Friday, 25 January 2008

Agony

Here’s the text of an email from someone whom I’ve been worried about for years. Perhaps there are others out there stricken with their conscience, and I’ll share her painful thoughts with you. Can we all please show her that she’s not alone?

AB-


“Dear Vlad”

I am in agony.
It’s the blood guilt. For decades I killed for my food. I murdered people on four continents for their blood and I laughed as I did it. I murdered men, women, and children, and I thought nothing of them, except as things to be used up, destroyed and then thrown away. Children, Mister Blackburn: children barely old enough to talk and I drank them dry while their mothers watched in horror, all helpless and utterly doomed.
I can’t not think of it. The memories of my crimes fill my waking hours, and the long sleepless days, as I see their dying faces. Screaming faces. Waxy-dead pale white faces from Johannesburg to Oslo.
I used to enjoy my evil. I revelled in it and thought myself lucky as year by year I killed and staked and decapitated my way around Europe and Africa, and around North America and the Middle East. The latter is the best place for the raptor-vampire; the veil hides your features from human sight and the sunlight and no-one asks you your business if you have fearsome-enough looking renfield bodyguards and a male guardian present. No-one asks what goes on in the locked house or whose are the screams they hear, so long as baksheesh is paid and you’re obviously not a Jew or a Christian.
Then you and your bitch wife ‘cured’ me; made me see the evil of my ways, and encouraged me to feed mercifully from that moment on. Damn you.
All was well at first. I felt that by leaving off killing I could move on and help to make the world better. I might learn to atone. I can’t atone. All I can do is recall the pleading and the weeping and the animal shrieks of my victims.
Every day and every night I wish for the true death; to go to Hell for my sins and there to take the suffering of those poor dead human souls into me forever. I can never quite pluck up the courage to wait for the sun or to swallow garlic, as I fear the pain of dying once more.
The Pledge is a curse that you and your wife have brought upon me. It must be lifted. I insist that we meet and that you do the right thing by me and by the souls of the dead that I have made.


JD

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Saturday, 5 January 2008

New Year. New body parts.

That’s better. Nearly.

We’ve been staying with Benny and Miriam in Manchester. Perhaps that should be ‘Werechester.’ Benny’s a porcanthrope which means that on the three nights around the full moon he is transformed into a giant wild boar: half a ton of guilt and culturally inspired self-loathing compounded with an irresistible urge to dig for truffles. When the Curse is upon him not only are the usual suspects after his blood, but he also draws were-hunters from across the North West and worse; the less clued-up members of his own community won’t lift a finger to help him.

Mim keeps him safe then in a special underground room below the Trafford branch of their dealership. The family that looks after their businesses on Saturdays and holidays made the attic room of their offices in Stretford available for my convalescence. Mim has a contact in the MRI’s Department of Clinical Haematology, and so there was no problem feeding us. There wouldn’t have been in any case, apart from Lucy’s taboo about dining with United supporters. (Present company excepted.) It has been observed that the existence of Manchester United is a very good reason for vampires to avoid bringing on a diabolical eschatology and destroying the world. I wouldn’t go that far: but it certainly convinces me to avoid destroying Manchester.

So I’ve been healing nicely and my ears and fingers are now mostly regenerated.

As I listened to the sounds of revelry at the Christian New Year on Tuesday morning it made me think of my experiences in 2007 and consider what I should do about them. These thoughts have coalesced into a number of resolutions which I intend to share with you just as soon as this awful itching goes away as my fingerprints have finished growing back and changing once more.


In the meantime, a Happy New Year again to you all from

Adonais and Lucy.

("")

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And here they are...

1. Stay away from church.
It seems perhaps that some priests in the Church of England aren’t so wishy-washy that they’ll allow undead creatures to sup from the homeless once we’re found out . So much for the inclusive church! Got my fingers burned there. Ha.

2. Lose weight.
It’s not easy. Normally the lead up to Christmas and New Year is very fattening with the draught stuff full of high-calorific goodies and willing donors are all too eager to give generously. Since you can store the stuff for forty days or so, the six weeks after the festive season means that the bottled stuff is inclined to be a little on the rich side, too.

3. Do something really effective against the raptors. I’ve been reading the reports of their foul arctic excursion during my long painful days of healing, and I must say that the suffering of the victims and grief of the survivors burns out of the written page right into one’s soul. As for the illustrations... No wonder that the vicar was taking no chances with me. Stake first and ask questions afterwards seems like a sensible reaction to millennia of our predation. The peace movement has a long way to go, and I aim to be armed to the teeth in order to get there.

4. Give more to charity. We aren’t the only cause of suffering in the world, God knows, but I think a tithe of the contents of my would-be attacker’s pockets will be a good start. Obviously, in the light of recent developments cancer research is right off the list. Can you believe it? Some red-headed bird with a hatful of degrees thinks she’s got the answer to the Big C, and three years later there goes the neighbourhood. There goes every neighbourhood on Earth.

5. Pay more attention to politics.
There’s no end to the harm that clueless and high-minded politicians can do to this world, and I aim to see that 2008 is the year of the bleeding-heart. Literally.

6. Get out more.
There must be lots of my kind out there, utterly pissed-off at being hate figures for their tepid neighbours, but who can’t raise arguments against the predators’ manifest destiny bollocks. I think I’ll go and give them a few.

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