If someone were to ask her why she decided to go out at 2:15 in the morning during the worst thunderstorm Ohio had seen in years, Montoya Selina Juarez would tell them "It was The Pull."

Montoya could never explain exactly what "The Pull" was, only that it drove her life, made the hardest choices for her, and even some that weren't so hard. It was what many of us would call instinct or intuition, but only amplified a hundred or even a thousand times. When "The Pull" took over, there was no denying it.

Oh, she tried. She tried very hard sometimes. But she never could resist it. It was almost like an addiction. When "The Pull" came, she had to give in to it. To do anything else just wasn't logical.

"The Pull" was responsible for the ending of several relationships, including the one time she was engaged. It caused her to move to Cleveland and open her antique shop. It was even "The Pull" that she had to credit to her somewhat success. It was Montoya's own personal guardian angel. It was also her devil.

It was true that "The Pull" usually resulted in good; there were those times where it caused Montoya to do very bad things. It was unfortunate for her that she had only the vaguest recollection of these events. It was as though "The Pull" wanted to protect her from these "other" things it had to do. Montoya knew that not all as right with her "gift", but so far it never got her into any trouble.

So when "The Pull" took Montoya on that stormy early morn, she gave into it naturally. It was so much easier to just give in and the odds were in her favor of it leading her to something good. After all, nothing bad came to her so far, right? At least not that she remembers. And if it were something bad, well, "The Pull" always looked out for her.

Or, maybe, for itself.

Stupid rain, Montoya thought. Why does it always have to rain in this stupid town?

But it doesn't.

It does. It seems it always rains. Anytime I want to take a walk a freaking storm starts.

It hasn't rained in weeks.

Sure, because I have been held up at the store. I never have anytime to do anything.

You have been alone for weeks with nothing to do.

I hate you.

No, you don't.

Montoya walked into a small coffee shop she never noticed before. She ordered a large mocha, despite never having one before, and sat at a small table to watch the band perform. It was a small, local band who had a penchant for modern folk music, and despite not liking folk, Montoya found herself deeply enthralled by this band. Their melodies were most hypnotic. Not since she heard "Shy" back in Los Angeles a few years ago had a band's music been so mesmerizing. Shame about their lead singer, though.

This is really intense.

No, it isn't.

No, it is. It hits me deep.

You are imagining it.

Doubtful.

Trust me. Turn you attention elsewhere. Go talk to the man at the back of the room. The one by the phones.

Why?

You'll see.

Montoya left her seat, and her mocha, and walked towards the back of the coffee shop. A tall, younger looking man stood there. He was very handsome, with dark hair and even darker eyes. He wore a long coat that hung below his knees. Under his coat he wore all black clothing. He paid no attention to Montoya until she was standing directly in front of him.

"Who are you?" she asked in a way that sounded more rude than was intended.

The man looked at her and for a second she thought she saw a look of shock on his face. That quickly faded to mild amusement. "My name is Damon. May I ask yours?"

No!

Yes. Please. I have no one.

But I have no idea who this man is.

Then find out!

"My name is Montoya."

Damon smiled. "That's a lovely name, Montoya. It suits you well." "Thank you."

Liar!

Gentleman.

"So is there something I can help you with, Montoya?" Damon asked.

Montoya shook her head and said "No. I must be going." She wasted no time in turning and leaving the coffee shop. She was outside and down the street before she began to realize where she was. She looked around, confused, and then startled by a strange sound from down a nearby alley.

Nope! She thought. I have seen way too many horror films to make that mistake. Just going to walk home and go back to bed. After I get out of these soaked clothes.

She walked for several blocks, somehow knowing exactly where she was going, and feeling a sense of being followed the whole way. She looked over her shoulder several times, but never saw anything. Noises of the night haunted her, but living in the city, she got rather used to them.

It was outside her apartment building when the strongest feeling of fear reached her. "The Pull" was no longer there at all and she felt totally alone. Worse yet, she could now see her pursuer. And was it her, or was his face hideous?

"Hey, pretty lady," she heard a voice hiss from behind her. She fumbled with her keys, but couldn't seem to find the right one. "How about a late night snack, huh?"

"Leave me alone!" she cried. She knew the stalker was walking up behind her, and she could almost feel his breath on the back of her neck. God! Why can't I find the right key?

"Oh come on," the voice hissed. "I won't bite. Well, actually, I guess I will."

"Not likely," a stronger voice spoke. There was a sort of growl, the sounds of a short fight, then a short scream. It took her a moment, but Montoya finally turned around.

Behind her stood Damon, covered in ashes, holding her purse and a wooden stake.