The family lived in a house at the top of the hill, surrounded by forest. Wide bright windows let light into the upper floors, but at ground level there were only thick walls and a tall metal door, as if to ward against burglars or something more strange. If you were fanciful, you might imagine the cupola at the top – glass all round, higher than any other building for miles around – was a lookout tower, but of course it was only Edward’s bedroom. Or maybe even his study, since as far as Bella could tell there was no bed; but then, her binoculars were only 5x optical zoom.

Somehow, even as she watched him – frowning, brooding, sighing, sitting silently by the table – she knew that she was destined to stand within those rooms; destined to be with him. He was in the kitchen now, she thought, but she couldn’t quite see from her perch in the treetop, so she edged along the branch. Just a little bit further, just a little. There he was, leaning into the fridge, thick hair falling over his face; she felt her breath catch at the sight, and her heart thump. She was so giddy with the sight of him that it took a moment to understand the cracking noise behind her, the sudden lurch – the idea that she was falling, not just in love, but through branches that slapped at her face and caught at her clothes and gave way beneath her.

When she came to, she was lying on a dark brown sofa. It was the sofa from the house – there was a photograph in her scrapbook, she’d know it anywhere. The fireplace was overflowing with flame-bright coal, and there was a blanket draped over her; one of the women she’d seen so often, the blonde one, was sitting nearby. And to one side – she realised as she pushed herself upright – there was him. The boy. Edward Cullen.

“How are you feeling?” he said, and the sound of his voice so close to her was almost too much to bear.

“I… I don’t know,” she said. “I think I fell?”

“You were in the tree,” he replied. “I suppose the wolves were after you, and you were hiding.” And his face twisted. “If they’d harmed a single hair on your head, I would have hunted them down with my bare hands and torn their throats out with my teeth.” For a moment, his eyes seemed to flare red in the firelight, and she knew he truly loved her.

“I would have kissed the blood from your lips, and made you clean again,” she said.

As they gazed at each other it felt like for ever, but it could only have been moments before the blonde woman coughed. “Nice to meet you at last,” she said.

“And you,” Bella said, tearing her eyes from Edward’s. “I’m Bella.”

“We know,” the blonde woman said. “Edward takes photos of you sometimes.” She tilted her head towards the wall, and sure enough, there was a digital frame, cycling through a slideshow: Bella on the way to school; Bella reading in the library; diving into the swimming pool; asleep in her bed, legs tangled in pale pink sheets. “I’m Rosalie.”

“And I’m Alice,” said another woman, dark-haired with a pixie face, leaning against the door.

“Carlisle Cullen,” said a man, blond, tall: another figure she’d seen often through her binoculars. Somehow, among these strange people, this unknown family, Bella felt – for the first time in months – like she was home.

“What Bella doesn’t know is that this is no ordinary home, and the Cullens are no ordinary family. By rescuing an innocent girl from where she fell, they have set her upon a path that could change all their lives for ever. And when Bella emerges from the other end of that path, she may find that things are not what she expected in… the Twilight Zone.”

“What?” Bella jumped: she was sure there’d been nobody else in the room, but when she looked again there was another man behind her, a man she’d never seen before in all her long hours outside the house. He was older than the others, less luminous somehow; looking right at her, expression calm and – strangely – sympathetic.

Alice sighed. “Don’t mind Uncle Rod,” she said. “He does that sometimes. Uncle! Don’t scare Bella. Just sit down and have a nice cup of tea.”

–

Bella slept on the sofa that night: the fall hadn’t harmed her too badly, but she’d twisted an ankle, and the path from the house to the town was rocky and treacherous. She woke up often, and Edward was always nearby, bathed in the glow of dying embers. Once, the fireplace was empty, but her friend Jacob was sitting next to her on the sofa.

“We ran out of coal,” Edward said. “I called up Jake to see if he could help out. I thought maybe he’d pick up some more coal on the way but apparently the shops have all run out or something? Anyway he’s really warm and I’m definitely totally okay with this.”

“You’re both very kind,” she said, and blinked sleepily. “But I’m so cold. Jake, maybe if you take your clothes off and get under the blanket?” And she nestled back towards him as she gazed once more into Edward’s eyes, and drifted back to sleep.

Jacob was gone in the morning, but Edward was still there, beautiful in the slanting sunlight. His face was serious.

“Bella,” he said. “There’s something you should know.”

Silly immortal boy, she thought, and smiled. “I already know,” she said. “Of course I do. How could I not? Your super strength, your super speed, your cold cold fingers when I brush past you in biology class, the way you never breathe, the blood sandwiches at lunch break: I understand. Nothing you say could be a surprise to me. It’s all right.”

“But how can it be all right?” His face was a mask of torment. “I’m a monster! I’ve killed people, so many people. I killed Jack the Ripper. And Stalin. With my own hands! These fingertips aren’t just cold: they’re steeped in guilt.”

“And why should that matter?” Bella pushed herself to sitting. “They were bad men. I’m a Utilitarian. Did you kill Hitler too?”

“Well. Yes. And the people who kidnapped the Lindbergh baby. But then I killed Aldous Huxley as well and what did he ever do wrong?” He spread out his hands and stared at them, and shuddered.

Bella reached out to push his hands down, brushed his face fondly. “I thought Brave New World was overrated,” she said, leaning towards him. “I forgive you. Now, kiss me.”

“I can’t!” he said. “I can’t!”

“You can,” she said. “It’s what I want.” And she whispered, close to him, the hair above his ear brushing her lips as she spoke. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“You don’t know what I’m like, what this life is like.”

“I do,” she said, voice still low. “Of course I do. My darling… I want you to make me a vampire.”

Edward pushed her away, sudden, hard, and she fell back into the sofa and as it rocked on its legs she saw that they were not alone: the rest of the family, Carlisle, Rosalie, Alice, had entered. They watched, silent.

“Please,” she said into the silence.

Eventually, Alice spoke. “Do you understand what you’re asking?” she said. “Are you sure it’s what you really want?”

Bella looked back, straight into her eyes, then met the gaze of each one of them in turn, unwavering. “I’m sure,” she said. “I’ve never wanted anything so much in all my life.” And she repeated it, firmer-toned now, no hesitation in her voice. “Edward Cullen. I love you. I want to be with you for ever. Make me a vampire.”

And after another moment’s silence, broken only by the sounds of her ragged breaths in the silent room, Edward nodded.

“It’s going to take time to get ready,” he said.

“I’ll wait.”

“You’ll have to.” And he stood abruptly and left the room.

She was alone for most of the day, except when Carlisle came in with a cup of tea or some muddy bark. “We don’t really do food,” he said sheepishly: “I hope this will tide you over.”

She could hear them in the next room, preparing: locks turning, boxes moving, clacking sounds and burring and brooding, and Rosalie’s complaints, and Alice’s reassuring murmur, and Uncle Rod’s monologues, and under them all the sense of Edward there – preparing – for her. Night fell and still she hadn’t seen him again; Jacob returned to keep her warm, bringing an electric blanket this time (“I’m on night shift,” he explained, “can’t stay”). She slept poorly – her last night as a human; her last night of any kind of sleep before she entered the eternal waking unlife of a vampire.

And then, when she thought she could wait no longer, Edward returned.

“I’m ready,” he said. “We’re all ready.” Alice stood behind him; Carlisle to one side. “And I’m going to ask you once more: are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” she said, one final time, and for a moment she felt her heart thump and remembered that she would never feel it move again, and her resolve faltered; but then she looked at Edward’s bright face, and thought about leaping with him from treetop to treetop, immortal, ever-young, so strong and so beautiful for ever, and once more she was sure. “Make me a vampire,” she said, one final time.

Edward nodded. His eyes were filled with fear, and hope, and something else. “Rosalie,” he called, and she walked into the room, carrying a brown paper parcel. “Give it to Bella.”

Bella blinked. “What is it?”

“What you want,” Edward said, as Rosalie laid the parcel upon her lap. “Open it.”

The parcel was light, and gave way when Bella poked it. A cape for her new life, maybe? She picked at the sticky tape, meticulous, careful not to tear the paper. Something fabric – knitted? No, crocheted. A bundle of dark crochet, a cushion, a scarf?

She pulled it free and shook it straight. It was a toy, shaped like the Count in Sesame Street but handmade from dozens of mismatched shades of black and purple; googly eyes, duffle-coat buttons for teeth. She looked at it, uncomprehending; poked it in the stomach, and it gave a mechanical laugh.

“We made you a vampire,” Edward said.

And as she watched its googly eyes roll, she felt a movement behind her, and jumped in her seat; turned to look straight into the solemn face of Uncle Rod.

“There’s a saying in these parts,” he said, looking back, unblinking. “Be careful what you ask for – you might get it. If you ever doubt the wisdom of that saying, then go and talk to Bella Swan, who got what she asked for but not quite what she wanted. She might just have a story to tell you about the importance of avoiding grammatical ambiguity… in the Twilight Zone.”