Chapter 1 – Jake
The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh. I glanced up, expecting to see Mrs. Henderson doing her usual late-night shopping for her cats. Instead, a woman stood at the entrance, her pale skin almost luminescent under the artificial lighting. She wore what looked like an old-fashioned dress, the kind you might see in a museum, but covered in dirt and torn in places. She took a single step forward, then froze. Her head snapped toward my direction, nostrils flaring. Even from this distance, I could see her eyes widening. "Um, can I help you?" I called out, my voice cracking slightly. I cleared my throat and stood up straighter, trying to channel my best customer service demeanor. The woman didn't respond. She just... stared. Then, with movements too fluid to seem natural, she began walking toward me. Her bare feet made no sound against the linoleum floor. My grip tightened on the box cutter. "Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?" She stopped a few feet away from me, close enough that I could see the unusual color of her eyes – a deep burgundy that seemed to shift in the light. Her dark hair fell in tangled waves past her shoulders, and despite the dirt and tears in her clothing, there was something undeniably elegant about her. "It cannot be," she whispered, her voice carrying an accent I couldn't place. "After all this time..." "I'm sorry?" I took a step back, bumping into the shelf behind me. A few boxes of cereal wobbled precariously. She reached out, her hand hovering inches from my face. I flinched but didn't move away. There was something both terrifying and mesmerizing about her presence. "The scent," she murmured. "It is exactly the same." A smile spread across her face, revealing perfectly white teeth. "My beloved Edmund." I blinked. "I think you have the wrong person. My name's Jake." She withdrew her hand, but her intense gaze never wavered. "No, I would know that scent anywhere. You carry his soul." "Right..." I glanced toward the front of the store, where my colleague Dennis was probably dozing at the register. "Look, ma'am, we close in fifteen minutes. Is there something specific you're looking for?" "I have found exactly what I was looking for." She took another step closer, and I caught a whiff of earth and something else – something older, like ancient stone and stale air. "My name is Lady Carmilla," she said, executing a small curtsy that seemed completely out of place in the cereal aisle of a supermarket. "And I have waited a very long time to find you again." My mind raced through my options. The woman was clearly unstable, possibly homeless, definitely in need of help. But there was something about the way she carried herself, something in those strange eyes that made me hesitate to simply dismiss her as crazy. "Listen, Lady... Carmilla, was it? I really think you're confused. I'm just a regular guy who works at a supermarket. I'm not this Edmund person." She smiled again, but it held a hint of sadness this time. "Of course you would not remember. But it matters not. I have found you, and this time, I shall not let you go." The overhead speakers crackled to life. "Attention shoppers, SaveMart will be closing in ten minutes. Please bring your final selections to the front registers." I seized the opportunity. "I need to finish closing up. Maybe you should-" "I shall wait," she interrupted, taking a step back. "I have waited a thousand years. A few more minutes is nothing." Before I could respond, she turned and glided toward the front of the store, her tattered dress swishing around her ankles. I watched her settle onto one of the benches by the entrance, sitting with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap like a queen on her throne. My hands shook as I gathered up the flattened boxes. Something about her words kept echoing in my mind. A thousand years. The soul of someone named Edmund. It was nonsense, of course, but... I found myself stealing glances at her as I finished my closing duties. She hadn't moved an inch, her eyes following me wherever I went. When Dennis announced it was time to lock up, she stood gracefully and walked outside without a word. I changed out of my work shirt in the break room, taking longer than necessary in hopes she'd be gone when I left. But as I pushed open the employee exit into the cool night air, I saw her waiting in the parking lot, illuminated by a street lamp. I considered going back inside and calling for a ride or maybe even the police. Instead, I found myself walking toward her, drawn by a curiosity I couldn't explain. "Your carriage is different from what I remember," she said, gesturing to my beat-up Honda Civic. “How do you know it’s mine?” “It has your smell.” "Look," I said, fishing my keys from my pocket, "I don't know what's going on here, but you can't just-" "Would you like to know about him?" she interrupted. "About Edmund?" My hand tightened around my keys. I should say no. I should get in my car and drive away. I should definitely not engage with this strange woman who appeared out of nowhere and seemed to think I was someone else. But instead, I heard myself ask, "Who was he?" Her smile was radiant. "He was a nobleman's son. We were to be married before..." Her expression darkened. "Before they took him from me. But fate has brought us together again, my beloved." A chill that had nothing to do with the night air ran down my spine. "I need to go home." "Of course," she said, stepping aside. "Rest well, my love. We have much to discuss tomorrow." As I climbed into my car, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life had just taken a very strange turn. In my rearview mirror, I watched Lady Carmilla's figure grow smaller until she disappeared into the shadows completely. But somehow, I knew this wouldn't be the last time I saw her. Not by a long shot. The drive home was quiet, but my mind was anything but. I kept replaying her words, her movements, and the way she looked at me like she'd found something precious she'd lost long ago. It was unsettling yet somehow fascinating. I pulled into my apartment complex's parking lot but sat in my car for a long moment before getting out. The night felt different now, charged with something I couldn't name. I couldn't shake the sensation of being watched as I walked to my building. My keys jingled as I unlocked my apartment door, the familiar sound somehow hollow in the stillness of the night. After the surreal encounter in the parking lot, I flicked on the lights and dropped my backpack by the door, my usual routine feeling strangely mechanical. The small one-bedroom apartment welcomed me with its familiar comfort – dishes from breakfast still in the sink, my laptop open on the coffee table displaying the online class I'd forgotten to finish, and my cat, Mr. Whiskers, stretching lazily on the windowsill. "You wouldn't believe the night I've had, buddy," I muttered, scratching behind the cat's ears. Whiskers usually purred at my touch, but his fur stood on end instead. His yellow eyes fixed on something beyond the window, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. My hand froze mid-scratch. I followed the cat's gaze but saw only darkness beyond the glass. Still, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I found myself quickly drawing the curtains closed. "It's nothing," I told myself, but my voice sounded unconvincing even to my own ears. "Just some weird customer. Probably won't even see her again." I went through my nightly routine: I microwaved leftover pizza, scrolled through my phone, and took a shower. But every small noise made me jump—the ice maker in my fridge, a car door slamming in the parking lot, the rustle of branches against my window. As I lay in bed, I pulled up Google on my phone. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I typed: "Lady Carmilla Bathory." The results were a mixture of vampire fiction references and historical accounts of Elizabeth Bathory, a Hungarian noblewoman known for her cruelty. Nothing about Lady Carmilla, though the name seemed to pop up in various vampire stories. "Great," I muttered, "she named herself after vampire legends. That's not creepy at all." I switched to my social media apps, trying to distract myself, but my mind kept wandering back to those burgundy eyes and the way she'd looked at me—like she knew me better than I knew myself. The way she'd said "Edmund" with such longing stirred something in my chest, a feeling I couldn't quite identify. Mr. Whiskers jumped onto the bed, still seeming agitated. The cat circled three times before settling at my feet, ears twitching at every sound. "At least I'm not the only one freaked out," I said, reaching down to stroke the cat's back. "But come on, what are the chances she actually follows through? People say weird stuff all the time at the store. Remember the guy who claimed he was Elvis's secret son?" But this felt different. The Elvis guy had been obviously seeking attention, his claims loud and desperate. Lady Carmilla had spoken with absolute certainty, her words carrying the weight of truth – or at least, what she believed to be truth. Despite the mild temperature, I rolled onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin. Sleep seemed impossible, but eventually, my eyes grew heavy. Just before I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard a soft humming outside my window – an old melody that stirred something in the depths of my memory. In that space between waking and sleeping, images flickered through my mind: candlelit halls, the swish of heavy fabric, a gloved hand reaching for my own. A woman's voice, speaking words I couldn't quite catch. The scent of roses and iron. Mr. Whiskers' sudden hiss jolted me awake. The cat stood at the window, back arched, tail puffed to twice its normal size. I sat up, heart pounding, but by the time I reached the window and peeked through the curtains, there was nothing but empty darkness. I checked my phone: 3:47 AM. Too early to get up, too late to take a sleeping pill. I sank back onto my bed, knowing sleep would be elusive now. My mind wandered to work – I had the closing shift again tomorrow. Would she return? Part of me hoped she wouldn't, but another part, a part I wasn't quite ready to acknowledge, felt a twinge of anticipation at the thought. "I'm losing it," I muttered, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "It's just stress. Maybe I should finally use those vacation days." But even as I said it, I knew I wouldn't. Something had shifted in my world, subtle but undeniable, like the first tremor before an earthquake. Whatever was happening, whatever Lady Carmilla's appearance meant, running away wouldn't solve anything.
