WHEN I WAS HUMAN, I HATED THE HOLIDAYS. Hated the inescapable dirge of mindless Christmas songs. Hated being force-fed hope and joy. Hated the contrived joviality. To me, Christmas was a stark reminder that in a few days, my brother would be dead yet another year, killed in a senseless accident a few days after "the hap-happiest time of the year." Yet here I am this mid-December afternoon fourteen years later, a big dumb grin on my face, enduring a crush of smelly humanity for the chance to help my niece pick out a gift for my mother. My niece. I can say that now without the mental quotation marks around "niece." In a couple of months, Trish has become as much a member of my family as I am. Maybe more so since she's human and I'm not. I'm a vampire. Another thing I have come to be able to admit (only to myself, naturally) without an internal shudder of disgust or shame. I'm a vampire. I accept it, like being blond or having green eyes. I wasn't born a vampire. I was made one. I've adapted to the reality of the situation, and truth be told, can forget about it for, oh, minutes at a time. "Aunt Anna?" I love the sound of that. I can't