MYSTIC FALLS 1981
The house at the end of the lane was filled with darkness and night. That wasn't right, Joseph Salvatore thought.
Katherine should be inside the house waiting for him. She would leave the lights on for him.
He stopped the car in the driveway. The convertible's headlights blazed a short distance into the thick stand of pine trees that loomed beside the house. Katherine's car was parked in the driveway.
He shut down the engine, pushed open the car door and scrambled out of the convertible.
Something didn't feel right.
Joseph found himself alone in the night. He was very conscious of the chill in the air. That was wrong, too, he thought. It was summer.
He turned toward the darkened house, digging into his pocket to find his key.
"Katherine, I'm home."
There was no answer. Maybe she had fallen asleep while waiting for him.
Morosely he watched to see if a light came on in his bedroom at the side of the house. Katherine must have heard his car, he thought. Katherine was a light sleeper.
But the house remained dark.
He could just barely make out the front porch steps. The light over the door was turned off. That was really weird. Katherine was afraid of the dark. She had always wanted lights everywhere. It was one of her rules.
Something was really strange here. Maybe the bulb had burned out.
He fumbled the key into the lock and turned the knob.
A terrible, stomach-churning smell wafted out through the opening. Had some animals gotten into the house? Katherine would freak out because she was alone. It was his fault. He should have left the studio earlier this evening.
"Katherine, darling, I'm home," he said as he pushed the door open.
There was still no answer.
Katherine was probably mad at him for being late, he thought.
"I'm sorry I'm late. Please don't be angry," he said.
But a part of him already knew that things were horribly wrong. He started to shiver violently. It was all he could do to move one foot across the threshold and grope for the switch on the wall.
The lights came on, dazzling her for a couple of seconds. Then he saw the blood on the hallway floor.
He heard someone screaming. In some remote corner of his mind he understood that he was the one who was uttering the high, desperate, frantic cries of grief, horror and denial. But the sound was distant and far away.
At the same instant, the sound of a gunshot echoed endlessly through the house.