California, 1935
You clutched the wall as you stumbled into an alley, coughing loudly into your bloodied handkerchief.
You leaned against the wall, sliding down until you were seated on the grimey alley floor. You pulled the cloth from your lips, hand shaking to see it splattered with the evidence of your impending doom.
Tears rolled down your cheeks as you recalled the fall of each and every member of your family to the same tragic fate.
The Depression had robbed your father of his job, and then your family of its home, forcing you to live a life on the cold California streets, begging for whatever scraps the wealthy were willing to give.
The spread of tuberculosis had gripped the homeless population in your town, and your family had not been immune.
You'd cradled your mother as she'd sobbed for your father. You'd mothered your siblings when she had left you too. Now you were the only one left, and it didn't look like you'd be here much longer.
You withdrew into yourself, attempting to quiet the world around you, resigned to the conclusion that you'd be rid of it soon.
Which is why you didn't hear footsteps approaching until a tall gentleman appeared at your side.
He was dressed in a form fitting grey suit paired with black dress shoes. His brown hair was slicked back in typical fashion, and perched on the bridge of his nose were a pair of wire rimmed glasses.
You couldn't help but think he looked like the kind of man you'd meet on Wall Street, and not in this damp alley where forgotten youths like yourself came to die.
You coughed into the handkerchief again, staining it further. "Please," you croaked, "are you a doctor? Can you help me?"
The man crouched down to examine your face. You gasped at his disregard for his fine clothing, and his immediate interest in you.
He shot you a soft smile, "I am not a doctor," he told you, "but I can help you."
He took your hand in his, smiling wider at your shocked expression, "what if I told you that I could do more than heal you? What if I could restore your life and then some? Would you want that?" He whispered, seemingly staring into your soul as he asked.
A tear slipped down your cheek as you returned his gaze, "I'm not ready to die," you strained, "I'm so scared. Please don't let me die, not like this." You begged, searching his eyes for assurance that he wasn't just toying with you.
The man sighed, "ok," he breathed, "I'll give you what you want."
His eyes scanned over your broken body, slumped against the alley wall, and he cringed.
"I am truly sorry that there isn't enough time to do this the gentle way," he raised his hand to stroke your cheek, "I hope you can forgive me."
As he finished speaking, his face shifted. His once brown eyes flashed a bright yellow. His teeth elongated into sharp fangs. The man had vanished, and before you crouched a monster.
You would have screamed if you'd had anything left in your lungs, but unfortunately the sands in your hourglass were almost up.
The monster lunged for your neck and bit down, draining the remaining life force from your body. As you faded into blackness, you scolded yourself for trusting this wolf in sheep's clothing. You knew your error in judgment would be your last.
The monster pulled away from your neck, and you watched with blurred vision as he used his menacing fangs to tear into his wrist.
He brought his wrist to your lips, and wrapped a hand around the back of your head to pull you closer.
You fought to stay conscious as the monster's blood dripped onto your tongue, but against your will, your eyes fluttered shut and your vision faded to black.
