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Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
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  10. 7
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  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

Angelina becomes a monster and that identity becomes her coffin, the lid nailed down tight, trapping her real self inside. But somewhere in this brutal, beautiful book that real self turns into mist and drifts away, and all that’s left of her is the monster.

Grady Hendrix

September 2019

Grady Hendrix is a novelist and screenwriter whose books include Horrorstör, My Best Friend’s Exorcism, and We Sold Our Souls. His history of the paperback horror boom of the Seventies and Eighties, Paperbacks from Hell, won the Stoker Award. You can stalk him at www.gradyhendrix.com.

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

I am fortunate indeed. My support structure is comprised of willing, talented, and dedicated friends.

Those in my writer’s group—Maggie Doran, Marie Johnson, Geri Kaeo and Madge Walls—were indis­pensable to the construction of this book. Dot Bergstrom, Carol Bearman, Ross Nodem, and those at the Banana Farm Writer’s Retreat helped me with life’s perspective. Tonia, Steve, Susan, Nancy, Mike, Peggy, Polly, Jeannie, and Pam helped me with eternal perspective. Bob Gutzmer, Pauline Merner, and Clarice Cox continued to believe in me; Susan Bredesen picked me up off the floor every time I started to scream and beat my fists, and Melissa Ann Singer gently urged this tender manuscript off the shelf and helped me make it strong.

Most of all, this writer needs the ongoing stability, love, and laughter (along with a few tense moments) generously supplied by an astonishing assortment of relatives—blood, step, and in-law, but especially from Evan, Eron, and Nikki.

1

1

I certainly never intended to become a vampire. The thought had crossed my mind, of course, as I im­mersed myself in literature of all types, but I dwelt on it maybe only a little more than I dealt with the fantasy of growing up to be an heiress, or a queen. Few people, I believe, set their minds on a lifetime path when they are young. I’m sure there are those who are like that; I was not. My dreams were of power over others, of that there is no doubt. I had no power when I was a child.

But my youthful dreams were impotent; I had little self-­esteem. I was the odd duck, the misfit, and I always struggled with life, argued against it, all the while knowing I was at its mercy. The best I could hope for was an innocuous lifetime assignment, with a few plump moments of pleasure. Life would ultimately do with me as it wished, I thought. I was powerless.

Today, of course, I know differently.

I was born Angelina Watson to John and Alice Watson when John was sixty and Alice was forty­-three. The reasons for their childlessness up to that point are matters only for speculation since both are now dead, but I was a surprise to them, to say the least. Mother said I was a gift from the angels. Hence, my name.