It is probable that every man that has lived his life has had a minimal number of perplexing

and improbable occurrences happen, yet it would seem every man has had at least one. For
this, I am no different. Many of these variances have happened in the confines of my own
abode. So does the following.

It happened upon a dreadfully dreary and mundane day, as I had been cooped up inside my
observatory, working on quite a troubling case I had been granted, and I had found myself
deep in thought for the last few hours. By the time it was for me to leave my work, dusk had
already fallen and the moon was in full waning. I retreated from my place of work and started
to head north, in the direction of my home.
Nightfall had dawned upon our commune. My consort was deep in an unwakeable slumber,
as were my two offspring. I, however, was in the opposite situation. For the past few nights, I
had been plagued with dark visions and nightmares; the thought still lingers in my head
today. From the ashen tree to the sullen walls charred by a travesty. The thought of what
might have been the motive of such a decimation eluded me, as did sleep; for this ordeal of
terror that controlled my every waking moment had an overwhelming preluding sense of
dread around it, as if this was no dream but a real experience. It's hard to explain. And I fear
if I dare try these visions will haunt me once again. One thing is clearly evident, though;
whatever is happening to my mind, whatever is ruining my perception of reality isn't human.

As I entered my home, I noticed a strange cut on my arm. Blood was dripping. Realising that
it probably grazed on something, I went into the kitchen to grab some bandages, but they
weren't needed. I froze in place. That cut wasn't mine, no skin was pierced. But it wasn't
even dry, I thought to myself. It was recent. My mind raced thinking of possibilities of what
could have been the cause, yet nothing came to my mind. It seemed that during this panic, I
knocked over some cutlery as my wife had since entered the kitchen, and looked at me, pale
faced. She looked down, and noticed something. She had a gaping wound on her hand.
Identical to the location of my blood mark.
I asked her what happened, and to my horror, she didn't fully know, only someone was in the
house before. She said she didn't get a good look, but she said she knew roughly what he
looked like. Over 6 feet, black hair, tattered clothes. And fangs; he had fangs.