Ten-year-old Macaulay Culkin stopped running just as he reached the edge of the roof and looked down, breathing hard. He could hear the sirens from down below. Usually, Macaulay would hear them and wonder what was going on, but now, however, he wanted to go down there and investigate, the detective part of him wanting to look for secrets.

“Frightening, isn’t it?” said Michael as he suddenly appeared from behind Macaulay, wearing the clothes he had worn in Macaulay’s dream: black pants, a white shirt covered by a long-sleeved matching coat and black boots on his feet.

Macaulay quickly turned around, a small scream escaping from his throat before he calmed down. “You are?”

Michael shook his head. “I meant freedom, Mac. To go wherever you want, do whatever you want anytime, anywhere and be whatever you want to be. I know it’s quite terrifying at first.”

“I passed ‘terrified’ about half an hour ago,” Macaulay replied.

“Mac,” said Michael as he looked into Macaulay’s eyes, “all your life you wondered why you felt things no one else felt, never caught a cold or broke a bone while everyone else did.”

Macaulay gently bit down on his lower lip. “This is all just a dream, right? And soon, I’m gonna wake up and…”

“And I will be there,” Michael finished. “Macaulay,” he said, causing a small tremor of fear to pass through Macaulay’s veins, “I’m not going to be alone again.” He looked down into Macaulay’s eyes. “I’d perish without you.”

“I can go back,” said Macaulay, “back to my life.” He began backing away from Michael. “You can’t stop me. You can’t.”

“Then go,” Michael said, a tone of anger now filling his voice a little. “Go back to your little shoe-box apartment, filled with those empty dreams. And go back to your church, and don’t forget the collection plate; the good preacher’s whiskey supply is running low. And go back to your job, where they laugh at you behind your back and they call you ‘crazy’.”

Macaulay had just opened the door, but then stopped and turned around when he heard Michael say, “Or, you face the truth, Mac — that you have no place left to go but to me.”

Macaulay narrowed his eyes a little. “What do you know about truth? Huh? You lied to me from the beginning.”

“Your father sent me to you,” said Michael as Macaulay turned back around.

“What?” Macaulay asked.

“That’s the truth.” Michael never broke eye contact with Macaulay as he stepped over to him. “Your father. If I told you that when I first met you, when I come to you, if I told you what you were, would you believe me, if I told you that you were the son of a vampire?”

Macaulay couldn’t believe his ears; there had to be some sort of mistake. With all the anger he had inside of him at this revelation, he hissed, “You’re lying!”

His words did not fool Michael one bit. Michael knew the truth about Macaulay’s father. “You’d have loved your father,” said Michael, as he turned to walk away. “Your mother did before they killed him.”

Macaulay’s anger began to disappear quickly, and was replaced by curiosity — for he had long since been curious about his father. He ran after Michael, and managed to ask, “Who? Who killed him? Who?”

Michael turned around upon hearing Macaulay’s question and sensing the curiosity in his voice, and looked at Macaulay, who managed to stop a few feet away from running into him.

“Humans!” Michael finally said. “Humans fear what they don’t understand, and they hate what they fear.” He looked into Macaulay’s eyes and saw that Mac was listening to every word he had said so far, and then went on. “Your father sacrificed himself so your mother could survive. That’s what drove your mother insane.”