A/N: This kind of prompt basically starts the story for you, then you write the rest. Some of these may turn into fanfiction, soooo... Oops? What the book has written I'll put in italics so you know where I actually start writing. I'll try to switch up what kind of prompts I do as well!

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we'd struck it rich and that we'd be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we'd spend the money. Our first choice was taking our newfound wealth to a nice bank. We thought if we were rich enough we'd be able to live off the interest for the rest of our days. Some of the men with families even wanted to blow their theoretical riches on nice things to impress their wives and children.

But one man knew something was wrong with what we had found. He was convinced that whatever had come out of the ground was dangerous. He told us all it didn't make a lick of sense. He told us what was in the ground was demon blood. He said it had almost magical properties that would turn your mood south on a dime. Our foolish selves were adamant, however, that we were going to be fine. Better than fine, even. We thought we were going to be rich.

Oh how wrong we were. 

You see, it was the turn of the century when all of this happened. The 1900s rolled around and things started changing. We were working near Beaumont, Texas; the very heart of the oil boom. We had been working in the stifling heat for months, and some had been working even longer. We worked grueling days with long hours. The nights were stone cold and left many in poor conditions, but they didn't stop working. It's not like they had a choice. But, as you can imagine, that didn't exactly fare too well with their bodies.

They only got worse until they worked themselves to their inevitable demise. We lost people almost daily, but our population was made up for by waves of naive young men sauntering into our camp fantasizing about striking rich. Then we found the oil.

Now, seeing as it was the 20th century and we were grown men, we didn't believe the ghost stories being told by one man. That man's name was Samuel Winchester. When we reported the oil and sold it, old Samuel wouldn't touch it. In fact, I don't believe I ever saw him again after we discovered the oil. The man was scared of it I reckon. Quite rightly, too.

You see, once we had gotten back home, things began going south fast. We had the riches that we had desired, but everything started going haywire. Families were being torn apart, sickness ravaged households, friends were dropping like flies. As for me, I didn't have much to go back to anyhow. But when I got back, I felt empty. I felt an endless hunger for things that I didn't truly want or need, I just wanted more. Soon enough I had spent my portion of cash on useless things. I ended up in a worse state than what I had started with.

I spent my years on the streets, begging for anything and everything. Now, when I had first found myself a beggar, I was a young, strapping man only 23 years of age. Now, as I lie here writing this, I am 54. I wasted away, causing my own destruction. I lie on a hospital bed alone. No familiar faces surround me, no comforting words are offered to soothe my pain. I am bitter, but more importantly I am afraid. I have nothing left to me. I have nothing to offer in my name but worthless advice that came too late for me.

And to mister Samuel Winchester I give my advice: The scariest things in life are the ones we don't understand.

So there it is. I know I don't have long, so I will end this the traditional way. This is the last will and testament of Abraham Augustus Pickett.

A/N: Hope you liked the story! This will be a kind of compilation of short stories. These books have actually been really interesting. Goodbye my fellow potatoes!! :) <3