Wynter
an excerpt

"I’d rather just start where the real story starts, if you don’t mind. Alright. I believe that the only way I can get through this without sobbing is to tell it as if it were a story. I’ll begin.
“ The vampire walks soundlessly down the empty rows of graves. It seemed a terrible cliché to me. The vampire that haunts the graveyards. I stopped and stared at the headstone that bore my name. Reeve Wynter, it said. And below my name were my birth and death dates: January 3, 1962 – November 13, 1990. Also there were some basic, boring words there. Something like Father, Husband, Son. My lip curled back involuntarily at the plainness of it. That whoever had gotten that headstone made hadn’t been able to think of anything interesting to say. I then glanced at the headstone beside my own, my wife, Elizabeth Wynter’s. She had died many years after my own supposed death, after raising our daughter on her own. Oh, my daughter . . . Her headstone was missing. She had disappeared shortly before Elizabeth’s death. I had no idea what had become of her. Movement caught my eye, breaking me out of my reverie. A slim, shivering woman walked through the graves and the mist the evening rain had left behind. I silently watched the tight jeans move against her legs, as she took long, hurried strides. I felt bloodlust crawling through me and I burned with hunger for her. The she, sensing my presence, turned quickly around. ‘Oh, excuse me,’ she gasped, laughing nervously. ‘I didn’t see you there; you startled me.’ Her eyes narrowed slightly, squinting to see me in the dark. I could see her as if someone had shined a light on her. I remember her face perfectly, a face I would see on many more nights for many more years, but other details of that night are hazy. "