Waking up to blood smeared walls certainly does not instill calm. Quite the opposite, considering I had locked my house up tight with deadbolts, sigils, and safety spells to ward away evil. And I went to bed alone. When hunger pangs hit, and nothing seems to satisfy my insatiable appetite, I start to wonder if the blood painting my walls had been mine. If it was, I needed to find the bastard who turned me, and fillet his ass before the next new moon. Otherwise, my life will be forfeited, and I will become the hunted.
