Prologue:

Christmas.

The one time of year that people should be happy to celebrate without worry. Houses on every block in the neighborhood overflowing with bright lights that are sometimes so over the top you have to stop and wonder how someone ever had the time much less the energy to do it all. The little kids are more excited about this holiday than even their birthdays because they know the jolly old dude with the plump cheeks and red and white suit will give them toys to their little hearts desire—even the little terrible ones who throw temper tantrums in the grocery store all be cause mommy won't get him a lollipop will get their share from Santa Claus, as well.

Not that I personally believe in Santa. Besides, what parent in their right mind would be okay with some sweaty fat dude in red velvet coming to their house in the dead of night to drop off gifts? Certainly not me. I was glad that I jumped off of that crazy train early enough to know better.

But still, all of this aside, Christmas really should be a time of year to be carefree and to not have worries piled up so high that you can't see past them.

Like I said, this should be a time when all of that happens and lots more, but for the people of Forks, Washington for the past one hundred and fifty years or so Christmas has only been known as a dark time that no one dares or even wishes to celebrate. For this small and sleepy Washington town the cold and snow bring a little bit more than your traditional season's greetings.

Something extremely sinister and feared by many, including myself know that I knew the full extent of what this holiday meant to the citizens of Forks. The gruesome little ghost story that would change my life in a big way.

I hadn't always been fearful of Christmas. That was because I hadn't always lived in Forks. I'd only moved here a month before my Christmas nightmare began. One month was all it took for so many things to happen to me—good and bad. To form friendships—some way more than others—that would last a lifetime—well, that's what I had thought then. One month to meet a guy that I fell madly for within just one week of knowing him. But despite all of these good things, one month was also all it took for my life to fall apart right before my unbelieving eyes and for me to realize that war and poverty looked like sunshine and rainbows next to the evil I had witnessed.

This is my story.

My story of the one and only Christmas I ever spent in Forks, Washington.

Fair warning—it's a dark one so if you don't want your bright and cheerful Christmas of candy-canes, garland-filled trees, and the fat guy to be completely ruined then I suggest you go and read AChristmas Carol or something because Ebenezer Scrooge and his Christmas hating soul can't hold a candle to a story such as this one.

Chapter 1

My name is Bella Swan and I originally reside from Denver, Colorado—the perfect picturesque Christmas card.

Living in Denver during Christmas time was always a thrill—well at least for me, my mother Renee, and her husband Phil Dwyer of five years. Well, at least it would have been five years the upcoming December, but it seemed like fate had another plan for my loving mother and her hubby. Instead of heading to our cabin in the mountains of Colorado like we did every year to celebrate my mom's and Phil's anniversary—yeah they were corny and got married on Christmas Eve—things went a little different than originally planned. Well, things turned out a whole lot different than originally planned.

It was one week before Thanksgiving when I received the news. I was studiously preparing for finals that would come after Thanksgiving break when the cops came to my school and broke up my little study party A.K.A. me and my Calculus book in the school library.

I remember them walking up to me in their navy blue polyester uniforms with sullen looks on their faces and all I could think of was what I had gotten in trouble for that was so big that I needed police escorts. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a bad student but I was very strong opinioned and my mouth usually got me detention for it.

But this was something different. I could tell it as soon as they sat in the chairs across the table from me, folded their hands and gave the look that could only be described as sympathy—it could have been pity, maybe it depended on the way you looked at it. I knew it was something different when the plump one with the dreadful beard and mustache sighed sadly and said my name.

"Isabella," he'd said quietly.

"Yes?" I had answered hesitantly, trying my hardest to hear over the blood pounding behind my ears.

"I'm sorry to give you this news, but there's been an accident." He wouldn't look at me.

"An accident?" I asked in a shaky whisper.

"Yes. It's your mother and her husband."

"What happened?" I really didn't want to know.

"It seems they were on the way home from shopping and their car hit a rough patch of ice and there were two other cars involved and well…" he'd hesitated.

"What?" My eyes were already burning with tears, my heart pounding furiously.

"There was no way it could have been stopped," he'd explained. He then gave me the news that made my world seem dark. "They both died instantly in a head-on collision."

That was the point when everything went black. I didn't remember waking up, I didn't remember being poked with needles in the hospital. I didn't even remember that dreadful, sterile hospital smell—and that's saying a lot because I hated hospitals with a fiery passion. What I did remember was going into hysterics and screaming at the top of my lungs to see my mother—I couldn't. According to the police reports, the body was too damaged to be viewed. I also remembered seeing my dad's face in front of mine for the first time in at least two years. I remember clinging to him with a death grip and sobbing into his shirt while he whispered to me that everything would be okay.

What I remember most clearly, though, was my father telling me that I had to move back to Washington with him as soon as I was released from the hospital. I had to leave my mother and the home that I had known since I was four behind and go back to Forks, Washington with my dad.

I wasn't thrilled, but I was also only seventeen, so I had no other choice.

So with much reluctance, I said tear-filled goodbyes to my home and to my mother before packing up and heading to the Pacific Northwest.

Bummer.

The long plane ride to Washington did absolutely nothing to brighten my mood.

My dad—bless his heart—did his best to cheer me up, but it wasn't working. I knew that his heart was in the right place, but I still needed time. I loved my dad, but I just needed a little space. I could tell he was feeling the full weight of my mother's death as well, because it was written all over his face. I knew he never really got over my mother, but this only solidly confirmed it.

We landed in Seattle and made the trip from there to Forks in my dad's shiny black truck. All I could tell about this truck was that it was a Chevy; I wasn't exactly car savvy. It was a blissfully quiet three-hour drive, but it was also long enough for me to do a little more sulking. When we pulled up to my dad's two-story brick house right on the outskirts of town I looked at the front lawn and instantly my dad's choice of profession came back to when I saw the navy and black cop car sitting snugly in the garage.

I'd had enough of cops. Maybe I could convince him to not slip up and wear his uniform around me. That would just bring back too many unwanted memories. No thanks.

The first night proved to be uneventful. I unpacked and dad ordered take-out. I only picked over my food. I had a feeling that I wouldn't have quite an appetite for a while. During dinner my dad informed me that he had enrolled me into Forks High School and I was less that thrilled. Couldn't I be home schooled? I started to ask him, but decided not to shove any extra stress onto his plate. We'd had enough of that in one week alone.

It was Saturday and I would start school on Monday only to be let out again on Wednesday for Thanksgiving break and not have to be back until the following Monday. I wondered if I could talk him into letting me stay home.

That night after I showered—in my own bathroom, go dad! —I meticulously folded and hung every article of clothing I owned. I alphabetized my books and CDs, color coordinated my underwear, socks and shoes; I even went as far organizing my headbands by color, size, and shape. Maybe I was becoming OCD. I didn't care—if I didn't have full control over my emotions, I needed control of something. I saved my computer, printer and i-Pod dock for last and after all of that was done I was finally tired enough to actually sleep.

My first night in my new bed was oddly comforting and I slept blissfully without any nightmares of my mother's terrified face before a stupid patch of ice suddenly ended her life.

A/N: So sad about Bella's mother and husband, right? And a town that doesn't celebrate Christmas? Can you say weird?

Please review and let me know what you think..