The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Walking. Walking. Walking. Twisted trunks of stunning trees, roots gnarled. They lined the only path there was to see. Past the trees, there was only fog. Everything was dull. Looking down the path, it was unusually calming to realize that the Earth seemed to vanish well before the horizon.

The sky hung in a peaceful essence, draped in a violet hue. Strange, however, that this was the only color, for the trees, the path, and every little detail was grey. Celia Spyre walked on in calmness. She had neither fear nor question of where she was going. She took little care to the fact that the path was disappearing behind her, and ended soon ahead.

A small, mahogany box appeared on the ground before her. Approaching the box, Celia observed how it gleamed as if it had been freshly lacquered. She didn’t even question how this was so in the dullness of the woods. Picking up the box, she fingered it lightly, tracing the gilded details. It was at this moment that she noticed that on the face of the box, her name was engraved in golden calligraphy. The box was strikingly cool to the touch as she maneuvered the taut latch and proceeded to open the lid cautiously. Somehow, the box seemed to be twice as deep when she looked in to find a brilliant, silver dagger lying on a bed of crimson satin.

Without commanding it to do so, her hand instinctively reached for the knife with fingers outstretched and eager. As her fingers mechanically clasped the handle, the box housing it disintegrated. Celia touched the blade gingerly at first; however, as her fingers became acquainted with the tiny weapon, she applied pressure to her palm, free of all hesitation. She clenched her fist, with the edge to her palm. The blood dripped gradually in perfect little orbs of red. Without releasing her tension on the blade, Celia raised her bleeding fist to her chest, closed her eyes, and breathed in with perfect composure.

She embraced the scent of iron emanating from her blood without the sensation of pain when something-and she didn’t know what- alarmed her to open her eyes. Just ahead of her, there was an outline of a man standing with his back to her. He was far enough away that Celia couldn’t quite make out any distinct features, yet he felt familiar. She dropped the blade and advanced toward the shadowed figure, ignoring the gashes on her palm and fingers.

She felt compelled to touch the figure as she drew nearer. Celia reached out with her bloody hand only to have the figure disappear. She withdrew her hand from the air in front of her and briefly scanned the wounds on her hand in mild amusement. After a moment, she looked up to find the same man standing at the base of a tree. This time, however, he was turned toward her. She could see his face.



In a flash he was inches from her, staring. Though startled at the speed, she was immediately taken aback by the beauty of this man. He was flawless and motionless- not even breathing. His features were perfect; the curve of his face, the wave of his hair-it was alluring.

His eyes were effervescent with wisdom and gleaming with lust. The skin of his face was smooth and white, resembling marble. The nose of this man formed to a harsh point. His jaw was chiseled and strong. The man’s eyebrows were firm in concentration of her face. His hair was thick and black as pitch falling gracefully in waves to his broad shoulders. Celia couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He was still-far too still. And he was beautiful. As Celia studied this face, she became well aware that this being had the shape of a man, but was in no way human. Still, her curiosity was overwhelming. She longed to touch the face, and she could feel that the creature knew it. Her hand was still gushing blood as she lifted her fingertips to the cheek of this perfect face. The flesh was cold and smooth. Celia felt as though she were stroking porcelain.

All the while this man- this creature- said nothing. His only response was a sinister smirk curling slowly like molasses at the corner of his lip. The lips of this smile began to crack open and reveal a single fang. Celia jerked her hand backward in shock as the face began to morph.

The face contorted into that of a hideous monster. His forehead creased as his eyebrows furrowed. The smooth nose wrinkled with the nostrils flared. Those brilliant eyes focused into tiny, piercing beads of black which seemed to sear right through her mind. As the monster opened his mouth, he let out a vicious hiss.

Celia scrambled to run away. She stumbled to the dagger she had left on the ground, and as she turned, she was unnerved to see that the creature was gliding toward her at a speed she couldn’t comprehend. She raised the dagger, and, in an instant, the creature was gone and replaced with a hazy child that was luminous with a type of transparency.

This child appeared sickly. She was so skinny; you could see every bone, vein, and tendon in her body. She was tiny to the point where she looked like a bobble head. Her hair was so thin and frail that she might as well have been bald, as Celia could see her entire scalp beyond the strands.

These were not the features that intimidated Celia. What frightened her most of all was her wide almond shaped eyes. They were large enough to proportion her face like that of an insect. She had neither eyelashes nor eyelids. The eyes were stark-white with no pupils; only pale veins.

“Who are you?” whispered Celia. The little girl did not respond, rather she opened her tiny, pursed lips and began to breathe in short, sharp gasps. There were no words, yet, as if by premonition, Celia could understand what the child intended.

He wants you. He will get you. You cannot run from Him. If you wish to fight for your soul, you will find that you can only become free by way of your own inspiration. This is your warning from The Shadow Children. Do not look for us. You will not see us again.

And with that, the girl let out a final, breathy sigh as she disappeared into the air. With a shudder, all Celia could do is look above her into the grey sky. She stared at the orange lantern of the moon. As she watched, she could see the craters form to the face of the monster.

Celia awoke with a scream, drenched in a cold sweat. Thank God, it was just a dream, she thought. Before she could fully sit up, she felt something crinkle in her hand. She turned on the lamp on her side table to see that there was a note folded in her palm. She curiously unfolded the paper to read,

He’s Coming.

-The Moon

Celia pondered, signed the moon? And just who is “he”? As if in response to her question, Celia felt a sharp pain in her hand. She looked at her skin, in horror, to find a scarred over, welted laceration across her palm and one across the inside of her fingers to match. At this point it was obvious to her that this was not an average dream. Celia had always accepted belief in the supernatural, but what she didn’t know was that the difference between believing the paranormal and letting it in can be fatal.

I linger where I always am. Where no one may see me. I am so close to you and you will never know that I am there. But I am watching. Oh, yes am I watching. And in my watching, I see many things. Today I am watching a penny on the sidewalk. You don’t see it, because you don’t care about it. Hour after hour, I see you step over, on, and around this dirty coin without a single glance. My intentions when I watch are not voyeuristic. I prefer to think of myself as an observer; rather, a reporter. I learn many things from watching you, yet I don’t care to ever share my observations with you, because you don’t care to know. I am intrigued by this penny. This penny has been here, now for days, and I am, I think, the first to spare it a single thought. I wonder where this penny has been; what it has seen. No doubt it’s been through a lot, but how many people spare a second’s thought on the history this penny knows? This penny is a lot like me. All it does is sit in silence and watch the world around it. It sees many things that are overlooked by others, yet others reject it. Not in a way that is rude, yet rejection is rejection. The problem with people is that they just don’t care. I watch because I do. I do care. I know what you don’t just from observing people and paying attention to them. I have a very keen sense of what others are going through. Just because you don’t talk to me doesn’t mean I don’t know what hardships you’re going through at present. And just as this penny, you would know I was sitting here, if you cared enough to notice. At the end of the day I will pick up this penny and put it in my pocket. Tomorrow I will return and we will both continue to watch.

If you are reading this, then I am no longer one of you. I have met a man, you see. One who is not among the human race. He is beautiful. Perfect. Still. Cold. Strong. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that he was more than a man. He carried me away, and I had no qualms. It all happened so fast. I can’t even explain to you this experience. When he speaks, it is in a French accent that is somehow aged. At first, I believed that he was not of this Earth. He would speak softly, and I couldn’t even see his lips moving. His voice-soothing and sensual. It sent chills throughout my body with every soft-spoken word. For such a soothing, quiet voice, there was strength behind it. When his strong hands grasped my arms, I was enslaved to his will. His strength was not human, yet I didn’t want to fight him even if I could. I thought before him I had felt love. But this emotion was different. It was a love beyond the imaginable, and I didn’t care any more about logic. I had a passion. A passion for this man I do not know. It was a new kind of love. One that is far more powerful than I could have believed previously and I knew that he felt the same way. This is why he took me, he said. He had been watching me for months with this same powerful passion. The love we made was so pure and strong, yet gentle and greedy. I was his. I had no choice, and to be honest, I didn’t want a choice. The feeling of his lips moving sweetly up my neck and his breathe rolling down to my shoulder. It was perfect. But I have this feeling that he wants my blood. I have dreamt of this night after night: of the sweet seduction of him draining me of my blood. Then, near the end, he bites his own wrist and I drink a sweet elixir from his cold veins. This is a dream that I CAN feel in; Emotion and sensation alike. It is the greatest feeling I have ever experienced, and I know that it is inevitable to come to fruition. After these dreams, I know what he is. I am locked away in a chamber by day with a quaint fireplace and everything I could ever need. The gothic details of the architecture are stunningly gorgeous. As I sleep, he comes to me in the still of the night and we bathe in the passion we have for each other. Altogether, he is gone again and I continue this recurring dream. I feel as though I have this dream because he wants me to. I don’t even know his name yet I love him, and I have come to the realization that this object of my affection is… a vampire.