A/N: This is a story I did a year ago. I had chapter 4 written perfectly, it was the pinnacle of the story, but I don't have it, and will never have it back. I once gave up on this, but I decided to ressurect it and put it here. Enjoy. And don't forget to review

Best Kept Secret I

Every Saturday afternoon was the same for me when I was a child. My mother would dress me up in freshly pressed slacks and shiny black shoes, suspenders and a fresh white cotton collared shirt. And as she slicked back my hair she would tell me how much I looked like my father.

I would always smile at this despite the sadness in her eyes when she said it. I didn't know much about my father, he died when I was only a year old. My mother had one picture of him which she hid in the bottom drawer of her dresser. That was the extent of my knowledge of him, just an old picture in a drawer.

I don't think Mom liked talking about him much. Every time I asked about him she would start, then complain of a headache and go lay down in the library, where I know she would have a drink.

It was a Saturday during the fall of 1915 that I remember so well. My mother and I were in the bakery. I had my little grimy hands on the glass, gazing hopefully at the sweets while my mother was conversing with the baker. I looked over to her with innocent eyes and licked my lips. Unfortunately she didn't see my attempt at seducing her into buying me a cake.

I watched the baker struggle with his words and turn a deep crimson color as he fumbled with the bread. I was always amazed at the way my mother could do that. It seemed that with the simple bat of her eyes, any gentleman would be caught under a spell. Yet, she never bothered to find herself another husband. I had asked her once when I was older. She gave me a small smile that was hiding something and said "I have you, what else can I possibly need?"

That day, she was wearing a dark green dress and pale green ribbons and a hat with a veil, a proper autumn outfit for a lady of her class. She thanked the flustered baker and took a disappointed me by the hand. I knew better than to pout, if it wasn't a sweet, it was probably a toy.

I walked three tiny steps to her one long stride back then, keeping my eyes down so I wouldn't step on any cracks. So when she stopped dead in her tracks, I tripped and fell into a long dark shadow.

I looked up to see a tall man in dark clothing, a wave of fear washed over me as I willed my shaking legs to stand up. I grabbed my mother's hand and hid behind her. The man's lip was turned up in a slight scowl and despite the fact that I couldn't see his face due to his black top hat; I knew he was staring straight at me. I could feel his eyes bearing into my soul. I couldn't help but stare at his horrendously pale face despite my shaking fear. He turned to face my mother and smiled, revealing pearly white sharp canines.

"Annaliese," he whispered hoarsely as he cocked his head to the side. It was the voice of nightmares; like rough velvet, dangerously charming, death wrapped in seduction.

He took his gray, claw like hand and pressed it to my mother's cheek. She turned away in disgust but he took her by the chin and forced her back to face him.

"I've missed you dearly," he said as he let his hand travel to her neck and muttered something about how perfect it was.

Then he bent down and took off his top hat. I retreated behind my mother's skirt in fear for his face was the most wicked thing I've ever seen in my entire 5 years of life, all though even now, years later, I don't think there is anything more abhorrent then it. It was a blue gray color, the skin was sagging off the bones and the iris of his eyes were blood red while his pupils were eternal black holes into an unknown abyss.

"James is growing up nicely," he grinned, staring straight into my eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like your father?" Somehow the fact that he knew who me and my father were wasn't an exciting idea.

"What are you doing here?" my mother hissed, pulling me back. The man stood back up and put on his top hat.
"Why, doing what every other human being is doing," he said as he leaned closer towards my mother.

"Your condition doesn't allow you to be out during the day," she quietly hissed.

"Maybe I was just hoping to see you again. Once a year is not merely enough my dear Annaliese,"

My mother curled her lip in anger and disgust and turned away, pulling me with her.

"I will see you when the snow falls," I thought heard him say. But when I turned around, the stranger wasn't there.

I turned back around and looked up to my mother whose face was stern but pale white.

"Who was that Mommy?" I asked tugging at her hand.

"No one important," my mother bit out fearfully.