Wild Night

The mysterious woman

This is the story of the most significant events of my life. I’ll write what comes to my mind, trying to give a chronological sequence of the events. The adventures I have experienced are not the most “normal” ones like those that a human being can live during his short existence. Because of my nature I cannot do any thing else but live a life devoid of life, day after day, year after year, decade after decade, century after century. No, I am not immortal. I’m a vampire.

The last surviving vampire.

For thousands of years I have eaten the “souls” of young girls by sucking their blood.

But . . . Let’s go back for a moment. A few centuries ago, as the appearance of a bat, I was going around in the darkness of the night under the sky of the city of Paris. Suddenly, I saw, masked only by a few rays of moonlight, a young woman. I approached her silently.

Her neck was there, in front of my thirsty eyes. I could feel the intense and heady fragrance and there were only a few centimeters to reach. Suddenly she turned, shaken perhaps by the light breeze of air created by the flapping of my wings, and her bright eyes hit mine with just one look.

I turned to the right to avoid her, gliding up into the air. I went back for a better look at that face that had distracted me. I flew close to her again, keeping a distance so as not to frighten her. Watching her, I realized something fascinated me.

Walking quickly she joined a group of people talking about this and that, so I decided to leave.

The night after I looked for her, I wandered around the entire city, but I did not even see her shadow. I was hoping desperately to see her again but I could not.

A few hours before dawn, the following night, I heard strong metal clashings. I walked over to the place where these sounds came from and discovered the cause. Two people were dueling with swords, fighting fiercely, with no holds barred. I was hidden behind a large tree, and was surprised to see her there. She was holding the hilt firmly in her hands and waving it menacingly. I could not believe it. Agile in her movements, she parried and stopped the attacks of the man who reciprocated mercilessly. I saw many details of her appearance and was surprised by the graces of such a young woman.

I saw her break free from an attack by bending backwards. Then, it was her turn. She launched some shots that put the opponent in trouble. She advanced forward two steps and he backed away. She seemed in total control; then the enemy became even more determined, and he won ground by advancing a bit. I was almost tempted to . . . to save her? A lump rose up in my throat, a feeling of profound contempt. It is not in my nature to save lives. So I stopped. Still paying attention to this thought, I watched her start to attack again, pushing him back as she advanced towards him.

They had changed position. Now I could only see her from behind. Suddenly a scream. She turned around, her face turned to the left and I could see only a part of it; the tip of the man’s blade had marked the cheek just below her eye.

With one hand she touched the wound.

A strange silence emerged in that moment full of tension.

She watched the tips of her fingers painted red and a cry arose from her mouth angrily. “Damn!” interrupting for an instant the temporary peace.

She gripped the sword with greater force, hitting repeatedly until the disarmed man fled, thus avoiding a sad fate. She ran after him.

Coming out of hiding, I was attracted by the red on the blade that was left unattended on the ground. Instinctively I grabbed it and began to lick it eagerly. The purplish red liquid was cold, strange, and I rapidly spat it out. It did not have a sweet taste, but bitter and disgusting. It was the first time that such a thing happened to me. I could not explain the reason for this feeling, though I thought I was smart and educated enough.

The isolated alley was now empty. She had disappeared without a trace ... Puff!! Gone!

I think not even God knows how many times I cursed myself for not running after her. Back in my sweet coffin, my mind crowded by her memory, I asked myself why I had heard the voice of reason!

Why once again had I not followed my animal instincts?

How many girls had I seduced with such eagerly treacherous ardor and then had taken their lives with a deadly kiss, betraying them one after the other without stopping and leading them to their sad ending? Yet I do not know after how many years I ever felt again that emotion which is called affinity, joy of being near; or more commonly, for what the mortal man called “love.” Well! You know, I started in some way to experience it again, to relive it like when I was a child.

Many years ago I, too, was a mere mortal, a normal child, one like so many others that liked to play, had feelings and loved being close to their mother. She worked several hours a day in the country fields and there I spent my childhood with her, when my life was still carefree and happy.

One sad morning, my mother had to take a different job from the usual one — “an extraordinary” one, getting up very early to collect olives, and she left me alone in the house.

I still remember vividly that morning of November. I was still in bed and some knocks on the door woke me up, the faint light penetrated through the cracks of the window.

I got up and opened it. A friend of my mother’s stood behind the door. She was shaken, had tears in her eyes, and a tired look. She told me, “The curse is coming down on your family. This morning, your mother . . . was . . .” she burst into tears and sobbed. “It’s sad, I still refuse to believe it. Your mother is dead!”

I did not wait to hear more. I ran immediately to the place where I could find her, among the olive trees. There were some women who were collecting the olives from the ground by putting them in the baskets, a man with a long stick made them fall by hitting the branches.

My mother was no longer with them.

I wanted to see her, and panting from the race to the olive grove, I asked the workers, “Where can I find my mother?”

A man pointed to a hut not far from where I was. I ran there, and saw her lying on a bench. She had an ashen face and two small strange red spots on the neck. Curious, I approached her to look at what those holes really were. There were two drops of blood clogged on to small and deep holes. I was about to touch them with my hand, but a man with the air of a pedantic doctor prevented me.

“What are those holes?” I asked.

“The bite of a vampire.”

I looked at him in amazement.

“Vampires are birds, they cannot bite or kill my mother!” I objected incredulously.

He explained patiently:

“Vampires are beings with human features, with a waxy complexion that live at night. They can turn into bats and in this way they master the sky and the earth while wrapped in darkness. They have eternal life, feeding on fresh blood, animal and human. Through two elongated sharp teeth they can penetrate the meat, reach up to the veins and suck the nectar they need to feed themselves in the same way as leeches do.”

“Where . . . where can I find them?” I asked impatiently.

The man laughed, then replied, “You cannot find them, they will find you.”

I made a face of anger mixed with hatred.

The doctor continued, “You must know that they appear as normal people; it is very difficult to recognize them except by their somewhat faded skin. They go out at night or when the sun does not strike them. They sleep during the daylight hours because they escape from the light, taking refuge inside the coffins. The warm sun’s rays, so beautiful and vital for us men, are, for them, hideous and deadly.

In the same way, a wooden stake stuck firmly in their frozen hearts can cause the same effect.”