Here's an exciting exclusive for all you "Supernatural" fans out there: an excerpt from a new official novel called "One Year Gone"; written by Rebecca Dessertine, the book takes place between Season 5 and 6 of the show.
First, the synopsis: Dean believes that Sam is in Hell so he is trying to keep his promise to his brother and live a normal live with Lisa and Ben. When he realizes that a spell in the Necronomicon could raise Lucifer and therefore Sam, he convinces his new family to travel with him on vacation to Salem.
Meanwhile Sam is not as far away as Dean thinks and is determined to protect his brother from the Salem witches...A Supernatural novel that reveals a previously unseen adventure for the Winchester brothers, from the hit TV series! Twenty-seven years ago, Sam and Dean Winchester lost their mother to a demonic supernatural force. Following the tragedy, their father taught the boys everything about the paranormal evil that lives in the dark corners of America… and how to kill it. This story will fill in gaps in the Supernatural timeline thanks to the author’s first-hand knowledge of the show and unrivaled access to the show’s creator.
Now here's the exclusive excerpt from "Supernatural: One Year Gone"
A pale sliver of crescent moon pinches at the sky. A lone pair of footsteps crunches over a snow-encased field. Through spindly black brush, a young girl emerges and makes her way over the frozen earth. Her full black skirts scrape hieroglyphic shapes into the powdery snow. She stops and studies the ground before her; a covered mound pushes upwards from the earth. Scraping off the moss with her mitten-covered hands she reveals a grave. Despite the cold she proceeds to kneel down before it.
From beneath her coat she takes out a folded piece of purple fabric. Unwrapping the triangles of cloth, she lays it ceremonially on the frozen earth. Out of her pockets, she produces various objects and sets them precisely on the shroud. Faint moonlight glints off a silver outline of the pentagram extending to the corners. The girl pulls forth several black candles, fighting the wind as she lights them.
Into a small brass bowl she drops various feather pieces, stone, crystal, and herbs. Then she pulls a small dagger from her coat and presses the blade against her palm. Wincing slightly she slices the soft skin from her index finger to the base. Blood drips into the bowl covering the objects.
From her pocket she produces a worn book, two fists thick. Nervously, she lays it on her lap, brushing the pages apart with her gloved hands. Her voice wavers as she starts to chant, softly at first, tracing the words with her finger as she reads.
The wind whips up, steadily increasing to a screaming gale. The girl shades her eyes from the blowing snow but continues to chant over the howl of the cold air. The flakes before her begin to gather, as if attracted to one another by an unseen force, becoming denser and denser. The whirlwind slowly takes on a shape.
With each howl of the wind more snow coagulates until the figure of a woman solidifies before the girl. The girl peers up at the tall figure. A faint gasp escapes her blue lips. Her eyes move over the vestige of rotting flesh before her. She bows.
“Madam. I’ve missed you so. I serve only you.”
The specter’s glassy, dead eyes seem not to register the plea.
The girl continues. “I’ve done exactly as instructed. I’ve tried so very hard.” She wipes away a small dribble of mucus from her nose. “Council me. I know not how to make more provisions for him.”
The corners of the specter’s mouth turn upwards into a curdled smile.
“Why child, know what ye must. Raise us all.”
The color drains from the girl’s face.
“I… What if I cannot?” Her tear-streaked face turns upwards. “I’m not as strong as you.”
The specter’s lips prune into a rotten scowl. Raising her arm, she gives a quick flick of her wrist. The girl catches her breath as if someone startled her from behind. Her hands fly to her throat as a phantom grip tightens down onto her doe-sized neck. Blood rims her corneas, she fails to draw a breath.
The woman leans down, eye to eye with the girl.
“Well then, if you cannot do it, I will find someone else.”
She slowly turns her hand. The girl’s eyes dilate to saucers as the vertebra in her neck go POP, POP, POP, snapping like chicken bones.
At that moment, from behind, a dark figure emerges from the tree line. She approaches the girl silently, produces a knife and with one hand grabs the girl’s neck as the blade slices across her throat. Her small body falls limp into the snow, lifeless dark eyes staring out across the white expanse.
The pages of the old tome flap like the wings of a downed bird.
The figure holds the knife downward as blood drips from its blade. She picks up the book and continues the incantation as the blood petals over the white snow; spreading and soaking the purple cloth.
“Deviser of Darkness, imus adque deportamus...”
As the woman continues the chant, the specter darkens and materializes. With each word the figure becomes more corporeal: Her limbs take shape. The rancid skin on her face smoothes and tightens. Her rotting, torn clothes repair themselves.
The woman stops chanting, and looks at the creature before her.
“Dear mother, I’ve missed you so.”
The old woman nods, and the two walk off across the field together.
Snow wafts over the young girl’s dead body. Gradually, the snow covers the slight figure, blending it into the white landscape.
To order this book, click right HERE.
Jared Padalecki's spouse AND Supernatural co-star Genevieve Padalecki