Their Love Will Drain You

Vampires are so romantic - that is, until they murder you horribly





Before I say anything else, I'd like to thank Jolie Du Pre for once again including my little-read, mostly-bullshit blog on the Vampire Bite Blog Hop. Sorry that I'm too technologically retarded to properly display your badge/logo thingy!

Happy Valentines Day, folks! Much love to anyone that might even remotely call themselves a fan of my scrawlings. And if you hate what I do ... well, heck, I tried.

So, the topic for today is ... vampires.

Vampires ... oh, those goddamned vampires. Alternately terrifying and completely harmless in a buff, handsome, rich, gee-whiz-lookit-me-I'm-a-sexy-beast-with-a-tortured-soul kind of way. How did such a fearsome legend become associated with an image that's so weak and toothless, anyhow? Who's to blame for this outrage?

"It's that goddamned Stephenie what's-her-face," you say, your lip curling with a horror-snob's withering disdain. "She's lame and shit," you add. Well, Stephenie what's-her-face certainly didn't help the situation any, but she's not really to blame. In my humble opinion, the blame rests solely on the shoulders of Bram Stoker. Dracula? He was a Victorian sex machine, that fucking guy. He eye-fucked the exposed ankles of daring maidens, and when his fangs popped their neck-cherries, there were many implied orgasms. He was ultra-rich, suave, mysterious ... and although Stoker does not make mention of it, the Count's undead penis was probably all rigor-mortised up to perfection.

So whaddya think? Would vampires be melancholy, lonely, impoverished creatures, unable to function in any way in a society that, in their eyes, is made up of delicious walking milkshakes? Alternately, is it more likely that they would be decadent, lavishly wasteful, uncaring caricatures of high society? Malevolent beings that eat children's hearts on a bed of black caviar? Such a creature would make for an excellent banker or big-dick player on the stock exchange; although I suppose that a banker's hours would be out of the question. Its hard to maintain the image of a debonair playboy if your fucking face is melting because you are engulfed by sulfurous flames ... or so I would assume.

What's interesting about the vampire myth, to me, is its universal prevalence in many different cultures. Most European nations have their own version, as did a lot of Middle Eastern cultures - add to this growing list China, Japan, Russia, various African nations ... all of them have legendary tales of dead things, running around at night, drinking blood and getting up to all sorts of murderous shenanigans. The fuck is that all about? It's easy to conceive, I suppose, that the story originated with one particular pre-history group of people, who then spread it as they forged bravely ahead onto new pastures, fleeing all kinds of natural horrors on the way. And who knows? Maybe these hypothetical, pre-history, stone-age ancestors of ours really were, at some point, being plagued by some menace that was, in some manner, vampire-esque: maybe  it was a marauding tribe of blood-drinking cannibals that they constantly had to fight off, or perhaps they were occasionally harried by some horrid kind of mutant human/primate offshoot - one that had pointy teeth and was fond of biting jugular veins. The lack of publicized archaeological evidence means nothing - maybe no one has ever found the fossilized remains of such a thing because they simply haven't stumbled on it yet.

Or ... have they? There are many, many people in high positions that would, for various reasons, want a find like that to disappear. (Cue orchestra strike as the camera zooms in on my eyes, which widen theatrically). Or, consider this - their dead sometimes had a bad habit of clawing their way out of their shallow graves, with a thirst for blood and a bad attitude. Fuck knows why - radiation? Sun flares! Yeah, I'll go with that one.

I dunno, man. I like talking shit. That's what horror writing is, really; talking shit, and trying to make it sound believable. I think that, if you can imagine something, then it probably exists somewhere, in one form or another. As far as I know, there's goddamned vampires living in my basement. Who's to say they aren't?

And who's to say that they can't love?


A Tribute To My Valentine



I hate this night, more than all the rest of the long, lonely nights of the year. It comes every year, and I dread it. I'm in torment ... I thirst. I'm cold, so cold; my body is one with the clammy, frigid floor of the basement that I hide in. It's dark down here, but I can see the spiders and rats that I hunt just fine. I don't need light to see. I don't need it to live, not like you do. Do you miss me still? Do you wonder about what became of me anymore?

I hate this night, more than every wretched night of my existence. I follow you sometimes, on the occasions when you go out after sunset with your husband and children; I watch as you walk and laugh with them, with him, and even though I want to scream my despair to the stars I don't. I smile instead. Because I love you, and I always will. Every night, when my eyes spring open and I realize, once again, that my dreams of you were nothing but lies that loneliness told me - every night I'm glad that the bastard took me, and not you. I was trailing behind you at the fair when it snatched me. You never even suspected what really happened ... and I'm so fucking glad that you didn't, because it could have easily been you that got carried off that night, so many years ago. You should never know this horror, what it's like to be dead and cold and so thirsty, so alone. No, my love, not you. Not ever.

That's why I'm going to leave the basement at sunrise. I want to see the sun again. I have to do this - because, if I don't, I won't be able to fight the raging temptation anymore. I can't spend another Valentine's Day without you. Seeing you last year really hurt, more than it ever has. I punched holes in the floor down here, I seethed and wept and shrieked. I ripped handfuls of brick from the wall and ground them to dust. This awful life without you hurts so much ... but I'd rather die than bring you down here with me.When I feel the burning of the sun, it will be your kiss, warming me for one last time. I'll burn as I've always burned for you, and the ashes left behind will be my last tribute to you - my heart, my love, my lost Valentine.




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