You may think I’m insane, borne of the devil. Well, you are right, but I soon came to find that your so called God doesn’t exist. And for that fact, nor does the Devil. I shall only tell you about the main events in my long, drawn out life, as you would be my age by the time I finish. I’ll start right at the beginning, a few hundred years back, when I was just a young boy, separated from my parents, driven apart by murder. It was back when I lived in France, Paris. I was only five at the time, but I remember it as vividly as yesterday.

We were walking down a back alley, just from the Chambre du Soleil, or the House of Sun, when it happened; my life would never be the same. We’d just turned down a back alley, and sent numerous rats scampering away, when a cloaked figure appeared behind us. His hat was tipped down at the front, obscuring his face, and a flickering lantern from the street glinted off of the wet paving. My parents hadn’t seen him, and mon Pere just kept walking, the only hint he was aware was the quickening of his stride. We rounded a corner, and another leather clad man was stood in front of us, in the exact same attire as the man behind us, but then he tilted his hat so I glimpsed his face. His mouth was thin and bloodless, and he had small eyes, that glinted maliciously in the half-light. He grinned at me, only me. I saw two pointed incisors slowly creep down his lip; they seemed to glow with their own iridescent sheen, like two daggers. I turned around, another man was closing in from behind, and he looked almost the same as the one just behind me, except he had his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a long, thin scar streaking down his face, from his left temple to the right side of his neck, crossing the eye. Mon Pere looked at the man in front of us; he was advancing slowly, walking with a pronounced swagger.
“May I help you, good sir? Are you lost? I know this place like the back of my hand; I can tell you where anything is!”
“Ahh... yessss, you may help ussss .we have come for something that you possesssss.... something... of great emotional value to ussss...”
The voice wasn’t issued from any lips; instead it seemed to come from the ground, from some unnatural power. The man pulled out a small dagger, and fitted it onto his thumb, it was elegantly crafted, and glowed with a golden shimmer. He started to walk faster, with a fluid grace that must have come from years of athletic practice, but he only looked to be in his early twenties.
“I’m warning you monsoire, if you take another step I will have to dispatch of you in a very nasty way”.
“Oh, yesss... a fighter... we don’t get many of those... let’s see how long it takes to break you...”
Mon Pere pulled out a pistol, and took aim at the man’s heart. He fired one bullet, and the man crumpled, a pool of blood spilling out from the bullets entrance and exit wounds. He swiftly reloaded and fired again, this time putting a bullet through the man’s head. He reloaded again, and turned to face the man who was swiftly walking up from behind. He aimed at the man, and pulled the trigger.

Before his finger had fully tightened on the trigger, he made a strangled gurgling sound, and I spun around to see a shocking sight. Mon Pere had a metal spike stuck out of the side of his head, and blood was slowly rolling down the side of his head, and neck. The man jumped and pirouetted in mid-air, slashing out with his dagger at the peak of the jump. Ma Mere fell to the floor, clutching her throat, blood bubbling and frothing at her mouth. The man landed and went over the mon Pere, and studied the pulse in his neck, as he vainly tried to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood. The man placed a foot on the small of his back, and pushed him down. The metal sole of his knee-high boots left cruel lacerations on his back as he dragged the boot down. Mon Pere grunted in pain, as he lay in his own blood. The man bent down and started to lick up his neck, following the trail of blood. Then he sunk his teeth in, where he felt the pulse strongest. The other man walked over hand fastened his mouth over the deep cut on Ma Mere’s neck. They started to suck; I could hear it from here. I was shocked to the centre of my tiny, fragile mind. I sat there, in a drain, their warm, wet blood pooling around me, sticking to my skin, my clothes.

After what seemed an age, the two men stood up, and turned to face me, an innocent little child, covered in his parent’s blood, amid the slaughter house of life. They seemed more alive than earlier, taller, and even more handsome. One of them flashed me a quick smile, his teeth glinting perfect white in the pale light. Two hooked incisors curved down over his lips as he leered at me, his cape billowing out behind him. As he approached me, he put one hand under my chin, and tilted my head up, until I was gazing into his eyes. They rippled and shimmered, drawing me in, closer, deeper. The colours separated, and then merged, forming a hypnotic pattern that I was entranced by. He walked over to me, and put the thumb of his left hand on my left temple, and the little finger on my other. The world starts to fade... slowly... each colour draining from the world, leaving it an empty husk, the corpse of its former self. I look at the blood that covers my hands; it is barely distinguishable from the bare skin behind them. Am I dying? At that age I didn’t know what death was, didn’t know how it slowly crept up on the unsuspecting, then tore their souls from their bodies. The last thing I saw was a man’s face staring at me, with barely masked hunger. But there was kindness in his eyes, a soul wrenching and haunting kindness, like that of one whose lost everything he has ever cared for, and shall spend an eternity in living hell. Then I drifted off into a painful sleep, punctuated with vivid images of blood and sharp-toothed strangers.




“Could he have done this? He looks nigh on seven.” A woman’s voice drifted into my ears, but my confused brain muddled and twister her words.
“Well, you know youngsters these days, when I wa-” a young man’s voice was swiftly cut of as the woman interrupted him.
“Oh you and your stories! They’ll be the death of me, but it doesn’t stop me from loving you.” A sort of soft squelching noise interrupted them both, and as I struggled to sit up, I gazed at them groggily. I saw the fuzzy outline of a woman and a man, fairly young, embracing each other.
“No, get away from her you murderer!” I thought that he was another of those men, sucking the life out of yet another innocent. Somewhere deep down I found the reserve of strength to charge the man down, and pin him to the ground. He was caught by surprise and toppled easily. This last amazing feat of strength sent me out for the count for good. But instead of the rough nails of the leather-clad man, I went off in the cool arms of a young woman.

A candle light flared in the dark and brought me to my senses. I couldn’t make out anything behind the harsh glow of the candle, but I didn’t need to, I could sense I was safe. I felt someone sit on the end of my bed, and it sagged slightly, but not much. As my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I saw the woman behind it. I recognised her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place it. She was a petite woman, fairly thin, and she had the deepest green eyes that I had, that I have ever seen. She leant over and brushed my hair out of my eyes, she smiled down at me, and I smiled back, but all I could do was twitch my mouth slightly. She held a mug of warm milk to my lips, and I sipped it cautiously. Then I remember that Ma Mere used to mix herbs with warm milk and feed them to me when I was allot younger. Then I thought of her. She was dead. Killed by two men who drank blood. The thought didn’t upset me much, maybe this was what would set me apart as a child, and I later life as an adult? I’ll never know, but I can speculate. I would develop a sort of unemotional detachment from everything, so it started here, that moment shaped my life, and then finally destroyed my life. But then again, it depends how you look at it.

She brushed the sheet from my neck, and then she suddenly she froze; the mug fell to the floor and shattered, spilling warm milk everywhere. Then the screaming began. The young man sprinted into the room and held the woman to his chest, slowly running his fingers through her hair.  She sobbed into his arm, tears leaking over his bare forearms and splashing onto my crude bed. She leans into him, and whispers into his ear. He gasps in shock, and his pupils dilate with fear.  He then leans over and examines my neck, then reels back in horror, and grasps a crucifix around his neck. He then peers at my neck again, and then his body relaxes, “It’s not deep enough, he’ll pull through. Just.”
I’m too confused and weak to answer him, or ask any questions. The woman leant over and pushed the hair out of my face, my deep, black eyes engaging hers. She held my hand, but I didn’t feel it. I could see it, but when I tried to move my finger, I could see the tendons straining in my wrist, but no reaction. The same paralysis had crept upon my legs without me even realising it, then I thought about my heart. The soft, freezing finger started to pluck at my chest, teasing the strands of my heart, and pulling them away. A sudden burning pain erupted from my neck, and spread down my chest and legs as I convulsed on the bed, then I seemed to be watching myself, the young man and woman were both trying to pin me down, then I suddenly stopped and went limp, the only motion was the irregular rising of my chest as I drew in breath.

I remember waking up only a few times, and each was accompanied by varying degrees of pain, from a dull burning in my neck, to my whole body  feeling like it was on fire, or even as though I was freezing. But each time the woman was there, either forcing me to eat, or tenderly wiping my forehead with a damp, cool cloth. I didn’t know how long it lasted for at the time, it seemed like years, but it was only just over a week, this also must have had something to do with the fact I had no friends through childhood, that’s me, the outsider, and probably for a very good reason.