A Tree That Sprouts Roses And Drips Blood.

Chapter One.

The country road wound endlessly through a panorama of picturesque moutains. Branches scraped across my windscreen as i struggled not to veer into the ravine that yawned bottomlessly to the left of my car. I passed a woman in a shiny red raincoat, as she was hunched over walking along the grassy edges of the road. Her shiny red hood pulled over her head as if a torrent of rain was pouring from the sky. Finally the welcoming gate of a drive way interrupted my path and i was slowly approaching a stone building.

Huge oak threes clustered along the edges of the grounds. Small cobbled pathways led off in diffrent directions on the unkempt lawn. A soft thudding could be heard, the unmistakable smack of a tyre as it pendulumed back to tree it was hung on. The house itself stood imposingly in the countryside. Stone washed walls and arched porches. Windows that covered the whole northside of the house, doubled the countryside in their reflections.

I sat in the car for a while, just staring at this architectural miracle. It was so old and so perfect and it was finally mine. It had belonged to my grandfather, Arthur Denali. He had passed away shortly after my sister and mother died in a car accident. It was all a bit much to handle, but this house was comforting.

After a while, i noticed the sun begin to droop behind the clouds. I was still in the car. It was time to take those final few steps and see what legacy my grandfather had left me.

It was cold outside the car in my light summer attire and i rushed for the warmth of the house. A quick look in the car mirror. There was no lipstick on my teeth and my hair was decent. I smiled and turned away from my relection, glancing at the upstairs windows. Something moved, startingly white even against the bleached lace curtain. I dismissed it and made my way to the door. My fingers were numb from the cold and i fumbled with the lock as my hands shook uncontrollably.

Eventually, the key slotted into the lock. I took a deep breath. The ket turned and the door swung open. I stepped through the door frame, lifted my feet over the faulty door jamb and looked around. It was as beautiful as I'd remembered from my childhood. A narrow staircase and cream painted walls,hung with family portraits. Great Aunt Daniella and Great Grandfather Theodore featured in most. Beside the front door was a crucifix and next to it a nail hung with with several keys. I walked down the hallway, past Daniella and Theodore, to the kitchen. I was feeling the hunger from skipping breakfast.

The kitchen was exactly how i had remembered. An old stove with rusted, wrought iron rings. A tiny fridge beside a tartan draped table. It was the ideal country kitchen. Cobbled floor, painted cabinets and only the slightest interruption from modern day technology. I walked past the rounded fridge, forgetting my hunger, and ducked under the low arch that opened into the livingroom. No television, I'd forgotten that. But a gargantuan sofa. Monstrous bay windows covered the far wall entirely and the irish countryside stared in. With a chair like that and a view like that, how would I ever leave! I wandered back through the kitchen, towards the stairs.

The landing un wrapped itself in a brilliant blast of royal blue. Windows dotted the walls in frequent spurts of light, making the blue shimmer in its glow. The first door was white and I remembered it was my grandfathers bedroom. On it hung a marble sign, framed by a thin strip of bronze. In the middle the word 'Private' was clearly etched. I remebered that sign from my childhood as well. it had always been there.

I didn't want to the open the door, i knew that much, but i couldn't seem to stop my hand as it reached for the handle. The impulse to know what was forbidden was too strong. Well honestly, what did i expect? Coming from a family of vampire hunters. Suspicion was in my blood, there was no way to avoid and it seemed my body yearned for mystery from a very young age. That is why the whole "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" part of me was sorely disappointed, when the door opened to an ordinary bedroom. Not a coffin, or even a bookcase anywhere. Just normal-ness. Boringly ordinary.

The room was actually beautiful. An interior designers dream. Ice blue walls, matched with an enormous bed. A dark wood wardrobe, beside an identical vanity table of antiquity quailty. It overflowed with the paraphanelia of a beauty salon. The wardrobe was shut, but i could guess that was stuffed with clothes. The floor was dark wood and another bay window shed light into the room. The bed was covered in scatter cushions that spilled onto a white comforter drapped across the blanket.

I walked over to the vanity table and picked up a soft bristled brush. Feeling the pricklyness of it against my palm. I was overwhelmed just then by a sense of untrusion, like i was looking at something intimate, something sentimental. I dropped the brush back on the hard top of the dresser and left the room reluctantly, back down the hallway, towards the bathroom.

One look in the bathroom mirror, told me everything i needed to know. I was turning into one of "Them". I had feared it for years, becoming like my father. Questioning the inquestionable. Seeking answers where none could be found. And finally being driven to madness, rocking back and forth in a padded room, as he was now. I could see him in the mirror, staring back at me. Paranoia. curiosity, fear, insanity, all mixed together in my eyes. My grandfather had once said, during one of his many speeches of wisdom, The eyes are the windows to the soul. Now seeing the truth staring back at me, i didn't doubt him.

I pivotted away from the mirror. But it did no good. A wall of glass faced me, the scenic view blurred through my reflection. The first thing i did was definitely a sign the insanity gene was setting in.

"Why do we have reflections?", I asked aloud, of no one.

My breathing had become laboured and it fogged up the glass some. I was grateful not to see my half-crazed eyes, as they darted around the room. But something caught my attention, a smudge in the foggy haze on the glass. I bent closer to the glass. It kinda looked like - T.S.O.S.- The blood drained from my face and my legs crumpled, sliding to my knees, i fell against the bath. My grandfathers words rang in my ears. To see our souls. T.S.O.S. I slapped my hand three times hard against my forehead. Your reading too far into this!, I told myself, it's only a stupid smudge. I wiped it away.

"See", I smiled, "easily erased".

But it wasn't. It kept repeating in my head for the rest of the day. It was lined up in the paper I read in random formations. T.S.O.S. And my Grandfather's words ran on loop in my head. Like a broken C.D, over and over. I tried to convince myself it was a coincidence, but the part of me that was a Denali, insisted otherwise. Deep down I knew coincidences didn't exist.