Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the owner, Stephenie Meyer. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I dreamed of the monster raping me.

That's it. No details,no talking, no fantastical side happenings. I was just being raped, over and over and it was never ending. I woke up with a scream in my throat.

Once I realized I was safe, enclosed within an abandoned house in a town hundreds of miles away from the monster, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

I didn't want to think about what happened. I just wanted to put it behind me. During the day, I was able to do just that but I couldn't control my dreams. In my sleep, I couldn't pretend.

As I watched the room lighten, I allowed myself to escape once again. I pretended I was a studious college student who awakened on the couch after a long night of studying. I could almost see the books and papers covering the end table next to me. I could almost smell the coffee being brewed by my friendly roommate who I had gotten along with the moment I met her.

I smiled and closed my eyes, allowing the fantasy to take me.

After long minutes, I opened my eyes and they fell on the carving embedded in the leg of the glass-top coffee table in front of me.

'Emmett was here 1958'

I wondered who Emmett was as I stared at the neat, capital letters. Where was he? Was he still alive? Was he a grandfather now? What was he like? Did his children now own this house?

I reached out and ran my fingers across the etched words. I had a sudden flash of a huge man with curly brown hair and dimples.

And yellow eyes.

I jerked my hand back in surprise.

What the hell was that?

I sat up quickly, shaken. That was one of the weirdest experiences of my life.

Was that a real person, or is my imagination that good? And if it wasn't my imagination, what the hell was it?

Whatever it was, it had effectively ended my imaginings for the moment.

I slowly stood, deciding to forego my boots, curious about this house and eager to explore it. I looked around, seeing it for the first time in the daylight. The living room was huge; bigger than I expected. The walls were white and the floors were covered in expensive looking ash wood planks. The walls were bare, but contained hooks that hinted that something once hung there. I wondered what kinds of artwork this family hung on their walls. Did they have up family portraits or watercolors? Did they have expensive paintings by the greats or detailed landscapes by local unknown artists?

I walked over to the door off the foyer and opened it up. It was a small powder room with a toilet. I tried the taps and water gurgled out in small short bursts before streaming out steadily.

I smiled in confusion. This house had running water? That means the family couldn't have been gone too long, right?

I shrugged and splashed water onto my still slightly swollen and bruised face, allowing the cool fluid to roll down my neck and soak the collar of my shirt. If the water was on, maybe I could take a shower.

I suddenly felt like goldilocks, intruding upon a space that wasn't hers.

Yeah right. Goldilocks was an inconsiderate, blonde bitch. I'm nowhere near being blond and at least planned to leave some money for the family that owned this house.

It was the least I could do for all the trouble I caused.

I left the powder room and headed towards an entryway on the other side of the living room. It led to a kitchen that was bare except for some slightly outdated heavy appliances. A heavy sheet covered a huge island in the middle of the cooking space. Another entryway led into a dining room with a long oval table that appeared to seat eight. It was covered by a sheet that I slowly pulled off.

Obviously, my curiosity knew no bounds.

The table was absolutely beautiful and obviously an antique. The chairs had straight, sturdy cherry would backs and the cushions were upholstered in an obviously expensive fabric that was stitched with gold thread. The table looked extremely heavy, yet delicate at the same time.

I admired it for long moments before hesitantly sliding into one of the chairs. I sat there for a while, pretending I was the guest of honor at a dinner party. I pretended I was seated next to a handsome man who hung on my every table was what dreams were made of. It was the table of a real family.

Something I would never have again.

I sighed and pulled myself away from the table, replacing the sheet before walking down a long hallway that eventually led back to the living room. I meandered past another cloth-covered mass that was oddly-shaped. I peered at it curiously, trying to guess what it hid before heading towards the stairs.

I'd investigate the weird object after discovering what hidden treasures lay on the other levels.

My bare feet made no sound as I ascended the plush, carpet-covered treads and stepped onto the landing. I looked left then right, taking in the long hallway extending in both directions. I decided to turn left first.

I slowly surveyed the second level. There were three doors lining this side of the hall. One led to a mauve-painted room with a bed covered in stiff white sheets. In had its own connecting bathroom and the shower was awesome; huge with multiple showerheads.

I made a mental note to try that shower before I left.

I exited and tiptoed to another door, finding it locked. I contemplated the locked door for long moments, wondering what was behind it before shrugging and turning away.

The third door led to a HUGE bedroom that was painted a breezy blue color. It was completely empty of everything but dust and I could hear my breaths echo through the rafters. I peeked into the bathroom and smiled when I saw a huge claw foot tub.

I added a bath in that tub to my mental list of things to do before I left this palace.

I walked out and turned towards the other end of the hall. Two doors perpendicularly flanked the far wall, where a large, intricately carved wooden-cross hung on the cream-colored surface. I gasped and moved quickly down the hall so I could get a better look.

It was so beautiful. It also looked really old. I raised my hand up to touch it and the moment my fingers ran across the smooth cool wood, I was assaulted again.

I was suddenly looking at a set of hands, not my hands; these were a man's hands. The hands were carefully and steadily carving into a large mass of wood. Just past the working hands, in a distant corner, another figure, a small boy, sat reading aloud from thick volume. The figure suddenly jumped as if startled.

I gasped and pulled my hand away. I blinked a few times and looked at the cross in amazement.

What was it about this house? That was the second time that weird vision thing had happened. Who were these people? What was up with this house?

Was I going crazy?

I went over the vision (was that what it was?) in my mind. Something seemed so….old about it. Like it was from a different time. It was clear as a bell, but the furnishings and the book the boy was holding looked really antique. Had I seen it all in a movie somewhere? And if I had, why was I thinking about it now?

I felt myself getting a headache from all these considerations. I decided my overactive imagination was the cause for these minor delusions.

I shook my head and turned towards the door on the right. It led to a bright yellow room that, despite the dust, looked as if it were occupied yesterday. Fluffy white bedding covered a beautifully covered four-poster bed. A small white vanity sat in the corner and a white love seat sat in front of a wall of glass that looked out into the lush forest that lined the West edge of the property.

The room was so feminine and frilly. A little too frilly. Although the bed looked inviting, I decided that my scarred face and morose disposition didn't match this room at all.

I noticed that this room had its own private bathroom also. I'd never been in a home with so many bathrooms. It was a little strange. Why didn't they share? The water bill for this place must be astronomical.

After exiting the bathroom, I noticed another door that I assume led to the closet.

I was right and wrong.

I pulled it open and was startled to see that the door connected this room to the one across the hall. A short corridor led behind the wall adorned with the intricate cross and into a space lined with shelves, drawers and teak-wood hangers.

It could have easily been another room, but it was obvious that is was used as a large dressing room or closet.

Who had a closet this big?

I noticed that three garment bags hung from racks at the very front of the closet. I unzipped the first one and found three pairs of blue jeans with the tags still on tucked inside. I gasped and hurriedly backed away from the garment bag when I noticed the price on the first tag.

Over five-hundred dollars for a pair of jeans?

This confirmed it. This man Emmett and his family were rich. Who leaves five-hundred dollar jeans in an empty house in the middle of the woods, where anyone could easily break in without witnesses? Only the rich would do something like that.

Still, why would they leave them here? And they were practically new. Why not take them along, wherever they were now?

All of this was becoming way too confusing.

I quickly left the room and headed up the second flight of stairs to the third level. A short hallway led to two doors at each end, one of which was left open. I peeked inside and looked around with interest. The room appeared to be a small office or library and had one piece of furniture covered in another one of the white sheets. I lifted the corner of the sheet to reveal a large tilted table that looked like a drafting board of some kind. It was a beautiful mahogany color and didn't have one scratch or mark on its smooth surface.

This house had so many nice things. How nice it must be to live in such a place, surrounded by intricate antiques.

I pretended for a second that this was my office; that I worked from home during the day while my kids were at school and my husband spent his days at some office nearby, providing for our family. I pretended that I'd lose track of time, so engrossed in whatever project I was working on and would look up at the clock, startled to see that my husband and kids would be expecting dinner in less than a hour. I pretended that my children, a boy and girl, would cheer when I told them it would be another pizza night and my husband would smile indulgently at me before kissing my temple and heading out to pick up our greasy pizza dinner.

It was so easy to lose myself in the fantasy; so easy to pretend that my life was normal, ideal and happy.

But the fact was my life was as empty as this house and not nearly as valuable. I was grateful to have had some place to stay last night, dry and warm and protected from the rain and dangerous animals, but the very idea of the family that once lived here depressed me.

They live or lived a life I could only dream of.

I wouldn't ever have kids, a dog and a husband. No man wanted damaged goods and there was no question that I was damaged. The physical proof was still evident on my body.

I didn't want to stay here another night, yearning for what could have been if my dad hadn't died. I don't think I could stomach it.

I felt my mood drop as I dragged myself from the barren room. I left the door the way I found it and stepped back into the hall, my eyes falling on the door at the opposite end of the hall. It was shut tight but a great amount of light was shining from beneath the crack under the door.

I stepped slowly towards it and paused with my hand on the knob. Despite my depressing thoughts, my curiosity wouldn't let me leave this level without at least taking the smallest look at what lay behind this last door. I paused only a beat longer before entering.

This room was also empty save for one piece of furniture, a sofa covered by another white sheet. And it was bright, so very bright, which was understandable since it faced the east and it was early morning. Whoever once occupied this room must have been an early riser; no one could sleep through the blazing light shining through the wall of glass opposite the intricately carved hallway door.

I walked further into the room and turned slowly, taking it in. It was stark white and that seemed to add to its brightness. There were no other knickknacks or objects in this room, save for the wall of bare glass shelves, covered with a layer of dust, to the right of the window. The ceilings in this room were high and I was glad I'd kept my filthy shoes off because the thick carpet covering the floors was so white that I fear I would have ruined them with the mud that was caked into the soles.

I didn't know what it was, but I loved this room most of all.

I imagined that it was my room, the glass shelves covered in my awards, trophies, my pet cactus and the dolls from my youth, the walls covered in band posters and pictures of my closest friends. I imagined the sofa replaced with a beautiful four-poster bed with a tulle and lace canopy and that I'd feel like a princess as I chattered away on my private phone with my friends from school.

Somehow, pretending in this room didn't make me sad at all. It filled me with possibilities. Maybe I'd never have the life my imagination was conjuring up for me, but I wouldn't have one like my mom. I'd followed my mom's instructions to the letter and left to make a better life for myself, even though I had to do it alone. And maybe one day, I would live in a room like this. Just the thought that I could one day have such a sanctuary filled me with unmitigated hope.

I sighed under the feeling that hope brought to my chest and moved closer to the sofa. I pulled the sheet from it and regarded the black, leather surface in curiosity. It was such a stark piece of furniture for such a warm room. I wondered what he was like, the person who the black sofa belonged to. It had to be a he; no woman would have such furniture in her private space.

I ran a hand along the back of the sofa, walking around it them perching on its edge. It felt new, like it had barely been sat on. I turned and lifted my legs, resting them on the stiff cushions and wiggled my toes. The sofa was so long that a small child could have fit on the other end quite comfortably.

Definitely a guy's sofa. A tall guy obviously.

I scooted down and lay my head on the arm, gazing up at the play of light through the trees as it caressed the rafters. It would be amazing to wake up to such a sight every morning. And the secluded location of the house would guarantee that I wouldn't have to worry about someone peeking in through the large glass wall and spying on me.

It was perfect.

I snuggled future into the cushions and felt something sharp poke into the small of my back.

"What the…"

I arched my back and reached beneath the cushions, my fingers grabbing hold of a thin flat object. I blinked as I pulled it into view.

I smiled when I recognized it.

It was a small vinyl record cover, and from the slight weight I felt, the record was safely ensconced inside. The cover was faded, but I could clearly make out the words on the cover.

Van Morrison. Blowin' Your Mind.

My smile got wider, not because I was familiar with his music, but because seeing it brought back a recent memory of my mother that was bittersweet. She had just bought one of those prepaid cellular phones from a co-worker and she was so excited that she encouraged me to call her on it the minute we got home that evening. When I rang her, a mechanical ringtone filled the kitchen and she danced around the small folding table, smiling and singing the words in delight. After the trilling from the device ceased, she told me it was a song by Van Morrison, one of my dad's favorite musicians growing up.

She got really quiet then, her eyes growing dreamy and moist as she reveled in some distant memory brought on by that bell-like tune. I called her again just so I could watch her dance around in happiness once more.

My smile slipped as I remembered what happened afterwards. I remembered how He had come home and found us dancing with each other and singing at the top of our lungs in the small kitchen. I remembered the sound of the blow as he slapped her for not having dinner completed yet and my mother's cry of pain as she stumbled into our ancient fridge. I remembered the rain of plastic hitting the bare painted-concrete floor as he took the phone and shattered it into tiny pieces with his bare hands.

He yelled that a cellular phone would just be a waste of money then glared at me until I retreated to my room. I cried as I listened to the muffled thumps that followed, the sounds of flesh and bone connecting.

I felt so guilty, as I sat in the corner of my room and did nothing to help her, but not as guilty as I felt just three short weeks later.

Because just three short weeks later, she was gone.

I felt slow tears leak down my cheeks as I flipped the square object between my slender fingers. I missed her. I missed her so much but I did not wish she was still here, because if she was, she would be unhappy and bruised right now, still living with him and dying inside each day. I liked to think she was happy now, happy and free, smiling and dancing with my dad, in heaven to the upbeat strains of Van Morrison.

I slid my finger between the flaps of the record cover and slid out the vinyl disk. As I ran my fingers across the rigged surface, it happened again.

Another vision.

And this time, I knew it wasn't my imagination. It was too clear; too vivid, and I knew, with everything in me, that the events of this vision had really happened, right here, in this very room.

I saw hands, hands holding a newer, less faded version of this album, but the hands were not mine. They were male hands, pale, long and slender. They were so elegant, the way they gently held the record.

I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was his room. This was his couch and his album. This was his sanctuary.

A small, opaque cloud of dust burst into the air from the surface of the vinyl disk as whoever was holding it blew a swift stream of air across its surface. Then the hands deftly placed the record on an old-fashioned record player and positioned the needle carefully on its surface.

I gasped as the very song my mother and I danced to in the kitchen those few short weeks ago came through the fluted speaker positioned atop the old player. The jaunty tune filled the room with slightly scratchy sound.

Suddenly the room spun extremely fast. And I was looking out the large glass wall, but something was different. It was night and, with the darkness of the forest, the glass wall had become a hazy mirror. A tall man in a multi-patterned shirt was reflected in the glass panes.

He was beautiful, slender and pale with dark hair and darker eyes that looked dead and lifeless. His elegant hands were now stuffed into light-colored pants and his feet were bare.

It was so strange; the song was so upbeat, yet he looked so solemn.

He looked so…alone.

He looked like I felt.

He started to hum along with the song, his voice smooth; his expression still frozen.

"Sha la la, la la, la la, la la, l-la te da…"

Suddenly a loud crash sounded, the room blurred again and I was back on the sofa, the album clenched between my fingers.

I took a deep breath and ran a hand through my tangled hair. I had no idea what was going on in my head or why I was having these strange visions, but I knew it was connected to this house and the people who'd lived here.

Who were they? Why was I seeing visions of them whenever I touched their stuff?

And who was the tall man, the one who called this room his own? Why was he so sad?

It was like something out of a sci-fi movie; orphan girl finds a strange house in the woods that evokes magical visions. What if this house was doing something to me, like taking over my brain or something?

I resolved not to touch anything else in this house. I needed to find some other place to stay before the house devoured me, like in that one horror movie, or worse the owners came home. That would be awkward to explain.

Hey, I'm sorry I broke your window and snooped through your things but I ran away from my sexually abusive stepfather and got lost in the woods in the middle of a storm. I had nowhere else to go. Here's some money for the damages. By the way, you have a lovely home.

I didn't think they'd appreciate a teenaged squatter taking up residence in their opulent, empty home.

I stood quickly and sat the album down on the sofa cushions. No doubt the owner had missed it as he was packing to move out and he'd most likely want it back. I'd best put it where he could find it.

I quickly stumbled down the two flights of stairs and headed towards my pack. Grabbing some fresh clothes, I glanced wistfully of the stairs, picturing the gigantic shower with the multiple heads and the deep, claw-footed tub. I would love a proper bath, but I decided to stay away from anything that could bring on the unsettling visions.

I washed up in the small powder room and changed quickly before grabbing my wallet out of my pack and heading towards the front door. I'd leave my stuff here for a few more hours while I secured some place to stay in town, then I'd return for them.

I headed out the door and surveyed the front yard, trying decided which direction to go in to get back to town. After a few minutes, I could barely make-out an overgrown driveway that arched between a break in the trees. I followed it until I came to the street. A sign about 30 yards to my right welcomed anyone driving in that direction to Forks and I knew this was the direction to town.

It took me thirty minutes to reach any sign of civilization. The first sign was a small corner store that sat back from the road behind a makeshift parking lot and I quickly entered it and headed to the front counter. A woman with light-brown hair sat high on a stool behind it. Her eyes glued to a small, black and white, portable television. She was so engrossed in whatever was on the screen that I stood, unnoticed for several moments before clearing my throat.

She jumped, startled. "Ohhh! Dear, you scared me so. You're a quiet thing, aren't you?"

I smiled a little as I took in her lightly lined face. "Actually, I'm usually quite loud. I'm clumsy and knock things down a lot so normally you'd have heard me coming minutes before I actually showed up."

She laughed delightedly and I raised an eyebrow. I didn't think it was that funny.

"Oh, …well, dear, that was quite a graceful entrance you made just now. I didn't even hear you. I think our little town just might be good for you!"

I smiled wanly at her, thinking of all the strange things that had happened to me since I entered town. Good isn't the word I'd use.

"Just might. Which is why I'm in here."

She smiled at me helpfully, folding her hands on the counter in front of her. "What can I do for you dear?"

I quickly fed her one of the stories I'd been pretending since I'd runaway. I was a recent high-school graduate, touring the country after deciding to take a gap-year before college. I'd decided to head to Forks after learning that I had family here and decided to stay for a few days. I was interested in some cheap lodging. I was a student after-all and couldn't afford anything swanky.

She helpfully gave me directions towards a Lodge on the other side of town that had decent, nightly rates. I bought a pack of bubble gum from her before I waved goodbye and left her store, headed towards the lodge.

The walk took me over an hour but I made it to the Lodge, where I managed to convince the pimply-face boy working the desk that, yes, I was 18 and, yes, he should rent me a room unless he wanted me to spend another night in the woods and possibly get dragged away by an animal. To which he made no reply, just gave me something to sign and handed me a key card.

I quickly checked out my room then, satisfied they were up to par, I left and headed back towards town. I walked slowly up the street, imagining my mom and dad and how they fit into this setting. I pretended that they were just a few paces behind me, his arm around her, as they watched me, their only child, walk ahead of them towards a family outing. For one small moment, while that fantasy ran through my head, I was happy.

I had a late lunch at a small diner in town before I decided that I'd better head back to the house in the woods to get my stuff. I didn't want to make my way down that overgrown path while it was dark.

Sometime into my trip, it started to rain and I pulled up my hoodie, thankful I'd thought to wear it. I had to settle for counting downed trees as I walked as hardly any cars passed down the deserted road. In the forty-five minutes it took me to get back to the hidden drive in the woods, I only saw two vehicles, a nearly empty bus and a repair van.

I peered up through the canopy of leaves that filtered the sunlight as I finally neared the end of the drive that led to the front yard of the house in the woods. I needed to quickly grab my pack if I didn't want to be walking through town in the dark. I quickly sprinted across the front yard and threw myself through the front door.

I grabbed my pack, wrote a handwritten apology to the owners of the house, plopped the note and some money on the mantle then strode towards the door, my lodge room key clutched in my hand. I was only a few short steps away from touching the knob when I froze in shock.

The window was fixed.

The window that I'd shattered to break in last night was completely intact. Only its clear shine and the telltale slivers of glass that dotted hardwood floor beneath the pane served as evidence that it had even been broken.

I stared at it in bewilderment. That glass was not something you could just find in a hardware store. It was so intricate; surely, it was a special order type of thing. How did they know it was broken? How was it fixed so quickly?

Suddenly I heard a throat clear behind me.

I dropped my head to my chest in dread, knowing my earlier fear had just come true.

I had gotten caught, trespassing and possibly breaking and entering, by the owner of the house.

No amount of pretending could get me out of this one.