Memories bathed in Blood

'Sammy? You ok?'

~~*~~

November. 1983. Sam Winchester is exactly 6 months old.

The small street in Kansas seems to stop, the night completely silent. The house, like so many others yet different at the same time, was the goal of this night. Chilly winter air blowing shriveled leaves across the neatly tended lawn. The rooster weather vain on the roof of the Winchester's home squeaks softly as it turns in the  frozen breeze.

A dark figure steps out of the alley opposite the house, lurking in the shadow. A thin film of ice covers the pavement around him. It screamed 'unnatural'. The man considered the house for a long time. Taking in its corners, it's layout. He focused on the window on the top floor to the right. Baby Sams window.

Walking towards the Winchesters home with long, purposeful strides, he made it to the front door. Deadlocked from inside to protect against intruders. A small giggle escaped the figure. Such puny defences would not stop him. Moving his hand in a clockwise motion, the door clicked softly as it unlocked and swung open

As the man walked over the threshold, the house went cold.  Mary, who was asleep and unaware of their visitor, pulled the blankets closer unconsciously, her breath coming in small white clouds.

Stepping softly, the stairs made no sound as the intruder tip toed to Sams room.

He stopped, hovering over the infants crib, watching the sleeping baby with sick interest.  Slowly, as not to disturb him, the man reached into his green jacket- drawing out a long curved blade.

Pulling it across his wrist in one fluid motion, not seeming to feel the pain at all. He held it over the baby, waiting for the blood.

Sensing the disturbance, Sam woke.  Not recognising the figure hovering above him, he opened his mouth to wail, only to receive a stream of warm, scarlet blood. The man flexed his wrist, making more blood drip into the babies mouth.

Surprised, Sam began to mumble. Mary Winchester, opened her eyes in the dark room down the hall. Shivering from the cold, she peeked in on her son. "John?" she asked sleepily. The figure turned and put his fingers to his lips. She smiled and went downstairs to heat a bottle. Her face grew confused as she saw the t.v. was on...and her sleeping husband in front of it.

Gasping, she ran back up stairs to Sam's room. "N-" she started to yell but the figure spun round, tucking his injured hand into his jacket. Taking immediate action, he threw Mary onto the ceiling, pulling her up the wall as she screamed. Slitting her stomach, red blood stained her white night dress.