1983.
The woods were lovely dark in front of the row of windows in the living room of Wainwright Mansion. A family whose ancestors had been hunters for centuries, and whose cellar was full of weaponry and books, full of the profession.
But Keith and Mary-Anne Wainwright quitted the hunt to protect their children, their older daughter Maria and their younger son Heath Clarence.
It was late that night in mid-july when suddenly a whisper awakened Heath: "Heath, come to me.." The teenager slowly got up, walked barefoot towards the door of his dorm room, leaned shortly against it. In his hand was a knife he always kept under his pillow, although his parents had tried to loosen his grip on hunting. But he was young, wanted risks but not safety. How wrong he was.
He heard screams, then silence, steps. His hands trembled, he was numbed by fear. But his will to hunt drove him into opening the door and staring into the grown old face of a man, he had sharp teeth and also pierced Heath with a terrific look. "Come to me...", the man lured with his older sister's voice. The human moved thrilled backwards, grabbing the knife hard. The man moved forward, leading Heath into a corner of the room, there was no chance to escape.
All at once the TV powered up and the noise broke the frightening silence and lit the room a little up in a grey light. The monster in front of Heath crooked but the youngster only heard a pure and unearthly voice, repeating his name. Heath... You are weak, little human. But I can cure your illness. Just let me control your body. Your grief is my source of power. Just say yes. Light was now filling the room, brighter than Heath had ever seen, and he protected his eyes with his hands. "Who are you?!", he shouted into the light, closing his eyes. I'm an angel of the Lord.