Death Of An Immortal

         After four hundred years I am dying. I did not think it possible at first, but I know now that this night will be my last.

         Ironic, isn’t it? For the first hundred years or so I would have welcomed death. I did not think it was possible for an immortal to die, so there was nothing to fear about the hereafter. Now I fear for my soul. Four hundred years of living off the blood of others does not lead to a clean conscience. I do not believe in a God, but if one exists I will merely be trading hell on Earth for hell below. Death does not necessarily bring peace for one such as I.

         It was the year 1578 when I became a vampire. It seems strange, but I can barely remember the details now. I am able tell you that his name was James and he was beautiful. That much I do remember. I was twenty-four years old when he converted me, alive with the fire of youth. I still do not know why he chose to convert me, what it was that he saw in me. I am not beautiful. My family were reasonably wealthy, so I had not known the ravages of manual labour, but education for women was still deemed unnecessary. Besides being able to read, write and keep house I was not talented. I was unremarkable.

         It was a summer's day in August when, strolling home from the village, I first met James. We walked part of my route home together. I could tell from the first that he was different, but foolishly put that down to the effect his good looks were having on my girlish mind. We talked and I must confess to being interested in him; I was a single woman well past the age where others were married, so how could I not have been? He was tall, at least six foot, with blond hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. I still have no recollection of what we talked about, merely of being lost in those eyes.

         As we approached my home he had fallen behind me slightly. I turned to invite him in and he had gone, just like that. So I went inside and, in my innocence, prayed that I could see him again. Little knowing that, in the granting of my prayer, I would forever lose any trust in God. For the next time I was to meet James was when he changed me into a vampire.

         There are some common myths about vampires. One is that we cannot bear sunlight. True, it is unpleasant to me. We cannot spend a long time in the sun but, like James that day, it is possible for us to go out when we reach a certain age. However, it saps our strength and an hour in the sun is usually the maximum an immortal can endure. I avoid the sun as much as possible and, when it is absolutely necessary to go out, will cover myself with as much clothing as possible. Dark glasses are an absolute necessity in this day and age.

         However, back to my tale. James came to me in the silence of that very night. I cannot guess what I thought on seeing him in my room. I must have believed it to be a dream, as there was no way he could have been there in reality. When his teeth sank into my neck it was like slipping back into sleep, the black sleep of death.

         James told me afterwards that he had not decided to convert me when he first entered the room. I was merely another victim to him then, but something had changed, which he could never explain to me, the moment he bit into my neck. There was an instantaneous connection and, instead of draining me of life, he gave me new life with his blood. I never had a choice about my conversion, it was done at the point of near death from blood loss.

         The people who do not believe in vampires question why, if we do exist, we have not taken over the Earth. Besides the obvious answer of where could we then find food there is another more depressing fact. For if a vampire creates another of full strength then they will become very weakened and often die. Only the strongest vampires can survive. It is not an immediate chain of events, indeed a vampire could possibly create three or four others in that time, but few have the desire to transform humans if it should mean the loss of their own life. Was James tired of life? I may merely have been a convenience, a way out, rather than a being of any worth to him. I never found out much about my creator as when I awoke reborn he was close to death. He explained to me a few basic points about what had happened, asked me to burn him and that was all.

         You may wonder why I believed him. It was impossible not to. I knew I had changed. The hunger was there and it was as if all my senses were on fire. I believed him implicitly because he was the only rock I had to cling to in a world that seemed completely different to all I had ever known. When he died an hour later I was lost, adrift in a new life I could not comprehend, unsure of everything that surrounded me.

         If you are squeamish I would not advise reading the next part. For even I, who have killed more than I can possibly count, still cringe at the thought. It is impossible to explain unless you understand the hunger, and that is impossible without being an immortal. For that evening I killed my own family. You must believe that I had no desire to do so but, as I traveled hesitantly downstairs, my father disturbed me. The smell of blood was so fresh that, before I could even think, my teeth were at his neck and he was dead. My mother, sleeping peacefully in her room, was next; I had no control over my actions, governed entirely by my hunger. It was like putting a starving man in a room full of food; there was no way I could comprehend not touching it.

         I spent the next day cowering in the house, still too scared of sunlight to dare venturing out. The next night however I burnt the house to the ground, fulfilling James’ last wish, and then went out to hunt. It began the pattern of my early life: traveling at night, feeding off my victims and sleeping wherever I could. Sometimes in the houses of my prey, sometimes in inns or wherever shelter could be found.

         The decades changed, but I did not. I remained immortal; dead, but undead. I have seen the world and been educated, but still I am a creature governed by insatiable blood lust. I know now to feed regularly, or else there will be carnage, but I did not at first. I tried to control myself but, when I failed ,would end up killing frenziedly, like an animal. When one murders innocents like that you end up being caught. Nowadays, however, I do not even need to kill; anyone can buy fresh blood if you know where to go. I can inject blood straight into my veins and keep the hunger at bay without loss of human life but, before the twentieth century, I had never dreamed of such methods. I am still required to kill sometimes, but I almost always have myself under control.

         I have studied medicine to try and comprehend why I am what I am. Indeed I am probably one of the best doctors in the world, as I doubt any other can claim to have studied for over two hundred years. Yet I still do not know whether I was looking for a cure or an end. I have studied my own blood and can still not tell the difference between it and a mortal's. I have searched for answers and found nothing. This blood has witnessed plagues, the coming of AIDS, virtually every disease known to man, and is still unaffected. It is still pure. I could drink AIDS infected blood with no effect. I find it humorous that the only known cure for AIDS is to become a vampire, but I am still here. I am an immortal and the only thing that can kill me is my own will.

         I would not wish becoming a vampire on another being. It is a living death. Indeed I would find it impossible to give eternal life to anyone other than you. For you are dying already; but all human beings are nearing the end of their lives from the day that they are born, so that is not a good enough excuse. I have created you for my own selfish reasons, noble as they may be at times.

         It is possible for a vampire to fall in love. We were once human after all, and the tragedy of our race is the spark of humanity that remains forever to taunt us. Through the course of my medical research I came into contact with you, Doctor Michael Flannigan, an expert in diseases of the blood. Your research was far better than mine and, if I had to be examined by any human being, you would be the one I would choose. It is just sad for both of us that I decided that I wanted to observe you in person.

         I have followed you for six months now. I know your research and it leaves me speechless, as you have far more talent naturally than I have ever been able to develop through years of careful study. I know you are a good man. I also know you are dying, battling the H.I.V. that you caught after being attacked by a patient with a needle. I know you are the only human to have observed vampire blood already, although you did not know that at the time. You just thought I had a rare blood disease and offered to help. If you had known what I am, would you still have offered?

         So, this is my last testament, intended for your eyes only. I do not know how long I will live after converting you and I would hate to have left details uncovered. For you are the last hope. I could not bear to see you die, so I have created you for good. I believe that somehow there must be a cure for this 'disease' that has made me what I am. A cure or an end. There are others like me and someone has to save us. For that person I have chosen you and ensured the necessities. A safe house for you and all the fresh blood you will need on awakening with the hunger. You will not have to kill another human being unless you want to, as I know your medical ethics will not agree with that.

         Like me, you have had no choice about becoming a vampire. I only hope you can one day forgive what I have done.