Rochester, New York- 1968

Joseph Hewitt was never one to believe in the supernatural. His upbringing could have been the cause of this- after all, he was born during the first world war, and fought in the second. He witnessed the Great Depression as a young man. His cigar and often empty pockets kept him firmly rooted in reality, and he'd done a good job, during his younger years, to believe that there was no such nonsense to believe in. But, of course, there had to be an incident that tested the mind, aroused the spirit- an incident that made Joseph question.

Eight deaths- all of them 'kidnappings'- had taken place weeks between each other. At the time, Rochester was much more close-knitted than it was now, and a little part of the city had been a bit shaken up by the commotion these deaths caused.

Even though he would never say so, Joseph would bet his life that those eight deaths weren't due to kidnappings. It was ghost activity, and he was sure of it. As silly as it sounded, he knew it was true.

He had never told anyone of what he saw that night- had made sure to never let his thoughts slip. Joseph was a smart man, with a solid foundation- brought up to never say anything that would force members of society to question your mental state.

Consequently, he chose to tell his grandchildren war stories instead- from over twenty years ago. The boys found these much more interesting- that was expected. It was a win-win situation.

"What's that one there?" Steven had pointed to yet another scar upon his grandfather's skin- still firm and somewhat youthful- looking, even after the passing of fifty-five years. This happened at least once, every time the kids came from Syracuse to visit.

Joseph would then tell his two grandsons the marvelous tale of yet another gruesome battle. Steven would stare at him with adoring eyes, while Andrew's expression was disgusted. At ten and nine, Joseph knew he could shape their young minds into whatever he wished- and even though he tried to keep the amount of gore to a minimum, Andrew always got queasy.

Relief came in the form of Joseph's oldest grandchild, Grace. The sky was almost pitch black by the time she and her grandmother walked through the door- and yet, she always carried a sort of aura around her that seemed the opposite of the sky outside. Anyone could see that. At twelve, she lived in her own little world- with a vast imagination that spread as far as it could go. She was independent, she was persuasive. She was beautiful, and maybe a tad bit naive. She was perfect.

"Papa, are you telling those disgusting war stories again?" Her small, freckled face twisted into an uncomfortable pout. She didn't like the stories- and neither did his wife, for that matter.

Maria, his wife, laughed. "Yes, Joseph! That's all you talk about to the kids- don't you have any other stories?"

He shook his head no. An automatic reaction.

Maria smiled. Her voice was teasing as she spoke. "How unimaginative you are! At least make up a story, dear." Grace's eyes immediately lit up with excitement. Although she didn't particularly like the stories her granddad told, she loved the way in which he told them. That made all the difference.

"Well... I do have one..." The words had rolled uncertainly off his tongue. "I swear that the story is true, too. I saw it."

Grace eagerly sat on her grandmother's lap- an obvious hint that she wanted him to begin.

Joseph smiled, looking into his darling granddaughter's eyes. "Just for you, Gracie."

And so it began.

"It was nineteen thirty-three... exactly thirty five years ago. I was working around the outskirts of town..." As soon as he began to speak, Joseph remembered the night very clearly. He made sure that no detail was lost, even after all these years. He had no trouble explaining the sequence of events that followed.

"Aside from the family business, I worked at a warehouse. At twenty years old, I made good pay- for someone working during the Depression, at least. It got the bills paid. See kids, this was a year before your mom was born, just after I had gotten married.

"Anyway, several weeks before this fateful night, people began to go missing."

Grace's deep eyes were wide, deeply engrossed in the story. Her grandmother, who had the same expression as Grace, silently braided her granddaughter's deep red hair. The boys were interested, too- a complete change in imaginary scenery, for them. No one had heard this before. Joseph smiled before continuing his tale. His words were slower, now. He said every syllable with care.

"A young girl was the first to go. Her name was Rosalie- Rosalie Hale. Everyone in town had known of her engagement to a man of high class- Royce King, the second...

"She was just a teenager- barely eighteen, so full of life. She had the face of an angel- perhaps the face of one you see painted on the Sistine Chapel. I remember seeing her in town- we were close in age, me and Rosalie. Golden hair, deep eyes, like sapphires...

"It was spring, I think, when she disappeared. Clothes strewn out on the sidewalk, drops of blood in the fresh snow."

The family remained silent, waiting to hear more. No one dared to interrupt.

"Everything was taken away from her, just when she was to become everything a little girl dreams of becoming.

"Over the course of many weeks, other people in this imaginary high-society began to disappear, too. They were all young men, and seemed to be in the same circle of friends. I remember hearing of less parties, less feasts. It was as if those people felt they were being targeted, I assume.

"Now, we're back to that early summer night. In the lot across the warehouse's, there was an out-of-use building- large, with a sturdy structure- even a vaulted door. I could see that whoever occupied the space had tried to make it seem inconspicuous- tried to make the building blend in, so to speak, with the Earth. It obviously didn't work.

"Even though I was so far away, the light of the moon gave me plenty to see. There was a figure going into the building, wearing all white- a gown. It was a woman, I was sure.

"I only wanted to finish up work, and return home. Even though the situation was peculiar, it was only another woman roaming the streets... I didn't think much of it.

"It seemed like an eternity, she spent in that building. But eventually she walked out onto the abandoned street, and the figure I saw blew my mind. The head of hair was undoubtedly blond- even visible under the light of the moon. I know that many people have yellowed hair, but for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking of that Rosalie Hale."

The room was quiet until Grace decided to speak. Even so, her voice was just a whisper.

"What happened next, Papa?"

Joseph sighed, remembering the unexplainable chill that worked its way through his body. "I read the paper the next morning. Royce King and two other men were found dead in that building-" he had a bit of difficulty speaking the next part aloud- "and ever since then, I've imagined that the spirit of Rosalie Hale had killed her betrothed."

Four pairs of eyes widened considerably.

"I remember Rosalie's death," Marie said quietly. She, too, had only heard this story for the first time. "My parents were friends with hers, in a sense- our fathers worked in the same bank. They were so grieved, so shocked..."

"Maybe she didn't die at all." Grace's voice rang in the still January air.

The local post office was bustling with people. It was five days before Christmas, and people still had much to ship out, much to receive... It was a time of total chaos.

Grace towed her little five year-old girl through the maze of people. There was a line of people just waiting to buy stamps, and lines were made according to the size of the packages they were sending out. Grace only wanted to get a specialty box, herself... Ridiculous, this was. She sighed, and her daughter tugged at her skirt.

"Mommy, is Great-Gramma Maria comin' to our house for Christmas?"

Grace smiled, and picked up her little girl, with the same rich hair. "You bet she is. We're going to have a big party at uncle Andrew's- just you wait, Lacey."

Grace wanted her grandmother over as much as time allowed. Her job was demanding, as was her husband's... but Grandma Marie still saw the eyes of a dreamer in Grace's gray ones. She had never tucked her imagination away- she was still always in Neverland.

Grandpa Joseph's death had taken a lot out of her. No one expected it- seventy-three was not an old age. Grace grimaced. Her grandmother was still fighting, though.

A young woman stood in front of Grace and her daughter, murmuring something to the man she was with about something to do with her post- a mistake, or something. Grace didn't care, much. She was dealing with someone now, though. That meant Grace could leave here soon. She could get her box and leave....

The man- who was very tall- turned around, and left his lady-friend in line alone. Grace caught a glimpse of his face, and she was stunned.

He was beautiful, almost unnaturally so.

She turned around, almost immediately after he had. "Emmet!" She held out a pale hand, and the man named Emmet threw something small at her. Grace saw this woman's face, full-on.

If Emmet was unnaturally beautiful, then this woman was an absolute goddess. It shouldn't be allowed to be so beautiful, in any situation. She was a living Aphrodite, with eyes made of gold- a flawless face, perfect lips- long, golden hair...

Almost immediately, the woman turned back around.

The woman reminded her of that story Grandpa Joseph told them, over fifteen years ago. From what Grace had in her mind, and what her grandfather had said... this woman was surely beautiful enough.

"What was your name again, dear?" The older woman behind the counter asked. Grace still couldn't get over the beauty of these two people- that is, until this young woman revealed her name.

"Rosalie. Rosalie Hale." She then proceeded to spell it out.