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A.N Hi again! Thanks for reading my story, and thanks for the reviews! . I'm sorry that this is so short. I promise to make the next few longer. Mwuaha!

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I was already on the train leaving my hometown far behind when I realised I had missed one important detail.

Where do I start?

Even with all that I thought I knew of the creatures of the night, I had no idea where they lived, who they could be, what they really looked liked. For a second I even when so far as to think I should just call the whole thing off and return home, and try to become normal again. But then I felt my left hand itching, as it always did whenever I had those doubtful thoughts. I knew that I could never back down on what I had sworn to do that night, four years ago.

And so, at the next stop, I did the only thing that came into my head: I bought the all the latest newspapers, found a nearby café, and began scanning them for anything that seemed to be out of the ordinary – a high amount of missing people, perhaps, or, if luck was with me, possibly even bodies discovered drained of blood. But that was an unlucky day for me – there was nothing in the papers.

While I had been scanning through the news, a group of loud teenagers about my own age had entered the café and sat at a booth near mine. It was only as I glanced up from my paper did I notice a few of the guys were looking at me and snickering.

"Man, when did the goths arrive in town?" One of them asked. A girl sitting next to him slapped his arm.

"Be nice! He's kinda cute, actually."

"'Cute'? I reckon he's hot!" Another girl said. The guy who's lap she was sitting in pouted.

"Aw, what about me?"

"You're my boyfriend, idiot. I wouldn't be dating you if you weren't hot."

Feeling colour rising to my cheeks, I quickly pulled my scarf higher around my face, gathered my newspapers and left the café. I could almost feel the eyes of the teenagers watching my back as I left. As I passed the window, I caught a glance at my reflection, and I understood partly why they were looking at the first place – my clothes were black (I never really liked colours) and my fair hair long and unkempt (what use was there in taking care of hair?). Overall, I did look kind of strange – especially with my long scarf wound round my neck, even though it was a warm spring day. But I needed that. Ever since that damned spider of Hurston's bit me, my immunity system was a lot weaker than normal people's.

What I couldn't understand was the girls' reaction. I'd never been good with girls – even though I seemed confident, I was always a nervous wreck around girls. Not that I really was that interested in them. Most of the guys back at school thought I was gay or something. I guess it had something to do with the fact that they all had had at least ten girlfriends while I had none.

But then again, I had more important things to worry about. I had a vow to fulfil. Still, there were times I envied everyone else. They had nothing to worry about. They didn't have dreams of revenge.

Those first few months were all the same – I travelled from town to town, reading newspapers and watching the news at every backpacking hotel I came across. But never once did I find anything. At one point I discovered I was running low on money, so I was forced to doing a couple of jobs – the most memorable being the few weeks working at a fast food store.

Then I decided on a different tactic. Instead of buying the big newspapers, I bought something else – I got the tabloids. It was on the third day of buying these when I came across it. It was only a few hours later when I was on a train, bound for this new city, the magazine clutched in my hand with a large red pen circling the title:
"Another Child Dead – Are These Really Normal Murders?"

And underneath:
"Last night, little Betty Jamieson, aged 9, was found drained of her blood in her suburban home..."