This story is original; completely mine. Nobody else's. Mine, mine, mine. Just thought I'd remind everyone. I've been reading a lot of Anne Rice lately, and I must say, I am intrigued by vampires as of late. So I came up with this. This is just an opening chapter to explain certain things, and I'll update very soon. Please review…I enjoy feedback. Thanks!

-Autumn

NIGHT'S EYES

The wind was picking up outside, the branches of trees banging against the windows, the swings in the park across the street creaking eerily, and the rush of air that managed to come in through the cracks of the doors sounding like the faint whispers of ghosts.

Leaves were scattered over the front yard of 275 Craven Street, but though the neighbors did not care for this, they kept their mouths shut. An elegant family used to live there, the Bouvier's, an astonishingly handsome husband and wife and two attractive children. Ten years ago, though, they had been involved in a fatal car crash, their sixteen year old daughter the only survivor.

She had returned to the house, much to the curiosity of the neighbors, alone. The newspapers said it had been a miracle she had survived, that she had been found a hundred feet from the burnt wreckage, nearly unharmed. The door that had been hers had been closed, and locked. No one knew how she had made it, and she had refused to speak of it to interviewers.

Since then, no one ever saw her coming or going from the once decadent building, one of the largest homes on the street. Patricia Goodfine, whom lived nearly directly across from 275, had tried to speak to the girl at first, having known her mother, Silvia, rather well. For three years, she had knocked and knocked on the elegant double doors of the mansion, worried that the beautiful girl would do something rash. She knew she had never been a rebel, and had, indeed, had a very close relationship with her family.

Patricia left baskets of baked goods and invitations on the doorstep, left letters of sympathy and understanding, even birthday cards and candy and flowers in the mail box. After years of no response, she had given up, though she still left cards on the holidays.

Desperate for some sign of life, she had even tried sneaking glances through the large windows, only to find that thick, black curtains had been hung up over every single one in the house. Defeated, she decided that should the young woman want her company, she would be waiting, and until then give the girl her space.

Other residents of Craven Street also had a piqued interest in her whereabouts during the day…did she not work? She never had any visitors…did she not have any friends, did she not have a young man? Laura Lewinski often discussed it…with whomever she could get to listen.

"Such a lazy girl," she said to old Mrs. Templeton. "Living off of her parent's life insurance, no doubt,"

Laura was a tall, pointy woman, with pale blonde hair and small, gooseberry eyes. She had a rather large nose that was often pointing straight up in the air. She lived with her graying, weary-looking husband and fat twin boys for whom she doted upon and pampered nonstop.

She was the gossip of the neighborhood, and she had an appetite for scandal and rumors should they reach her ears. The other women of Craven Street often went to her when bored, to listen to her rip apart anyone who wasn't present.

Today, Patricia and Mary Templeton, an old widow, sat on the back porch of Laura's spacious home and politely sipping the tea she had provided. There was also a tray of pastries and biscuits, but Patricia knew better than to touch them, unless she wanted a new tale about her 'eating problem' going around.

Patricia took a delicate sip of her fragrant, yellow chamomile tea. "I'm sure she's just a private person," she said.

Laura narrowed her eyes. "That's exactly what is so suspicious, Patricia, dear," she helped herself to a biscotti.

"What, wanting her privacy from all her nosy neighbors?"

"Exactly!" Laura exclaimed. "Why such privacy? What has she got to hide?"

"Poor dears been alone since she was sixteen," Mrs. Templeton said, clearing her throat. "I remember what a beautiful child she was. She looked just like her mother. And she was so well behaved. So polite and not to mention rather bright,"

"Did she ever finish school?" Laura asked, looking at Patricia, who avoided her gaze and took another sip of her tea.

"I don't know, exactly," she said. "I mean, she's the same age as Bridget; Silvia and I were pregnant at the same time," she paused. "I always droved Bridget to school, I would have seen her in the mornings. I never did,"

Laura gave a snort. "So she's a drop out,"

"She might've just taken courses online," Patricia said. "Nowadays kids can talk to their teachers online and email work and take timed tests, all on the computer," she smiled smugly at Laura's disappointed scowl. "The technology they have today really is astounding,"

"What about food shopping? Groceries? She never leaves that house, and it's always so dark. Even if she completed school work on that foul contraption, it's not like she can pull food out of the telephone jack,"

"She could've had her groceries delivered," Mrs. Templeton said. "I've done that. It's quite useful, actually."

A muscle twitched in Laura's jaw. "I've never seen anything delivered there, with the exceptions of all those charity baskets Patricia leaves her," she paused and a smirk formed on her thin, pale lips. "Such rudeness. Not even a thank you note, darling?"

Patricia shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You know, Silvia made me her godmother. She probably doesn't want me trying to take the place of her mother, which I'll admit, is what I set about doing after it all had happened. She and Bridget used to be good friends as well, growing up something akin to cousins. It's probably painful for her. I really don't blame her."

"I think that car crash addled her brain," Laura said. "Why any girl would recluse herself from her friends and family after such a tragedy, I simply can't fathom. Most girls would go running to any open arms for comfort. But she," she glanced suspiciously at the Bouvier house. "She became nothing short of a hermit. It's not natural. No, not at all. It's almost as if…No, I shouldn't say something like that." She finished, with a tone that told the other two women that she did, in fact, want to say it and that they only need ask.

Patricia's curiosity got the best of her. "Please, Laura, go on,"

Laura leaned forward conspiratorially on her elbow, beckoning the other two to lean closer to her, as if she were about to divulge a delicious secret.

"I think," she began in a stage whisper. "That she's locked herself up out of guilt."

"What do you mean, Laurie, dear?" Mrs. Templeton asked.

Laura looked around, as if to make sure no one else could hear her.

"What I mean is, why wasn't she in the car? And how did she get out of it that fast, and without more than a few scratches? There's something not right about it," she paused. "I think there's something we don't know about that's eating away at the girl, even ten years later."

Patricia's hands flew to her mouth. "How can you even suggest such a thing?" she whispered, her hands shaking. She stood up slowly, and gathered her purse to her. She looked down and Laura, who had her bony hands folded neatly on the small, round table. "To say that girl is somehow responsible for her family's death!" she exclaimed quietly.

Laura shrugged nonchalantly as she picket up a scone and spread some jam on it. "I'm only pointing out the obvious,"

"Laurie, dear, I think that's a bit harsh to say about-" Mrs. Templeton began.

Laura narrowed her eyes at both of them. She set down her butter knife with a loud 'clink!' and the muscle in her jaw twitched again. She pointed her finger at them.

"The two of you only defend her because of Silvia! Because you thought you knew her! Well, Patricia, I don't know what exactly you think, but it's as if you think she is Silvia, the way you talk about the girl sometimes, when you haven't seen her for nearly a decade! She is certainly not her mother! For how it all seems, she could be her mother's murderer!"

Patricia gave a dignified snort and turned on her heel. "Thank you for the tea, Laura, goodbye, Mrs. Templeton." She muttered, and let herself out.

Walking back to her house, Patricia looked up at the sky and pulled her blue cardigan closed. It was chilly, and the afternoon sky was overcast with thick, heavy gray clouds. It looked as though it was going to rain.

Unable to keep her eyes away from it, she looked up at that house. The grass had died long ago, and in it's place weeds were sticking up, some nearly four feet tall. She looked at the dried up flower beds, remembering the lush roses that had once grown there. She remembers the tulips and dragon snaps, and all the colorful poppies that had been Silvia's second pride and joy, apart from her children.

She stepped off the curb and, looking both ways, made her way across the street. She nearly tripped as her heel got stuck in a hole in the grass. She looked around the old park, tears threatening her eyes. She remembered the warm summer days when she and Silvia had both been pregnant and barely twenty, eating popsicles and endless amounts of chocolate, sitting on the swings, trying to think of baby names.

::FLASHBACK::

Silvia's bouncy brown hair blew in the wind and her silver eyes looked up at the branches of the willow tree as she swung, a lollipop in her mouth.

"What if it's a boy?" she muttered as she pulled the candy from her mouth with a 'pop!', and looked over at Patricia, who was devouring a chocolate bar.

"What do you mean?" she asked her best friend. Silvia dragged her bare feet in the sand, bringing the swing to a halt.

"What if I have a boy?" she asked, looking down at her stomach.

"Then I guess you'll have a boy." Patricia answered.

"No!"

"What?"

"I don't think I could raise a boy, Trish. I'm just too…girly." She said, and Patricia laughed, which got her a lollipop stick thrown at her, which stuck to her hair.

"Oh, ick, Sill," she groaned, pulling the sticky stick out of her red strands. "That's disgusting,"

"What would I name a boy?" Silvia asked, ignoring her friend's comment.

"James," Patricia replied. "Jimmy."

Silvia smiled. "I like that,"

"I thought you would."

"So…you don't think I'll make him gay or anything?"

"Not if you don't dress him in pink,"

"But I love pink!" Silvia demanded.

"Well, Richard might not approve of his son wearing pink,"

"Screw Richard!" Silvia laughed.

"I believe you've already done as much," Patricia said, patting her friends round belly. "I don't think we'll have to worry about any boys in pink. I think you'll have a girl. I can just see you with a little pink baby girl."

"Yeah, Richie says the same. So does my mum," she laughed. "Mum nearly had a heart attack when I told her. 'Married for three months and you're already knocked up?' she said. 'How far along are you?' she asks. I had to work up the balls to tell her I was already five months."

Patricia laughed. "Oh, my mum was ecstatic. 'Oh, Trishie, love, anytime you need a break, Nanna and Poppy are here,' I was like, since when do I call you and dad Nanna and Poppy?"

"Yeah. Mine says she wants to be called grandmother. Not 'nanna', not 'grandma', not 'grams'. Just Grandmother. It sounds so bloody ominous."

"How is Ms. Bonnie, anyways?"

"Oh, same old, same old. She's on vacation in Germany right now, visiting my Uncle Maurice."

"Hmm." She looked at her friend. "So what if you have a girl?"

Silvia looked up at her in surprise.

"What?"

"What if it's a girl? You know, a wee bonnie lass?"

"I got that much, but what do you mean, 'what if'?"

"What would you name her?"

Silvia bit her lip. "You know, I've been so busy worrying that it might be a boy, that I haven't really given any girl names much thought."

"Jasmine?"

"No."

"Rose?"

"No."

"Poppikens?"

Silvia looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

Patricia shook her head.

"Annalise," Silvia said.

"Hmm?"

"Annalise. That's the name."

"I love it."

"Yeah, me too."