remains that could have possibly saved hundreds of teenage girls lives. Luckily for the boys, their old friend Bobby had found a spell that would make Malcoff corporeal, and easy to kill, as long as they had the right weaponry. Which Dean did. He had crafted a knife out of silver, ingrained with salt and blessed by a Catholic priest. Which he so lovingly named Lucy. If this didn't kill the bastard, Dean didn't know what would.

A deep scream filled the room, causing Dean to bend on one knee, covering his ears. In the middle of the room appeared a large man, clad in nothing but his birthday suit and as a relief to Dean, he was missing his "baby maker." Dean chuckled momentarily before lunging at the naked man, tackling him to the ground. Malcoff grunted in surprise and fell back almost too easily. He grasped at Dean's throat, wrapping his long, undead finger's around the bulk of his neck and digging his thumb into his adam's apple. Dean's eyes bulged as he reached down for 'Lucy,' flipping her gracefully from her holster, the hunter plunged his baby deep into the belly of Malcoff. The corporeal ghost stared at Dean in wonder, before slowly opening his mouth.

"Ha-ha. That's what you get you sick son of a-" Was all Dean could choke out before the ghost spewed a thick layer of blood into Deans face, then laid back and sunk into the ground, disappearing into the old wood.

Dean made a furious grunting noise before wiping the Ghost Goo from his face as best he could.

"Sweet." He said sarcastically before raising up and looking at his brother. He sauntered to where Sam still lay, watching the younger hunter's chest slowly rise and fall.

"Wake up you bitch." Dean managed, before lightly kicking Sam in the shoulder.

Sam jumped up in a start. "What happened?" He wondered aloud. "Did we win?"

Dean shook his head, "I guess you could say that."

Sam's chuckles set in as soon as his eyes landed on his older brother.

"Dude not funny. I need a fuckin' vacation."

Sam only nodded in return.