(Josie Sayz: I have
been debating posting this for a while. This is very hard for me. It was too
hard to tell you… so I wrote a letter for you… explaining a few things. Things
that never made sense to you before. If you read this, you will find out why I
act the way that I do… why things are different or so difficult for me. I know
I have no way of getting back in touch with you. You left me… and I still have
no idea why… or maybe I do. I hope you are out there somewhere, my love… I hope
that you find this.)
Dear My Beloved,
I know
that it has been a long time since we last saw each other. Many months have
passed, yet I still believe in your promise: you will get back to me one day.
So, I wait. As we enter the seventh month since we last spoke, I understand that
the chance of a positive outcome becomes less and less. You have had quite a
while to think about this and it has given me time to think about something I
am yet to share with you. I have never felt comfortable even thinking about it,
let alone talking about it. Although, it is not like you ever gave me the
chance. I wanted to tell you and to talk about it. I know you want space and I
gave you that. I cut off all contact, so it is probably impossible that you
will ever read this. This is my confession.
You may
recall a conversation we once had about the topic of the undead. You discussed
with me your interest and fascination in zombies and told me about one of your
favourite programmes, ‘The Walking Dead’. I told you of my interest in the
undead and shared with you some insightful knowledge about vampires – not the
sparkly, romanticised versions, like in ‘Twilight’, but the traditional, dark
images of blood feeders, attacking victims and the mysterious hypnotic
abilities that lie within their powers. You dismissed the idea, insisting that
I had read Bram Stoker’s book a few too many times. How wrong you were.
To
understand my story, we must travel back nine years. I was seventeen and
studying English Language and Literature at college, several miles south from
here. It was tradition that every year, in the month of April, the town would
host the local festivities, relating to a specific, famous, historic, local
figure. This year, my Literature teacher had been granted the privilege of
preparing the festivities. He had my entire class help out. Lessons were
planned around the history and the literature works of this historic character
and we used this knowledge to design the parade float, the costumes, the
stalls, the music, the food and all of the festivities. I had never seen my
Literature teacher so happy. This had been something that he had wanted to do
for many years and he was determined for everything to work out as planned.
As the
day of the festivities drew nearer, the historic town had been presented with
another reason to celebrate. To mark its historic routes and to drive tourism
towards the festival, the town had been presented with an ancient artefact.
Although it had no history to the town, the item had received a lot of interest
in the last year and this town had been selected to display it. Tourism was set
to sky rocket. That put more pressure on my Literature teacher and on our
lessons – everything needed to be perfect.
The
artefact was displayed in the local museum. I had heard about it through recent
news events and was very intrigued to gain a closer look at it. During my lunch
break, one day, I took a walk into the town centre and stopped by the museum.
To my surprise, it was empty. I had thought that everyone would be here,
knowing that the piece would only be present at this museum for a short period
of time, before being moved on around the globe. It had already been in three
other museums that academic year. It seemed that places were eager to display
it in their exhibition, however, almost as soon as they received it, they were
just as eager to give it away. Have you figured out what it is yet? To me it is
obvious, however, whenever I bring the topic up in conversation no one seems to
be able to recall the news coverage. I was so fascinated by the discovery. I
have every news article stored in my brain.
During
the previous summer, a construction company in Eastern-Europe came across a
small chest, whilst digging the foundations for a new housing complex. The
chest was sent to local historians and it went under examination. Upon opening
it, they discovered this amazing find: a book known as ‘The Ancient Book of
Vampire’ or ‘Vampirology’. There is not a lot known about it. It is written in
an ancient language that has since died out; only the occasional words and
phrases here and there have been translated. Even those fortunate enough to
undertake close examination of the scriptures stated that they were uncertain
as to the accuracy of the translation.
Since
its unearthing, the book had been on display in three other European museums –
my college’s town being the fourth. The book had become somewhat famous, but
not for the mystery surrounding its content, but for the peculiar events that
surrounded the museums, towns and countries that held onto the artefact. At the
location where the book was found, numerous reports were filed claiming damages
to the building site and malfunctions in the construction equipment. Various
members of the construction team became very sick, with feverish symptoms. A
man was even reported to have died when a piece of machinery that he was using
turned against him.
It is
not just the construction workers who reported strange occurrences. Whilst the
book was on display in its first location, every single member of the museum
fell ill, resulting in the museum being forced to close for the season,
allowing members of staff to fully recover. When the book was moved to another
museum, in a different country, similar occurrences were also reported. Anyone
who came within contact of the book fell ill. Faults occurred inside the
building in which the book was housed: windows shattered, walls crumbled,
floors collapsed. People started blaming the book for these strange
occurrences. They called it cursed. The last country in which the artefact had
been displayed, blamed the book for them losing a crucial sports event
(including many of the strange occurrences reported by the previous two
countries).
Needless
to say, when the book arrived in England, there was a worry that similar things
may occur here too. I guess it must just be a difference in culture though,
anyone interviewed by local news crews said that it was just a bunch of stupid
superstitions. I know you would have thought the same. You can probably see
where this is going to. As the book was on display in my town, my Literature
teacher became worried that something might ruin the festivities that he had
planned.
During
my lunch break, when I went to take a look at the book, I found him their too.
“I never wanted it here,” he growled at the glass casing.
“Why?”
I frowned, appearing at his side. “I thought you loved taking care of ancient
parchments.” He was a voluntary member of a local organisation, whom protected
and preserved original works written by the local historic figure (whom the
town celebrated every April) which were written over four hundred years ago.
“I do,”
he said as he turned to me. “Just not this one. Not here. Not now.” With an
exhale, he ran a hand over his stubbled head and gripped the back of his neck.
“Do
you-” I faltered, as he took a step back. I gasped. There it was. The book.
Opened at the centre, its yellowed pages displayed markings and symbols of
black ink. At a glance, the scripture did not use a single letter of my
familiarity. It was more like hieroglyphics – a bunch of symbols, triangles,
arrows and sharp angles. Creases in the weathered pages cast shadows across the
page. A beam of light, from the case illuminated the centre of the spine. Lips
parted, I gazed at the page for some time. I felt my teacher did too, for he
seemed to remain unaware that I was yet to complete my sentence. “Do you…
believe in the curse?” I whispered, gazing up at him.
“Curse?”
he blurted. His eyes widened, as his head shot towards me. Gripping the cuffs
of my jacket, I swallowed hard. “How much do you know?” he whispered.
“Only
bits from the news,” I confessed, “And whatever the museum has posted about it
on their webpage.” His eyebrows daggered. Turning from me, he stared at the
book for some time. His eyes burnt into the pages. He did not blink. He did not
breath. Only stared.
Closing
his eyes, my Literature teacher took a slow inhale through his nostrils.
Placing his hands behind his back, he gripped his right wrist with his left
hand and turned on his heels towards me. Lowering his head, he opened his eyes.
Staring down at me he whispered, “You are my favourite student… and I trust
you.” My heart hammered against my ribcage. Nodding my head, I swallowed.
“There is not a lot we know about the past,” he told me. “Scraps here and
there, maybe, from old, surviving
fragmentations. We do not know what sort of knowledge or power our elders held.
There are people of our time who have witnessed entire animal species be hunted
down until extinction. There have been political leaders whom attempted to wipe
out entire populations. Who is to say that such beings did exist, but were
executed by powerful leaders for their differences. Who is to say that they
were able to place curses upon sacred artefacts, causing hurt and destruction
in revenge for their annihilation.
“I’m
not saying that I believe in curses. I am saying that there is a lot about the
world, about the past, that we do not know. What is common sense to us now may
be seen as ridiculous and absurd in a hundred years’ time. Look at technology
and computers. I bet if you travelled back in time and attempted to show Queen
Elisabeth the First a smart phone, she would have you beheaded – yet if you
were to magic up a bouquet of flowers you might be praised or even given a knighthood
for your talents.” My lips must have parted and my awe at such information must
have shown, for the corners of his mouth upturned and he gave a little chuckle.
“I am not saying it is true. We just need to learn to believe in the
possibilities.” Stiffening my shoulders, I nodded. “Now, I need you to do me a
favour.” Those were the words that I least expected to hear, but would also
change my life forever.
My
Literature teacher asked me to guard the door. I was to make sure that no one
came into the room, and I was to distract whoever tried in any way I could.
Why? – I was not sure. I just did as I was told. Having pulled the curtain
across the archway, I stood in front of it, shifting my eyes from left to
right. My heart dropped to my stomach. My pulse bubbled through my body.
Gripping the cuffs of my jacket, I dug my nails into my palms. What was I to
do? What was I to say if someone asked to go inside? What if it was one of the
museum curators? I had never done anything like this before? I would never be
able to stop them from entering a room of the museum – I was just a kid. They
worked here. They could just push me out of the way and I would crash to the
floor. I am the weakest person that I know – one poke and I would be on the
ground.
“All
set,” hissed a voice in my left ear. Gasping, I staggered to my right. My heart
charged into my ribcage. “Don’t worry, it’s only me,” my Literature teacher
assured me. I puffed out an exhale. My shoulders dropped. “We need to leave
now.” His voice was firm. His eyes stared ahead.
“Why?”
I exclaimed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,”
he breathed. “Just act natural and head for the entrance.”
“But-”
I stammered.
“We’ll
talk in my office.” Pacing towards the exit, we walked on in silence.
He had
stolen it. My English Literature teacher had stolen ‘The Ancient Book of
Vampire’ and had replaced it with his partner’s art piece. “No one will know
the difference,” he assured me. My pulse pounded through my temples. My heart
leapt into my throat. My stomach spiralled into a whirlpool of panic.
“But
why? How? Won’t we get caught? What’s going on?” I cried. I needed answers. My
head was spinning. My chest grew tight. My shallow breaths grew shaky.
“I
can’t run the risk of this book ruining next week’s festivities,” he confessed.
“I’ve worked too hard for this all to be ruined – we all have,” he added. I
dropped my sight to the floor. “Look, it’s fine,” he must have noticed the
water filling into the corners of my eyes. “We’ll just put it back after the
festivities. It’s no big deal. No one will notice it’s been replaced. I’ll make
sure of it. In the meantime…” Ending his sentence, he flipped open the flap of
his satchel. My heart trembled. My arms quaked. My chest shook. My breathing
fastened. His hand emerged. I staggered back.
“That’s
the book?” I whispered, as my eyes stared at the brown, leather object in his
hands.
“Yes,
and I need you to look after it.”
“Me?!”
my eyes pierced open. My heart pounded. This was something bad. Thud. This was
illegal. Thud. If anyone found out that I had this, I would be locked up for
stealing a huge piece of history. Thud-thud, thud.
“Please.
It’s just until after the festivities,” he insisted. “Keep it safe. Keep it
hidden. And most importantly, keep it away from me. We’ll return it as soon as
the festivities have ended. And whatever you do – tell no one.” I nodded. I did
not need telling twice.
Having
slid the book into my bag, I did not touch it until I got home. Locking myself
in my room, I placed the book on my bed. The brown leather had worn away at the
corners, creating a softened, fathered edge. Scratches lashed across the cover.
Someone must have been attacked for it, many, many years ago. Tarnished metal
squares were fastened near the corners. Running my fingers across the surface,
I must have stared at it for hours. Holding the book in my left hand, I fanned
the pages. Dust. Damp. Lavender. Cinnamon. There was a fifth scent. This one
was harder to label. I want to say sweat. A dark, but comforting, deep scent.
The more I think about it now… that scent reminds me of you. Every page was
covered in peculiar markings, various triangles, pentagons, crosses, arrows,
lines. I remember feeling like some of them were familiar to me, but I was not
sure why.
The
festivities were a great success. Everything went well. No one was injured. No
one felt unwell. Nothing bad happened at all. The book went forgotten. After
the festivities, the room in the museum, which had housed the book, was
replaced with a huge information centre about the local, historic figure. My
Literature teacher never asked for the book back. He never mentioned it again.
It was as though he had forgot all about it. No one had realised that the real
book had been replaced. Instead, my Literature teacher’s partner’s artbook
remained in glass casing, several feet below ground level, where the most
prized and treasured artefacts remain. I often wondered whether being caught up
with the running of the festival, then being put in charge of the new museum
information sector and having to prepare us all for our A-Level exams at
college all got too much for my Literature teacher and everything about the
book just slipped from his mind. But I never forgot.
That
summer, after school had finished, I examined every inch of the book. I
researched for hours and hours in the library – many libraries even, and
online. It is amazing what you can find when you know where to look. It turned
out that a distant family member, on my dad’s side of the family, had been
obsessed with vampirology. She had hundreds and hundreds of books, leaflets and
scribblings of everything to do with vampires, from Bram Stoker’s work of
fiction to detailed writings on the lifestyle of vampire creatures. She is said
to have drank blood and often asked people if she could feed upon them, because
she was obsessed with the vampire lifestyle. She even had two huge fangs that
hung over her ordinary set of teeth. I believe the stories. My dad and I had
fangs like hers too – however we both had extensive dental surgery to have them
removed. This distant relative was my dad’s, dad’s mother, who was abandoned at
birth and adopted by a family many, many miles north of where my whole family
currently reside. My dad knows nothing of his nan’s past or why or how she was
interested in vampires. All I do know is that my dad thought it was
interesting, so when she passed away (when he was a teenager) he asked to keep
her journals, findings and books – although, he never got around to reading
any. Lucky for me he kept them. Using the vampirology findings of my distant
relative and managing to track down a few people, online, who had knowledge of
some of the symbols and writings of the book’s language, I began to translate.
During
my translation process, I discovered that this book, ‘The Ancient Book of
Vampire’, was a detailed diary entry from a philosophical, upper-class
gentleman, from somewhere in Eastern-Europe. He claimed to have been bitten by
a vampire and this was his journal in which he recorded his findings and
discoveries. I must admit that I happened to discover things that sounded
familiar to me: vampires cannot come into contact with daylight, for the sun
burns their skin until they catch of fire and burn to death, religious objects
bring fear – for they symbolise death, once a vampire, one must drink human
blood in order to survive or they become weak, and that driving a steak through
their heart is the most effect way to determine that a vampire never rises
again. The weirdest one of all was that garlic had a weakening effect on them;
the smell can cause a vampire to faint, which could be dangerous for the
vampire, because if they remained collapsed once the sun rose they would be
burnt by daylight.
I
learnt a great deal more about the species too. A vampire cannot enter a
building, unless invited. It takes four consecutive feeds of a human to kill
them. Each time feeding, a vampire drains roughly two cups of blood, which is
probably about five-hundred millilitres. By the time the vampire returns for
their fourth feed, they would have drained around two litres of blood, being
drained of so much blood is what causes the human to die. The human whose blood
has been drained will not necessarily turn into a vampire – after the vampire’s
fourth feed, the human will die. Once dead, the venom from the vampire’s fangs
will take effect. Some people’s blood will accept it and within forty-eight
hours they will reawaken and be a vampire themselves. However, those whose
blood does not accept the venom, will remain dead.
I can
sense you wondering why would humans let vampires drain their blood? Why do
they not stop them? And did I not say that a vampire can only enter a building
if invited? Well this is where it gets interesting. Once a human has been
bitten for the first time, the venom from the vampire’s fangs acts as a
hypnotic toxin. Every night while the human is sleeping, they call out to their
vampire, inviting them inside, alerting them to where they are. But, how do
they get inside in the first place? – I am sure you are wondering. This all
come down to trust worthiness of the victim. Had someone been out after sunset,
met a stranger, became friends and voiced a future invite to meet again – they
have just invited the vampire into their building. Perhaps the vampire acts as
a late door-to-door sales person or charity collector – opening your door to
them may result in you instantly being bitten. It is the hypnotic venom that
leaves you with no recollection with what happened or what the bite markings
are on your skin. Humans may mistake them as insect bites or a bodily rash.
This is
the part where things become a little strange. There was a ritual and a chant
to become a vampire’s bride. Please remember I was a teenager. I was stupid. I
was interested in the book. I became obsessed with finding out more. I wanted
to believe that it was real, but part of me was certain that it was just
fiction and that it was one of the first vampire stories ever told. So, being
the intrigued teenager that I was, I carried out the ritual. I gathered the
ingredients. I mixed the herbs. I recited the chant. Everything seemed fine. I
even left my window open, as the book had stated and went to bed. I did not
know what I had done. I did not know that I had just changed my life forever.
When I
awoke the next morning, I had bite marks on my neck. It sounds stupid, I know,
but I did. On my left side, there were two swollen, round, red lumps. I covered
them with a scarf. I did not want to draw attention to them. They were just
spots, I had convinced myself; they were probably a reaction from mixing all of
the liquids and herbs together the night before. But what if they were
more? I could not help but wonder. That
night I read through ‘The Ancient Book of Vampire’ again. I read stories of power,
of eternal life. I found out about… day-walkers, I guess it is easier to
describe them as. They are classed as being only half vampire, but the more I
read, the more powerful these species seemed. They could walk about in the day.
The sunlight did not burn their skin. They could eat human food and only had to
drink a small cup of blood once a week to keep their strength up. They had more
strength and their power lasted almost ten times longer. And they still had eternal life. This sounded fun. This sounded
exciting, yet they were considered a lower-class compared to full vampires.
The
second night passed. I woke up the next morning with another set of bit marks –
these were positioned a little below the last. I had been bitten again. I was
determined to stay awake the next night. I drank as many energy drinks as I
could. If it was full of sugar or caffeine it was inside of me. That night, I
sat up in bed and I waited and waited. My curtains billowed. I gasped. Throwing
a hand to my mouth, my eyes pierced through their sockets. “Ah, so you’re awake,
I see,” came a soft, smooth voice. A shadow appeared to my right. I clasped a
hand to my mouth. “No need to be afraid, princess.” His voice danced through my
ears. It melted away my fear. My shoulders relaxed. My breathing steadied. His
footsteps moved closer. “I’m glad you’re awake tonight,” he said with a smile,
perching on the edge of my bed. A dark fringe covered his eyes. Dressed in
black, his pale skin gave him a sickly appearance, but it suited him. “So where
would you like me to bite you tonight?” a smile stretched across his face, as
he winked at me.
“Who
are you?” I heard myself squeak.
“As of
tomorrow, I am your husband… and you
are my bride,” he was so calm. Crossing his right ankle over his left knee he
leant towards me. “Thanks for reciting the ritual. I heard your call. Boy, am I
glad you’re a cute one.” My heart lodged into my throat. I flinched back,
curling myself up to be as far away from him as I could. Pressing my back into
my headboard, the metal beams lodged into my spine. “What?” he laughed, at my
fear. “The Prince of Vampires needs a beautiful princess, doesn’t he? And
you’ll be able to seduce those stupid humans better than some a the guys they
make me work with.”
A
shudder crept up my spine. My heart barged against my ribcage. My chest
pounded. I gripped a hand to my stomach as it spiralled. What had I done? I did
not want this. Sweat trickled from my brow. My arms trembled. “Relax,” his
voice hissed in my ear. My eyes closed. An icy finger stroked my cheek. I
shuddered.
“What’ll
happen to me?” I squeaked. “Will I die?”
“Die?!”
he gave a laugh. “The Princess Vampire Bride shall not die. You are far too
precious to let that fall to chance. You are special. You are the chosen one.
You are pure of heart. Tomorrow night is the ceremony. Tomorrow night, you
shall be my bride.”
With a
gasp, I woke up. It was morning. The sun was out. Gripping my head, I recalled
a weird dream I had. There was a guy sitting on my bed. He told me I was to be
his bride. There would be a ceremony in the forest tomorrow night. He gave me
the location. He made me promise that I would meet him there. He said he would
send me a dress, one fit for a princess. Letting out a laugh I shook my head.
Pushing myself upright, I gave a groan. I stretched. The right side of my neck
hurt. Stroking it, I winced. Two markings stabbed with pain. Seeping a breath
through gritted teeth, my eyes fluttered to the bottom of my bed. A white dress
decorated in lace lay with a note: ‘See you tonight, princess’.
Whether
it was through his hypnotic powers or the strength of my curiosity, I do not
know, but I went. Fitted in the flowing, white, lace dress, I made my way to
the forest. As I neared, I heard music. Pianos, organs, violins, harps – the
harmony in their sound dragged me towards them. Deeper into the forest I
travelled. The music was my guide. It entranced me. Voices. There were people.
My heart did not flinch. I just followed the music. Light appeared up ahead. It
shone through the trees. It grew nearer, brighter. I was heading towards it.
The light flickered through an opening in the trees. My feet danced after it.
The music loudened. The voices did too. I was here. I had arrived.
“The
bride,” somebody hissed.
“Cue
the music,” yelled another. I stood at the back of a crowd. In front of me,
they lined in rows to the left and right. There was a passageway for me to walk
down – an aisle between them. I knew this was what it was. I knew it was for
me. I knew what they were waiting for. My shoulders stayed relaxed. My heart remained calm. My eyes gazed upon the men and women, who were stood, waiting, to
watch me walk down the aisle. The music changed. A more rhythmical pattern beat
out. My feet strode in rhythm to the music, as I made my way down the aisle.
My body
ruled my head. I had no control. As I ventured closer, my vampire husband-to-be
was stood at the top of the aisle. He was watching me, just like everyone else,
with a smile spread across his face. “So, you made it?” his voice echoed
through my brain. I did not gasp or flinch. I just smiled and gave a slight
nod. As his face drew closer, he took my hands and held them in his. His icy
skin tingled up my arms. I gazed into his eyes. “This is it,” he whispered.
“You make a beautiful bride.” I felt my cheeks redden at his words. I was
smiling back at him. A man from behind him entered my vision.
“Shall
we begin?” he asked. He gave a nod in reply.
While
the man, who I assumed was vampire-equivalent to a minister or priest, began
reading a passage from a book, I heard rustling from behind. Others did too.
Heads began to turn. “It’s true,” I heard a muffled voice in the distance say.
“Get them!”
The
eyes of my vampire-husband-to-be widened as he yelled, “Run! We’re under
attack!”
What
happened next is a blur. Bodies ran. Colours flashed before me. My heart raced
in my chest. Yells of panic rang through my ears. My legs trembled. “Follow
him!” my vampire prince ordered, pushing me into the vampire-priest. “Keep her
safe,” he yelled to him. The priest nodded. Grabbing my arm, he pulled me
along. We ran. Hearing a scream, I flung me head over my shoulder.
“Come
on!” the priest hissed at me. “We haven’t time.” As I spun my head back around
to face him, he crouched down and appeared to lift up part of the soil. “In
here, quick!” he barked. Nodding, I darted inside. It was a trap door, hidden
beneath the forest. He jumped in too, pulling the lid down on us both. “Ssshh,”
he whispered, as he shuffled alongside me. Blackness. I could see nothing. We
were in a hole. There was barely room for the two of us, squished up against
each other.
My
heart raced. Pulse pounded in my ears. Footsteps thundered above. I pressed a
hand to my mouth, terrified I might squeak and compromise our location. The
thudding inside intensified. It grew louder. Thud-thud. Minutes passed.
Thud-thud. The footsteps eased. Thud-thud. A piercing shriek rang through my
head. Thud. I seeped a breath. I scrunched my face. I clawed my nails through my hair.
It shrieked in my brain. I punched my fists into my ears. Forcing my chin to my
chest, my heart raced faster. Thud-thud. What was happening? Thud-thud. The
screaming intensified. I lunged forward. The sound pierced through my temples.
Tightening the creases on my face, I daggered my fingertips into my forehead.
Why were the vampires running? Thud-thud. Why were we hiding? Thud-thud. Where
was everyone else? Thud-thud. What was that scream?
Hours
must have passed, before we emerged. Clouds had bubbled across the starred sky.
In silence, the priest and I made our way back towards the direction that we
had traversed from. A flash of midnight-blue dashed passed us. It shot back. I
gasped. Stopping before us, a man dressed in a long, dark cape looked me up and
down. “Is she-” he began.
“Yes,”
the priest snapped.
“Are
you both safe?” asked the man.
“Yes,”
replied the priest again, with a nod.
“The
others?” he enquired. I shrugged.
“We
don’t know,” the priest muttered. “I was under strict instruction from the
prince to keep her safe.” As the man nodded, the three of us continued walking.
We had not travelled far before I spotted people. My eyes widened. There was
crowd. I turned to my right, my left. The priest and caped man did not appear
alert. These must have been the other vampires from the gathering earlier that
night. Muffled voices echoed as we drew nearer. “Let us through,” ordered
priest. “Let us through.” Bodies parted.
I
gasped. It was him. My vampire-groom was lying on the ground. A steak was
through his heart. I threw both hands to my mouth. He was gone. My vampire
husband-to-be was dead. I shed no tears. I felt no pain. I did not love him. I
did not know him. But I did not want this. I did not want any of this. I was a
stupid teenager, who thought that a sacred, vampirology document, journal was
just some silly piece of fiction from centuries ago. But it was not over. I was
already cursed.
With
the ritual incomplete, I did not become the Queen of Vampires, nor was I even
welcomed into a part of their world. I was not a vampire, yet I was no longer
human either. I was a day-walker. I could be out in day light and eat normal,
human food and no one would know any different. The vampires knew. I was no
longer welcome amongst them. After a couple of months, even the priest-vampire
stopped paying me visits. I still have to feast on humans though – once a week
or two I have to plan my attack. I must select a victim. Maybe it is a stupid
teenager, who stayed out way past his curfew or the guy who walks his dog late
at night. I tried my best to carry on as normal, as I had done before any of
this had started. And that’s what I have been doing for the last nine years. I
know things are different. I have not aged a day. My vision has become
enlightened at night. I have discovered a huge phobia of churches and crosses –
going near them makes me feel weak and I get a massive, draining headache, that
makes me sleep for days. My dreams of photography are dead too (the other
A-Level I studied) – I no longer appear on camera. It is the same with mirrors.
They terrify me. My image is not there. People can see me in real life, they
can touch me and feel me, but my reflection is gone. I ruined my life.
Maybe
now you see why I can only ever enter your house when you invite me over,
otherwise I just ask for a cuddle outside on the doorstep. Do you see, now, why
I am so pale, why my appearance never changes, and I still look the same as I
did when I was seventeen years old? Do you see why I say no to photos or videos
of the two of us, no matter how much you beg? Do you understand why I have such
a huge phobia of mirrors? This is why I hate talks of religion or being near
any kind of religious structure. It is the reason I hate garlic bread and why I
cannot be near you once you have eaten it. It is the reason why I do not like
being around you when you garden, because of the wooden steaks that you use to
prop up the plants. It is the reason why I love the night and insist on us
sitting in the park after dark to gaze up at the stars. It is why I like
kissing your neck – it is a fascination that I cannot move away from.
‘The
Ancient Book of Vampire’ is hidden in plain sight, on my bookshelf. You must
have seen it hundreds of times – sat between my ‘Kingdom Hearts’ books and ‘The
Trouble with Tink’. I must have studied it a million times. I have read it
cover to cover, forwards, backwards, even upside down and I think there is a
way to break the curse. As I am not a real vampire and the ritual was never
carried through all of the way, the curse can be lifted if I were to find true
love… and I did with you, but being in love is not enough to break the curse.
Breaking the curse requires an actual marriage ceremony, which I know you never
wanted and now you refuse to even speak to me, I know I am stuck like this
forever. I do not blame you. I just wish that you had made it clear to me when
we fell in love that marriage between us would never happen. Whether it is
because of the feelings that you still hold for her and that she will always come before me… or maybe you are
just too selfish or immature to settle down, I do not know… maybe all humans
are this complicated.
There
is not another sole I want to be
with. I will never fall in love again. I may live for centuries, but I know
that nothing will ever feel how it does when I am with you. What we had was
special… it was magical. Maybe one day you will find this letter and remember
me. I hope that the whole vampire thing does not put you off. You can put an
end to it. We can put an end to it… never mind. I know it is too much of an
ask. I know it is too late. I just wish you all of the happiness in the world
and I want you to know that even though I will outlive you, now, by a century
or two, I am glad that you were my first love, my one, my only. You are the
most special person I have ever known, or ever will. I am just so thankful to
have met you and to have had you in my life, even though it was only for a
short time.
All of my love,
always,
-
Josie -
