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 evolved over the centuries. How many centuries? I’m around 1,200 years old, give or take a decade or two. After all those centuries, the long-term memory can get a little fuzzy.

How does a living creature of the night survive in the world of 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 at the top of the food chain, not only to the undead and unnatural, but to the human species as well.

Over the centuries, man has proved one thing—violence is inevitable through all the realms of time. With the ever-increasing violence of the world, wars dominate the higher order of thinking and the weak must suffer for the downfall of mankind because 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 vast woods for hunting. The manor house—Mystical Rose— is a historical monument to life before the Civil War. Situated at the heart of Shawnee Farm, this magnificent house is secluded as well as protected by the wonderful woods. The rolling pastures of Shawnee surround the perimeter of the woods making 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 Farm. I realize this is a story 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, that wouldn’t be practical. I must have fresh blood to drink, but the idea of killing an innocent person always seems 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 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. The problem was they had no conscience when it came 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. Tit for tat, as my maker used to say.

Fortunate for me these two killers enjoyed looking at my forever-young body. For some reason, the excitement the men felt when they looked at me seemed to make the blood more satisfying, causing the feed to last me much longer. Again, two birds with one stone. As one guy wrapped his arms around my waist, I quickly sank my teeth into his thick carotid artery and drank deeply. As the life drained out of his body, he fell to the floor. The other guy was too busy trying to remove my clothes to realize his friend was dead until I turned to him with a smile. When he saw the bright red blood on my lips, he started to scream, but not before I raised his left arm to my mouth. Nuzzling his inner elbow, my teeth found the brachial artery and I was soon moving on to my second course.

“Don’t you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?” My partner, Michael walked into the sweltering crack house just as I was cleaning my face 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, right neck. Cowboy, left brachial,” I pointed out each man.

“Gosh, Rachel, I guess you won’t be wanting popcorn at the movie.” Michael laughed as he walked over to the first guy now lying in a heap on the floor. He reached into his holster and pulled out his pistol.

“Hey, wait a minute! Can’t 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, all the bad guys in town 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 or the brachial, but there never seems to be any blood. The EMTs couldn’t explain it, neither could the coroner.

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.

(This is a piece I have been working on for my writing group - Nomadic Ink. Our next meeting is Friday 13th and we were to write a scary-horror story or a funny-horror story - I think this one fits more into the funny-horror category.)

(Artwork by Fairies Vampires) (Photo by Pro.Corbis)


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