December 22, 1906 – Melbourne

People spill onto the streets as the humans prepare for drunken celebrations and warm houses filled with love. But we do not show affection with spiced cakes or ale. My mother takes my hand, guiding me through the hallway. Opening the door to my room, she shows me the two human women that sit on my bed patiently.  

Marcella kisses my cheek as she whispers, Merry Christmas, my son, and leaves me to my bidding. Their hearts beat like hummingbird wings cutting through the silence. The smell of their blood will soon stain my sheets. 

A very delectable gift indeed.

They know what I am. Marcella has told them. But humans are so naïve. Easily intrigued, they want to see for themselves. They are not afraid of what a monster with black eyes will do to them. But they should be.

May 11, 1698 – Venice

Flour hangs in the air like a fog, rolling over her every curve. Her laughter, as light and airy as the dough in her hands, drifts across the table toward me. I forget myself here. In her kitchen. Among the dried flowers and hanging herbs, the rice and the barley, she smiles at me as though honing my inept culinary skills has given her some small hint of purpose.
    She does not ask why I only meet her at night, why I do not try the recipes she teaches me, or why I do not sleep when I lay next to her. Her silence serves me well since the answers would corrupt our time together. And I do not wish to expose my true self to her. I do not intend to end the life of such a beautiful creature. Particularly not after she has given me such an immense gift. It is not love but benevolence. Somewhere amidst these dried cranberries, she has given me that fraction of myself I believed was gone long ago. The part that is capable of seeing humans as more than sustenance.

February 12, 1415 – Budapest

   I remember my humans looking up at the stars. The ship cutting through the waters as the cool wind lapped mist onto my face. The sky and the horizon each stretching on with no end and no beginning. Sailing across the, beautiful and cruel, inky abyss, seeking the peace that I did not have.

   I remember scribbling them in my journal, plotting the night sky as though it might reveal something of my course, my future. But nothing among them pointed to this. No hidden message telling me of the horror that would find me.

   Now, I look upon them, not with questions but with serenity. An ever-constant reflection of the life I once held. I am comforted by the light they bring into my dark world and the stillness they offer amongst the screams. 

May 22, 1997 - Kula

   Hidden in the lush atmosphere and surrounded by the thunderous churning of the sea below, most people find this quiet series of pools mesmerizing. Tonight, this place is especially enchanting, but not for the obvious reasons. Instead, it's the softness in her smile that captivates me as she watches the waterfalls cascading, churning up bubbles that burst against our skin like tiny, delicate kisses. It is her ability to be so completely immersed by her fascination that entangles me in an inescapable desire to watch her relish in her surroundings.
   It is the way the moon shimmers across the water, dancing its way from one tiered pool into the next as the illuminated water delicately spills into itself like the tattoos along her spine. Paw prints, simple and calm, tumbling down her back and tempting me to trace my fingers over her skin and feel the chills rise on her flesh in their wake. To hear her gentle gasp at my touch. Alone in our isolation, with no souls to hear us, I watch her because I simply cannot force myself to look at anything else.

May 12, 1893 - Chicago

   The World's Fair brings them here, like moths to a flame.  They come in droves, expecting to see new and interesting inventions. They hope to see things that will forever dazzle and expand their minds and long to witness the mesmerizing lights that illuminate the dead of night in hopes that it will brighten their bleak, little life. They want to feel more significant than the small towns they have traveled from. Far from their families and the safety net of familiarity, they seek out the exhilaration this city has to offer.

   But the excitement they will find is not the thrill they have sought after. It will be swarming with trepidation and fright. They have stepped off of the trains, full of wonder; however, they are not prepared for the predators that linger in these crowds. Not just me, but humans as well, are waiting, patient and calculating, in the shadows here. So many sheltered folks, ignorant to the ways of a boogeyman, pouring into the streets and directly into our paths. There is no reason to fight off the other monsters here. There are plenty enough victims to share. After all, there are so many naïve people here, and like the moths to a flame, they too will be consumed.

October 20, 1419 – Beijing

   The chill of the floor is comforting as I let the rigid stone soothe my aching muscles. I close my eyes and listen to him pace along the wall, allowing my brief reprieve. The physical assault my body as endured over the past six hours is more than a human could bare but it is imperative to training oneself to outlast and outsmart another vampire during combat.
   Marcella watches me sternly. Her displeasure with, in her eyes, my flagrant display of weakness and ineptitude radiates from her severely. Her anger with my inadequacy brushes against me in a most abrasive way, urging me to my feet. Pulling my protesting body from the cool floor, I stand; not because I believe I could do better but because I know that I must continue to improve. It is not possible for me to win today, only a fool would hold on to that false hope. No, I will fall again today, and I will fail tomorrow; however tomorrow I will be better than I am today. Tomorrow, I will not fall so easily.

November 17, 1520 – Athens

  There is a wolf in the hen house. I do not mean that figuratively, but quite literal. A werewolf and his son tend to a repair in their chicken enclosure, unaware of the creature watching them from the edge of this dirt road. The father looks at me curiously. It is unusual for someone to be lurking around in this place, at this hour. Staring, he knows something else is different about me but is unable to discern what that something is. Not all werewolves believe we exist. Not all have met us in the dark of night. Some are naïve to the distain they should feel for vampires.
  Despite his unease, the father smiles at me and asks if I need shelter for the night. There it is. An invitation. My chance to enter his home and silence every beating heart. It would be easy to follow him inside and let his beast meet mine. And I would win. However, it is better to let him live and keep his entire pack from the knowledge of vampires altogether. So, I smile, and I lie smoothly about my destination and intentions, and I continue on into the murky night. I will have to find another to die in his place. But that really will not take too long. After all, there are so many others in this world that are deserving of such a violent death.

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.

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.

July 18, 1415 – Budapest

The water is cooler than I expected but that is helpful. It distracts me from the fire raging inside. I swim slowly, watching the way the moonlight ripples over the waves my body makes as it pushes through the water. I had come here for seclusion so when a red-haired woman approaches with a wide smile, I am less than thrilled.
    She asks if I would like company in the water and on a typical night, I might have. But this is not a normal night. Tonight, I will come one night closer to gaining my freedom from all of Marcella’s supervision. I tell the lady the partial truth; that I do not want her in the water; that I am, in fact, avoiding people like her. I do not tell her that it is because I made a deal with my mother that I would not bite anyone for an entire month to prove that I am capable of such control, or that I am two days away from completion which is too close for a tart like her to ruin all my progress. Offended by my brashness, she leaves me alone to swim in peace, never realizing how close she came to a real-life boogeyman. As the clacking of her shoes disappears into the night, I continue paddling about letting the water comfort me once more and reminding my burning throat, it is only two more days.

July 2, 1980 - London

    The sound of the music quiets, helping me to hear her heart beating in her chest. She stares at her drink but she can feel my eyes on her. A shy smile spreads slowly across her face as she slides her drink closer, leaving a wet trail across the bar. A thick drop of condensation rolls over her fingers and drips away but I do not watch it splatter on the floor. My eyes only see the way she licks her lips, preparing for a drink. It only lasts a moment, but I notice everything about it. The way her tongue glides across her soft lips only makes them lure me more.
    As she raises the glass to her lips, a light redness flushes her cheeks and I realize that somewhere deep inside she has already accepted that she will let me take her home. That she will let me uncage myself, freeing me to give in to my most carnal needs, the same needs every man has. But what she has not realized is that there is another need inside me. Like an animal raging inside, it makes my heart pound and my throat burn with hunger. And although she does not realize it yet, that need will be satisfied tonight as well.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

July 11, 1841 - Mt Everest

     The snow swirls around me in a hurry with no place to go except into the silent abyss. The silence of the night reaches even the coldest parts of these mountains. For a human, a trip up this mountain is a completely different experience than a vampire. Humans spend weeks, sometimes months, hiking this mountain in particular. A rite, the mountain, calls them, tempts them, and, sometimes, it claims them. Vampires can do this hike in less than a day, careful to avoid the sun. Peeking into the troposphere, humans find the limited oxygen debilitating. Vampires do not need to breathe; therefore the crushing of our lungs is minimal. 
     Still, it is no wonder why humans risk so much to be here. Sitting on top of the world does have a soothing, humbling effect. Even in the dark, the view is not lost on my eyes. The world and all its turbulence is lost to an ocean of clouds wrapping around the neighboring peaks. Serene and peaceful, the mountains tower above everything. Everything except the monster inside of me. My hunger cannot be escaped. Not even at this height can a vampire rise above its most primal need.  It pushes against me as strongly as the wind here. Some say that humans should fear this mountain; but humans should not waste their fear on inanimate things.  Humans should respect the mountain. They should fear creatures like me.

May 13, 1938 - Cleveland

     The snow blows in through the shattered glass. This abandoned factory once held the futures of so many middle-class workers. Now, it only houses dirty needles of the lost and the corpse next to me. Her death is almost reflective of this factory in its own way. Once so full of life, now she is only a shell that grows colder by the day. Her dreams, her future, is gone. Floating away with the flurry of flakes that dust her skin.
     When I saw her standing in the snow,waiting for a taxi, I did not plan for her to die. A much different carnal need was driving me. However, to be honest, I suppose I knew it would end this way regardless. She gave me her body and I took so much more.  It was not a lack of control. I was not overcome by my inner demon. It is simply a lack of value. Most human lives are not worth more than the meal they provide. Much in the same manner a human values the life of a cow. Sure, a farmer might enjoy their cows as pets. But when push comes to shove, a cow is a cow and dinner still needs to be served.

October 1, 1591 – Ajaccio

     The heavy scent of blood begins to have an effect on me that it rarely has before. Guilt. Not regret. Regret is a constant companion. No, guilt is different. It was not my choice to become a monster so the outcomes of being one is not often accompanied by guilt. However, I did choose this massacre and I chose it for selfish reasons. I am to blame for the death I feel in this home. 
     The pain of blaming oneself could consume a vampire easily if it is permitted to do so. But when a freshly warmed hand touches mine, I know it will not consume me tonight. With her eyes still black, Yen slides onto my lap. Her fingers push through my hair and traces crimson along my jawline. Heat surges through me, distracting me from feeling culpable. Surrounded by bodies in a tiny living room, she wants to take away my pain. And I will let her. I will let her take every part of me. 

June 17, 1828 – Boracay

      The sun set hours ago; yet the sand is still warm between my toes. Some humans come to this island to relax, letting the waves take away the troubles of their mundane lives. Others come for amusement, fun in the sun helps them forget how mundane their lives truly are. My only wish in this moment is to experience a genuinely mundane night. One without hunting, and one without killing. Just one boringly, human-like evening in which I could pretend that my life is mundane. A night filled with sitting on a beach, imaging a life in which my monster does not call me.
      The moon is low tonight but its light is weak, allowing the waters to remain an inky black. It would be a good night for hunting. One could get close to a human before they were ever even noticed. However in the consuming darkness of the ocean, Kate stands alone as the water laps against her. Waving me toward the dark abyss, her smile beckons me to join her. Raising to my feet, I start toward the water. I came here to feel human; and right now, nothing seems more human than swimming with your best friend. The only friend who really sees my darkness but still refuses to look away.