Ellen had been relieved from writing an article about her own mother's death. She had been granted a week off from work for grieving purposes, though Ellen wanted more desperately than anything to go back to her job as a reporter, in order to forget in part about her nightmarish few days. First, the vision of the red eyes. Then, the bizarre encounter with Mr. Lee. And the final attack against her, her own mother's death. Everytime Ellen looked outside the window facing the Beloff Manor, she could see Mr. Lee staring, unblinking, through the window directly at her, as if Mr. Lee had been watching her and knew when she would look outside the window. He had to be linked to this. Mr. Lee had to have been the one behind this evil. It was his red eyes that she had seen in that vision, even before she met him.

However, Ellen had larger matters than the new neighbor to worry about. Leon Kivver had been found murdered and drained of life on her own street, about one hundred feet away from her own house. People of Locksville began to grow panicked. Hysteria spread, as some families moved away to prevent their own children from being murdered. And a much more personal revelation had come to light for Ellen. Two short nights after Margaret's demise, her mausoleum had been unlocked, raided by some theif. When the town locked the tomb back up, it was once more broken into. Finally, Ellen had enough. She decided to go to her mother's tomb and see who had been infiltrating her poor mother's tomb. Perhaps knowing her mother's final resting place was at peace would satisfy her.

Ellen had spent days and nights crying over her loss of the most important woman in her entire life. Her eyes became red from going away the tears, and she had lost many hours of sleep to deep grief. Now, it was time to act. She planned it all out. She would go hide near the Morris Mausoleum and see who was the culprit was. At that, she would bring a gun and her phone to alert the police of the criminal's capture. The plan sounded so perfect in her mind. All she had to do was wait until the clock struck nine. Soon, the cuckoo cooed nine times, and the small arrow pointed at the golden number nine. Ellen got up and started her car, with the gun and the phone in her pockets.

It was the dead of the night, with only the streetlights, the stars and the moon keeping watch over Locksville. Ellen arrived at the Mausoleum soon enough. It was a small, yet opulent marble building, with pillars and the word 'Morris' spelled in golden lettering above the doorway. There were thick, soft bushes of purple, puffy flowers that let out a smell of pungency. Ellen checked the handles. The door was still locked, luckily for her. She hid behind a bush of the purple flowers, ignoring the strong odor, and keeping a close watch on anyone approaching. Silence hung heavy for a long time, the moon slowly creeping up the sky, almost ready to creep down and let the sun shine. Many instances, Ellen nearly fell into slumber, but she remained awake and alert.

Suddenly, Ellen heard a faint rattle of the door handle. However, no one was outside. The opening was coming from the inside of the mausoleum. Ellen's eyes widened with suspense. Soon, the heavy stone door flung open, and a foot stepped out, a bare, pale foot draped in a sparkling white dress that glowed overwhelmingly in the moonlight. The other foot stepped out, and Ellen saw from behind the flowers, a beautiful ethereal woman, draped in the same shimmering white dress her mother had been in, this time stained with blood. And it dawned on Ellen. That beautiful woman was her mother. She had de-aged somehow. Ellen gasped and took a quick, discreet picture of it. The woman didn't show up in the picture. Ellen tried to doubt, but a nagging thought in her head wondered if Ellen had been the one to kill and drain blood from little Leon Kivver.

Margaret, now youthful and gorgeous from drinking the child's blood, walked eerily throughout the foggy graveyard, lusting to drink the blood of younglings. From a safe distance, Ellen followed, her heart racing and her feet tiptoed. Margaret walked from the graveyard and into the town. Her movements were graceful and loose, but serpentine in nature. Suddenly, Margaret halted. She put her nose in the air. She smelt the blood of a youth. There came a young boy wandering the street, crying and lost. The young child saw Margaret standing there, and ran up to her. "Ma'am, I'm lost, please, I don't, I don't know where mommy and daddy are! We were going home from a party and I ran away and I can't find them and I'm scared!" the child said, tears rolling down his cheek. "Don't worry," Margaret said, in a saccharine, sultry tone that enchanted the air around her. "Come with me, child. I know where your parents are." Ellen gasped once more. It was a vampire. Ellen could not even believe what she was thinking. Vampires were make-believe, fictional, right? But she saw her. Ellen disbelieved this entirely. But the proof was there. This vampire tale could not be further from fiction at all.

The child took Margaret's pale, lifeless hand and walked with her back to the mausoleum. Ellen secretly followed behind, getting closer and closer. Finally, they got to the mausoleum, when Margaret scooped up the child in her arms, a sudden look of hunger in her eyes, fangs growing from her teeth. "Miss? Miss! Please put me down! Where are we? You told me you know where mommy and daddy are!" Margaret raised her fangs, ready to slaughter the young child and suck the life from his veins. The child screamed, but his cries for help were unheard- the graveyard was hundreds of feet away from any houses. She lunged at his neck, ready to tear into the boy's neck. "Please! No!" the boy cried. And then, in an act of quick thinking and impulse, Ellen picked up a stone and hurled it at this monster in her mother's skin.

The vampire lady turned and stared at Ellen with a burning rage in her crimson eyes. She dropped the child and disappeared into a puff of bloody smoke. From the cloud emerged a grotesque bat, with rancid black fur and fangs the size of medical needles. The bat was about to sink its fangs into Ellen's neck, when she intercepted by grabbed the bat by the neck. It turned back into its human form form, slashing at her daughter with sharpened talons on her fingertips. Ellen fumbled for the gun in her pocket, pulling it out and aiming at her mother's head. She fired, a lead bullet zooming towards Margaret's head, piercing her skull. She was sent back from the bullet, but quickly got up, for the bullet was simply ineffective to something already dead. With the speed of a bird of prey, Margaret swooped away, her white dress flowing in the moonlight.

Ellen dropped the gun out of fear, when she recognized the purple puffing flowers she had hidden in: European Garlic flowers. She rushed to the edges of the mausoleum and pulled the garlic flowers from the ground. She picked up the bulb, the garlic, pungent and odorous. The vampire woman shrieked and fell to the ground as her daughter held the garlic towards her. Ellen held the garlic towards her vampiric mother and walked cautiously towards an aspen tree in the graveyard. She reached up and broke off a wooden stake. Her eyes teared up and felt awful about what she had to do. Ellen walked towards her mother, brandishing the garlic, hesitating to deliver the final blow.

But this was not her mother. It was a monster, a vampyre, using her mother's skin. Tears trickled down her face. "Please, Eleanor, don't do this," her mother said, her voice so manipulative and sweet. But Ellen had to do this. Tales of old told her that garlic repels these things and a wooden stake through the heart kills them. She could only hope the tales of old were not just tales. She raised the stake above her head, hands quivering, her heart welling with grief. "I'm so sorry, mom," she uttered. And the stake was brought down through the demon lady's heart. Margaret cackled, as her fangs retracted. Her laughter became less frequent and slower, and softer, and then silent. This time, Margaret was dead for good. Ellen drove back to her home, silent all the way there. When the sun came up, the citizens would find a stake pierced through a white dress full of ashes, for the light had finished off whatever was left of Margaret Morris.