… the story continues…

I received an invitation to The Club of the Vampires, a clandestine-underground meeting place for vampires.  Can you believe that?  A meeting place for vampires.  If I wasn’t already dead I would have died laughing.  What’s wrong? You don’t like my vampire humor?

The problem here, aside from the obvious stupidity behind the idea of a club for vampires, is the idea of vampires socializing!  I know it gets lonely at times, but vampires are so far removed from humanity, it’s not even funny.  Newbies are a different story.  Newly turned vamps will want to meet others like them.  The problem there is they are easy prey.

Ah… so you are back for more….

So you’re back for more.  That’s good.  I got to thinking how ridiculously strange it is for me to start a blog.  How utterly unacceptable and unpalatable the idea would be to those of my kind.  Yes, completely inappropriate and totally disrespectful.

Am I going to shut it down?

Fuck no!  I love the idea more than ever!  Now, let’s get down to business.

I suppose you may be wondering if I’ve fed.  It isn’t a strange thought to have, after all, it could mean your very life.

I’ll make two things clear to you right now.  One, I will always feed before I meet with you.  Two, the fact that I’ve fed before we meet will not guarantee your safety.

That’s not more vampire humor.  I’m actually quite serious.

But please, don’t worry.  I’m not an animal you know.  I can control my urges.

Still want to be here?

Good.

The purpose of my blog?  Maybe I’m lonely.  Maybe I want to make new—friends.

A vampire MUST have more interesting things to do with his time, right?  Oh, I do.  The problem is, there aren’t many things that much more interesting anymore.  And I know what you are thinking.  You are thinking “Nick!  What about the women?!”  Yes, well, they are wonderful creatures indeed but unfortunately–temporary.   I mean, don’t get indignant about it, but what are my choices?  Get to know them?  Then what?  Turn them?  I’ve been with several women who I have felt deeply for, but if given the choice of spending my immortal life with them or jumping into a fiery pit–I’d pick the pit. They become clingy and needy and–old.  Don’t look at me like that.  Mortal men seek the company of younger women and their life expectancy is at the least seventy-five years.  Can you imagine me?   An immortal?

Don’t get me wrong, I love women.  I do.  They are tasty in every way.  But women are human, and humans have a nasty little habit of dying.

There was only one woman I loved deeply and she was taken from me.  Perhaps one day I will include her story here.  And then there’s the one I stupidly fell for, or thought I fell for, and I turned her.  She has become the thorn–nay–the sword in my side for all eternity.  Oh, then there’s…. nevermind,  I digress.

My point is, there aren’t many ‘new’ things for a vampire to experience.  Been there done that, is how it goes; emphasized with a yawn.  So, I decided to create this blog. What’s an hour of writing in comparison to eternity?  Exactly.  And you humans are funny.  Quite entertaining in fact.  Especially the ones who believe they know us so well. Those are the ones I especially like to sink my teeth into and drain to the point of death.

Anyway…

I debated on what story to tell you first.

I’ve decided to tell you about the Monk I met in Mont Saint-Michel about forty years after my turning.

Why did I go see him?  Well, I’ll get to that part of the story when I get to that part of the story.

Have you ever seen Mont Saint-Michel?  Do you even know what it is?  No?  Oh for crying out loud, education has gone to shit.  It’s more of a tourist attraction these days, but long ago it was a monastery—a monastery that people made tons of pilgrimages to.  There are some monks there now but—hey! Why am I giving you a history lesson? Google it.

Let’s move on—

Memories are a bitch to deal with my friend.  I remember everything.  Well, mostly everything. I remember things that happened hundreds of years ago.  Some I remember with fondness, others—not so much.   And I clearly remember my first encounter with the Monk Bontecou.  It was quite strange and dramatic.

I felt the fool for wanting to seek him out, but I was deep into my forty year itch.  You know the forty year itch for vampires—well, alright, maybe you don’t know.

You see, most family members and friends were dead, and those who were not dead certainly would not understand my appearance, i.e. the eternal youth.  Eternity was suddenly looking like a very long and lonely time.  Although I had accumulated a great deal of wealth in that short time, I was unhappy, tired of walking in darkness, metaphorically and for real.  And what I was looking for had the power, supposedly, to set me free.

So, the Monk Bontecou…

He was in his rooms when I found him. For an hour I stood peering in through the little window in the back. It bragged a grand view of a pathetic little cemetery littered with water stained headstones.

He was hunched over a table filled with parchments strewn all over the place, when I finally entered.  Not bothering to look up at me, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Come back later.  It is late.” His words were garbled, as if his mouth were filled with marbles.

“I seek Monk Bontecou.” I said taking a few steps closer.

I remember how he looked at me.  Whether he knew what I was, I did not know, but he certainly didn’t like something about me.

How could I tell?

Well, he made no effort to hide the distaste distorting his sharp features.

“I Am Vampire”

 

 


I am not the vampire Nick.

Yes, my name is Nick, and, I am vampire.  Did you catch that?  I AM VAMPIRE.

Does that confuse you?  Let me see if I can explain it so you can understand, Sparky.

Do humans call themselves the human David?  or the human Mandy?  No.  They don’t.  So, why should I call myself  the vampire Nick?  Exactly.  I don’t.  To be a vampire, is to be a vampire.  You simply are.

Ah, yes, nice.  There’s that blank stare again.  Let’s move on.

The funny thing about being a vampire, which I suppose really isn’t funny at all, is that everyone has a dark desire to be a vampire, until, of course, they become one.

Oh, I see. You are one of those people.

You believe in the romanticized vampire hero.  Yes, you believe we are all ridiculously beautiful and absurdly romantic.  Oh! And that we sparkle in the sunlight.  Right?  Right.

Want to know what would happen to me if I stood in the sunshine?  Within the first two minutes I would pass out.  Yes, that’s what I said, pass out.

Then?  Then I’d fry up quicker than a marshmallow at a sorority bonfire.  That’s right.  No sparkle my friend.  A few sparks maybe, with a sound similar to that of bacon on a skillet, but no sparkle.  Then it’s ashes to ashes and dust to dust for yours truly.  Not very romantic is it?  Not very nice.

Here’s another fact you need to face about me;  I am a killer.

Sorry, no way around this little technicality.  There is a sexual aspect to us, but sex isn’t on my mind when I’m gripping your hair and pulling your head back to expose that delicious neck of yours.  While you’re panting in the throes of passion thinking about fucking me, I’m taking in your scent, thinking about the taste of your blood in my mouth.  You know what else I’m thinking?  I’m actually hoping; hoping can you believe that?  I’m hoping there’s nothing wrong with you to spoil your taste.

I don’t blame you for believing all the Hollywood fantasies about us.  Humans are being inundated by vampire stories these days.  Vampire stories written by humans.

I laugh at that because it’s the blind leading the blind.

Let’s see, what was the name of that vampire movie–you know—the one with Tom Cruise?  Ah yes.  Interview With a Vampire.  You liked his portrayal of a vampire?  Yes, I’m sure you liked his Oscar winning performance.

Tom Cruise–he’s one I’d like to sink my teeth into and suck the life out of–what? oh , no–no, not because I find him at all attractive–not even as a meal.  I’d just like to shut him the fuck up.

Was that mean of me to say?  Damn straight that’s mean–and true.  I deal with death every moment of my existence.  It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.  Still want to be friends?

Yes, I bet you do.

You see?  I tell you I’m a killer.  I tell you all you are to me is a meal, and you still want to get to know me and be–friends.  What am I going to do with you?  Oh, I have ideas.  Yes—I—-do.

Sorry if I seem a little nostalgic at the moment, but I was just remembering the good old days when we used to be feared.  Feared!

Now?  Now we are rock-stars.  Yes, it’s true.  Mother of mercy we even have groupies.  Groupies!  Can you believe it?

Yeah, of course you do.  You’re probably one of them.  I don’t get it.

What else would you like to know?  Love?  Ah, so, you want to know if I have the capability to love?  You want to know if our eternal search for our lost true loves, who are destined to one day reincarnate in some distant future land and coincidentally look just like they did 500 years before, is true.  That kind of sappy stupidity makes me chuckle.  But it also pisses me off.

Look, can I love?  Sure.  Do I want to?  No.

Love means attachment and attachment will end in loss and after a couple of centuries of loss, well, you lose your taste for it.  Oh sure, some vamps will hold out hope in finding that one true love.  And when they find them, or think they have, they will be tempted to turn them.  And that’s all great in theory, but let me tell you, eternity is a long goddamn time when you’ve got some crazy bitch riding your back and NOT in a good way.

Me?  Did I ever find my true love?  A very long time ago before I became vampire.  As for the one I turned, I guess I did love her.   Yes, I made the fucking mistake of turning her.  Hands down the worst mistake of my cursed existence.  It’s been haunting me a long fucking time now.

Look, listen to me when I tell you–happily ever after works beautifully as long as death is allowed to do its job.  When you’re dealing with immortals—yeah—not so much.

I want to tell you about garlic.  I want to dispel the rumors passed on through old wive’s tales.

Here, let’s get this straight once and for all; I don’t like garlic.  No, not because it holds some magical force against me, but because it reeks!  It reeks to high heaven and down to all holy hell.

Look, I have a heightened sense of smell, remember?  Heightened senses— see?

I can see clearly in the dark and I can smell my prey a mile away.

Oh, you think that’s cool?  Right, you would.

I think it’s a curse.  Think about it Sparky.  No, think harder.

Are you getting it?

I see the light-bulb finally sputtering on.

Yes!  Houston we have contact.

We can smell everything.  The most delicious smells and the most putrid of odors–up close and personal–ALL the time.  Garlic may smell terrific on your pizza, but when you multiply that smell by 100–it’s not so great.

You think I’m whining?

You have some sort of death wish?  Are you kidding me?

Please.  Don’t make me bite your throat out.  Seriously.  I almost like you and it would be a shame to do it this early in our friendship.

C’mon, that was vampire humor.

And, while we’re on the subject of smell,  don’t we live in the modern age of soap and running water?  Why do some humans still prefer to smell like a wet towel that’s been rolled up and stuffed in a corner for days?  What the hell?

And at the other end of the spectrum, Jesus Holy Christ in Heaven, what is up with perfumes and colognes and aftershaves?  I hate having to hold my breath when feasting on my prey and to have the perfume stick to my lips for days is torture!  Not a pleasant experience — at all.

We’ll move on to the subject of crosses.

Look, there’s a misconception about crosses and vampires.  The misconception is that they will harm us—burn us.  It’s understandable.  After all, crosses are holy, right?  And we are evil, right? 

Wrong.

The truth is, we don’t like crosses because they remind us of how far we’ve fallen.  They remind us we are damned.  Got that?  It’s a difficult concept to grasp, yes I know, especially if you don’t believe in a god.  You want to know more?  Well that’s too bad because that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.  No, save your breath.  Don’t ask now.

Why am I telling you all this?  I don’t know.  Maybe I’m bored.  I’ve been around for a long damn time and it’s bound to happen.   Vampires get lonely too you know.  Being immortal is not all that great.  I’d say after the 175th year it starts to feel like you’ve done everything there is to do.

Now, where was I?  Ah, yes, I was about to tell you why I am doing this whole blog thing.

The truth is, I don’t care.  I don’t care what other blood suckers will think of me.  Fuck them.  Fuck you too for that matter if you’re judging me.  Yes, fuck you.

I’ll tell you my story.  I’ll tell everybody my story.  I may leave out some embarrassing parts–like the time I found myself naked at the circus—yeah, we’ll skip that story.

I know the stories you want.  They are the stories everyone wants.  Yes, you all want the cliche’.

Don’t look at me like that.  You know it’s true.

You don’t want to hear the truth.  Nobody does.  It’s easier to accept when you paint a happy face on the monsters.

I don’t know, maybe I’m doing this because vampires are all the craze now.  Vampire stories are coming out of the woodwork.

I’m not setting the record straight, I’m just telling it like it is.

I don’t give a fuck about the record.  And who the fuck is keeping the record anyway? I’d like to know so I can bitch slap them into tomorrow.  That’s right damn you, I said bitch slap.  Why are you smiling?  Yeah, you did smile, I saw it.

Look, I think I’m done for now.  You can come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you a story.

I have to go get a bite to eat.

Yes, that’s more vampire humor.

Now, get the fuck out.

AH SO YOU’RE BACK FOR MORE… newly edited post.. more Nick!