Realms Undead

Shall I do the whole Anne Rice, David Copperfield bit? I am born. I am made. Or what about this? I am written. I am called into existence like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Conjured by Shakespeare. Given agency by Tom Stoppard. Damned by both.

Do we exist? Are we real? Or are we colourful fictions, vomited up from the fever dreams of anti-Semitic folklore and enlarged upon by Stoker and his kind?

I am not yet in possession of enough data to say for sure. And yet like the creature of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, I too have often cursed my creator for making me this way.

Yet vampire I am. I am not one of the ancient ones. Nor am I some regency fop, still prancing about in frilly shirts and pantaloons well into the 21^st century and passing myself off as some kind of cosplay artist.

Nor am I young and indiscreet enough to post my every move online and find myself rapidly tracked down and staked by the Van Helsings of the modern age (seriously, look at slayer videos posted on 4Chan – their user names are all some variation  on VanHel98).  

The facts of my life, such as they are, are these. I was born in the 1930s. I was made in the 1960s. I have always had a low metabolism for a vampire. I need to feed no more than a few times a month. Even when I do feed, I rarely kill my victims. There are enough disturbed souls who will readily give a little of their blood to spend time in the company of a vampire.

Some I take for lovers. I long since ceased to care about things like race or gender. Flesh is flesh. If they are willing so am I. Most vampires I know feel the same. The undead are far more inclusive than those in the land of the living.

Occasionally I kill for the sport of it. The ones who deserve it. Abusers. Serial Killers. Other vampires who put the rest of us at risk with their insatiable and indiscriminate bloodlust . This last kind of hunt is usually conducted en masse.

We rarely target anyone famous or in the public eye for the same reason we don’t upload pictures of our kills to Instagram. We live in the shadows. Literally. When one of us draws attention to our activities, their actions must be met with terminal intensity. A quorum must be established. A consensus agreed upon. Only then may decisive action be taken.

It is as much about safety in numbers as anything else. Other than the young vamps, who don’t survive long enough to gain strength or wisdom, vampires are a hard bunch to kill. We can by no means all be killed in the same manner. Stakes don’t always work. I have seen more than one vampire survive decapitation. Fire usually does the trick. For even the most powerful, it is enough to take them out of circulation for a millennium or two.

I do not advertise my existence online but I am more than familiar with the online world. Social media is the perfect medium for my kind to hunt without leaving the comfort of our coffins (nb. coffins in most cases are an aesthetic choice rather than a necessity). The sad fact is I had become a social media consultant, showing vampires how to stay safe online. How to groom their victims. How not to get entrapped by slayers. Learning to pick up on modern social clues. Learning to recognise the telltale warning signs.

As such, I was aware of the change before the humans even noticed what was happening. The quality of online discourse, such as it was, changed. The language they used felt off. The latest conspiracy theories had a ring of truth about them. It was like some new kind of filter had been applied to everything. Like everyone was wearing sombreros or devil horns in their holiday photos.

It wasn’t just the internet. The night air felt different. The winds blew from directions they rarely come. The blood I drank tasted different. Every drop had a metallic tang to it. It wasn’t unpalatable, but it was strong. Like someone introducing a hotter type of chili into a familiar dish (not that I have eaten chili in decades – the trope of vampires eating food and immediately vomiting is true I’m afraid). We couldn’t even order soft serve to take the edge away.

I was one of the fortunate ones. When the end came (The Rupture, some call it), I was asleep in my chamber. Outside on the streets of Hamburg, it was broad daylight. I was ensconced in a room without windows or doors. I was well below ground level, waiting for the night to come. Instead, the day came to everyone.

There is the cliché in vampire cinema of one vampire being killed by the hero and the other coven members crying out in painful simpatico. I awoke in pitch darkness, screaming at the burning in my brain as thousands of my kind were incinerated in an instant.

The pain remained long after they fell silent. It was impossible to sleep and yet I could not risk opening the trap door from my tomb until well after sunset. Even the light from my bedside lamp made my temples throb. I lay in darkness for more than twelve hours.

I did not know what to expect when I emerged into the midnight streets. There had been a  low rumble that shook the ground like an earthquake as my brethren were dying in droves. I didn’t know what had caused it, but I felt certain it was part of the same phenomenon that had been causing strange events for weeks and months across the globe.

I feared I would find no one left. That after so many disappearances, the rest of humanity would have blinked out of existence. That the few remaining vampires would be reduced to drinking rats’ blood, or fighting over dwindling blood bank supplies.

There were certainly fewer people on the streets, especially for a city with a thriving nighttime economy (it’s one of the things that brought me back to Hamburg so often). The faces in the thinned out crowds looked haunted. Their thoughts spoke of confusion and despair.

I tried to pluck out the details from their shell shocked minds, but my own mind was still feverous. I took out my handy and started ringing numbers. The first one was out of service. The next two didn’t even register as valid numbers. At the fourth attempt, I got a response. We arranged to meet in 20 minutes. I stopped at a pharmacy on the way there.

“Take these.” I told Dieter as I stepped through the door, handing him the box of ibuprofen.

“How many?”

“As many as you can stuff down your fat gullet.”

He wasn’t my favourite host and my mood hadn’t improved on the way to his apartment building.

“It can be dangerous taking too many in one go.”

I grabbed him by the throat and lifted him onto his tiptoes.

“Dangerous would be disagreeing with you master. I require blood. How much I take depends on the level to which you displease me.”

Blame cinema. They expect us to talk in this affected manner.

The menace in my words was real enough.

The migraine grew worse. If I tried to take the pills myself, I would regurgitate them like anything else. I needed Dieter to take as many he could tolerate so what little filtered into his bloodstream would be accessible to me.

I released him.

“Take six and we’ll see.”

His eyes widened but he didn’t protest.

I went for a walk around the block while the capsules were digesting in his stomach. His apartment always smelt of wet cabbage farts. It made me nauseous.

I could smell the change in his body chemistry before he even opened the door. The latch hadn’t caught before I had him pinned against the wall by the coat rack. I took what I needed. The particles of ibuprofen coursed into my system.

This is how we live. Vicariously, through the blood of others. There are those who become addicted to the blood of drunks and addicts. There is even a branch of AA for vampires who hit rock bottom. Though for obvious reasons, they don’t meet in church halls or do the ‘god grant me the strength’ prayer. I’ve never been, but I understand their version of the program only has seven steps. We bounce back quicker than humans.

I could have quite easily drained Dieter dry. Not only did the ibuprofen start to clear my head, but his blood tasted different. It didn’t have that metallic tang of recent times. Nor had it reverted to its previous flavour. This was something else. Something new. Something different.

I took three pints, then deposited his comatosed body face down and sideways on the bed. The headache was gone. I felt horny as hell. I stared at Dieter’s fat backside looking back at me. I fought the urge to pull his pants down and take him while he slept.

It wasn’t like I was above such violations. Ambiguous as I felt about the man (he was a mediocre lay at the best of times), he’d served me in my hour of need. Besides, I needed answers and Dieter wouldn’t be regaining conscious any time soon. I put him in the recovery position. I left a stein glass of water by his bedside. I went looking for my  kind.

With a clear head, I picked up flashes from the minds that passed me by. An apparent breaking of reality. Historical and fictional characters and objects appearing in the streets and in the sky above the city. A crush of people pressing together. Then a blinding flash and everything was gone. Husbands, wives and children missing. Friends and acquaintances disappeared. Houses and entire streets vanished into thin air. I was glad to have been secure in my tomb.

I began to understand that the pounding in my head had been as much from the level of despair that permeated the psychic air as it was from the extinguishing of so many of my kind in one go. An energy vampire would have a field day. I’m sure many did. I’m sure many died from sensory overload.

There are worse things than despair. As I strolled the streets, I saw many who had given in to their baser impulses. What few police remained were stretched or simply didn’t care anymore (no matter what you think, the police are human too). There was much looting in the commercial sector. Fights taking place outside every bar. I maintained a cloak of relative invisibility and kept walking.

I entered the Wallring outskirts and decided to take the path through the series of parks that run all the way to the banks of the Elbe. The moon had yet to rise, but If there is one thing a vampire knows how to do it’s see in the dark.

So much sexual violence was taking place in shadows, I would be here all night if I tried to interfere everywhere. I stopped on my way to rip the throats from the most depraved of offenders. I decapitated a paedo or two and lobbed their heads into groups of gangbangers hunched around their victims. A bit of mental trickery and the head appeared to open its eyes and scream, “Run!” Cue an orgy of another kind. I dealt with the ones who ran in my direction.

I was having a distracting game of cat and mouse with the last of them. He was running towards the river anyway. I was humming, Are You Gonna  Go My Way to myself. 

A noise from above and a cloaked silhouette fell from the sky and into the path of my intended victim. The man was still holding up his unbuttoned jeans as he froze on the path between us.

“Oh excuse me, Herr Painter.” the other said when he saw me. “I didn’t know he was yours.”

“No need to apologise, Herr Donitz. I have already eaten this evening. I was just hounding him to his death.”

Donitz nodded enthusiastically.

“I have always admired your constitution, Herr Painter.”

“Are you people fucking crazy?” the man cried. “I’ll kill both of you.”

Brave words for a man who had already pissed himself.

Donitz shot me a look.

“Please.” I said. “Be my guest.”

He flew across the forty yards in an instant, half decapitating the man with his first bite. I am jealous of the ones who came move so fast. The ones who can propel themselves through the air. Though it takes a lot of energy and they have to feed regularly. They are the hummingbirds of the vampire world. My talents come at a bargain price. More like a large carnivore.

No more than a few tendons kept the head attached to the body by the time Donitz was finished with it. The jeans had fallen down to its ankles. The back of its legs were smeared with shit. Donitz tossed it into the bushes like it was a rag doll.

“Much obliged.” he said as he licked his fingers.

“There’s plenty more where he came from.” I told him.

“Yes. I have feasted well this night. Well enough for now at least.”

“I was heading to Vlad’s.”

“May I accompany you?”

“As you wish.”

Herr Johann Donitz is one of the old school vampires. Not quite a regency fop (though he does favour a frilly shirt), but there is certainly something of Lestat about him. Back in the 90s, his behaviour become so indiscreet that a council was convened to discuss his termination. I argued in his defence. We prevailed by two votes.

To be honest, I think many vampires doubted he could be killed and they feared  the retribution he would visit upon them. It was, however, enough of a shock to the system that Donitz tempered his bloodlust into the millennium.

“We live in interesting times.” he said as we walked through Dammtorpark, besides the banks of Wallgraben lake.

“We do.” I replied. “How much do you know of what has happened?”

“Only what I have seen on the news and listening to whispers on the streets.”

Not all of us are telepathic, but we do all have exceptional hearing. I told him what little I had gathered from tuning into the human’s minds.

“The storm that has been brewing these many months has finally broken and is receding. Those of us who survived are left to survey the aftermath.”

Some of us really do talk in this affected manner.

“It’s not just that.” I said. “Something has changed.”

“The blood is different.”

“You’ve noticed.”

“Yes. For months the aftertaste has been strong in zinc. Now it is more earthy. Like quicklime.”

That was it. That was the taste I could feel on my tongue. Not strong, but distinct.

“I always forget how long this takes.” I said as we entered another park.

Even when we reached the Elbe, it was still a walk.

“I could fly us there.” Donitz said.

“Or we could get a taxi.”

A cab was on its way as we emerged onto the Zirkusweg. I always keep a number of drivers on psychic speed dial. We kicked our heels until the beige Mercedes pulled up to the kerb.

We drove along the Reeperbahn. The Star Club was on one of these backstreets. I saw The Beatles play there in ’62, the year before I was turned. Ringo was with them by then. I missed their residency days by mere months. They were deported to Liverpool in December 1960. I arrived in February the following year. I was made in a Reeperbahn alleyway the year after that.

Erik pulled into a side street. It is best you don’t know which one. I paid him well and adjusted his memory. Donitz and I approached a pantone coloured door. Chipped paint and nondescript. I gave the secret knock. The speakeasy slit opened to reveal a pair of iridescent eyes. It slid shut. Heavy locks were released. The door creaked open.

Vlad the Impaler’s is the only place for a respectable Hamburg vampire to be seen. It is the only place that is truly ours. When we need to convene a council, we usually ‘borrow’ a venue (the city hall and court house are generally empty when we have need of them). It is unwise to hold too much property in trust. Slayers would soon find us through the Assessor Office records. So we maintain one place for gatherings.

There are two simple rules: No humans; No feeding. Feed in the streets. Feed in your own home. That way if you get caught, you endanger only yourself. Vlad’s is for dancing, intellectual debate and steamy vampire on vampire action.

Our community had been lucky. The event had taken place when most of us were asleep. The main dance floor didn’t look any less busy than it was on any Wednesday morning. Indecent acts were being performed in the surrounding booths. Vampires occupied the row of barstools. The bar was largely for show of course. There are some who can ingest alcohol after being turned. Even then, it has to be extremely high proof. Why do you think they call it moonshine?

We pushed through the crowd and went looking for Lara, Hamburg’s resident daywalker. We found her in one of the function rooms on the third floor. She was being interrogated by a couple of elders. Julian knew Charlemagne. They say Hans fought in the battle of the Teutoburg Forest.

“Describe the light.” Julian was saying.

“Bright but not painfully so.” Lara told them. “At least not to me. Obviously that wasn’t the case for regular vampires.”

“No.” Hans said. “Though we have heard of some who survived it.”

“Really?” I said in surprise.

The elders turned around. Lara had already clocked us.

“Oh hello, Michael. Johann.”

Donitz nodded. He greeted them each in turn.

“Please.” Julian said. “Join us.”

We slid on the green leather bench next to Lara. I kissed her on both cheeks. Donitz leaned over to kiss her outstretched hand. Handshakes were exchanged with the elders across the teak table between us.

“So you saw it.” I asked Lara.

“I did. It was like something out of a science fiction movie. Like all the science fiction movies.”

She gave us a description. The sky filled with ships from half the science fiction films and TV series from the last seventy years. I don’t remember all the names. She mentioned tie fighters and shuttles with glowing blue engines and flying saucers that looked like they were being held up by string. The Luftwaffe flew in between them, fighting mustangs and spitfires. Superheroes hung in the air, their capes billowing in the wind.

Some of the images I had seen in the minds I encountered on the street. Yet only a vampire, even a daywalker, has the eyesight to truly pick out the details from thousands of feet beneath the action. She had managed to get to the top of the TV tower for a better look.

The situation on the ground was clearer in my mind as it had been in those of my psychic witnesses.

“Germanic tribes and Nazi officers and members of the Hanseatic League.” Lara continued. “Fires burned in Deichstraße. The streets flooded. I saw Helmut Schmidt touring the affected areas. Someone said they saw the Beatles performing a concert outside the city hall.”

“In Munich--“ Hans said, “they say the victims of the Munich Air Disaster appeared in the arrivals lounge of the airport. It isn’t even the airport where they died.”

“And of course Hitler was trying to start his Beer Hall Putsch.” Julian added.

“But you said some vampires survived the light.” I said.

“A handful.” Hans replied. “At least that is what we have heard from our sources.”

“Where?”

Julian regarded me.

“Asia mainly. Japan. China. Indonesia.”

“Perhaps they are daywalkers who don’t know it.”

“That’s what I said.” Lara said.

“Believe me, steps have been taken by the International Council to test that hypothesis.” Julian said. “As far we can tell, the survivors remain as sensitive to direct sunlight as ever.”

“What about you, Michael?” Hans said.

 “What about me?”

 “You are Hamburg’s most powerful psychic vampire.” Modesty by no means prevents me from confirming this to be the case. “Tell us what you experienced in that moment.”

I gave them a summary of the agonising pain I felt. The fire that seemed to burrow its way into my brain. I told them how I had to dose up a host to take away the migraine.

“When was the last time any of you fed?” Donitz asked, breaking the silence that followed my testimony.

“I know what you would say, Johann.” Julian said. “We have received countless reports from the Hamburg brethren and elsewhere that the taste has changed again.”

“Any explanation?” Donitz asked.

“None that makes any sense.” Julian replied.

He exchanged a look with Hans.

“There is something else.”

“What?” I, Donitz and Lara asked, leaning in together.

Another look between them.

“How do you feel about churches?” Hans asked. “Or crucifixes?”

“Crucifixes?”

“Yes. Crucifixes.”

"I am actually quite fond of looking at crucifixes.” Lara said.

Everyone but Julian laughed. We might lampoon the vampires depicted in popular culture, but secretly we love the attention. Especially when the vampires are the heroes.

“But have you tested that supposition lately?” Hans asked.

“Why?” I said. “Crucifixes aren’t even a thing. They were a late introduction into Christianity. For centuries people thought Jesus was nailed to a tree.”

The Canterbury Tales, written in the 14^th century, always refers to him as such.

“They’re part of the anti-Semitic roots of vampire lore.” I added. “The Jews denied Christ, so they are repelled by the cross. We are not.”

“Be that as it may.” Julian said. “Several of our brethren have reported feeling anxious near churches. Karl Knappen and Gunter Loeb were both repelled by crucifixes around the necks of hosts upon whom they have fed many times before.”

“They are far from the only ones.” Hans said. “We have heard other such reports through the usual channels.”

The three of us non-Elders exchanged confused looks with one another.

“You will be telling us next that you have to ask permission to enter a building.” Donitz said.

Julian frowned.

“That remains to be seen.”

I left Vlad’s a little after four in the morning. It was late April. The sun wouldn’t rise until six. I walked along the waterfront, then headed north towards the city centre.

I felt it hundred yards away. The redbrick structure of my namesake’s church. It’s copper spire dwarves the buildings surrounding it and has been a landmark for ships navigating the Elbe since its completion in the 1760s. It stands like a sentinel at the side of the brick road that runs past it.

I have walked by that church countless times. I have even been inside once or twice over the years and admired its baroque altar.

Now as I approached the building, the nausea of the previous day started to return. By the time I was standing on the other side of the road, less than fifty feet away, I felt sick to my redundant stomach. I fled into a residential area, before finding a side street that ran parallel and sufficiently far north to allow me to continue. I flagged a taxi and crawled, shivering, into my tomb.

It was two days before I left the house. During the day, I slept. At night I paced the rooms of my town house. The encounter with St Michael had left me shaken. I thought about the number of churches in Hamburg. There were the five main Lutheran buildings for a start. I tried to think about what routes I would need to take to avoid them all.

On Thursday evening, I sent for takeout. Dieter would be useless for weeks and I had no desire to see him anytime soon. There are tastier morsels in my contacts list. He was the closest and the first available when I needed dosed blood, stat. 

I doubt Donna and Irma weigh as much as Dieter combined. Both skinny waifs, even in their 30s, I can’t feed on them but once or twice a year. Even then, I need both of them to get a decent meal. I need them both for other reasons too. You’d only be jealous if I told you about it. Needless to say, I don’t only send for them when I want blood.

They are a silly pair, but distracting enough. Willing hosts, but I do have to adjust their minds to keep them saying something indiscreet to the wrong person. They always remember our encounters but have no desire to talk about them beyond my four walls. Even with each other, it would boil their brains to say anything. A few knowing looks are all that are permitted to pass between them.

Often, when I have retired to my tomb, they remain in the house to say all the things they want to say on the subject of me. I hear every word. Upon leaving, their lips are sealed and can say no more until I contact them. Controlling? Of course. I am a vampire you know.

They took my mind off the events of the previous days. We had the usual disagreements about music. I favour the harsher forms of heavy metal. Black, death, thrash. They lean towards the kind of bubblegum rock that barely even qualifies as music, let alone metal. Still, watching them strip to Unskinny Bop is arousing, if teeth grindingly cliché.

Later, when they were drained and lying in my arms in the four poster bed, I could listen to music I chose. Opeth’s Damnation played as I stared at the Michelangelo reproduction stitched into the underside of the tester.

I ran my tongue over my soft palate. The taste had changed once again. Liquorice, I thought. Something else. I licked behind my lips. H’m. Vanilla. The only vanilla thing that had passed in this bed that night.

I got up. I had taken more from them than I intended. They would sleep for hours after I retired to my true bed. It wouldn’t be the first time. Hurriedly dressing. Enduring the walk of shame to their jobs in the city. At least they had brought a change of clothes this time.

I paced. There were five floors to chose from, including the basement and attic. I don’t think I noticed it until the third pass. I was too absorbed in my thoughts to pay attention. At least on a conscious level. It was like a dark shadow at the back of my mind. A patch of negative space hanging there. Even when I was standing right in front of it, it took my undead brain a few seconds to register what was missing.

It was me. I was stood in front of the floor length dress mirror at the foot of the stairs. Its burnished gold frame enclosed a portrait view of the hallway. The banister to the left. The red pine flooring. The Durer and Hans Holbein hanging on the back wall. What wasn’t reflected was any trace of me.

It’s another vampire trope. That we don’t show up in mirrors and other reflective surfaces. I have had many conversations with other vampires over the years, usually after feeding on the drunk or stoned, about how that would even work. How being undead could render you immune to the laws of optics and relativity.

Yet here it was. I did what anyone would do when faced (or not) with such a sight. I picked up various items from the hat rack (flat cap, baseball cap, opera hat) and waived them about in front of where I should be. They seemed to hang in the air by some invisible force. That was until I placed them on my head. Then they too disappeared.

Already the wheels were turning in my head. On Wednesday I couldn’t go near St Michael’s Church. Today I had no reflection. What next? I thought about Donitz’s quip about having to be invited into buildings.

I checked the time. Half three. I reached out to Erik. He was knocking off soon. I made him understand I needed him for half an hour maximum. I could have made him come to me. Instead, I offered him a hundred Euro.

The nearest church was St. Nicholas’s. Not the prettiest of religious buildings. What remains of the old spire is decent enough. The new church is fuck ugly. I’m sure it had a certain charm when the spire was first cast in copper. But like all brass and copper artifacts, oxidation had long since rendered it that familiar shade of pale green.

Approaching, I felt nothing. Not a twinge. I made Erik pull up in front of the grey brick monstrosity on top of which the spire stood. I got out and walked right up to it. Nothing. I touched the brickwork, then walked to the back, where the rest of the church was constructed in redbrick.

I scaled the side, which isn’t a simple feat for me as it is for Donitz. I walked on top of the once copper dome that capped the chapel, now as green as the spire. I could easily break inside, but I knew it wasn’t necessary. Whatever arbitrary piece of vampire lore applied yesterday was no longer in effect. I thought about telling Erik to take me to Vlad’s. Then decided to wait until tomorrow. It would be uncourteous to my guests.

I spent some time with my sleeping beauties before retiring to my tomb. I read for a couple of hours then gave the harpies a psychic alarm call. I listened to their chitchat as they showered together and made breakfast. Only when they were in a taxi heading for the financial sector did I finally manage to sleep the sleep of the dead.

Walking the parks that night, the bushes rustled with nothing more non-consensual than foraging squirrels. I had to navigate a lot of police tape to get through. News of the free buffet had spread.

At Vlad’s, all the mirrored services were covered. Disquiet was on the faces of many of my fellow vampires. I found Julian and Hans in the same function room as my last visit. Heated debate was going on with the other Elders of the Hamburg coven. I listened to their spirited conversation until the meeting disbanded.

“So it’s not just me then.” I said.

“No,” Hans replied without turning around. “We are all in the same boat.”

“Any idea on what’s causing it?”

“Too many ideas.”

“Any consensus?”

“None. We are like werewolves in a cattle shed.”

Unsure which way to turn.

“What have you been able to deduce?” Julian asked.

“Not much.” I said. “The humans know nothing of course. I did perform a little experiment, but I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

I told them of my experience at St Michael’s and the later clamber onto St Nicholas’s.

“Crucifixes are also as benign as once they were. “ Julian said.

“The brethren are afraid of what comes next.” Hans added.

“We might be able to go out in the daylight.”

“We might also become susceptible to moonlight.” Hans replied. “It is, after all, just reflected sunlight.”

Another curious topic of conversation when everyone’s drunk doped blood.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I said. “If we are to assume we are cycling through fictional vampires tropes, well every writer from Stoker to Rice to Meyer has added to the myth in their own way. Screen writers too. Rejected some tropes. Gone in hard on others.”

“I must admit-” Julian said, “I haven’t engaged in vampire stories in decades. All that Hammer Horror stuff was quite enough.”

“The first couple were ok.” I told him. “They became increasingly tedious after that.”

“So you’re up to date with this stuff.” Hans said.

“Somewhat. Freddie Gantz is the real expert. He wrote an entire encyclopedia of vampire cinema.”

“Make a note to speak to him.” Julian said. “Thank you Michael.”

I went downstairs. It was rock night. We moshed the night away to Sabbath, Slayer and Sepultura. Fangdangoed to Darkthrone. Zombie scuffed to funeral doom. I hooked up with a couple of other psychics in a room upstairs.

The next two days passed without incident. I walked the streets at night. Sat, unseen, in bars around Wallring. I considered how this mirror problem wasn’t an issue for me as it was for others of my kind. I have always been able to render myself invisible to the minds of humans.

It’s like the way you’re brain deletes the image of your nose, even though it is always prominent in the centre of your vision. In fact, the trick to invisibility isn’t all that different. I simply subtract my image from your field of vision. Though not seeing myself in the reflective surfaces of Rorschach’s and Black Light was putting me off.

In the early hours of Monday, I felt the need to feed again. I didn’t feel like takeout or house calls. I wanted to hunt something. Fortunately in Hamburg there are plenty such things to choose from.

I found myself in Poppenbüttel: A leafy suburb north east of the airport. Chalk white residential buildings hide from the main road behind rows of trees. The perfect place for a hunt.

It didn’t take long to find a suitable quarry. I will spare you the details of his transgressions. Let’s just say he was a stepfather and leave it at that.

This is where being a psychic vampire really comes into its own. I don’t need to confront my victim. He never even has to see me. Not until it’s too late.

Donitz and his kind would be hovering outside the bedroom window, tapping on the glass. Giving it the whole Salem’s Lot, Let the Right One In bit.

Not me. I might climb a tree, like tonight, where one is available. For comfort as much as anything else. It saves energy spent masking my presence so I can sow disquiet in the mind of my mark.

I hummed the tune to Anthrax’s Time while I worked. Paranoia. Amped up until he was wired. Lying in bed next to his wife. Staring at the ceiling. I could virtually feel the heat as his face burned in the darkness. Taste the sweat dribble down his back. The creeping unease. The growing certainty he had to get away from here.

By the time he emerged from the house in grey sweats and a thick blue fishing sweater, I was already on the ground next to his Peugeot 301. He didn’t see me as I climbed into the back passenger side. Our doors slammed together. He seemed to register the redoubled noise, but it didn’t penetrate too deeply into his conscious. He was already too strung out. I licked my incisors. I was already salivating.

We set off with a squeal of tires. He hit the main road without stopping and drove away from the city.

He had no more idea where he was going than I did. All he knew was he had to flee. All I knew was I wanted him out in the wilderness.

The thing that worried me was he was driving so fast, he might get himself killed or arrested before I could sink my teeth into him.

On the road through the Oberalsterniederung reserve, I instructed him to pull onto the verge. There would be little to no traffic at this time in the early morning. He pulled up. He turned off the engine. I let him stay there awhile.

The thing about this mirror trope was even if I wanted to reveal myself to him, I couldn’t. No suddenly appearing in the rear view mirror as I have infrequently done over the years. The only thing for it was to plant my feet either side of the gear box column and lean forwards.

He froze with fear as my presence became known to him. I could feel the heat for real now. The fear. I licked the trail of sweat rolling down his jaw line. Then I whispered ever so softly:

“Run.”

I let him get quite far across the field before I went in pursuit. I might not be as fast as Donitz, but I can sprint quickly enough to outpace a human (Usain Bolt’s got nothing on me). I have the added advantage of not needing to breathe.

It was, to say the least, a disappointing hunt. He was already slowing before I left the car. I was practically walking to catch up to him.

I now worried he would have a coronary before I took him. The trope of not drinking from the blood of the dead isn’t quite true, but it’s not far off. It’s more a matter of practicalities than anything else. Blood starts to congeal immediately after death. Without the heart to keep it in motion, it becomes like jelly.

I was bored, so I skipped the usual rituals. Often I make them confess their sins to me on bended knees. I make them promise to reform their ways, letting them believe salvation is at hand.

It’s the hope that kills you. It also makes the blood taste sweeter. I slash the jugular with a hunting knife and catch the blood in a golden chalice. All very silly. I just like to watch the look on their face as the life drains out of them.

This one wasn’t worth the pageant. I dragged him into a copse of trees and threw him to the ground. He begged in between wheezing. I actually thought about it. For about five seconds. Then I descended upon him.

Fucker couldn’t even get that right. His blood tasted like soap. Not nice soap, like you get in Lush or the Body Shop when that was still a thing. No. This was ordinary soap from a secondary school bathroom.

My mother would be happy, if she was still alive. She always threatened to wash my mouth out whenever she caught me swearing. I kept expecting to feel bubbles in my mouth

I spat the last mouthful onto the sodden turf. He wasn’t quite dead. I could have let him bleed out, but I was annoyed so I broke his neck.

He wouldn’t stay undiscovered for long this close to the road. I called a recovery service, but there was something wrong with the connection. I could hear noises in the background, but it was muffled, like when someone butt dials you. The line went dead after a couple of minutes. I tried again with the same result.

Plan B. I carried his body back to car and stuck it in the boot. I still didn’t have a reflection. I drove carefully to a breaker’s yard on the opposite side of Hamburg that keeps odd hours.

“What’s wrong with your lot tonight?” Jorg asked as I handed over a fistful of Euros.

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve had three calls tonight from numbers it’s dangerous to recognise. I can hear noise in the background when I answer, but there’s no one there.”

Curious.

I called Dieter.

“Hello.” he said with a sleepy voice.

“It’s me.”

“Hello.” he repeated.

“Can you hear me?”

“I know you’re there.” he said. “I can hear noise in the background.”

“Hello? Hello? Dieter. Hello.”

"I can assure you this is not the least bit amusing.”

I would’ve tried again, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear me. I knew, because I knew what this was. It was bad. I could handle it, but others were in deep shit. I also started to understand what was happening. Yeah. This was very bad.

“I need you to call me an Uber.” I said, handing my phone to Jorg.

He made to argue. I made it so he didn’t.

It was late by the time I reached Vlad’s.

“We’re invisible.” I said to Hans as I barged into his office.

“We know that.” he said.

“No. I mean to everything. Cameras. Phones. Microphones. Everything.”

“Well that would certainly explain a lot.” Julian said as he came up behind me.

“Whoever heard of such a thing?” Hans said.

“Channel 4.” I told him.

“Channel 4?”

Julian perched on the end of the oak desk.

“UK TV channel.”

I knew I had to start with basics.

“There was a show in the 90s.Ultraviolet. The show’s whole shtick was we’re not just invisible in mirrors but to all recording equipment. If a vampire wanted to communicate on the phone, they had to use a voice box like Stephen Hawking.”

It was actually a decent show. Six episodes. The vampires were antagonistic, but not cartoonishly so. Half the cast went on to be Hollywood superstars.

“So that is what this is.”

“Yes. We need to avoid crowed areas. The first person with a camera phone notices we aren’t on screen, we’re fucked. The slayers will have a field day.”

Ultraviolet couldn’t be remade today, I thought.

“We’ll let everyone know.”

“How?” Hans asked.

“Send a group message on Signal.” I said.

I could feel my face contorting at the other thing I had to tell them.

“What?” Julian asked.

He always was the more astute of the two. Good emotional intelligence for a vampire.

“I think I’m the one causing this.”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because the changes happen when I feed.”

Julian and Hans exchanged a look.

“Or at least they seem to.”

I explained how I fed on Donna and Irma the other night and then I was invisible to mirrors. Tonight I killed the paedo and next thing Dieter couldn’t hear me on the phone.

“A coincidence.” Julian said.

“Right.” Hans agreed. “You didn’t notice the changes until you fed.”

“Then why haven’t there been more changes? I feed less often than the rest of you. Isn’t it odd for them to track with when I do feed?”

“Michael.” Hans said with a patronising air. “With the greatest will in the world, this sounds like a God complex. What makes you think you alone can change the nature of reality?”

“I’m not saying it’s me alone. But I seem to be the trigger.”

“I think we can all agree-“ Julian interjected, “that two data points are not enough to draw any firm conclusions. When will you feed again?”

“Probably not for days.” I said. “Though I have been feeding more often since the event.”

“The same is true for all of us.” Julian replied. “I suggest an experiment. The next time you need to feed, contact me. We shall visit a suitable host and I will observe the process. See if anything changes. Ok?”

“Yes. Thank you Julian.”

“I will see you soon.”

The following few days dragged like the pre-Cambrian epoch. I was nervous to leave the house. I didn’t know how much I could control my invisibility from others. My mental tricks don’t work on everybody. The hit rate is high enough that it usually doesn’t matter. Now I could foresee any number of ways in which it could go wrong.

I read, but my mind drifted at various points. I would read ten pages of a particular novel with no recall of what had happened.

I turned on the TV, something I almost never do, and caught up on the events of the last two weeks.

Already there were whole documentaries on the thing they were calling The Rupture. A tedious pun on The Rapture, which fundamentalist Christians have been harping on about for decades, despite it being an 18^th century invention that doesn’t feature anywhere n the Bible. Not even in Revelation.

Two thirds of the Earth’s population had vanished. Yet unlike rapture, where all the faithful were supposed to be taken up to heaven, there was no rhyme or reason to who vanished and who remained. As many Muslims had vanished as Christians. As many of both groups remained. The same was true for Jews, Hindus, Buddhists and Atheists. Also vampires.

That didn’t stop the most deluded trying to claim this as Armageddon. I caught one very funny interview with a Southern Baptist pastor and watched the faith die in his eyes in real time as he was asked why, if this was the Rapture, he hadn’t been taken up. Did God considered him unworthy?

I’m sure he would later reframe it so he had been left behind as God’s messenger on Earth. But in that moment as the realisation passed over his oleaginous features, I would so dearly liked to have tasted his blood.

Despite the soapy aftertaste, the abuser’s blood sustained me for nearly five days before I felt the urge return. Not that long really. I have on occasion gone a fortnight or more without feeding. Once I lasted a month. Although that was as much an endurance test as anything else. A flying vampire would be a desiccated husk after going so long without blood.

I contacted Julian. It was tedious having to do it through text rather than speaking. Nothing had changed. Audio-video communication was still impossible. I thought I should have forced myself to feed sooner than now. If I was responsible for this, I was putting my brethren in danger by delaying matters.

I knew I was being hard on myself. Endurance tests aside, we feed when we feed. It can’t be forced. The Thirst is all. It tells us when we need blood. Feed when you don’t need it and you can make yourself ill.

I arranged to meet Julian at the home of another of my hosts. Lise is an exotic dancer. I knew she wouldn’t finish work until close to 3am. Which guaranteed fewer people out and about when we went to see her.

I met Julian close to her apartment, not far from St Michael’s church. We waited in the shadows for Lise’s return.

“What am I? A blood bank?” she asked when we approached her outside the door to her block.

She always was a feisty one. She looked good in her leggings and leather jacket. Blonde crop fluttering in the breeze. If Julian hadn’t been there, I’d be after more than blood.

“Julian’s just an observer.” I told her.

“Kinky sort is he?”The half smile played on her lips. “Well I suppose you better come in then.”

The living room was a mess. Greasy pizza box on the coffee table. A clothes horse that seemed to contain nothing but g-strings drying in a corner.

“I wasn’t expecting company.” Lise said, defensively, as I cast my eye around the room.

She removed the pizza and threw the clothes in a lilac basket. I sat with Julian at opposite ends of the leather sofa. Neither of us spoke.

“Right.” Lise said when she returned to the room, standing over us with her hands on her hips. “So what’s this experiment?”

“Not an experiment.” I said. “You don’t have to do anything you haven’t done for me before.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

She stuck her tongue out at me. I mirrored the gesture.

I gave her the general gist without saying anything much about the consequences . Lise went into a long monologue about the horror of what had happened.

“But then, you know, life goes on and unfortunately my landlord is still stubbornly present on this Earth and I had to go back to work. The tips were big for the first week. Then everything went back to normal.”

“Could we hurry this along?” Julian muttered to me.

“Lise!” I said firmly when she continued monologging.

She stopped mid sentence and glared at me. Again, if Julian wasn’t there we would play this game to its conclusion. It’s the foreplay with Lise that makes her blood taste so sweet.

“I need blood. Now.”

“Yes master.”

If only she meant it.

“Somewhere inconspicuous.” she said. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

“Yes mistress.”

I bit the underside of her arm, close to the armpit. I could smell her growing wet between the thighs. Sucking her blood does that to her.

As I fed, I looked at Julian. I thought I saw something in his eyes. A shining light like golden orbs.

It was there for a moment then faded as I took my fill of Lise. She tasted like apples.

“How do you feel?” Julian asked me.

“I was about to ask you the same question.”

“I feel.. different. Something has changed.”

“We need a mirror.” I told Lise.

“Take your pick.”

Right. Lise has mirrors everywhere. There’s even one behind the hob so she can check herself out while she cooks.

I turned around to the one above the mantel. My reflection stared back at me. I heard Julian stand: Saw his image peer over my shoulder in the glass.

“We’re back.” I said.

“That’s not all.” Julian replied. “There is something else. I can feel it.”

“What?”

“Not sure. Hang on.”

His body contorted into a weird shape. Then he was gone. In his place, a large bat flapped around the room.

Lise screamed. I covered her mouth and psychically commanded her to be quiet. She struggled but her vocal chords were frozen.

With a puff, the bat was gone. Julian stood before us.

“Fascinating.” he said with all the emotion of Mr Spock.

Turning into a bat is another of those tropes real vampires find hilarious. We might be unusual creatures, but we are not inherently impossible. We’re much bigger than bats. We have completely different anatomies. How would that even work?

And yet here it was.

“You try.” Julian told me.

Before I could make a move, Lise pulled at my sleeve and shook her head. She pointed to the window.

The single opening at the top of the window frame didn’t appeal to me. I went into the kitchen and opened the back door to the fire escape.

I stood on the wrought iron mesh and pulled the same shapes Julian had made. Nothing happened at first. Or second. I closed my eyes and tried to let it happen naturally. When I opened them again, I was twenty feet above the black metal and rising.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately describe the experience of flying. I was me but I was not me. I was smaller. Perhaps a tenth my normal size. Yet I retained the same sense of my human frame like a phantom limb.

The lights of Hamburg twinkled beneath me. I saw St Michaels spire. Cars moving down the main road immediately to its north. The strip of Wallring parks that ran all the way to the Elbe, black as obsidian.

I wanted to climb higher, but the dawn comes earlier the further up you go. I tempered my wonder and started to descend.

My ears popped as I rematerialised in humanoid form. Julian had climbed halfway to the next level to watch me. Lise was sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. I guess I wasn’t getting lucky tonight.

“Amazing.” Julian said.

“We’re not in Kansas any more.”

“Do you think that is all?”

“How do you mean?”

He looked at me.

“I have an idea, but I don’t want to upset the young lady any more than we already have.”

Annoyingly, he had a point.

I knelt in front of Lise. I took her hands in mine and kissed the palms.

“It’s ok.” I told her. “We’ll leave you now.”

She nodded, meekly. I hoped we hadn’t broken her. I made a mental note to check on her in a day or two. Events overtook that promise.

“So what’s this idea?” I asked Julian when we were back on the street.

“H’m,” he said. “I need somewhere dark.”

We found an alleyway. The kind Batman’s parents were killed in.

“Ok.” Julian said when we found a patch of shadow. “Tell me when you can only see my eyes.”

A bit of trial and error and the effect was achieved.

“Ok.” he said. “Now.”

I used the torch on my handy to light the place where he was concealed. Instead of Julian, there stood a Julian shaped mass of rats. They fell to the ground under the light and scattered.

“So you have seen some vampire movies.” It was all very Gary Oldham. “Turn into fog and I’ll really be impressed.”

We gave it a go. Assuming gaseous form seemed to be beyond our powers.

I should rightly have gone with Julian to Vlad’s and issued our report to Hans together. However, it was late. The sun would be up in another ninety minutes. I vowed to come the following evening.

Julian changed into his bat form and fluttered off into the night. I followed suit, taking a circuitous route to admire a bat’s eye view of the city. The encroaching sun kept me from climbing much higher than the rooftops. It was a close run thing to get back to the house in time.

I lay awake in the darkness, wondering what was to come. Whatever it was, it would come sooner rather than later. I had deliberately taken less from Lise than usual. I wanted to give anything disastrous short shrift by needing to feed again in another day or two.

It turned out to be a mixed blessing. I wanted to spend days, nights rather, exploring the Jutland coast on the wing. I doubted I would get even one night after the vampire council tied me up for half the night.

Nevertheless, I was out an hour after sunset. I wouldn’t be expected at Vlad’s for a couple of hours. The ones who need to feed every night would be out for blood.

I took to the air and worked my way up the Elbe towards the coast. I estimated I was doing around twenty miles an hour. It would take hours to reach the mouth to the North Sea at that speed.

I wondered how far a vampire could fly in a night. In December, when the sun is at its weakest, we could maybe make it as far as Amsterdam or Copenhagen. One would have to pregame. Fill up on blood before departing. Probably stop to refuel along the way.

I glided wherever possible, completing a long arc back to the city. It seemed I wasn’t the only one out to enjoy the night air. There were dozens of other bats hovering over the city. Hundreds in fact. I came to realise vampires from across Northern Europe had travelled to hear my report. I heard their thoughts as I moved between them. Their anxieties. Their accusations.

Being a bat gave me a certain anonymity. That vanished as soon as I returned to my earthbound form. Vlad’s was packed. I didn’t need to be psychic to hear their whispers as I walked amongst them.

“There he goes.”

“He’s the one.”

“Daybreak him and have done with it. He’s a danger to us all.”

This meeting was the real danger we faced. So many vampires in town was bound to be noticed by the slayers. I told Hans as much as I entered his office.

“I don’t disagree.” he said. “But news travels fast. Ever since communications were restored, there’s been disquiet. We have coffins inbound from New York, Moscow and Beijing. There are a lot of powerful vampires who want to meet you, Michael.”

“The Vatican are even sending someone.” Julian said as he joined us.

“The Vatican?” I said, confused.

“Our kind have been serving the church for centuries. Who do you think performs midnight mass?”

“Must have been tough when the churches were verboten .”

“And how.” Hans said. “Which is why they want to speak to you.”

“But what can I tell them? I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“No one’s saying you are.”

“Try telling that  to some of those Nosferatu looking mother-fuckers down there.”

“No harm will come to you.”

“How reassuring.” I said.

“Now come now, Michael.” Julian said. “We want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do. Even if we wanted to take terminal action against you, what use would it serve? We could find ourselves stuck in whatever iteration of vampire lore we find ourselves.”

“Yes.” I said. “Unless you slew me right when it was advantageous to stay as you are. If you became daywalkers for instance.”

From the look that passed between them, I could see they had thought of it. Probably discussed it at length.

“We don’t kill our own, Michael.” Hans said. “Not without cause.”

Not a denial.

Our meeting was even less reassuring. They wanted to hold it in-camera in one of the usual meeting rooms. There would have been a riot on the dance floor. It was more like a rally, all of us stood on the gantry above the crowd. I felt like I was in a 90s movie. The Crow or Strange Days or something like that. Blade.

“We can’t say for sure what is causing these changes.” Julian shouted above their protests.

“It’s him.”

“Burn him.

“Bury him.”

“Yeah. Ice him until we know how he’s doing this.”

“You think I’m enjoying this?” I shouted as my temper boiled over. “You think I’m having fun? I’m as much a victim as any of you. Ice me if you want. That’s right. Stick me six feet underground. It might work. You might also get stuck this way.”

Angry shouts gave way to mumbled conversations amongst themselves.

Hans placed a hand on my shoulder. I shrank back between the elders.

“I think we can all agree-“ he said to the crowd, “that no-one knows what is going on. I think we can also agree that this many vampire in one place is a danger to us all.

The indignation began to return.

“Go back to your own covens. Make sure you are subscribed to the Hamburg group chat. We will notify you the next time Michael is about to feed so you can prepare yourselves.”

“When will that be?” a polite voice asked from the back.

Hans looked at me.

“Tomorrow.” I said. “Friday at the latest.”

“Make sure you do.” a more threatening voice shouted.

Someone else said something I didn’t catch through the haze of projected hatred. Whatever it was, it made them laugh. Fifteen minutes later, the space was half as full of vampires as it had been.

The ones who stayed were enjoying themselves. Winged creatures circled above the dance floor. Some had worked out how to take bat form but retain their human size. They couldn’t fly, but they could fuck. We could hear their squeals over the music.

“I should probably leave from the roof.” I told Hans and Julian when we were back in the office.

“If you like.” Hans said. “But they are more than able to track you if they choose.”

Though I didn’t say it aloud, I was more worried about slayers lying in wait. If they weren’t out in force tonight, they would be by tomorrow.

Emerging from the fire door onto the flat gravelled roof, I found Donitz there with Lara.

“Don’t mind me.” I told them.

I could see they were engaged in passionate conversation.

“Herr Painter, a word.” Donitz said, breaking off to approach me.

“I hope you and I do not have a problem, Herr Donitz.”

“Quite the reverse.” he replied. “You stood by me when I was accused by my peers. It is time I repay the favour.”

“That is very noble of you, Herr Donitz, but I’m not sure there is much you can do at the moment.”

“When the time comes then, Herr Painter. I stand ready.”

“Anything I can obtain from the land of the living.” Lara added. “Let me know.”

I blew her a kiss.

“I shall take my leave of you, Herr Donitz.”

“Herr Painter.”

We shook hands. It was all very chivalrous. The Germans are experts at this shit.

Hans was dead wrong. As soon as I took flight, I knew I was being tailed. Three or four bats were following me from a safe distance. Or so they thought.

Obviously they weren’t native to Hamburg. I led them a merry dance south of the river. More leafy suburbs. I shook them off around Wilhelmsburg with an ancient tactic known as: hiding in a tree.

I took the scenic route back, sweeping out as far as Bergedorf castle. I encountered other bats on the way, but went unmolested. As long as I remained in this form, I had a certain amount of anonymity. I tried not to think too much in case other psychic vampires picked up on my thoughts.

Home didn’t seem like a safe option. My address was well known to the Hamburg fraternity and I didn’t trust many of them not to sell me out.

Vampires are like Mafiosos. We have our safe houses when we need to go to the mattresses. Places known only to us and a handful of familiars and hosts. Though with my mental skills, even my hosts didn’t remember the location of my hideout. I’m certainly not going to tell you where it is. Not that it matters any more.

Suffice to say, it was a basement flat in a residential area. Two bedroom. The main bedroom was a blind. The spare room was where my coffin was concealed beneath the bed frame. A cleaner came twice a month. A host came on the off-weeks to make a mess.

I blacked out the windows and paced. I felt caged. Trapped. I didn’t dare retire before dawn even though I was sure I was safe. For now. I had taken a staggered route and stopped on the way to watch for stalkers. My one concern was my actions had themselves drawn someone’s attention.

It was an hour after dawn before I felt secure enough to lift the bed to reveal the coffin beneath it. Velvet lined, but otherwise cramped and functional. Booby trapped to the tits.

I don’t know how long I slept before the screams awoke me. Oh no, I thought. Not again. But this was different  from The Rupture. In a few moments I realised the slayers had made their move. Lairs all across the city had been raided. I heard the cries of my brethren. Felt their death throes in my bones. How many had been attacked, I couldn’t gauge.

The slayers didn’t have it all their own way. I said my kind are hard to kill and such we are. I had one shining vision of a vampire taking out four of the fuckers while a stake lay buried in his chest. Their blood quickly healed the wound when he ripped it free. It seemed he wasn’t the only one to survive.

I lay in my coffin, listening for movement outside. But if vampires didn’t know where I was, the slayers certainly didn’t. I wondered if they had attacked my home and found it empty. Would they torch the place out of spite? There was one thing I knew for certain. I would be blamed for this.

I spoke to Julian in the evening. Thirteen vampires had been killed in the city. Twice as many slayers. None of the Elders had been targeted, but they all have high grade personal security. They’re also much harder to kill.

We agreed it was best I made myself scarce until tempers cooled. I told him about my escort home. He agreed it was concerning, but I got that same sense they were waiting for their moment to use me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the ones who followed me were in Hans’s employ.

The call ended with Julian reiterating I was to inform him at least an hour before I intended to feed. An eternity for a thirsting vampire. The bloodlust comes on oh so fast.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I kept a single bookcase for appearances sake. Boring thrillers and Stephen King novels. The kind you would expect to find in a 30 something’s bachelor pad. There was a stack of CDs, which were more to my taste. King Diamond. Opeth. Hamburg’s very own Helloween (the city was the birthplace of Power Metal).

I selected a Rammstein album, which seemed closer to my mood. Sehnsucht. Good album. Though I realised Du Hast was on this one. Du. Du hasst. Du hasst mich. Well if they didn’t before, they did now.

While that was playing in the background, I put the TV on and watched news with the sound muted. It was interesting to see how slowly the world was waking up to the extent of what had happened. The stock markets had obviously crashed, but like the Wall Street Crash, it had taken days, weeks even, to realise how badly. In 1929 it was from the low bandwidth of the communication networks with the whole thing being largely done by Morse code and ticker tape.

Now, it was because there were so few people left to analyse the data. You would of thought common sense was enough to work it out. A third of the population remaining meant a third as many people to manufacture goods. A third many people to buy the products of that manufacturing. Ergo, a third of the capital.

However, it also meant a third of the impact to the natural world. A third as much co₂  being pumped into the atmosphere. Though judging from the emotive headlines on the mute screen, factories and power stations had largely ground to a halt.

Many monarchs and world leaders had disappeared with everyone else (privilege was no barrier to The Rupture). A lot of the worst ones were gone, as well as most of the few good. Several counties were in open revolt at the loss of their spiritual lodestones. The military was also reduced to a third, impacting their ability to quell those uprisings. The people who vanished left a lot of weaponry to fall into rebel hands.

Europe seemed quite sedate by comparison. Western Europe at least. Hamburg was bombed to smithereens by the RAF during the Second World War. So was most of Germany. It bounced back quickly enough after the Nazis were gone. I was 14 when it ended. I remember the Anderson Shelters. I remember the bombed out buildings. Many of them were still there when I came here and turned.

Vampires more than anyone else were isolated from much of this. As long as blood was available and the sun set at night, there wasn’t much danger to us. The Hamburg coven and its unvirons had survived pretty much untouched. Despite what Hans and Julian reported, it seemed our fate had been decided in a different way to the humans. Those out during the Rupture died. Those of us who avoided the daylight survived. You’d think we’d be happy with that.

Only I had to go and spoil it by doing whatever it was I was doing to change the nature of vampires. I had no answers. It didn’t make sense. Then when had vampires ever make sense?

I thought about my own making as a vampire. My accidental making. I met Marcus in a bar on the Reeperbahn. He told me what he was. I laughed. He wanted me as a host and a lover. I recoiled. I was still quite homophobic in those days. Most people were.

I rejected his advances and left. He wasn’t to be denied. He followed me via the rooftops, then ambushed me and dragged me behind the Moulin Rouge. His teeth sank into my jugular. I realised if I wouldn’t let him leech from me voluntarily, he intended to kill me outright.

Even before I became a vampire, I had a sixth sense about these things. Maybe I always was a little psychic. I struggled against his embrace as he drained the first two pints from my neck. I went limp, letting him think the fight had gone out of me. He loosened his grip a little. Which was when I shived him with the shard of glass I’d pocketed from a skip.

Marcus screamed in anger and agony as he released me. The life was draining out of me as I slid down the wall. I landed in a heap amongst the rubbish. I just had time to enjoy the sight of my attacker’s horror at the twelve inch wedge protruding from his neck. Blood, my blood, was spraying from the wound.

I closed my eyes.

I barely registered the drops falling on my face: On my lips.

When I awoke, thirty seconds or thirty minutes later. the world had changed. We really do see in technicolour in the dark. Everything glistens. Luminesces.

Marcus was slumped not far away. He wasn’t dead. No more than he’d been before he met me. He was, however, severely compromised. Without blood, he wouldn’t last the night. Or rather, he would lie here, inert, until dawn.

Looking at him, I felt an uncontrolled rage rising inside me. More than, I felt the desperate thirst for blood. I wrenched the shard from his neck and drank.

As I drained him, I received my first psychic vision. Marcus was a pup himself. He’d been made in Berlin a couple of years before and came to Hamburg after hearing about our coven’s reputation. Most of the Hamburg vampires kept him at arm’s length. With an eternity to spare, it can take decades for new vampires to ingratiate themselves.

He mumbled something through bubbling lips. I left his body concealed behind piles of rubbish. It was late spring. I knew the sun would deal with him in a few hours. I slept in a bombed out building and began my life as a vampire.

I have never told anyone about Marcus. I invented a tale about visiting home and being fed on by some Canadian vampire who never told me his name. I didn’t know why he made me.

It wasn’t until the 80s that I felt remorse for what I had done to Marcus. I don’t think it was until the millennium that I made peace with my actions.

Maybe we could have been friends.

Then again, he had tried to kill me. I wasn’t the most virtuous of humans, but I was far from the worst. Marcus, however, was perfectly prepared to kill anyone who rejected his advances (I was far from the first, his blood told me). If I hadn’t dealt with him, a quorum would sooner or later have been formed to decide his fate.

I wondered if that was why I was the trigger for all this: Because I was made accidentally. Not just anyone is invited to become a vampire. Moreover, very few humans are capable of surviving the making. Drain most people of their lifeblood and they just die. That’s the bit they never tell you about in the vampire films.

Old vampire joke: What’s rarer than hen’s teeth? Vamp fangs.

I didn’t say it was a good joke.

I turned off the news and went channel surfing, looking for vampire movies. Then I dug out a laptop from a drawer and downloaded a bunch. Call it a data gathering exercise. The Thirst hadn’t yet retuned. So I decided to prepare myself for what random bit of lore might be triggered by my next feed.

We really do receive short shrift. Say what you like about Anne Rice, but at least she made us three dimensional. Yes, all that woe is me vampire angst is tedious, but it’s still better than Myers and her Christo-vegan horseshit. Rice made her vampires look glamorous. Myers made us look pathetic.

I watched Near Dark, which is just half the cast of Aliens hamming it up for all their worth. Bill Paxton’s character might as well have shouted, ‘Game over man’ for all the difference it would have made. Not a bad film, but the idea you can cure vampirism by a blood transfusion is laughable. I don’t think Kathryn Bigelow got the whole being undead thing.

Coppola’s Dracula is visually lavish but a mess in all other respects. Vampires love that movie for all the wrong reasons. They occasionally show it at Vlad’s along with Dracula, Dead and Loving It as a comedy double bill. Vampire in Brooklyn and that Hugh Jackman, Van Helsing atrocity are the other two that get paired together as comedies.

Blade and its sequels are far too silly to be offensive. Underworld and its sequels are far too idiotic to be watched.

I watched the first Hammer Dracula. Still good, even if some of the effects have dated poorly. Lee and Cushing are excellent together. I watched Interview With the Vampire because it’s horny as fuck. In reality, few of us look like Brad Pitt or Antonio Banderas. Stephen Rea is closer. He looks like he might actually be dead.

It was nearly dawn when I finished up with a vampire favourite, The Lost Boys. Seriously. Most vampires I know love that movie unironically. I mean, we don’t blow up when you stake us and if you kill the head vampire you just kill the head vampire. We don’t all revert back to being human any more than with blood transplants (have I mentioned the being undead thing?).

Other than that, it’s pretty good. Though why any vampire would chose to live in southern California is beyond me. Alaska is more likely. At least in the winter months. I made a note to rewatch 30 Days of Night.

I woke early and started watching the Salem’s Lot mini-series from the 70s (there’s a remake from the 2000s which is truly awful – an insult to vampires and humans alike). I mean, the main vampire is ludicrous. What if Nosferatu was bright blue and mostly made of Styrofoam? What if he had unimaginable power and yet was able to killed by David Soul leaning on him a bit and staking him? Lud-i-crous.

I hadn’t mean to watch the whole three hours, but it drew me in. Beguiled me like the stereotypical hypnotic vampire (a rare breed, but they do exist). What a pathetic site I must have made. A once proud vampire, reduced to the state of a couch potato.

Julian had been texting while Salem’s Lot went up in flames.

Any update.

I did feel a little thirsty. After the little I took from Lise, I was expecting to have be raging by now. Perhaps it was the pressure to perform. Another slight to my vampyric ego.

I decided to take advantage of our present ability to become bats and fly out to Lübeck. It would take at least three hours, but the Baltic coast is nearer than the North Sea. I might still be recognised, but Lübeck doesn’t have much of a vampire population these days. Vampires are more likely to drive there from Hamburg for a change of scenery.

I made my way to the roof, changing to my winged form before emerging into the night. I made a series of sweeps to ensure I wasn’t being watched. The coast seemed to be clear. I set off.

The longer I was in the air, the quieter became my inner monologue. For the last half of the journey I don’t remember thinking about anything at all. I hit a tailwind on the way out, speeding my flight. A headwind cancelled out that progress as I grew closer to the coast.

Lübeck isn’t really a coastal town. It sits on the River Trave that snakes into the Dassower See before joining the Baltic. It was the epicentre of the Hanseatic League. It did once have an (un)healthy vampire population during its glory years. That ended in the 17^th century when our kind migrated to other cities across the Holy Roman Empire. We made a kind of return in 1922 when much of Nosferatu was filmed there.

Thomas Mann is about the only person of note from Lübeck I could think of. Him and the commandant of Buchenwald. Gunter Grass lived here after the war. His house is preserved on Lübecker Altstadt, the island in the middle of the city.

It is actually a very beautiful place. It has preserved many of its medieval buildings (hence the Nosferatu filming, which is set in the 1830s), despite significant firebombing by the RAF during the war. It’s like Haarlem to Hamburg’s Amsterdam. Though Lübeck is significantly larger than Haarlem.

I walked the streets. It was half two in the morning. They were all but deserted. I texted Julian to say I would be feeding in the next hour. I turned off my phone without waiting for a reply.

Three o’clock was chiming from a distant church and I hadn’t found a likely host. This wasn’t a hunt. I wanted someone willing. I wanted to drink as little as possible to reduce the time spent being whatever version of vampires came next.

I scanned dozens of minds looking for someone amenable to donating their blood without too much adjustment. My wanderings brought me to St Lorentz Nord, to an apartment block with a faux Georgian façade. The graffiti on its beaver brown walls either side of the entrance belied the true state of the building.

The door buzzed as I approached.

I went inside.

When I reached the third of four floors, she was waiting for me in the doorway. 40s. Mousey brown. The lines on her face told a tale. So did the slip barely covering her slight frame. I smiled my most beguiling smile. Her face didn’t crack. I followed her over the threshold.

She was on her knees before five words had passed between us. It wasn’t unwelcome. For vampires, sex is pleasant enough. Even more so than for the living in many cases. But while we can get erections, orgasm even, our bodies don’t produce semen. I have received enough fellatio over more than half a century as a vampire to know people freak out when you dry come in their mouth. You’d think the lack of jizz would make us perfect lovers.

People are never happy.

Still, she initiated this. I’d only come for blood. I took her to the bedroom and worked her over for a while. She wasn’t difficult to please. Some people you only have to blow in their ear and they’re coming buckets. I faked my own orgasm and let her fall to my side on the bed. It was nearly four.

“You know what I’m am?” I said.

“Yes.” she said so softly even my ears struggled to hear.

“You know why I’m here.”

She nodded even more imperceptibly.

“I don’t have much time.” I said. “I still have to find somewhere to stay.”

“You can stay here.” Her voice was stronger now. “With me.”

Let’s see what happens, I thought.

We stood under the shower. I had one hand between her thighs as the other swept her wet hair aside and arched her neck. I bit into her. She tasted like decay.

Did you ever see The Shining? The bit in the hotel room. You know the bit I mean.

I closed my eyes as I drank her blood, continuing to stroke her with my other hand. When I opened them again, a monstrosity stared back at me.

It took a moment to register what I was seeing. In the steamed up glass, my image was visible. I looked like Nosferatu.

My mistake was recoiling at my own reflection. Because then Lorraine became immediately aware of me. She screamed. Who could blame her? Her screams got louder. I tried to control her with my mind, but I was discombobulated. I put my hand over her mouth, but that just made me aware of my comically long fingernails. My ugly hands.

I was just wondering if I was going to have to break her neck. Luckily that was the moment Lorraine decided to faint. Which I’m sure was a relief for both of us.

There was movement outside. People would be filling the stairwell any moment now. I deposited Lorraine’s unconscious frame in the bed and retrieved my clothes, which seemed to now consist of a serge suit and ankle length coat. Which was new.

Largely on a hunch, I climbed out of the bedroom window and scurried down the façade like Oldman’s Dracula. I slithered into the shadows.

On turning on my phone, there were a number of panicked messages from Julian:

What have you done?

No-one can talk aloud.

For the love of all that is unholy, feed again immediately.

DO NOT FUCK WITH US MICHAEL!!!

The last one was from Hans.

I didn’t know what to do. I tried speaking and indeed found I could not. Coupled with the change of dress, I had to assume we had all been rendered into some version of Max Schreck’s Count Orlok. Which meant silence. Was it just vampires, I wondered.

Julian was right. I had to find someone, anyone, to drink asap. I told him as much in my reply. He sent back a single word:

Hurry.

I mean, it was always going to be a drunk at this time of night. A piss stained paralytic. I was holding out for a policeman, but there’s never one around when you need one.

He was knocking into cars he was so far gone. The third time he set off the car alarm. However, there was absolutely no one else around and sunrise was fast approaching. I don’t think he ever even registered my presence. I dragged him into a back garden and took as little as I dared. His blood was about 100% proof. I felt light headed. He pissed himself as I withdrew my fangs. He was snoring as I left him propped up in the alleyway.

I looked at my hands. Normal. Felt my face. Likewise. I checked my phone.

Orlok be praised. We need to talk.

I bedded down in a chain hotel basement for the day. Usually a safe bet in case of an emergency.

When I woke inside a laundry cupboard shortly before sunset, there was a message from Lara:

Wherever you are, stay there. They’re looking for you.

There was nothing from Julian or Hans. Shortly after dusk, Julian messaged me.

We can’t cross water.

Huh. Good job I didn’t stay on Lübecker Altstadt the previous night.

I must admit I found it comical. Hamburg is basically all waterways. There used to be an initiation test for vampires where you had to go to a bar or public place and feed on the first person to mention that Hamburg has more canals than Venice and Amsterdam combined. The city had basically become a series of cages. Vampires hate cages.

At least it put pay to anyone coming for me. I wondered how far away I could get without crossing water. Not far. Kiel possibly with a bit of cross country driving. There was at least one river ran through the city that would prevent me making any further progress north to the Danish border. Though presumably this would all change when I fed again. I could drive to Kiel and wait.

As I told Julian, it would be days before I could feed again. I’d maxed out last night. The alcohol in the drunk’s blood made matters worse. It might be four or five days before the Thirst returned. The response was, to say the least, one of displeasure. I missed the days when they told me no one blamed me for what was happening.

It was odd. The prohibition on crossing water was pure folklore. But it usually has to do with not being able to wade through water. The old anti-Semitic tropes rearing their ugly heads with the associations with baptism.

Not being able to cross a bridge is more usually associated with witches and even then only at certain times of night. Midnight usually, like the witches who chase Tam O’Shanter in the Robert Burns poem (which partly inspired Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast). Vampires not being able to cross bridges was unusual. I wondered if it only applied after dark. I also wondered why no one had noticed it last night.

I messaged Lara.

As a daywalker, she didn’t seem to have any problem crossing water. She had already been tasked with ferrying nightwalkers around. The first one she took screamed over every bridge. The second passenger melted on her back seat. The trial run ended there. Their next idea was to have her deliver hosts making house calls. She said it made her feel like a pimp.

Lara didn’t know why no one noticed last night. Perhaps I was right and it only applied after dark. Maybe my last feed was close enough to dawn to delay matters. The plan was to take Donitz out in her boot during the day and see what happened.

There wasn’t much else for me to do. I took a room in the hotel with a windowless bathroom where I could sleep in the tub. A Do Not Disturb sign and a general psychic block over the threshold was enough to ensure my privacy.

The next few days passed slowly. I discovered there were rivers on every side that kept me hemmed into the north of the city. I could move from the north east to the south west in a forty five degree line. I thought how arbitrary all this was. After all, there were sewers beneath my feet. Water pipes too. What was special about open water?

Lara confirmed the water barriers only applied after dark. Blacked out vans were being used to ferry the brethren around during the day. The slayers had caught on and were having  a field day. She warned me vans were being prepared to come after me. When Julian asked me where I was, I flat out refused to tell him.

Then I went and did something stupid. I arranged to hire a car with blacked out windows so I could move to another part of the city during the day. I drove from one covered parking lot in my current hotel to a similar one on Lübecker Altstadt. The plan was to spend the night on the island and drive back in the light tomorrow.

My first mistake was coming anywhere so confining. The island is no more than a mile wide and maybe two long. Lübeck’s very own Île de la Cité. Lübeck Cathedral is nice enough, but not quite Notre Dame. There’s Gunter Grass House and a couple of museums (including the Marzipan Museum) and not a lot else to keep a vampire entertained during the night.

I brainwashed the guards to let me wander around St Anne’s Museum, but I soon grew bored with the Christian iconography. You don’t have to have a fear of crucifies to find the whole thing trite and more than a little offensive, given how many people have been killed because of these images. Vampires have suffered little persecution compared to other demographic groups.

My second mistake was coming anywhere so confining. If there were any of my kind stuck on this island, we were bound to run into one another.

I found her lurking around Marienkirche, the other main church on Lübecker Altstadt. She was one of Donitz’s kind. She was hanging from the brickwork like a salamander when I became aware of her.

”You!” she hissed as I looked up at her.

Her yellow eyes glowed from the shadows. She wore the mouth of madness. Probably a sensitive soul  before she was made, slowly driven mad by the things she had had to do to survive. Only necromancers are more dangerous and there aren’t many of them left.

I wanted to get away from her, but I knew she was quicker than me. Appealing to her reason didn’t seem much use. She seemed to have lost that decades ago.

“Want to get off this island?” I asked.

“How?”

I told her.

“If you cross me, I will gut you.”

“No you won’t. Not unless you want to get stuck like this.”

We went to the underground lot. She slithered into the dark recesses. I didn’t see her again until sunrise. She insisted on sitting in the back, still talking about disembowelling me if I double crossed her. Her clawed fingers rested on my shoulder like spider’s legs as we mounted the ramp and out into the day.

We crossed the bridge to St Lorentz Nord. Back underground, she was gone before I turned off the engine, slithering out through the back window. I was certain she’d be on the first phone, selling me out to my pursuers.

I set off for Kiel an hour later. In the end, it took barely an hour. I pushed on for Flensburg on the border with Denmark. I found a hotel down by the harbour and went to sleep for the rest of the day.

The border was a mile or two beyond the city limits. I didn’t know what to do now. I could push on for Copenhagen, but the Danish capital is crawling with bloodsuckers.

It could be done in three or four hours over the road bridges. From there, I could push on to Malmo and Sweden. Though since the bridge was completed between the two countries, Malmo has become an overspill town for the Copenhagen vampires.

I wondered if it wasn’t better to push on into Jutland. They wouldn’t be expecting that. But it would leave me cut off and surrounded if they figured out where I’d gone. If I made it to Sweden, I had a clear run all the way to Russia. I wouldn’t be the first vampire to disappear into Siberia.

I traipsed around the cobbled streets that could be any other town or city in Northern Germany, especially when your head is bowed and all you see are your feet. The harbour narrowed to a point that made it easy to pass onto the eastern bank. The only other open channels of water were out beyond the bulk of the town.

I sat in bars, perfectly concealed inside my cloak of invisibility. If only it worked half so well on my own kind. I doubted there was another vampire within forty miles of here. I wondered how long that would last. From Lübeck, there were only so many places I could go.

I still didn’t feel thirsty, but I was bored and frustrated. Thirst or not, I needed to force the issue. For my own sanity as much as anything else. I decided to forgo bars. I didn’t want to find myself inebriated if I had to make a run for it.

I wandered into a residential area with an uneven mix of redbrick and whitewashed buildings. I found my target easily enough. I’d heard him from more than a mile away. Trees were in plentiful supply. I took a seat and worked my rough magic.

This one was a challenge. He didn’t lie in bed, growing hot and paranoid. He finished what he was doing and came out swinging. He was screaming at me through the walls, where he thought I was concealing myself. I realised too late he was an extremely damaged soul. A typical case. The abused who becomes the abuser.

These are the ones you can sometimes fix with a little mental adjustment. Too late. The Thirst had risen inside me and it wouldn’t be satisfied with anything but his blood: All his blood. I hoped this next change would be a good one because I wouldn’t be feeding for a week or more after this.

While he was tearing at the walls, I commanded his victim to open the back door. I sent her into a kitchen cupboard and made my way up the stairs like the cinematic cliché of a vampire. The street lights cast my long shadow upon the wall.

As he turned to face me, I knocked him out with a single blow. He went down like a bag of bones. He was more Nosferatu than I had been. If he became a zombie, I thought, no one would even notice.

I bound and gagged him and dumped him in the boot of his car. I drove him to the hotel and transferred him to my car. I had to knock him out again as I did so.

I drove out to the woods to the east of the city. I had to cross one small channel of water. I screeched to a halt before the threshold. I closed my eyes and gunned the engine before releasing he handbrake. It burned like fuck.

He was kicking at the boot as I drove the car into the undergrowth. As I stood at the back of the car, I took his anger and reflected it back at him with compound interest. That took the fight out of him.

To his credit, he didn’t beg. He didn’t confess his sins nor ask me for absolution. He was defiant to the end, even as the last drop of his blood drained past my thirsty lips. He tasted of cigars and strong coffee. It was the tastiest meal I’d had since the disappearances.

I left him there. I knew of no removal services in Flensburg and I couldn’t use them even if I did. He would be found eventually, but I would be long gone. The only risk was alerting the brethren to my general direction of travel. Even then, there was only one way I could go from this coastal dead end.

I felt nothing as I returned over that same channel of water. I decided to push on into Denmark. I had blacked out windows and the ability to render them invisible to anyone who passed me on the road. I might as well use them.

When the sun hadn’t risen after eight, I started to understand what had happened.

Yeah. This one was bad. The vampire dream was being able to move around in daylight. Eternal nighttime was the next best thing. They would want to deal with me as soon as possible. This was the one they wanted to stick.

Blacked out windows were twice as conspicuous when they were unnecessarily. By the time I knew what was up, I was most of the way to Copenhagen. I had to hope my kind were engaged in an orgy of violence and wouldn’t notice me. I crossed into Sweden and kept going.

I got on the E4 for Stockholm, pulling into a village along the way to dump the Merc and pick up something less flash from a generous soul who wouldn’t remember what sort of car he used to have. Then I doubled back across country towards Gothenburg.

Apparently eternal darkness reduced our need for sleep. By midday, I wasn’t the least bit tired, despite driving for more than eight hours. Last night’s feast had left me full of energy. It also left me jumpy as hell.

I tried to decide what was the best way to go. North seemed obvious. Sweden is huge. Norway too. I could easily lose myself in the wilderness. Find a cave in the mountains and live on woodland creatures until I found a version of vampire legend I could use against the others. I just had to get there first.

By four I had reached the town of Säffle, two hundred kilometres north of Gothenburg and judged that was far enough for the day. The more I travelled,. the most I risked being found. They would have their best psychics on my trail soon enough. No matter how well I ‘fixed’ the gas station attendants along the way, there were more ancient ones who could tease information out of them (for tease, read torture). Not to mention all the vampires who work in law enforcement. CCTV would find me eventually.

I checked into a hotel and once again noted something extremely odd. No one I met during the day seemed the least bit surprised by the permanent darkness. They lived in perpetual fear of my kind, but it was a fear that had been present for some time. As far as the humans were concerned, the sun hadn’t risen in years.

This was something new. The changes until now had been singular and little more than mild inconveniences. The churches, the mirrors, the electronic recording devices (how I could do with that prohibition about now). Being a bat had been fun. Being Nosferatu had been a nightmare (for all of twenty minutes). Being unable to cross water had been the biggest inconvenience, but we had found a work around.

This though. This was on a whole other level. What on earth could possible come nest? What could top this?

I managed a few hours sleep, but was awake by four, wired and ready to go. I rejected the motorway for a single lane road that ran to the north west. I hadn’t meant to cross into Norway, but once I did, I kept going towards the coast.

Two full days travelling brought me to the fishing port of Narvik. I was amused to find the E45 on which I had travelled as far as Säffle came to this exact same place. The coastal road had fewer security cameras and better views, even in the endless night.

What I found as I drove further north was that the sun was still there, hovering beneath the horizon. The nearer I came to the Arctic Circle, the more twilight twinkled to the east. Narvik was right above the Arctic line. At this time of year, it should be bathed in twenty four hour sunlight. I wondered if there was a place further north where the sun was still visible. Or if it would rise as the Summer Solstice arrived in a few weeks time.

It was a risk stopping here. However, I figured the sun was still visible just a few hundred feet above the town. The fleet of helicopters taking people up and the queues of people waiting in line seemed to confirm this. It meant if they did come for me, they would have to come by land. They might use blacked out aircraft, but flying vampires wouldn’t be able to ambush me.

It was as good a place as any to make a stand. I avoided humans wherever possible and set my plans in motion.

It took nearly a week to put all of the pieces in place. When it was done, I advertised my location.

It didn’t take long. The first helicopters landed a few hours later. They carried with them two teams of Silver Fang; the vampire equivalent of the SAS. We watched them scout the town on the hacked CCTV from our hideaway.

“You were right.” I told Lara.

“Yes. The International Council won’t get their hands dirty unless they have to. Better to let the Fang deal with you and see what happens.”

“It’s a gamble.” I said.

“For everyone.”

They set about terrorising the town. By turns, they were led to the hotel room where I had been living for the last week. We had eyes on the room with three cameras Lara had brought with her.

Fang Team Alpha proceeded to trash the place.

“I suggest you avert your eyes.” Lara said.

I didn’t hear their screams so much as I felt them in my bones. It had taken real skill to conceal the UV lamps in the room so they wouldn’t be immediately spotted. Lara triggered them from an app on her phone.

We were near enough to hear the glass blow as they exploded. Fire licked from the broken windows, setting the curtains on fire. No one emerged.

Fang Team Beta went into panic mode. I reached out to their one remaining psychic and told him where to find me. They were understandably sceptical, but came to Narvik Kirke nonetheless. They formed a perimeter, having no intention of entering and get fried by more UV lights. Which was when Lara triggered the ones we had installed around the church.

We got nine of the twelve vampire team. Our roof top assassin took care of the rest.

“Too easy.” Lara said.

“That was the first wave.” I replied. “They’ll keep sending teams until they take me out.”

“It’s ridiculous. What do they think this will achieve?”

“They have no clue. I don’t either. My death might slay all vampires.”

It wasn’t a far-fetched idea. When I drank, I entered a new reality, dragging the rest of the vampire world with me. Kill me and you might kill all vampires. Maybe our undead nature connected us in some way.

“So tell them.”

I took out the burner phone I had bought on the road north.

“I have a better idea.”

Hey Hans! I have this whole town wired for daylight. Surely we can discuss this. Be quick. I’m feeling Thirsty.

They must have been waiting outside town. The nearest commercial airport was an hour away on the other side of the bay. We watched them through binoculars, a long line of black fleet vehicles. The cavalry was coming.

Black vans arrived ahead of them. More Silver Fang. They had learned their lesson. They came in full body suits and UV resistant helmets. They went around the town shooting out the lights. They stormed the church, but we had never been there to begin with. I sent Hans another message.

M’m, how Thirsty I feel.

The blacked out limos crossed the threshold.

Hans was there. Julian too. The man with them must have been their Vatican colleague to judge from his dress. A cardinal no less.

Other, even more imposing, vampires emerged. True ancients. The ones so old  they can no longer hide their true face from the world: So powerful, they no longer needed to. They whispered into the ears of popes and presidents alike, often without revealing their presence.

“Painter!” Hans screamed into the surrounding mountains.

“I guess we’re not on first names any more.” I whispered to Lara.

She gave me a sad look.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.” I said, equally as sadly. “I’m a vampire. I can’t live like this for the rest of my existence.”

She kissed my cheek.

“Good luck.”

“Just remember to stay down.”

Hans was still shouting my name. He, Julian and the international vampires stood in a circle surrounded by Silver Fang.

Here I am, I told him with my mind. I was walking up from the harbour, where we had been hunkered down in a yacht.

Fifty semi automatic weapons immediately trained themselves on me. I raised my hands as the laser points formed shifting patterns over my long cowl. Each weapon would be loaded with silver tip bullets.

“Mr Painter.” an imposing vampire said, separating from the pack and coming towards me. “I am Simon Lansdowne.”

“I know who you are, Elder Lansdowne.” Everyone knew the head of the International Council. “It is an honour to meet you.”

“Well you have led us a merry dance.”

“It didn’t seem I had much choice.”

“But you know we can’t allow this to continue. And this-“ He indicated the twilight sky with long clawed fingers. “This does suit our needs most splendidly.”

“Until it changes again.”

“Not if we prevent it from happening.”

“How?” I said. “You have no idea what will happen if you kill me. I’m the one dragging you through these realities. If I perish, so might you all.”

“We’ve thought of that.” Julian said.

“And?”

“And we think we have a way around it.”

“How?”

“By feeding on you.”

It was the cardinal who imparted this surprising revelation.

“Feed on me?”

“It’s in your blood, Michael.” Hans had reverted to first names. “Or at least the physiology that processes it. If we drain you, the council thinks we can absorb your power.”

“As long as we don’t all feed at the same time-” Lansdowne added. “We should be able to preserve this vampire paradise forever.”

“And rule over it forever.” a vampire with East Asian features growled from the pack.

“But you don’t know for certain.”

“We have to try.” Julian said. “I’m sorry.”

At least one of them felt bad about it. Oh Julian. Empathic to the end.

“If it doesn’t work.” the cardinal said. “We can always resurrect you.”

“Yes.” Lansdowne agreed. “No vampire ever really dies.”

“I’m afraid the decision has already been made, Michael.”

“Unanimous.” Julian added to Hans statement.

“Prepare yourself.” Lansdowne said. “And know we thank you for your sacrifice.”

I stared at them, eyes wide in shock. I felt my head lower. I stared at the tips of my shoes.

“Except.” I muttered, almost to myself. “What if I drank before you could get to me.”

“Now come now, Michael.” Hans said. “Don’ be ridiculous. We have you surrounded. The locals are subdued.”

The bats have left the bell tower. The victims have been bled.

“The Silver Fang would cut you down before you got ten feet.”

“True.” I said, my voice low. “Of course, vampires don’t just feed on humans. Any blood will do really.”

I raised my head. The clear plastic tube was already in my mouth. It ran to an intravenous line connected to a tranqulised mountain hare in the backpack beneath my cowl.

“No.” several senior vampires screamed at once.

The fastest made a move for me, blocking the dots on my chest. I turned away as Donitz descended to meet my attackers. I felt the pain as Donitz decapitated one Elder with the piano wire he was brandishing. I saw the lips continue to move.

I pulled hard on the tube as blows were exchanged. Shots were fired. The hare blood coursed into my veins. It tasted of grass and melting snow. It was barely a meal but it was enough. I understood that taking its life would make the changes that much bigger, even for so small a creature. I also felt the effects of the tranquiliser.

Too late the Elders realised they should be running for their cars instead of coming after me. I looked to see the limb of the sun about to break over the mountains. I pulled my hood over my head and fell upon the prostrate form of Donitz lying, bleeding on the ground.

My eyelids felt heavy.

I thought I saw Lara standing on deck. Maybe I felt her presence rather than saw it.

My brain burned as the Elders were caught by the sun and incinerated. Then there was another noise. A low rumble that shook the ground like an earthquake. I felt and heard the screams of the Silver Fang. Even their UV resistant suits couldn’t protect them from whatever this was.

I don’t remember much more after that.

 ***

It’s hard to deny what you are when you live by narrative clichés. A vampire private detective? Whoever heard of such a thing?

Donitz, of course. He is my partner, here in 1930s Orlando. Of course we had to end up in the Sunshine State. Luckily, it doesn’t affect us for now.

We aren’t cured. Not yet. Not quite. We can daywalk. We can drink alcohol and eat regular food. We just have to avoid blood. Drink blood and this all starts again. Or at least that is what we figure. 

Maybe the council were right. After I cut my vein and fed Donitz to save his life, he absorbed some of my power. As long as we don’t drink at the same time, we could stay here indefinitely.

The longer we remain, the easier it gets to avoid blood . We have built lives for ourselves. Or at least Donitz has. A wife and two kids. No hint of vampirism about them. Not yet at least.

I suspect the rules of this realm means one of us has to remain unattached and cynical. Sleeping with bored socialites and femme fatales. Smoking and boozing far too much. There are worse ways to live. I just hope I’m not Spade and Donitz isn’t Archer. As long as I don’t start an affair with Marie, we should be ok.

A fiction. That is what we must be. How could we be anything else? I have little to go on except a lot of unanswered questions and no one to ask them. Well, almost no one.

I met her in a speakeasy. She told me she was a traveller. She said she could cross the barriers in a vessel. It wasn’t an exact science, but she could do it with a certain degree of precision.

She said reality had come crashing in on itself. The barriers between what was real and what was imagined had cracked and buckled. Now there were countless worlds filled with every dream and nightmare humanity had ever imagined. Some found ways to cross the borders. Others were stuck fast.

In Amsterdam, Marrakesh, and a few other places, she said, there are portals that cross into other time periods. Other realities. Maybe I’ll book passage one year. Find a way to cross over without the Thirst.

I’ll told her my tale. I made a pass, but she said she didn’t date the undead. Nothing personal, she said, just a rule bourne from experience. I said that sounded like a tale in itself. She said she might tell me it next time she was in the neighbourhood.

I’m still waiting.

The worst part of living in this period is obviously the racism. After that, it’s the lack of decent music. Heavy metal won’t be invented for thirty five years. Even rock n roll is twenty years away. The blues music of the black gin joints is the nearest thing to music in this era.

My ability to render myself invisible is still fertile. As are my other psychic powers. Honestly, if I am a character in a novel or other medium, the readers must be bored stiff. I always know whodunit. Who is consuming this for entertainment?

So no. I don’t know who called me into existence. I don’t know if I am real or a colourful fiction. But to employ a phrase that won’t be coined for decades, I am living my best life as a vampire. I have all of the boons of being undead with few of the pitfalls.

It surely can’t last forever. 

Click here to read: The Children of the Night