The Vampire

I am a vampire. Don’t believe me? By the end of this story you will. I am going to give you a vivid, blow-by-blow of how my life as a vampire has evolve over the centuries. How many centuries? I am around 1,200 years old, give or take a decade or two. After all those centuries, the long term memory is so far away.

How does a living creature of the night survive in the 21st century? For starters, vampires aren’t the only creatures of the night in the universe today. Were-animals abound and zombies have been known to roam around the graveyards. I like to think the vampires are the higher order species, not only to the undead and unnatural, but to the human species as well.

Over the centuries, man has proved one thing—violence in inevitable though all the realms of time. With the ever increasing violence in the world, wars dominate the higher order of thinking and the weak must suffer for the downfall of mankind through their use of wars.

Today I live on a large horse farm in the bluegrass state of Kentucky. The entire farm is just over 5,500 acres of rolling countryside and a vast wood for hunting. The manor house — Mystical Rose — is a historical monument to life before the Civil War. Situated at the heart of Shawnee Run Farm, this magnificent house is secluded as well as protected by the wonderful wood. The rolling pastures of Shawnee Run surround the perimeter of the wood; this makes the house like a bull’s-eye in the center of all that land.

Right now, I would really not like to discuss the circumstance behind me coming to live on Shawnee Run farm. I realize this is a story that I must share in the future, but right now I just don’t feel like getting bogged down in the past. What I really want to do is tell you about my exciting new career choice. A vampire just can’t go around killing all the people around her. I mean, I must have fresh blood to eat, but the idea of killing an innocent person always seemed to turn my stomach. So, my creator taught me the finer points of seeking out the dredges of society and alleviating my guilt on them. This advice has kept me alive all these years, and I like to feel that I am doing my part to keep my territory safe. To me it is a win-win situation.

I have just returned from my latest feeding. I’m sated and happy and ready to enjoy the night. The two young men who were fortunate to be my late night snack were in the prime of their lives—probably 29 or 30. There problem was they had no conscience when it comes to selling drugs to children. The most recent incident had involved meth and a 10 year old. The 10 year old boy is dead. Now his two killers are dead. A tit for a tat. Fortunate for me these two killers enjoyed ravishing my lithe body; I have no qualms about fucking my prey before I kill it. Fucking seems to make the blood more satisfying and the feed will last me much longer. Again, two birds with one stone. As one guy fucked me from behind, I went down on the second guy and gave him the best blow job of his life. Just as he was about to squirt his load, I moved my mouth from his penis to his inner thigh and bite down on his femoral artery. The warm rich blood flowed into my mouth as the man spasmed below me.

This only increased my appetite and I turned to the next guy and demanded to be on top. I rode him like stallion, one of my unbroken Thoroughbreds. Just as he reached the height of his climax, I leaned over and sunk eager fangs into his neck. Gosh, there is nothing like the blood of sex; the rush, the adrenaline.

“Don’t you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?” Michael walked into the sweltering crack house just as I was trying to clean myself and straighten my hair.

“I feel much better now, thank you. Right now, I’m ready to go to the movies, so if you will clean up here, I’ll run to the house and finish getting ready.” One of my sneakers had disappeared under a filthy looking chair in the corner; I had to get back down on my hands and knees to retrieve it.

“Blonde guy, left neck.” I pointed at the guy to my left. “Cowboy, right thigh,” I pointed to the guy on my right.

“Gosh, Rachel, do you always have to be so dominating?” Michael just hung his head as he walked over to guy number one. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Glock.

“Geeze, Michael! can you wait until after I’m gone? You know I can’t stand any kind of gun power. Give me five minutes and I’ll be far enough away.” I walked over and kissed him on the lips and then I walked out the front door. Once I was on the cool grass, I started to run, shifting into a grey wolf as I leaped the fence and headed out of the neighborhood.

The crack house was about 20 miles from Mystic Rose. It will take me about 15 minutes to run home—vampirism magic. As I ran around the outskirts of town, my thoughts were flying in and out of my mind just like the wind blowing through my fur. Two more bad guys gone. At the rate I’m going, Harrodsburg will be a totally safe town soon. For some reason, bad guys have been mysteriously killed several days before the police were ready to bust them. Gunshot wounds in odd places on the bodies, causing extensive blood loss. The only funny thing about the way these bad guys died is the fact that there were not pools of blood around the bodies. Bullets enter the neck area or the femoral artery and each victim appeared to have just finished having sex.

Of course, the blood loss was due to me—a vampire has got to eat doesn’t she? The gunshot wounds are to cover up the two neat puncture wounds caused by my fangs. The police are at a loss, but they are happy to have the bad guys off the street.

© Bobbi Rightmyer