Prologue
The crackling of the fireplace the deep voice of a father, and the giggles of a young girl were the only sounds interrupting the otherwise quiet Christmas Eve night. Amy knew that she was the luckiest girl in the world to have her father staying up late, reading bedtime stories to her. Had her mother not been working the night shift, she would have been in bed hours ago.
When Amy finally fell asleep snuggled up to her father, Michael Whitmore, he carried her upstairs to her bedroom, tucked her in and placed a kiss on her forehead before sneaking back downstairs to place all of her gifts from Santa under the tree. Amy was in a deep sleep for an hour or two before she was awakened by a loud thump from downstairs. This was quickly followed by voices and several more loud thuds. Her immediate thought was: SANTA! And like any eight year old child would do, she squirmed her way out of bed and tiptoed as quietly as she could manage through her excitement to the stairs. She peered through the rails of the banister, anxious to see all of the gifts Santa would be bringing her. However, the whimpers coming from below startled her. Surely, the pony she had been hoping to receive wouldn't make noises like that?
"It's nothing personal," Mocked an unfamiliar voice that managed to sound both friendly and frightening at the same time, "Just fulfilling a promise I made to myself a long time ago."
"Daddy?" The young girl came around the corner and froze in her tracks. Her daddy was groaning on the floor and a strange man was standing near him. She noticed that red stuff was coming from his nose and there was also a pool of it on the floor. Had her daddy spilled his fruit punch? Mommy would not be happy to see that stain on the floor.
In a flash, the man was standing in front of her and she felt like she needed to run as far away from him as possible.
He looked into her eyes and commanded, "Don't scream," She was mesmerized by the light blue eyes that were just a few shades lighter than her own. Why would she want to scream?
Black veins appeared under his eyes and he bared his fangs before burying his teeth into her neck. The young girl was crying and Mr. Whitmore was screaming, pleading, begging, for him to stop – to kill him instead. After a short pause, he released the girl to oblige the man's wish but was suddenly distracted by the girl sobbing and stumbling backwards a few steps before falling on her rear end.
"Ssshh, Sshh, stop crying. It's okay. Come here." The girl's hesitation was brief, but she couldn't resist his compulsion. She made her way slowly towards him feeling woozy, but it was okay and that she should stop crying.
"I'm sorry someone was mean to you."
"What?" The man froze.
"My mommy always says that people only do mean things because someone was mean to them first and that we should always be nice to people so I'm sorry someone was mean to you." Amy said sincerely as her father continued to sob from behind them. She wished that she could go comfort him but it was clear that this man needed comforting as well.
The man closed his eyes and he felt a genuine sadness echoing through his chest and a lump formed in the back of his throat. Then, he opened his eyes, "What's your name?"
"Amy. You're not Santa Clause are you? Because my mommy said that Santa Clause is old and fat with a white beard, but you're not old and fat with a white beard." She inquired. Maybe he was an elf, but he looked too tall for that.
The man placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes, "You never saw me here. All you remember is being attacked by an animal."
"I never saw you. All I remember is being attacked by an animal."
"You will miss your father but you'll move on with your life."
"I'll move on."
"You're not going to die… not tonight."
She smiled, "I'm not gonna die tonight."
"Now go to sleep."
Instantly, Amy fell to the ground in a deep slumber.
"Thank y-", Mr. Whitmore sobbed.
And then Damon Salvatore tore him apart.
When Amy woke up, her neck really hurt and there was a lot of red, sticky stuff on the floor. She saw her daddy's arm behind the couch and she giggled. Had her daddy fallen asleep on the floor? How silly of him! She ran around the sofa, ready to surprise him when she stopped and realized that something was really, really, wrong. She tried to scream but realized that she was unable to. Scattered about on the floor were chunks of flesh and blood, a hand here, a foot there, a red, squishy, ball that she recognized as a heart from her science class, and lastly her eyes trailed to her father's head – the empty, unseeing eyes frozen in an expression of horror.