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


Friday, July 1, 2022

February 11, 1618 – Madrid

The cobblestone street graciously allows the rain to pool into a dark little puddle between the stones. Barely bigger than my palm, it must suffice as a mirror as I assess my injury. The freshness of the burn on my cheek fill my nostrils with charred flesh. There will be no permanent damage to my skin but for now, the rawness of my exposed muscle and scorched tissue sizzles against the cool night air.
     Marcella will not be pleased. The most essential part of attacking a local is that they die. They can run; they will scream; but they must die. They do not pull a cross from their bag and smash it against my face. And they certainly do not escape, like this one did. My fingers rub over the unevenness of my otherwise flawless face. It is not the pain that causes me to groan but the situation I now find myself in. I supposed I will have to disappear for at least a few months, possibly longer. Perhaps, we will go to Cairo. Marcella has been wanting to visit Egypt anyway.

Wednesday, June 22, 2022

December 23, 1994 – London

        Spending yet another holiday season in this town is not what I had envisioned for myself. I actually had envisioned someplace warmer, someplace fresh, some young body as a gift to myself; but here am I just the same. The cold air had pushed against me as I walked here as though even the bitter wind had protested my plans to seek warmth with the familiar. However, it was the hushed whispering about someone who knows me all too well that I could not ignore. It brought me to this shady establishment. The type of place where the filth go to forget themselves and the vagabonds disappear quietly. That is why I will find her here, in this hole of a place. A place where the meals come easy. Especially for someone as beautiful as Yen.
    She twists and rolls her body around a pole in ways that has these fools pressing the stage and drooling like dogs. But they have no idea what she is capable of; the horror she would do to them. The things she will do to me.  The sweet elation of her fangs feel ripping through my flesh. She has always been my favorite vice. I flash her money folded in my fingers prompting her eyes to catch mine. It is enough for her to strut toward me with a most devilish smile. Winking, she takes the money from my hand; but it is not the cash she wants; it is the address I have tucked inside. We do not need words. This has, after all, become quite a habit for us. We both know our roles to play in this. Mine is to find some poor sap to be our dinner. After all, fresh blood really does make it all that much more fun. And when she can, Yen will seek me out and then we will begin to relish in a very Merry Christmas for us both.

Wednesday, September 9, 2020

September 15, 1980 – London

    The red of her dress catches my eye. It is familiar. I saw her earlier tonight on a payphone in the hotel lobby. She was speaking to her husband about the children’s bedtime and sending her love to him. Then she promptly went upstairs and put on the dress the fits just a tad too tight. Her heels have not been out of the closet in some time. They still have a fine sheen of dust in the places she missed while wiping them off so quickly. As I watch her, I find myself wondering whether her blood will clash or blend with her dress should I happen to spill any on it. I suppose I will find out soon enough. 
    She pushes her hair behind her ear, exposing the empty hand that once displayed her set of diamond rings. And she sits a little too close to a man who smiles just a little too much. As he opens his wallet to pay for their drinks, I can see the indention of his own wedding band, tucked neatly away inside the leather folds. As they head toward the elevators, I smile. Neither of their spouses will believe the rumors. Neither will acknowledge the monsters that were lying to them. Only accepting that a monster was assuredly in the hotel room tonight and it was that monster that destroyed their happy families. I will have to leave town for a while. Just a few months. Not long enough for Marcella to find me as long as I am careful. But long enough for the dust to settle some. Perhaps Italy. Or maybe America. I hear California is nice this time of year.


Thursday, August 13, 2020

July 1, 1932 - Paris

   She came here to fall in love. They all do. I can see the rich hunger in her, that longing in her eyes, the way her body shifts when a man walks by, gauging her possible suitor. Her stance gives her away, open and searching but still so timid. I watch the hope dance across her face as she wonders if this man is the one she is here to meet. If this is the man that will save her from a life of solitude. But he does not even brush her shoulder as he walks past her on his way to another lady. And the disappointment is heavy in her eyes.
   Already in her late thirties, she feels the pressure of time and she has come here determined to find the one who can fill the void that aches so deeply inside her. Now she stands on this tower, looking out at the tiny people below, hoping to see the love she is so desperate for. I catch her eyes as her gaze scans across the faces here. Her smile is soft and inviting but she does not understand the need in my eyes is not for her love. The void that aches inside me is not for a partner but only for one who can satiate my hunger. As I walk toward her, my stare makes her blush and I realize just how easy this will be.

Saturday, August 8, 2020

June 19, 2000 - Maldives

    I suppose it is fitting that the birthday of a monster must always end in bloodshed. Usually the blood is a gift to myself. Another year celebrated in crimson. But this year is different. This year, the blood that stains my hands does not belong to any human.
   I saw him three nights ago and he saw her. As a vampire, I take no real pleasure in killing another vampire. No more pleasure than removing any other obstacle from my path. But still, it had to be done. He saw her as just another werewolf, a wolf oblivious to him, and a wolf he wanted dead. But neither of them saw my need to protect her. And neither of them realized that I would slip away tonight and leave her warm embrace simply to hunt him.
   As the warm waters bathe me in salt and the gentle waves cleanse his blood from my skin, I look toward the small bungalow hovering over the water. Inside, she sleeps peacefully, unaware of the monster whose blood now quietly becomes lost in the vastness of the ocean around me. Three nights ago, she asked what I wanted for my birthday, unaware of the murder I would be committing in lieu of a party. Three nights ago, I told her the truth: that she is my favorite gift. She is the only thing I could ever really want. Which is good, because she is truly the only thing I have left.