A Vampire’s Diary

Light seldom penetrated the shingles of the old house, even during the brightest summer days, and Cain supposed that was what he most loved about the shabby old structure. Lazy days could be spent inside that attic above the oblivious house residents as he poured over their old library of dusty books; as they slept, he would creep down into their living quarters to perhaps peek in on the children, relishing in their warm-colored skin and their life. Cain supposed that at one point, he too had been alive, but that seemed like such a very long time ago, a faded memory like a dream, soon to be forgotten.

Now, he "lived" the life that many nocturnal creatures did, the life of a reclusive vampire, haunting the attic of the old mansion, guarding it as his own territory. He was the beast that went "bump" in the night and frightened the little children into their mother’s arms, or the shade that made the old wooden door to the piano room creak curiously as one sat, playing the piano oh so silently. He marveled at the petrified expressions on those young faces, couldn’t help but smile in amusement as they scurried away from their tasks to seek refuge in the company of others. Silly mortals, he often thought. Running in fear of what they did not understand.

Though he did often pine for the simple presence of one who did not fear him, Cain supposed that his life was simply that of an average vampire. He could not remember the taste of food nor recall the sweet tang of wine or water upon his lips and tongue. It was irrelevant to him, really, for what use did a vampire have with nourishment? He was, after all, dead.

But when he truly thought upon it, he did require nourishment. The blood of a human for every full moon, to keep him going for the next month. Oh, it was a trying experience, and Cain hated it. He loved simply gazing through the cracks in his shuttered attic at the bustle of life outside the house, smiling at the children and scorning at the adults that kept them on such tight leashes. They were such lively little creatures, he often thought, their eyes so bright and their minds so pure of evil.

He did not pity their mortality, but pined for it often himself. He longed to be able to still his beating heart, but it had not actually thumped in his chest for three centuries. He wished endlessly for someone to come upon him and end his futile existence, to give him passage into the afterlife so that he could stop his barbaric violation of humanity, stop his draining of their blood. But no matter how fervently he wished, no one had answered his prayers.

But how would one end his not-quite-life anyway? Surely starving him of the blood he so desperately craved would suffice. And when he thought of that, Cain often wondered why he did not try it himself. Then he remembered that he had, and that it had failed miserably, resulting in the vampire remaining a weak, trembling little thing in his attic for almost an entire cycle.

He would not stoop to that private humiliation ever again, he assured himself of that. If anything, he intended to end his life quickly and painlessly, perhaps burning to death in the sunlight.

It came upon him quite suddenly one evening. Cain did not ponder death often, for he enjoyed by far watching life around him blossom, even if it was veiled behind the dark shroud protecting him from the sunlight. He was in the midst of finishing yet another book in the old library, one that had been added there recently during his sleep, when he simply gave his head a curious tilt and spoke his thoughts out loud.

"Why don’t I just… let go?"

It was simple enough a concept, he mused. One could let go of one’s conscious mind, as well as their care for their body. He could drift amongst the other wandering spirits until his body reached the point of death, and then he would be nothing. Oblivion did not sound entirely too bad; it was better than the hell he lived in daily.

Despite their rancid stench, Cain could not bear to think of one of the children of the house discovering his body. He found that over the years he had grown fond of the family and the generations of children he had seen come and go. He had watched little babies sprout into small girls in summer frocks, and watched those girls blossom into supple young women, their lips painted and their lashes curled. He had watched them settle down and marry, bear children of their own, and slowly, their bodies began to deteriorate, until they were little more than skin and bone, and then they were dead, soon forgotten by the family that had given them so much love.

But it was not the girls that had intrigued him so much, but the boys. Young lads, so mischievous as children, growing more brash and adventurous as young men, and then as they matured, they often married, perhaps went off to war or off on conquests to see the world. Cain had to admit, quite ruefully, that he would far more prefer the company of a man than a woman in the long run, not only because he found them more appealing, but because the men of Juuran seemed a little bit more… special, than the men of any other city. He noted with some pride in his eyes the way the nobles had a slight swagger to their step as they pranced their streets, and couldn’t help but scorn the foreigners to danced on their toes in hopes of attracting attention to themselves.

He gave a quiet sigh in his reverie and ran his tongue over his elongated fangs. They ached pitifully; nourishment was needed, and soon. The full moon was in two days, and in those two days Cain would have to select someone to hunt, keep an eye on them, and then pounce.

A most unusual thing happened, however. Cain caught a cold.

He wasn’t quite sure how he was able to catch such a human disease, and for one moment he thought that he might actually be a living being. But alas, a quick check of his pulse set his hopes aside; he was very much a dead, yet living being, a vampire until the not-so-definite end of his days.

And yet as he sat sniffling and coughing and generally feeling sick and uncomfortable, he felt a strange irony in his situation. Not only was he incapable of feeling the joys of life, but he was stuck with life’s miseries as well. Such was the life of the damned, he realized ruefully.

But what to do about his hunt? A vampire all bundled up in winter coats and scarves wasn’t going to impose fear upon anyone he came up against. Could he hold out one more month, or would he be able to feed on a night that was not the full moon. He doubted himself, slightly, but…

Going out in the snow while his nose was runny and his cheeks flushed sounded much worse than going a bit hungry for once.

So grudgingly, while the moon sat in ignorance of his presence, Cain made himself tea to clear his nasal passages and help ease a little bit of the throbbing pain in his head. It tempered, but only slightly; Cain imagined that it was his own senses getting revenge for him skipping his monthly hunt. He ignored their protests and let his head rest on his arms as he gazed out at the sky.

"I wouldn’t catch anything on a night like this, anyway" he complained morosely. Resigning himself to misery, he allowed a few winks of sleep to claim him.