These are the journal entries of a centuries old vampire, Nicolas Rider. Welcome to his world...

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

April 17, 1999 – Whitefish

   Colors flicker across her skin delicately, reflecting the ever-changing scene that dances on the screen. The darkness of the theater only helps to highlight the brilliance of the copper flecks that gleam in her eyes and, like a spot light designed just for me, the light cast from the screen is only enough for a vampire to see the way it shimmers across her face.
   Everyone is watching the screen, including her. This is why everyone is here. This moment; the climax; the anticipation. Their hearts beat quicker. With widened eyes, they watch as the either the antagonist or protagonist will meet their end. But I watch her. With one hand lingering in the bowl of popcorn, still frozen in place from when the movie pulled her from this reality, she stares with locked eyes. The suspense intensifies and her other hand takes mine. Her touch is firm, yet still tender as she seeks me in the dark. Watching her makes me smile softly. This is where I want to be always. Beside her, watching her illuminate the darkness that will always surround me.

Friday, August 26, 2022

August 1, 1482 – Berlin

I am not sure why I came here tonight. What I thought I might be able to find. But this is not the world I belong in. These are not my people. These creatures are no more than animals that have been blinded by their own ferocity. The life of a nomad has an inescapable allure to it, such freedom. No rules, no restrictions, just greedy pleasures. However, creatures like us need limitations to keep us from swirling down a rabbit hole of monstrosity that would surely take over our entire being. What good is freedom if what remains of you is simply a hostile husk of who you were?
     There must always be lines that one is not willing cross. And there were lines crossed tonight. The fear that is reserved for consuming blood should never be for taking someone’s body. But they did. And I saw her, that little scared human. I saw her, not just her eyes, full of pain and begging for my help, but her. She was seeking relief from me, a predator, because the monster holding her down was so much worse. But I had nothing to offer. There were far too many nomads and her life was already over.
     Her last moments were a torture she did not deserve and I could do was wait for my opportunity. Wait for the sun to lock them inside. Waiting, my ears were audience to the horrors happening in that house, until the sun was moments away from cresting the ridge and spilling into this valley. Then I lit that house on fire, knowing one way or another, every vampire inside would be ash by nightfall. I cannot make it home with the sun shining so brilliantly, so I hide under this canoe on the edge of the yard. It shields me from the sun but not from the smell or their screams.