I didn't know it could be.

A vampire doesn't haunt. Instead he is haunted; by tales and memories by the company of death wherever he goes. A vampire never haunts.

As a member of the undead, I have come to discredit the supernatural completely since I am part of it and quite frankly, there's nothing supernatural about me.
I have lived for 700 years in various places, I have accumulated wealth and death and...that's that.

                      (painting by Benjamin Lacombe)


The story I'm about to narrate is different from the ones I usually tell, because the victim and pray is not some juicy, seduced youth but yours truly. In fact, to my utter disappointment, and I am sure to yours too, this story has no end since I am in still in the midst of it and have not decided how to proceed.

It all started a year ago.

After 20 years in the beautiful town of Sicamore feeding on the local folk and killing a few of them too, I felt it was time to either leave or die, and due to the fortunate fact that I hadn't died for a few decades, I decided the latter. Nothing fancy, a rather painless and unnotable death of accidentally jumping off the wuthering cliff at the edges of the city. I know it is rather dramatic, but it is the way women usually choose to go.
I had already done my search for a humble lodging where I could stay low for some time until it was time to move freely again.

The humble lodging in question is a forgotten, broken house in the middle of nowhere, one I found derelict, mouldy, all-surrendered to the nature around it.
I know what you think, this is definitely not a place for someone like me, yet, do not forget that my initial plan was to rest underground so I really couldn't care less of its aesthetic value.

Upon arrival, I noticed the small cemetary at the back of the house, but this was common practice in the old days and since I have nothing against the deceased, being a close relative of theirs, I made my small hole right next to them so that they could keep me company. 
On the very first night fall I felt all restless so I decided to look around what was left of the house which wasn't much to begin with.

So here I am sitting in a gutted, smelly, upholstered chair in the roofless living room, looking up at the sky go pale and then black, then the little stars popping here and there. I know you like that kind of thing too but don't get too comfy because then, one by one, they appeared out of thin air.

A young, silvery woman appeared right in front of me. My jaw dropped an inch.
She stares at me and raises an arm. I gasp as she slowly opens her mouth. Thick gore oozes to the floor. Did I scream? I really don't know and I hate to think that I did.
The young woman smiles at me and moves closer. An invisible something slashes at her wrists and she bleeds. Instictively I feel drawn to the blood dripping in front of me and I move a little but
just then a man materialises on my left. The woman is still looking at me.
The man has a big gunhole in his chest. So big it is, I can see the remnants of the fireplace behind him. The man fills me with disgust, his face is distorted, a fiendish face it is. It reminds of gargoyles and hell.

I try to collect my wits, I can taste the fear in my mouth and blood; I bit my own tongue. I start to move wishing to leave, to run perhaps but I cannot. Something mighty is pinning me to the damn chair. How terrifying this is.

"I cannot die." I say aloud. My voice is broken and smells of death.
"You cannot harm me." My voice falls to a whisper.
"You cannot harm me."

Then I see something silvery move in the dark. It moves until it comes under the broken roof. A young boy it is, not older than 10. And then all the blood I had in me retrieved in the most secret place of my body leaving me cold and helpless; for the boy has no jaw. His face is....
He walks towards me and what is that in his hand? A knife?
“What is this?” I shouted.
The boy looked at me full of muted accusations.
“I didn't do any of this.” I shouted.
The boy wants to hand me the knife. I can see his exposed tongue move, is he trying to speak?
I stretch my hand going for the knife but there's nothing there to take. My arm remains outstretched.

We all stay like this till morning. When the first sun rays hit the floor they all disperse and then I can move again.

It's been like this every night for the past year. You might be wondering why I stay but the truth is that I don't know. I have never felt so weak and helpless in my whole existence and to be honest, it reminds me of my living days when my father used to come from work drunk and take it out on me and my mother. I was that scared back then.

I know it is pathetic to have something like this make you feel alive again but there you are.

I didn't know it could be and I still don't understand how it is.

And that is the end of my story.