January 24th, 2004
The manor stood silent at the top of the hill. The sky was overcast, gray clouds pressing down like a weight. I parked on the gravel path and stepped out of the car. The cold air bit at my skin, but that wasn't what made my heart race.
Something was wrong.
I hadn't seen the door when I pulled up, but now it caught my eye—slightly ajar, hanging open like a wound. That was impossible. The manor was always locked. Multiple deadbolts, alarms, cameras—my father never took chances. No one got in without permission.
I reached for my Glock 20 as if it were a lifeline. My boots crunched on the gravel as I approached the entrance, senses sharp, every nerve screaming. I could hear nothing but my own breathing and the faint drip of water from the eaves.
Stepping inside was like crossing into another world. The air shifted immediately—cold, thick, metallic. A scent hit me, sharp and familiar. The odor of vampires. I froze. Goosebumps raced up my arms. A dull pressure pressed behind my eyes. I knew what was here, and what it meant.
I moved carefully, every footstep measured. The lounge was the first room I entered. It looked normal at first glance. The leather couch was in place. The shelves of books sat undisturbed. But then I saw it—a corner of carpet slightly raised and a drop of blood on the floor, dark and fresh.
A fight had broken out here.
I followed the blood trail, heart pounding. And then I found him. My father. Lying on the floor, neck sliced open. His eyes were wide, empty. No weapons near him. No chance to fight.
The weight of the sight slammed into me. My body stiffened. My mind screamed denial, but my instincts took over.
I cleared the rest of the house room by room. Every step felt heavier than the last.
The kitchen was chaos. Broken chairs, shards of glass scattered across the floor. The table had been smashed in half. And there, my mother and sister lay dead. My mother clutched a gun. My sister, a dagger.
They fought until the end.
Silence fills the manor.
The silence that filled the manor wasn't peaceful. It was wrong. Cold. Still.
I stood there, staring, trying to understand how it happened.
My father must've died first. He never had a chance. No weapon. No signs of struggle. He never expected anything to get through our defenses.
My mother and sister… maybe they heard the fight. Maybe they ran toward it. They armed themselves. But it didn't matter.
Whoever came was strong. Or there were too many of them.
My hands clenched at my sides, rage coiling in my chest. This wasn't just grief anymore.
I would hunt them. Every last one.
The pressure behind my eyes worsened as the scent lingered. The vampires had marked this place. And me.
Eventually, I called the police. My voice was calm, steady. I gave them the address, no more. Let them come and see the mess.
When the officers arrived, I stayed silent. They didn't understand what they were dealing with. They never would.
Days later, I found a letter and a document sealed in a metal lockbox beneath the floorboard in my father's study—my family's will.
It was dated months before their deaths. Simple and direct. The manor was left to me, along with all our family assets. But there was more.
A final message in my mother's handwriting:
"Forks is your only chance. A place to hide, to rest, and to gather your strength. Trust no one but watch everything. Your path continues where ours ends."
No names. No explanations. Just one location. Forks, Washington.
I didn't know what they meant. But I knew my parents hunted monsters. If they believed Forks was a safe place for me, there had to be a reason.
I didn't know if it was hope or fact.
I didn't know what I'd find there.
But I had nowhere else to go.
---
January 16th, 2005
Six months ago, I arrived in Forks, Washington.
Rain pounded the windshield as I drove through the sleepy town, gray skies matching the mood in my chest.
Charlie Swan, the chief of the police, coincidentally met me at the edge of town. He helped me find the house my parents had purchased—a modest place far from the manor I had left.
I kept to myself. Posed as a freelance photographer to avoid questions. I observed everything—people, places, patterns.
Then, one Saturday, it happened.
I was walking along Main Street, the closest thing this town had to a crowd. Families. Teenagers. Small-town movement and sound.
Then it hit me.
A sudden spike of pressure behind my eyes. Goosebumps across my arms. My senses sharpened instantly.
Vampire.
The scent was weaker than it had been in the manor, but still clear.
I didn't react. I just started taking photos—random directions, casual movements—while I scanned the street.
Nothing obvious. No pale figure. No red eyes. No shadow lurking in the corner.
But someone there wasn't human.
Then, just like that, the feeling disappeared. The pressure in my head vanished. The goosebumps faded.
It was gone.
Days passed, and I heard whispers. Quiet rumors in hushed tones at the diner, at the grocery store. People talking about a strange family living on the outskirts—a doctor and his wife with five adopted children.
They never seemed to age. Their beauty was almost unnatural. People said things, things I couldn't ignore.
I didn't know if they were vampires or not, but something about them didn't sit right.
I needed to know the truth.
So I enrolled at Forks High.
Not to fit in.
To watch. To learn.
---
January 17th, 2005
It's the day I start school.
I sighed. "This is not gonna be easy."
Going to school for the first time in my life was already strange enough—but going there just to stalk some people and find out if they were vampires? That added a whole other layer of complication.
I got into my 2002 Ford Mustang GT—one of the few things my father left behind. The engine roared to life, comforting in its familiarity. I pulled out of the driveway and onto the wet road.
Forks wasn't a big town, so it didn't take long to get there. Ten minutes, maybe less. Trees blurred past as I drove, rain streaking across the windshield.
Then I saw it: a simple sign at the edge of the lot.
Forks High School.
I pulled into the parking lot, the engine rumbling low as I parked near the back.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath, gripping the steering wheel. "Let's do this."