The storm was relentless tonight. It had started in the early after noon, and still past min-night had not stopped. The wind tore at the trees; their branches light as feathers thrashing back and forth. Hail pounding hard upon the rooftops.
The streets where nearly empty this time of night, deserted save for the wind's lonely howl, and one lone figure at the street's corner…
Erik stood silently on the paving, his face obscured by a low hood. He walked noiselessly down the sidewalk, footsteps splashing ever so slightly in the puddles. He was not out to feed, not tonight. He just had to see her. Erik swept down the path, his cloak spun in the torrent wind. He had reached her house at last, all was quiet. The gate blew open with a slight whine; he stepped into the garden. The curtains were drawn; red and white lace covered the window behind which she lay. He crept to the glass, peering threw the opening. There on the bed rest an angel; so peaceful in slumber.
"Christine." He whispered lovingly.
Christine lay under the lush fabric of her comforter. Her beautiful black locks fanned out above and around her slender face.
Erik pulled open the window, the rain now just a light sprinkle.
I can't enter like this. He thought remembering he was drenched from head to toe.
"No," He said aloud "I can't."
This was not the first time he had talked himself out of entering. In fact he had done so every night for the past month. Always finding some reason he couldn't, or wouldn't see her face to face, tonight was no different. No, he wouldn't go in.
Erik turned and began to walk away, when he heard something. It sounded like…Music? Yes, a violin!
"But who could be…?" He said to himself. Erik moved back to the window. But, he was no longer seeing Christine's room. Everything inside had transformed into a great cathedral. Rows of pews lined the stained glass covered walls. This was very strange indeed.
He leaped inside, warm air washed over his dripping face. He looked down at the floor soaked in water droplets falling from his clothes. His eyes scanned the room for the violinist playing this extraordinary melody. Erik's eyes found a small stage, from which the address was given. There to his surprise, sat a man. He followed the soft notes up the marble steps where the man sat playing. The stranger did not seem to notice him, and if he did he paid him no mind. Erik stepped closer, and opened his mouth to speak, when he heard small footsteps behind him. He turned to see a pale face and long black locks coming towards him.
"Christine?" He said.
She did not hear him, only continued walking, entranced by the music.
"Christine." He said louder. This time the music stopped. He revolved to face…Nothing? Where was the man? Erik swirled around and saw Christine stood not ten paces in front of him. Her deep brown eyes widened as he stared into them. Before he had the chance, she opened her mouth and spoke.
"Father…?" Her voice echoed.
The world reeled around him, churning, twisting, faded. Erik stood at the foot of her bed. His head ached and twitched almost unbearably. He looked down at Christine's fragile form, the hunger getting the better of him. He leaned in closer…
No! His mind screamed. He couldn't, wouldn't, not her. Christine began to stir; Erik dashed to the window and leaped out into the night.
Christine awoke with a start, half expecting to see her father. She looked around the empty room disappointment sinking in. If she had not been visited be her father's ghost, then why was it so cold?
Her eyes found the open window.
"Who..?" She mouthed, climbing off her bed. She stepped to the window, gazing out into the silence. The raining had stopped, so why was the floor…wet?