April 3, 1938 - Cleveland

     Headlines scream across the front page, another missing person. Another body waiting to be found. Another family full of heart break. He thinks he is invincible; that nobody can outsmart him. But hunting is not about outsmarting anyone. It is about being cunning, ruthless, and patient.  Waiting to find your perfect opportunity, exploit it, and continue to go unnoticed.  But he has been noticed. Far too much. This human is bringing too much unwanted attention to my hunting grounds. Too many police paroling the dark alleys and shady streets in hopes of preventing more bodies. His monster is interfering with mine. So while he watched her, my eyes stalked him. 
     As he believes himself to be untouchable, it will be my teeth that pierce his skin. And while he begins to view himself as some type of god, it will be his undeniably moral blood that quenches my thirst. Unlike his victims, the police will not his body. My killings are far less untidy, and far less ostentatious than his. Another unidentified serial killer off of the streets. Just a predator consumed by another predator. The police have not been able to find him; but he cannot hide from me.  Nobody saved her and nobody will stop me. 

June 18, 1923 - Chicago

     Sitting in the back, I watch the humans drinking merrily. Their voices carry through the room as though it may not make it through the hazy cigar smoke lurking in the air if their voices weren’t projected so loudly. Laughing, they have no suspicion of what watches them. The monster inside me smiles with each passing moment knowing that my birthday gift to myself grows closer. Tomorrow, I will indulge myself, though there is no real purpose to it. Humans rejoice their passing years as they transcend through the decades, growing, learning, but mostly aging. 

     Yet is it really necessary to celebrate aging when you don’t? Regardless, my birthday tomorrow gives me an excuse to act on my sincerest impulses. The blond waitress that bring me another drink will suffice my basic carnal needs. She is young and vibrant with blood rich with sweetness. Tomorrow, that will end. She is my gift to myself. Her trepidation will delight my inner monster, her blood will quench my ravenous thirst, and her pain will spill over my every craving. This will be slow and extensive. I will let her pain and my pleasure linger. Her blood will run warm. There will be screaming. So much screaming. And it will satisfy me. 

August 25, 1982 - Miami

     While the humans complain about the thick air crushing their lungs, I stare blankly at the ceiling in her apartment. The floor fan blowing humid air in a desperate attempt to cool the night. Saturated with sweat, the bed sheets cling to me uncomfortably but I do not move. My mind is calm. My thirst is satisfied. I never intended to kill her but I make the most in this temporary peace. My body does not urge me to hunt, my mind does not plague me with memories, and my guilt has not yet set in. This is the serenity that people search for. No longing. No desires. No worries. Just me, a stuffy room, and a still-warm body. Her body will begin to show signs of death. The stench, the stiffening, and the pallor. But for now, for this one moment, her arm is draped across my stomach as through she is merely sleeping and there is a tapping on the floor where her blood drips from her fingers that is lulling me into a subtle tranquility. For this one moment, my life is perfect.

April 21, 1753 – St. Petersburg

     With my eyes closed, I lie on the snow covered ground.  The cold soaks my pants and wrapping my body in an icy embrace. Lying there, I image that in the silent, bitter air she would have been able to feel my looming presence. Here in a secluded forest, her screams were isolated to my ears only. Still, she walked here with her hand in mine knowing the darkness that was to consume her. 
     Willingly, she replaced her life with temporary pain and fear. Detached from the world, she chose her escape through my unbiased and unforgiving fangs. In the moonlight, her pale skin dulled against the glistening snow as her crimson painted the fresh powder in perfection. The scent of blood warms my soul and for the first time in a long time, I feel alive.   

January 8, 1592 - Arbois

     The smell of bread fills the small kitchen. With flour dusting her hair, she dances across the floor with steps as light as the traces of perfume she leaves hanging in the air. Beautiful and vibrant, she brightens my otherwise dark existence. Considering herself as food connoisseur, she has shown me her world through flavors and textures. 
     But my brief flirtation with a normal life shatters as quickly as the glass that falls from her hand when she sees my dark eyes. I tried to hide them from her but the monster inside me ruined yet another opportunity to forget what I really am. Her world has a plethora of choices but the only palatable thing offered in my world is her. As she stares back at me, I realize that now she knows that too.