Journal of John Winchester (Supernatural)

November 27

1,700 miles in 24 hours flat, me and H handing the wheel back and forth, from Blue Earth to Tempe. Fletcher Gable. He showed us a map of cemeteries-Devil's Gates, he called them. Places where demons can get through to our world. I don't know about demons, but the map was divided into sectors, and cemetery #112 in Zone 7 was in Hope, Colorado, near the Four Corners. I don't know how to explain at happened there. The Fore inn , set on the edge of a town full of dead bodies, hallucinations . . . we found the inn, and there was the hellhound, the black Shuck, and it came to H like a spaniel. He said he didn't kill Mary, but he set the dog on me, and said he knew "some of the players involved." But they weren't demons, he said. I killed the dog, and then H changed his whole tack, and then said that everything he'd done, even siccing the dog on me, was a way to get me to hunt. He said he wasn t H, he was something else in a hunter's body. A man's body. All I could think of was shooting the shape-shifter outside the roadhouse with Dean as a witness. I killed H, and I burned the hotel. I'm writing this at a rest stop on I-76 outside Julesburg. I killed H, and I'll goddamn well hunt, all right. I'll hunt, and the boys will hunt, and we will find whatever killed Mary and we will send it to Hell. And on the way, we will kill every monster and ghoul and ghost and demon and anything else. My boys will not grow up to experience what I have. They will not lose what I have lost.

This black dog, or the devil in such a likenesse (God hee knoweth al who worketh all,) running all along down the body of the church with great swiftnesse, and incredible haste, among the people, in a visible fourm and shape, passed between two persons, as they were kneeling uppon their knees, and occupied in prayer as it seemed, wrung the necks of them bothe at one instant clene backward, in somuch that even at a moment where they kneeled, they strangely dyed.