Chapter 1: The Girl They Called Katty
It’s me, Katty. For all of them, I was Katty. To my mother, to Adaline, and to Andrew—my late husband. But the name doesn't matter anymore, not after everything. This is my story. You won't believe it. No one ever does. But every word I tell you is the truth—and it is drenched in darkness.
It was October, 1993. I was in my mid-twenties, full of energy, the type of girl everyone knew on campus. Halloween was around the corner and I, as usual, was in charge of the decorations and the party. Everyone looked to me to make it grand, eerie, and unforgettable. I took that responsibility seriously.
For the party that year, I wanted to stand out—not just lead the event, but own it. After browsing for hours online through the slow-loading pages of the early internet, I settled on a classic vampire look. Not the overdone, kitschy kind—mine would be elegant, dangerous, and memorable.
I wore a long-sleeved black mini-dress, tight-fitting and slightly glossy, paired with high black heels. I topped it with deep red lipstick and fangs that gleamed like ivory. As I looked in the mirror, I felt powerful. I didn’t know then how prophetic that look would become.
As I shut my bedroom door softly behind me, I could hear the gentle clattering of pots downstairs. My mother was making dinner. Adaline, my little sister, was chattering away about something that had happened at school.
“Katty, are you dressed up already?” my mother asked, looking up at me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yes, Mom. It’s already late. I need to be there by eight,” I replied, smiling back.
“Wow, you look gorgeous. Are they sharp enough?” Adaline giggled, pointing at my fangs.
“Hm, sharp enough to bite a little girl,” I teased, baring them with a grin. Her eyes widened, half in delight, half in fear.
I kissed her on the cheek, hugged them both, and ran out into the chilly October night. A familiar voice called after me.
