nightfall ⋆｡ ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ a twilight story

New Beginnings

Grinning, I waved at the massive jeep next to me. Emmett honked his horn loudly and sped up, clearly challenging me to a race. I chuckled, shaking my head lightly- some things never change. For a minute I was tempted to hurl after him. I quickly glanced at my wing mirror: the rest of my family were quite a way behind us. It would be a very easy win, and he was currently beating me 56 - 55.

But just as I revved the engine and began to watch that little red needle wind up, we passed the faded sign for the turn off. I swallowed and slowed down, my eyes drifting to the twisting greenery that began to surround the low metal barriers of the highway. We were past the small city of Port Angeles and winding our way closer to our new house. I should try to stay at least a little inconspicuous. A wasted effort, really.  

No matter how hard we tried, we could never truly blend in. Our scent, our skin, our eyes, our movements- everything about us is carefully crafted so that the rest of the world is never fully at ease in our presence. This never really bothered me, but the combination of the long drive and the millionth "new" home stirred it, and I felt jumbled and unsettled. Perhaps a little exhausted too. 

My family and I weren't human. It wasn't easy to say or think, even to myself, but we were vampires. Blood drinkers. The cold ones. It always felt unnecessary to say the word, but maybe that's because after almost 70 years, I still couldn't really accept what I was.

It's normal for our kind to live a nomad life- it's rare to see a coven of vampires with more than 2 or 3, so our family of 8 was certainly unorthodox. But even more so because we considered ourselves 'vegetarians,' preying only on animals like deer or lions, or in Emmett's case, bears, rather than the typical human.

That choice allowed us to live a semblance of a normal life, as we could live amongst people- going to school, earning degrees, going shopping, putting the bins out. I personally found our charade slightly pointless. There were far more impressive and important things we could do; travel to places too dangerous for human life or aid them in evolving their sciences and medicines. But I loved my family deeply, and I think we all struggled with what we were, so living this life allowed us to pretend there was some part of us that was still human.

We were limited to places with little sunshine- the myths are partially true- and had to move frequently. Humans may not be durable, but they are observant, and not ageing doesn't go unnoticed. We moved every 6 - 7 years to a new place and only circling back when anyone who could recognise us was dead. And this time, we were returning to a place called Forks in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, a tiny town that lived under a near constant cover of clouds and rain. We had spent the last few years living in Alaska, with our so-called cousins, the Denalis, who like us, stuck to the vegetarian diet. I was slightly pleased to leave them. My 'cousin' Tanya freaked me out.

The vegetation was becoming thicker now, with huge, thick trees that were cloaked in moss and ivy, the air filtering through the leaves with an almost blue tint. I liked the look of this place. The dense greenery held promise of decent food, at the very least. Truthfully, I wasn't convinced that this was the best place for us- a small town where everyone knew everyone surely held more challenges than a sprawling, bustling city. We'd get noticed more here, with the population smaller and newcomers were something of a rare event. Before Alaska, we'd been living in the suburbs of New Jersey, and almost nobody had noticed us arriving nor leaving. 

But I understood why my family wanted to come back. They'd lived here before, in the 1930s, just a few years before I joined them and two decades before Alice and Jasper completed us. I think they missed it. Forks was one of the few places that felt like a real home to them. I hoped it could become one for me too.

Finally, after hours of slowly driving through the winding roads and highways, we arrived at our new house. I slowed as I reached the clearing of the trees and pulled onto the long, stretching driveway. The light brown gravel crunched under my tires, and I shifted slightly in my seat to get a good view of the place.