I have gone by more names than I care to spend the time to recount. I have lived for thousands of years and I am immortal. I have killed far more people than Fat Man over Hiroshima. Each day that I live costs the life of another. I am a vampire, and I am alone.

This story I want to tell tonight begins on June 12, 1987. It feels like yesterday. I can remember the sights, sounds and feelings of that night with such clarity. It is a story of temptation, love, and death. The story opens with me in an alternative bar just past ten. I had already fed for the night, and I had drained a couple of pints from a wino. I was buzzing nicely. I sat in a nice dark corner table and watched the human animal make a fool out of itself in a new and interesting way. They moved and twisted to what this century calls music. The lights pounded in time to an overloud drum, which reminded me in an odd way of a heart. The dress was a bit outlandish even by today’s standards; it ranged from slinky black to chains and cuffs. I can only assume it was the wino’s blood that made me such the fool.

Before I continue, let me clear up some misconceptions that popular literature and ancient myth have put over on the general populous. Picking me out of a crowd is almost impossible. Yes, I’m pale, but not inhumanly so, unless I haven’t eaten. I have fangs, but they are more cobra fangs than the oversized canine type of fangs, in other words, they are retractable. Fingernails and eyes are normal. I appear in mirrors, and I have no problem with garlic. Eating solid food does make me wretch, I’ll grant that to folklore, but I require no permission to enter a house, and water, even holy water, is just water. All in all, I can sit in the corner of a darkened room with flashing lights without arising to much suspicion.

That night a woman, more of a girl, really, came and sat at my table. She was probably the most normally dressed person there; she wore a simple black dress. She didn’t really seem like she belonged there, and she certainly shouldn’t have been approaching someone such as I in that place. Obviously she was attracted by that famous vampire allure. She was a beautiful brunette, with wonderful brown eyes that reminded me of something I could never remember. A petite woman, no more than five feet tall, she held herself with that air of confidence that women haven’t possessed until recently. For some reason I talked to her instead of scaring her away with a scowl, allure of her own perhaps. I can only assume it was the alcohol.

We danced and spoke about a great many things that night. We spoke like drunks, pouring our souls out to each other. It was as if we’d known each other a hundred years. I did not tell her I was a vampire, and I don’t think I told her anything that didn’t take place during this lifetime. The exact details of what we spoke of that night are not horribly important, and they don’t directly affect the story. I’d like to keep that conversation between me and her alone. What I will tell you is that she was a rare woman. She still remembered the innate nature of a child, while at the same time she had an acute sense of morbidity. The two together fit well with my own cynicism and personal experience. She was in a certain way wise well beyond her age. But in other ways as foolish as any other mortal. She cared for people in a way that I wish I had forgotten to do long ago. She was compassionate and caring, as well as more than a little bit sensual. Perhaps I’m biased, but I thought she was wonderful.

The important thing to know about the evening is that towards the end I had slipped out to the “bathroom” and drunk another wino. And that I was falling in love again. A wretched emotion. That’s another thing literature has put over on you, the famous vampire detachment. I’ve lived several thousand years and felt the pain of every kill, I know the loneliness of all that time. I feel and hurt just like a man, and I fall in love just like a fool, but not as easily. I have a lot of pain to protect me.

Around three in the morning the management tossed us out when the bar closed. Somehow we ended up at my home, a little basement apartment underneath a house I own. I was too intoxicated on her and drunkard blood to realize that I had to either suck her or get rid of her.

But once my lips touched hers, I felt my sanity melt away and leave only passion and desire. I held her close to me, breathing in her scent, feeling her skin next to mine. I ran my fingers through her hair and gazed into those amazing eyes. I saw my own longing mirrored in her. Slowly she unbuttoned my shirt as I pushed her dress off her shoulders and down to the floor. I stared at her, ravaging and devouring her body with my eyes. Finally, I could stand it no more. I grabbed her and fully undressed both of us. Falling into my bed, I kissed every square inch of her body, and she mine. I caressed her as she arched her back, pressing her warmth against me. We groaned with pleasure and murmured incoherent oaths that I thought I was done with centuries ago. We took each other again and again, the burning passion and intensity mounting each time. Her screams echoed mine as we lost ourselves in a whirlwind of lust. Finally, the crescendo reached, we fell back among the rumpled sheets and pillows. I didn’t kill her when we were done like I should have. Instead, I just sat there making eyes at her like a love struck schoolboy. That’s how I drifted off to sleep, with her in my arms.

Needless to say I did not wake in the morning, nor did I wake in the afternoon. No, I woke in the evening, and I woke hungry. She was no longer in bed. I listened and heard her somewhere nearby. Doing nothing more than breathing. And there was a smell so strong I was surprised it had taken this long for me to notice it. It was kerosine or some similar substance. The room was soaked in it.

I wasn’t really concerned about the kerosine. You see, when I say I am immortal, I don’t mean that I don’t age. I mean that I am absolutely immortal. Stake through the heart? I’ve done that. Intense heat and fire? I survived ground zero at Los Alamos during the atomic test. Silver, crosses, exorcism? None them have any effect. As for starvation, I once incased myself in a block of concrete, completely sealed. The block lasted five days before I shattered it with rage driven strength that I don’t like to think about. The few times I’ve managed to voluntarily skip a night without killing just made the next night that much worse. Right after the atom bomb, I was reduced to ash; it took me years to get better. When I managed to regenerate to the point that I had a body that could hunt again, hundreds died to make up for my starvation. Sunlight puts me into a coma until dusk, and it makes me hungry. Don’t get me wrong, most of these things hurt like hell, but none of them can kill me.

Long ago I came to the conclusion that I can not die. No, I lie, there is one thing that can kill me. Another vampire can kill me as I killed my sire, and he killed his sire before him. I believe that is why my sire made me, as the implement of his own destruction. I was a bit slow… it took 20 years of him goading me on until I finally attacked him. You’ve read in popular literature of ancient vampires tired of living and exposing themselves to sunlight; I have reached the point where, if sunlight could kill me I’d be sunbathing tomorrow. I have tried every method I can think of to kill myself and all have failed. But I digress, suffice it to say that I wasn’t too worried about a little fire; it would hurt, sure, but it wasn’t likely to truly harm me. And if it did, so much the better.

I quietly slipped out of bed and looked around. She stood by the door, slowly swaying back and forth like the picture of innocence. It was obvious to me that she held something behind her back, my guess was a lighter and a cross. She had changed clothes since last night, into jeans and a tee shirt. She didn’t bring those with her. Probably changed when she went and got the kerosine. She looked apprehensive. She chewed on her lower lip a little too intensively; she was worried.

There was a brief moment when we tensely stared at each other, then I decided to put on some pants. She began to talk at this point. She told me that she knew what I was, that she knew I was a vampire. She noticed the fangs, and she claimed to remember that I didn’t actually drink anything last night.

I told her she couldn’t possibly know what I was or she would have fled at top speed and never again set her eyes on this house.

This is when she dropped the bomb. It seems this lovely little angel wanted to be an angel of death. She wanted me to make her into a vampire. It would really be quite humorous if the situation weren’t so damn tense. She asked me to condemn her to an eternity of hell, just like she was asking me for a piece of candy or a good drink. Well, what can I say? The situation was so humorous for me I laughed.

The situation just got funnier; she threatened to destroy me if I didn’t do as she demanded. I explained to her that nothing would please me more than my own destruction, but she just didn’t have the power. I told her exactly how useful those items she held behind her back were. I told her about the period in the 1800’s when I briefly found religion. I would confess every kill to a old Irish priest. I did a lot of penance in the 1800’s, and eventually the poor priest slit his own throat because he was so troubled by what I told him every night. More blood on my hands. At no time during that period was I at the least bit affected by holy ground, crosses, or even the taking of communion. I told her of the multitude of fires I subjected myself to while trying to seek refuge from the hunger. I told her about when I was burnt at the stake and had my ashes scattered. She could see I was still here. I tried to convince her what vampirism was about. I told her of the death, how heavily it weighed upon my soul. I told her that even if she didn’t have a conscience, the boredom is almost too much to bear. I tried to impart to her what it’s been like to live all these years without anyone to talk to. I told her about the hunger I felt every evening when I woke up. I told her about the things that it had driven me to do over years. I recounted death after death. But even as I said these things I felt the cold calculating part of me work. She could give me years of happiness. She could alleviate some of the loneliness. She could even kill me, given enough time. I shut those thoughts away. I didn’t have the right to inflict immortality upon another. Especially not her.

Some of what I said must have gotten through to her, but only some of it. She dropped her toys. She started to break down, she began to beg me to make her a vampire. She asked that I give her the “dark gift,” she wanted me to “embrace” her and other such nonsense. She told me she was a member of some vampiric fan club. God, I hate the popularization of my myth. She wanted me to make her a vampire with all her heart. She wanted the curse I would do anything to be rid of. She played upon my loneliness, she promised that together we wouldn’t be alone. She couldn’t get past the idea that being a vampire is not necessarily a good thing. She wasn’t fully understanding what I was trying to tell her. The temptation of making her a vampire kept coming to the front, I couldn’t forget what it would do for me.

She pushed her hair back, showing me the veins on her neck. My hunger reasserted itself and my fangs extended. I could see the minute lifting and falling of the vein on her neck as the blood moved under it. Her heart sounded like a drum thumping in my ear. I could smell her. The hunger yearned to take this poor creature. It wasn’t helping that she was begging for me to sink my fangs into her.

I fought against the hunger. I barely managed to tell her that because I cared for her I could not make her a vampire. I told her if she valued anything at all she would run for her life or I would certainly kill her. I bared my fangs and hissed at her. She just came closer and told me that she wanted to die, and she wanted me to raise her as a vampire.

The smell of her was making me delirious. It was all so simple, just drain her blood, feed on her very essence, and bring her back from the dead. Just do what we both wanted. The hunger was screaming for me to do it.

She came closer. She put her arms around me, she kissed my neck. I could feel her heart beat against my chest. Her warmth was almost to much for me to bear. The sound of her heart was driving me crazy. She begged me again to feed on her blood. She promised me years of happiness as we wandered the world together. She promised that she would remind me what there is in the world worth living for. She promised to be everything I needed. A desperate, reasonable part of my mind knew she could also kill me when this new game got boring.

Almost without my willing them to my fangs sunk into her flesh. The blood began to flow and I drank. She moaned as her beautiful blood was sucked from her neck and slid down my throat like nectar. Together we sank to our knees. I continued to drink the crimson liquid, the heart becoming fainter. My hunger was satiated by her life. In her dying breath she had only one word for me, “Please.”

I sat there holding a corpse in my arms. I looked at her face, which was the picture of innocence. I bent down and kissed her.

I clawed my wrist open. She would feed on my blood and it would make her, like me, an immortal killing machine. I looked at her innocence and the vulgarity of my blood as it poured from my arm, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to condemn her to my fate. Even if it is what she wanted, I could not make myself commit this act of evil. The last act of ultimate evil I had left. I began to cry. It all seemed so pointless. I just killed the only person who I could have loved in a long time, and all I could do was cry.

I retrieved the lighter and carried the poor child to my bed. I held her tight to me, and I asked her forgiveness. I hope she gave it from wherever she had gone. I will never know, for that place is forever barred to me. After my first tears struck her cheek, I lit the lighter. The room went up like a fireball, but I just held her to me. Crying all the more. The fire hurt like the hell it came from, but I was beyond feeling such things. I kissed her one last time.

I sat there holding her close to me as I was reduced to ash.

Again.