The Myth about Vampires

All my mortal life I believed that Vampires were simply a myth, though I couldn't help but secretly wish I were one of them. There's only so much time a mortal can spend discovering things once lost, or things that have yet to be discovered. I wanted immortality; because I knew there were things out there that a mere mortal would never have the time to find. I yearned for that knowledge; those things that I knew were out there. I knew that even if I began to search for them, after I was dead and gone, no one else would continue my research. They would simply let things slide, letting all my hard work collect dust and fade away from memory. I wanted to be able to make a lasting impression, but the things I yearned to find, no one else would be interested in enough to continue, and there had been no one else from which I could glean the beginnings of their own research from.

This began to bother me, driving me to distraction. I began to hear voices in the back of my head, telling me that there was something out there, and in order to find it, I would have to go against everything I'd been taught, and hurt others to get it. The knowledge was out there, I just had to be strong enough to prove that I was worthy of it. These voices, whom I already knew without asking no one else could hear, became my constant companion. The only time they would leave me alone, I discovered, was when I was dealing someone pain. I also discovered that it didn't matter if I was hurting others or myself, so I began to cut myself. In my line of work, it would have been very hard to hide the fact of hurting or killing other people, but also, because of the nature of my work and all that time I had to myself, it was way too easy to hide the fact of hurting myself.

So I became a cutter. I didn't want to go to a shrink, so I would cut shallowly, and in places no one would see. I began only doing this when I had great need of complete concentration, but it became an addiction for me. The voices became more insistent, louder and louder as they seemed to realize that I would not hurt others. So I had to cut more, and more often. Deeper as well. It got to the point where no matter what I was doing, I had to cut to be able to concentrate the least little bit.

I was driven slowly more insane every time I cut. With this insanity came a kind of clarity, a kind of feeling I'd never experienced before. It was beautiful, and the voices, though they still didn't like the fact that I was hurting myself, not others, began to guide me in my research. I came across things faster than ever before, as if an unseen hand was guiding me through the murky world, allowing me to see past what other mortals could not. I began to forget things that no mortal should forget. I forgot to eat, forgot to sleep, even forgot that I had once craved affection from another mortal. I was simply driven by the voices, they were my constant companions. I could always rely on them to give me what I needed, and when I went too long without food and sleep, they would kindly remind me to do so. It was as if they knew that what I needed more than anything was to discover things, but also knew that as a mere mortal I could not go long without nourishment and a reboot.

After a time, much longer than I should have been able to get away with really, those around me began to notice the changes that had occurred in me. I was much more distant than they remembered me to be, though I had never been very close to anyone. My one-night stands had been legendary, as I had blindly reached out for human comfort, but had rejected any sort of attachment. They also noticed how deeply I had thrown myself into my work, noticed how little I ate and slept. Co-workers...the bane of any true geniuses life. They began to interrupt my work to talk with me, practically dragging me out of my little corner at lunch, forcing me to eat. It's not like I had lost that much weight, when I did eat, I was able to eat enough to keep what weight I had on. They simply could not understand that I no longer needed the things they did. Everything I needed was in my little corner and in my own head.

Then, one day, completely by accident, one of them caught me with my little knife. I had begun to dig really deep with the knife by then, so the marks were rather obvious. I'm rather surprised actually that they hadn't guessed already. I was covering up almost all of my skin at that point, and it was rather hot outside. But anyways, he saw me and completely freaked out. Why was I doing this to myself? Was there anything wrong? Could he do anything to help?

That was when I started to listen to the voices with a bit more attention, and they called for his blood. At this point, I was willing to give it to them.

I was very careful in not letting on what I had already formed a plan to do. I let him believe that life had turned to the worst, and that was why I had stopped eating and sleeping, had thrown myself into my work, and was cutting myself. The idiot bought it all.

I allowed him to take me out to dinner to talk. I fed him some story...I've forgotten now what I said. I do know that the voices were feeding it to me and that I was repeating it to him. He was actually quite cute in trying to be the protective male who only wanted to help. I do remember that the reason I told him I wasn't sleeping was because I didn't feel safe at home, that I felt that something bad would happen to me if I went home. The fool offered me his spare bedroom, and so of course, I took him up on the offer. It would make things just that much easier.

As he drove me to his house, as I told him I didn't want to go home at all, and would just sleep in my clothes, the voices rejoiced. I was finally going to give them what they wanted, the blood of another mortal. They had settled for mine, and had made it obvious to me that that was all they were doing. I feigned sleep in the car, so I could more easily listen to what the voices were telling me they wanted me to do. The man had taken my knife away, but he would have other knives at home, and since I had convinced him that I wouldn't cut myself as long as I felt safe, he wouldn't hide them from me. I still don't know how the voices knew this, but they did and I had learned to listen to them.

By the time we had gotten to his house, it was late enough that he said he was going right to sleep, and that I should do the same. He led me on a tour of the house first, to make sure I knew where everything was, then led me to the spare room. There, I carefully made sure the door was closed, and waited. I had to make sure that he was asleep when I got everything ready for him.

After two hours, I knew that he was asleep. I slipped out of the room quietly and snuck down to the kitchen. I had seen where he had put my knife, so I put it back on my person. I was not going to use it for him, as it was mine and only mine. Instead, in his first aid kit, I took out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on.

I then meticulously wiped down everything I had touched with a damp cloth, destroying any fingerprints that had gotten on the surfaces of his house. Finally, taking one of his cooking knives, I went back upstairs to his bedroom. hiding the knife behind me, holding my body as if very shy, I opened the door. His eyes opened sleepily as I reached the side of his bed. He smiled slightly, as if my coming to him for comfort had been his intention all along, but he didn't want her to know that. I smiled coyly, while telling the voices, who had said nothing, that I knew that he would react this way. He slid over to one side of the bed, moving the covers and inviting me to undress and join him. Shaking my head slowly, I beckoned him with my free hand.

His smile broadened at what he perceived to be my desire to see his naked body, and to have him undress me. As he rose from the bed and walked around it to me, I could see that he was very much aroused by my behavior. This amused me, but I let nothing show. Nothing was going to mess up my plan. As he came close and made to kiss me, I brought my hand out from behind me and swiftly stabbed him in the back, somehow finding the spot between vertebrae, severing the connection between his legs and his brain. With a scream that I muffled with my gloved hand, I removed the knife from his back. Moving behind him, I held his head back towards me as I slit his throat, killing him.

I thanked the voices as I let his body fall forward. I then dropped the knife on the bed and left. Once I was on the front porch, I took off the gloves and put them in my pocket. I then went around to the back and kicked in one of the windows, to make it seem as if someone had broken in. The voices were oddly not silent, congratulating me on my victory, and I felt somehow much more free. I walked with a new purpose, even though it would take me a long time to get home. For that was where I was going, home. I needed to shower, and put my clothes in the wash. While most of the blood was on the floor, some of it had splattered on my clothes. While I was free of the restraints of not killing, I still did not want anything of him on me, so that none of this could come back to me.

I knew that if it did, I would never be able to do this again.
And I so did not want to give up the experience.

Once I had reached home, the voices stopped. I immediately went to the wash room, taking my clothes off and immediately putting them in washer, gloves and all. I did not want to dispose of the gloves until they were at least partially clean. Then I would burn them. I then made my way to the shower, knife in hand. Turning it on to a scalding temperature I stepped in, washing his blood from my skin where it had soaked through my clothes.

After I was thoroughly clean, I grabbed my knife off of the side of the tub and took it to my skin. I cut deep, needing the release of it. Yes, I had just felt the freedom of killing, but I was now so addicted to pain that after that feeling had dulled I needed to cut again. I sat down in the shower, rocking as the water continued to wash the blood away. It had felt so...no good isn't the right word. Let us just say that at that moment, I felt the most free I had ever felt in all my mortal existence.

The next day at work, people were asking where he was. I simply stayed in my little corner, throwing myself back into my work. I was seeing better than ever before, and knew that soon I would have to move on to find the rest of what I sought. I would more than likely want to kill again as well. I doubted they would find me; the voices had given me too much good advice, so there was no way they would find me.

The next day at work, people were asking where he was. I simply stayed in my little corner, throwing myself back into my work. I was seeing better than ever before, and knew that soon I would have to move on to find the rest of what I sought. I would more than likely want to kill again as well. I doubted they would find me; the voices had given me too much good advice, so there was no way they would find me.

The first person they talked to must have remembered seeing us leave together. The detectives came over to my desk and began asking me questions. I acted sad to a degree, telling them I had gone home after dinner. Meanwhile I cringed internally at the woman's inane sobbing. I would definitely be leaving soon, and that woman would be the last to die before I did. How could anyone, even in grief, make a sound that piercing. It almost rivaled the voices. It shouldn't be possible for a mortal to make such noise. Yes, she would definitely die. I would wait a little while and put in my resignation before hand though. More to put the cops off my trail.

The woman probably thought that he had been in love with her. Stupid bitch.

I waited another month before handing in my two-week notice. The boss was rather disappointed, but when I told him it was for personal reasons, he dropped it and only said that he hoped I knew that I would always have a job with him. He even wrote out a letter of recommendation for me for my next job. Fucking prick. As if I needed him. But he was right, and I did need a job, if only to gain access to the stuff I would need, and to make sure I had a roof over my head. While I'd saved up, it wasn't enough to live forever on.

Before I left though, as I'd promised myself, the bitch was going to die. I cultivated a relationship with her, as I had been the last to see him alive, and she had been dating him for over a year. Shows how much I'd been noticing, huh. We went out to lunch a few times, dinner once, and she spilled her life's story to me. While I hated every minute of it, I gritted my teeth and nodded in the appropriate places, the voices feeding me bits a pieces to talk to her about. They're very good at this sort of thing.

The day of my going away party, she and I went out for a bit of dinner after work. I invited her to go down to the lake with me, as I knew of a beautiful spot. She of course, having come to trust me, said that it would be nice to get out into the open air again. So off we go, like little happy bunnies, to the lake. Jesus Christ, the shit I put up with back then.

I'd scouted out this spot ahead of time. It was perfectly secluded, and I knew I could keep her quiet when I did it. No one would find the body for a few days at least, that much I knew. By then, I'd be gone. And this time, there would be no one to say that I was once more the last to see the person alive. I'd made sure of that. I wanted to leave no trail for the cops to follow back to me. It was bad enough that I worked with both of them. Didn't want to give them anything more. In fact, over the past month I'd been actively making an effort to "come out of my shell" so that suspicion would go elsewhere.

Once we were on the water, she sat down. She was quiet for a few minutes, not at all surprised that I remained standing. Then she started to cry again, and to talk about him. I just couldn't stand it any more. So that she couldn't scream, I came up behind her, leaned down as if to take her into my arms, then slit her throat. I then began to cut her clothes, to make it look like a rape gone bad. I slit her in other places, and listened as the voices went quiet. For the first time, I heard what the lake sounded like at night without them. It was beautiful, but not as beautiful as the feeling of freedom, the rush that I had once more, and it was so much better this time, because of the risk of being caught.

Such a wonderful feeling.

After I was done with the body, I cleaned off my knife in the lake and washed my hands as well. nothing had gotten on my clothes this time, which was good, and since the blood was still wet, it came off very quickly.

That night I packed up my one bag of clothes, my work bag with all my notes, and hopped on the train. I was on my way to Sydney and the revelation of a lifetime.

The train ride...that was an interesting experience. It was rather long, with a few stops, but much better than had I driven the whole way down. I could allow my mind to wander, to maintain contact with the voices. I went over my notes with them. They gave me other insights into what I was looking for, and I wrote them down as fast as I could. I had lots of work ahead of me in Sydney, and I wanted to get a head start on it all.

Also on this trip, I learned new and different ways of hurting myself. I couldn't very well cut myself, as my addiction had gotten so bad, that in order for it to do any good, I'd have to spill too much blood for my purposes of not being seen as what I was. So I picked up smoking on that trip. Rather amusing if you think about it, I really should have discovered that sooner, don't you think?

Anyways, in discovering smoking, I also discovered burning. It had the same effect as cutting, with less blood. And since I was already covering up my body anyways, it simply made sense to do so.

Quite exhilarating.

In hindsight, it's a wonder I don't still have scars from that. Come to think about it, I don't think I ever had scars, not even when I cut myself so deep that I had to be in the shower for it, I bled so much. Ah, the wonders of the mortal body.

Anyways, back to the story. So I discovered burning...and it brought on a whole new sense of clarity. Now, the voices wouldn't go completely away, but they would be like a quiet friend, whose simply talking so that you don't feel lonely. So instead of having times when they were completely gone, I had times when I could actually listen to those around me without having to try to hard. This was very interesting, because now the voices had something else to comment on, and we played the game of how to best hurt those around me. It was quite amusing, and we came up with some nice ideas that I wrote down in my notes for the future. Who knew when on e or more of these ideas might be able to be used?

So over those days on the train, I learned so much about myself. I laughed when I thought of all those who had known me as a child, and what they would think if they knew what I had become. How much would they analyze everything I’d done as a child, wondering what had made me into this monster? What they would never know is that is was nothing but the normal course of events; that this had only happened because I wanted it to happen. It was the only way I'd ever make my mark on the world.

The first thing I did when I got to Sydney was pick up a paper. I was able to stop myself, just barely, from laughing out loud when I read on the front page about the serial killer on the loose back in Melbourne. From the looks of things, the cops had no idea who had done it, but they had connected the murders. That just made me glad to have gotten out of there. Didn't want to give them any more clues with one more murder up there, and no one there knew where I had gone. I had simply picked up my things and left. I'd sold my house to the bank, then had closed out my account. I had a cashiers check in my belongings with which to open up another account with a different bank. Life was already looking up. Now to find an apartment and start my work up again.

Once I was completely situated, with a good job and a decent apartment, I relaxed into the routine. I couldn't start with hurting others quite so soon. That would draw too much attention to me. So I settled with being a cold bitch, and hurting others emotionally. It wasn't much, but it was the only thing I could do. I wanted to keep people back from me, but not so far back that they would automatically assume it was me when the killings started again.

(Will be continued later)