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There wasn't much to do around the set. It was really just a makeshift shack in which they were trying to recreate a storm and -- no matter, the town they were huddled in had little more than a tiny Italian bistro to show for itself in the way of entertainment. And since that was the restaurant she was meeting the girls at, Aly opted for the next most relaxing pursuit: a walk.
She loved to take walks; they calmed the mind and spirit, and were great times to think. And that night, Aly was deep in thought about an interview she'd just done.
It was for one of those infernal teen magazines, Bop or Teen or Tiger Beat or something vapid like that. The standard: Isn't Angel such a hunk? (The man's name is David. Get it.) Is Xander just as funny in real life as he is on the show? (Yes. We're all wonderful people with bright comedic futures here at the WB. Who knows, maybe if we're lucky we can grab a spot after "The Tom Show".) What's it like working with vampires? (They're not real vampires, 'brain-trust'.) Are you frustrated by the fact that Buffy gets all the guys and Willow doesn't? (Oh, a real self-esteem booster. Next why don't you ask me what my favorite color is and if I love Gavin. Ugh.) And on and on and on ...
It soon occurred to Aly that she was in an abnormally bad mood. It was just a dinky old phone converstaion, nothing to be that troubled about. As she strolled down the streets of the quaint, rustically empty old town (what was it called, Dusk Creek? Duskville? Something like that.), "Willow" tried to put her finger on why she was so upset. Then she remembered a question that chilled her to the bone, and kind of got her thinking why the chipper little reporter had to do the interview at night over the phone. "Do you believe in vampires? Like for real?" the girl had said.
And she had hesitated. That in itself was odd. Aly was a confirmed Scully, a total skeptic. She acted it A-OK, but when it came to the truth ... let's just say it was definitely not out there. Yet, she had hesitated. "I don't know," she had said. "If they do exist, I really don't think they're anything like those we encounter on the show."
To this the girl had made a slight click with her tongue. That was the end of the conversation. "I can't print that, Miss Hannigan. You'd better reconsider your answer." Before Aly could tell the snooty thing off, or at least give a severe reprimand, the line went dead. Without even a goodbye. Without even telling her when the story would be printed. Strange, yes. Scary; well, after a day of fighting demons, even if they were computer- generated, anyone would be a little jumpy.
It was so dark and Aly was so lost in thought that she didn't see someone come up behind her. Still thinking, there was barely enough time to scream before he clamped his hand tightly around her mouth, whispering, "Make a sound and you die, bitch." Somewhere in the distance, she could hear absent laughter and feel her hand tremble with terror.
She was paralyzed. Aly tried to thrust her satchel into the man's hands, but he pushed it away, skidding the leather bag across the sidewalk. "I don't want money," her attacker added in a throaty growl, keeping his grip tight about her shoulders and, so she could make out, sniffing the back of her neck like an animal. Alyson could not speak, only whimper, meekly and softly, a tear of fear falling involuntarily down her cheek.
He caught it with his hand and wiped it across her face, twisting in one firm motion her whole body towards him. Now he had both arms around her waist and she could see his face. What there was of it. There was not enough time for the his appearance to fully register, becuase if it did, she would have gotten the shock of her life.
"Prepare to die," he laughed, and swiftly sunk his fangs into Alyson
Hannigan's neck, teeth against skin, glowing in the half-light. Night was
upon them.