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.