I remember my childhood very clearly. I remember the huge Victorian style home that I grew up in. It was in a big patch of woods in northern Louisiana, so the trees were very tall pine trees. I remember they smelled so good. Our house was about five miles away from neighbors on all sides, and the only way to reach it besides a trek through the woods was a tiny dirt road that lead from the main highway to our house. It was an absolutely beautiful setting for a beautiful home. The sun would burst through the trees, and now that I think about it, even during the height of Louisiana summer or the middle of winter, that area always felt as if it was fall. Maybe a solid 68 degrees all year round, which is strange.
I was a rambunctious child, eight years old at the time, with a huge imagination. This huge imagination would be the explanation given to me by my mother when I told her that there were kids living in the woods around our home. I’ve only ever spoken of this to my mother, and even now writing about it there are memories flooding back to me that I have somehow completely erased. There were vampires in those woods around my home, I’m sure of it.