The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I stand alone in this dark city, my eyes alert as my hair is gently lifted off my long black coat in the breeze. This land is dead to me now; this is a place of monsters. Here, vampires lurk in the streets, your soul in their blood. They hunt it as bloodhounds once chased rabbits.



I trudge onwards, my feet sinking ankle deep into the mud, only just saved by my boots, which seem to be pulled back toward the earth as the mud clings to them. Mist surrounds me and trees pass like shadows. I am alone in this world; there’s no love, no hope, just knowledge, the knowledge that it’s you versus them, the knowledge that here, it doesn’t matter who you are or where you are going, but rather the opposite: if you fade into that which surrounds you, you will be safe. The knowledge that I am very much in danger because I refuse to become one of their monsters.



A shadow looms in the distance and I squint to peer through the mist. It’s a shack, almost unfamiliar to me, as here, you are not meant to be able to hide. I move towards it, my eyes never losing focus. If I look away, it might disappear completely. I reach the entrance and the form appears clearer. On the ground lie pieces of broken wood, presumable fallen from the roof or walls, which are missing large pieces. Some may view them as windows looking inwards; I’d rather call them voids, looking out over this place. There are markings on them that I don’t understand, but they fascinate me. I look at them closely: “Hope”, “Faith”, “Love”, “Innocence”. I know they are markings form the old times.



Gently I push open the door. It falls to the floor and dust sprays delicately out from under it. My eyes take a moment to adjust. In the centre of the room stands a creature such as I have never seen. A female, much like a human stands before me. She has wings, and although the feathers are dirtied by dry mud and blood, she is beautiful to me.



Seeing me she stands and a small white card falls to the floor. We look at each other, but we do not speak, do not move, as our heartbeats weave a tension around us. She reaches towards me, her fingers look delicate and soft. Slowly, she touches my face, running her hand lightly from the corner of my eye, down my cheek and stopping at my mouth. I feel as though she has wiped away the years of dirt and decay, though her hands are as filthy as my own.



For a moment I am filled with an emotion foreign to me. I search for the charred words the old men use when they drown their lives in murky beer, swigging from chipped glass. They say words I’ve never had a use for…love, comfort, peace, hope…am I experiencing one of these now? I cannot be sure, all I know is that, for a fleeting moment, it engulfs me.



I forget about everything but her.



The good things never last long. This emotion, this thing is soon replaced by dark black waves that cascade inside me, swallowing my spirit, choking my soul and accelerating my heart. I know this emotion, this is fear in its most pure form. My eyes search the room but find nothing familiar. I belong out there with the tarred world of my youth; that I know, that I understand. Both her hands frame my face now, our eyes meet and lock together. No…I was wrong.



There is nothing to understand outside this room.



I look through her eyes and try to read the secrets of her soul, and I know: This is life as it used to be, in the old times. This is what the markings were trying to convey. This is good. There is nothing evil here. With her, I can view and experience life as it was meant to be.



I know I should leave, such purity and beauty over time would surely fade, or perhaps I would cease to see it. She was bound for something else – something more. Here eyes tell me this, and I leave. I do not look back, nor do I stop to ponder and analyze the old markings. I leave her, because I know its right. We both do.



The world has not changed, as perhaps people may expect it to. The mud still clings to my boots, the mist still settles as a blindfold across my eyes, and somewhere, I know, vampires hunt for my soul. But I know that I am different, I sometimes feel as though there’s a light behind me, as though she is following, a shadow that is not all dark. I know it’s not her, I know it’s only the memory that follows me, but some nights - when I sit alongside the old men, and I drink the murky beer, swigging from the chipped glass – sometimes, there I see her. The only movements are my knife carving the old markings into the bar, the only sound is our heart beating. On those nights, that emotion comes back to me. It is no longer foreign to me, though it is unnamed. I know it is in grave danger, however, as it refuses to fade.



On those nights, I cradle that memory to me, I close my eyes, and take another swig.