Tuesday 6:34 p.m.

“If you don’t want my honesty and you don’t want to live here under my roof, get out!” his father bellowed.

“Fine! I’ll go, since apparently you don’t care about my interests, and what I want to do with my life!” Dillon yelled back.

. . .

The fight started after Dillon got home from school. It didn’t start immediately, but the air in this home has been tense for a while now. Dillon’s father Louis Crawford had to work most of the time and had been having a hard time keeping up with his job. Loretta Crawford, Dillon’s mother, had to keep watch at the house, and did most of the cleaning. Dillon was eighteen years old, and was a senior at Ridgeview High. They live in an apartment complex out on Chestnut Road, in a little town in Pennsylvania named Ridgeview. It was a two bedroom, one bath, but there was still enough living space for the three of them.

Dillon had never really been the social kind of person. He had a few friends, but over the years and as they grew older, they had separated and only ever talked to each other once in a blue moon, whether it was seeing one of his old friends in the hall or just sitting a few feet from them at lunch. His grades were decent, mostly in the 80-90 range. And he had always wanted to grow up and have a good job and a nice house. He wanted the perfect family and maybe even to find some new friends while still staying in contact with the old ones. He wanted to become an author. He always loved to read since he was young, and that may be one of the reasons he had a 94 in literature.

But today on the other hand, him and his father had started arguing after supper about just that. It had started off with regular conversation around the living room table.

“So… honey, how was your day at work?” Loretta asked her silent husband, who was plowing through his food tonight so he wouldn’t miss his favorite TV show.

“Well… it’s same stuff, different day. Caught up on a few documents… that’s about it,” he finished and shoved in another forkful.

“Well, I see that as a good thing. You’re finally catching up. If you keep working at this rate, you should be able to get through your work one paper at a time.”

“I guess so.”

“So, Dillon… how was school?” she asked.

“We did some creative writing in Lit. I turned in my assignment and the teacher absolutely loved it.”

“That’s great. I think you’d be a great writer. The way your imagination flies around… I bet you get that from my father.”

That’s when the trouble started. His father, still with food in his mouth, mumbled, “Don’t get his hopes up.”

“Louis! Really? What do you mean don’t get his hopes up?” she said. Her face went blank,  yet looked mad at the same time. Dillon only looked at his father. His dad has really never been supportive of his goal. This is the first time he has ever said anything in front of his son.

“What? I’m being honest. Yes, he might be a mediocre writer, but does that mean he is absolutely going to make it to the best sellers list? When I was his age, I wanted to be an architect. But look at me now, an office assistant.”

“That is hardly fair to say. At least…”

“I try,” Dillon finished for his mother. He didn’t know if she was going to say exactly that. She is usually not that apt to speak her mind. But he thought it fit perfectly with what she was thinking. His mother looked at him. his father glanced up.

“What are you saying… that I don’t try?” His father’s voice went up.

“Let me repeat it, Dad. ‘At least I try’.”

“Can we just calm down and talk quietly?” Loretta asked softly.

“I do try. I provide for you and your mother! I bust my butt at work just to put food on the table for you! And now this?! I am just trying to tell you the truth. I see it all the time. People I used to know, people I went to school with, they never got close to what they were shooting for. First it is losing your friends, then you graduate, you are given the chance to go to college, earn a degree, and get a nice job. There is either that or you go to work. And more often than not, you end up in a hole. Of course, not all is bad, but your future is destroyed. If I had to have a percentage on how many people made it versus how many people made it to their goal it would be 20 percent.”

“I am going to be a part of that 20 percent,” Dillon shot back.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” his father said. He finished of his plate and got up to put it into the sink.

“Yeah, we’ll see. We’ll see me actually work for my dream! Actually try! Why would I ever want to end up like my father?”

6:43 p.m. (continued)

“If you don’t want my honesty and you don’t want to live here under my roof,” his father bellowed and turned around to face his son, “get out!”

“Fine! I’ll go, since apparently you don’t care about my interests, and what I want to do with my life! I’ll get somewhere! I won’t end up like my dead-beat Dad!” Dillon yelled back, going to his room to grab a few things. His father stopped dead in his tracks. By this point his mother was crying.

Dillon grabbed his book bag, and started stuffing it. He grabbed a book, a jacket, an extra set of clothes, and all of his money to get something to eat. He grabbed his watch under his dresser and put it on his wrist. Then he left his room and headed for the front door. He grabbed the door knob and paused. He turned around and saw his father was still standing in the same spot.

“I’ll make it someday… you just watch. I just wish you would have been beside me through it, supporting me. Instead you sit there and feel sorry for yourself.” And with that Dillon left.

His father didn’t know until the next morning, but the next time he saw Dillon, it would be at his son’s funeral.

. . .

Later that night… 7:46 p.m.

Dillon walked down the hill all the way to the cross section of the main streets. He had decided to clear his mind. He didn’t know how long he should stay away, but he had been gone for a while now. And he didn’t think he would be reported missing. He doubted that his parents had even said anything, but when he reached the crosswalk, he turned left. He was heading for the gas station on the east side of town. When he got there he ordered a pizza slice to go. He wasn’t feeling too well, so he just got a regular pepperoni. While his pizza was being made he went over to the refrigerators along the back wall and got a root beer. He walked back up to the front and paid for his food then left. There wasn’t anywhere to sit except for a wobbly table the size of a desk at school and a couple plastic chairs. He went around to the back of the building and sat on the guardrail overlooking a slope that dipped down about 10 feet. At the bottom were train tracks.These tracts go from the center street, heads behind the gas station, it goes between the manufacturing building and the town forge, and continues east till it goes to the next town over, and beyond. He didn’t know where the train went, but in the near future he hoped to travel the country, see the big cities at night, lit up bright. He wants to see the world. And with that, an idea popped into his mind.

He finished his pizza and ditched the cardboard container. He was careful, he slid off the guard rail and onto the steep slope of the hill. He inched his way down to the bottom. At one point he lost his footing, but regained his hold. He saw that the ground wasn’t to far now, and that he could probably just slide down to the bottom. And with that, he slid down the rest of the way, landed on his feet to fast and tripped over his own feet. He went sprawling onto the rocks and dirt. He looked up and saw he had come within a few feet of bashing his head into the steel rail. He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his shirt. It was starting to get cold outside. It had been dark outside for over an hour, and with it took away the warmth of the sun. He walked up to the tracks and set down his back pack, he unzipped it and took out his jacket. He was slipping it off when he heard the noise. The snap of a stick. He instantly froze.

“Hello?” he said. His voice came out in a whisper. “Hello?” he repeated, a little louder this time, but now he saw a figure standing in the trees. It was dark. He figured it was wearing complete black, because if he had colored clothes, he would have seen like he sees the color on his own shirt. The only way he was able to see his surroundings, what little he saw, was because of the faint moonlight.

“Who are you?” he asked the shape in the shadows. and when he said this the figure looked up at him. His face was pale. and when the figure spoke, Dillon heard an accent to his voice. But the voice was powerful just the same.

“My Name?… Edward….Edward Kraft. And you son… are Dillon Crawford.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, compared to what little you know about me. For I am not from this town, let alone this country,as you may have guessed by now…”

Something Dillon saw in this stranger’s eyes made him begin to back up slowly. And speaking of eyes… this was glowing.

“And I am hungry… so hungry. I would ask you to get me a pizza, as you have done… but I don’t like pizza…” the stranger started to close the distance between them. “I prefer something more rich… thick… a drink rather, not so much a food… but think I’ll have a little snack too…Why do you want to leave, my dear friend?”

“You are not my friend… I don’t know you… I don’t want to know you.”

“Well… it’s a little too late for that Dillon. Stop walking… stay awhile…”

At that moment Dillon froze. He couldn’t move. He was frozen, looking into Kraft’s eyes.

“Let…Me… DRINK… Let me… Feast…” he said placing his hands on Dillon’s shoulders. Kraft’s mouth opened and he buried his fangs into Dillon’s neck.

. . .

Wednesday 6:01 a.m… The Next Morning

Abigail Dolan was only ten years old when she saw one of the worst things she had ever stumbled upon in her whole life. She walked to school from her house on East Main Street to the Ridgeview Elementary School farther down North Center Street, all the way across town. She lived with her grandparents because at the age of five her parents were hit dead on by a semi. Shortly after the funeral, she moved from Erie to come stay with her mom’s parents in Ridgeview. She was struck hard by this. She had to live the rest of her life without her parents, and she barely knew her grandparents. She knew them so little that she could have considered them strangers. She had to move to a completely different town. But it was smaller than Erie. She practically knew every street just by arriving in town the day she moved in. They stopped at McDonald’s to get something to eat, went across town in a diagonal, and considering there wasn’t much in this town, she basically saw all of the streets she needed to see to navigate easily through town.

Now, the reason she had to walk to school was because her grandparents were too old to drive. And she was old enough to walk by herself. She usually walked down the street to the dollar store opposite of the forge. She often walked to the dollar store to get the groceries for her grandparents. During the winter her neighbor drove out to Walmart to get the groceries. After she reached the dollar store, she turned right towards the forge and then took the tracks to the left to Center Street so she could beat morning traffic at the crosswalk. Plus, if she were to take the walk all the way down to Center Street it would take up more time, and she didn’t want to be late to school. She had no new friends, and she was looked at in the halls like a new ugly spices of fish at an aquarium. Although after this day was over, she wished she wouldn’t have taken the train route, even if it meant being late.

She was walking down the tracks when it hit her. She  stopped and looked at the object that hit her shoulder. It was a sneaker. Not a small one that would fit her foot. It looked like a size nine or ten. But when she saw this shoe, she wasn’t looking at the tag to find out, because this shoe had red on it… a dark red. Blood. There was blood on the rails, and on the rocks. That is when she looked up and a drop of it landed on her cheek. Her face changed instantly from confusion to realization. There was a boy up there. Abigail began to scream.

To be continued in Part 2…