Welcome to my weekly series – Vampire & Single.
All the previous parts to this story are stored here.
Sasha, 23, is a new vampire, struggling to come to terms with her life.
She never wanted to become a vampire. On a second date she was bitten by Boris, a guy she hardly knew. He vanished the following day, leaving her to cope alone with her terrible transformation.
Months later Sasha is scared of turning into a monster. Her urges to drink blood are getting stronger and she is struggling to keep control of her fangs.
Life for Sasha is all about hiding the fact she has become a vampire and acting like a normal twenty-three year old.
Her worst nightmare is for the human world to discover her terrible secret and lock her away.
Will Sasha ever come to terms with who she is?
Brace yourselves – here’s part 3:
9.10 a.m. This morning I phoned in sick. I could not face going into work. Even vampires need to throw sickies.
All I want to do is sit on my sofa, under a blanket and suck on a raw steak.
It’s not been a great morning. I have been through two large packets of kitchen antibacterial wipes already and there is an ugly stain on my carpet, which I can’t get rid of. Being a vampire is not attractive. You would not believe the mess you make when your vampire urges run wild.
About an hour ago I was TV channel hopping and found a programme about farming pigs. In a flash I found myself clawing and snarling. It was really frightening and I had to peel my face off the TV screen. I nearly fainted at the mess. Thick yellow slobber and drool dripped from my fangs. It went everywhere, all over my favourite red tartan pyjamas, my TV and carpet. There is no carpet cleaner out there which gets rid of fang slobber stains.
After watching a zillion vampire films and reading a ton of vampire books I can say that not one of them talks about this ugly side of a vampire existence.
My eyes are swimming in hot salty tears. I have transformed into something disgusting and I am gradually losing control of my body. It won’t be long before I do the unthinkable and kill someone. I thought I could handle being a vampire, but I don’t think I can.
With the back of my hand I wipe my eyes. “I don’t want to kill anyone.” I sob, before snivelling into my sleeve.
Earlier I drew Boris on a piece of paper, stuck it to the wall and fired darts at it. I soon got bored, flew at the wall and ripped the paper to pieces with my fangs.
Oh, did I tell you I can now fly? Last night I was busy reading five vampire fiction books in quick succession. When you are a vampire there is no such thing as a leisurely read.
After I had finished the final book, I left my bed with the intention of shuffling across my bedroom to get my rabbit slippers. It was really weird. One minute I was thinking about slipping my cold feet into my cute rabbit slippers and the next minute I was in the air.
You are probably thinking that flying is really cool. Well it’s not! I don’t know how to stop and I keep crashing into walls. There are now three giant holes in the wall of my bedroom. Don’t ask me what I am going to say to my landlord!
10.03 a.m. I am on Google, searching for other real life vampires, whilst sucking the life out of a huge raw steak.
I refuse to believe that I am the only person suffering with this ailment. There must be others out there.
10.08 a.m. There is a knock at my flat door. I let out a small growl.
Mr Smith, my landlord, a small grey haired man in a navy suit, which looks two sizes too big for him, stands before me in the doorway. He’s not in his usual mechanic overalls so he’s obviously dressed up for the occasion. I can feel my neck and shoulders stiffening.
“Sasha, there have been some complaints from other flat owners about the smell coming from your flat. I have to inform you that unless you clean up in there I am going to have to ask you to leave.” His voice is sharp and stern.
“Oh ok, I’m sorry,” I nod furiously.
“Very well, you have a week to sort yourself out. Can I just ask what is it that you are doing in there?” he asks, placing his hand over his mouth and screwing up his face. The stench from my flat must be bad today.
“Think its my fridge. I will clean it up.” I give him a reassuring smile.
He mumbles and leans towards me, his beady blue eyes fixed on my mouth. “Sasha – your gums are bleeding…quite badly.”
I yelp in shock, placing my hand over my mouth.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asks, his eyes scan my face. “You look very pale. Do you think you should see a doctor?”
“I’m fine. Please tell the neighbours I will tidy up. Have a nice day!” I quickly close the door and stand behind it, gasping.
As I listen to his footsteps clip clop down the hall, I slide down my door into a small ball. “This is a nightmare. Soon I’ll have nowhere to live. Who is going to rent their flat to a killer vampire?” I mutter, hugging my knees tightly.
My heart is pounding. What if Mr Smith suspects something? What if he goes home and thinks about the facts; flat reeking of meat and a pale-faced tenant with blood all over her mouth?
This is not a great situation.
11.19 a.m. Yesterday as I walked home from a disastrous family lunch, where I spent the entire time gazing longingly at my Uncle Don’s neck and had to leave early as my mother thought I was on drugs, I passed a mysterious newspaper seller. He thrust a rolled up paper into my hand and held my gaze with a pair of piercing green eyes. There was something odd about him.
Google has offered me nothing and the rolled up newspaper on my coffee table keeps catching my eye. I can’t get the face of the newspaper seller out of my head.
I am flicking through the newspaper. Maybe he was just a weirdo newspaper seller?
Hang on – someone has circled, in red pen, an advert for a blood transfusion information site. Its on the last page at the bottom. The URL has been underlined.
Don’t ask me why I am doing this but I am keying in the url. Crazy I know. Wait – its taken me to an online chatroom called ‘VHO’.
Gasp. I can see there are people in here claiming to be real vampires.
After devouring the remains of my steak I reach out for another. “I must proceed with caution. The people in here could be a bunch of weirdos and freaks,” I say, thinking aloud.
11.56 a.m. There is a guy in here called Henry. He wants to talk to me. I have decided to give myself another name for security and I have renamed myself Helen.
We are heading off into a private virtual room. My mouth has gone dry and I am trembling.
Henry: ‘I know what you’re going through.’
My mouth has fallen open in surprise.
Me: ‘What am I going through?’
Henry: You’re scared at what you have become. Your transformation is something out of a nightmare and you don’t know how things will end.
My heart is thudding inside my chest. I wipe away a layer of sweat from my forehead and stare at Henry’s message.
Henry: ‘I am right – aren’t I?’
Me: ‘Might be.’
Henry: ‘We must meet!’
A bleep on my phone informs me I have a text. It is from Sam. Apparently he called my office and they told him I was sick. I growl whilst responding. ‘I am fine’.
I return to talking to Henry.
Me: ‘Where are you?’
Knowing my luck Henry probably lives in a mysterious haunted castle thousands of miles away. In my head this is where all vampires live, apart from me of course.
My mother rings as Henry starts to type something. I let out a loud growl and pick up the phone.
“Sasha – I phoned your office. Helen told me you were sick. What’s going on?” Mum is using her concerned voice.
“Just a bit of flu.”
“You looked awful yesterday. Are you in bed?”
I laugh, “No, I am chatting to some bloke online.” Sometimes my mouth runs away with itself.
“Please don’t go meeting strange men from the internet Sasha. You really don’t know who you are dealing with these days. I mean you could be talking to a murderer!”
“Or a vampire!” I find myself letting out a nervous giggle.
“Rubbish Sasha, they don’t exist!” barks my mother. “Do you want me to book you an appointment with Dr Feathers?”
I let out a groan. The last thing I need now is the old family doctor making the discovery of his medical career.
There’s no point in carrying on this conversation. “I have to go, not feeling very well. Bye Mum!”
She exhales loudly down the phone and I hang up.
Henry: ‘I’m in London, like you Sasha’.
I gulp. This man called Henry, who claims to be a vampire, wants to meet up with me. He knows I live in London and he knows my real name.
Me: ‘I am Helen’.
Henry: ‘I know who you are. Please meet me Sasha. I can help you.’
Me: ‘Are you a weirdo?’
Henry: ‘No! Are you?’
Phew! He’s not a weirdo. I can feel my heart slow down.
Hang on – I can’t believe I have just asked him that. Of course he is going to say no. Weirdos do not admit to being weirdos. My heart has accelerated again and I now feel sick.
Henry: ‘Please meet me.’
I anxiously chew on my lip. Do I go meet this stranger? Do I risk meeting someone who might not be a vampire and report me to the police?
What if Henry just fancies dating a real life vampire? Like a vampire pervert or something.
One thing I do know is that I am struggling.
Maybe I should investigate all opportunities… like meeting strange men in chat rooms who claim to know what I am going through?
7.55 p.m. Henry is late.
It is dark and wet. I am standing outside a small wine bar. Tired looking commuters, excited couples and weary shoppers pass me on their way towards the tube station.
In my sweaty hand I clasp my phone. I’m waiting for a ‘running late – be there in a bit’ text or a ‘got held up – order me a drink text from Henry.
I spent my afternoon thinking about Henry. The thought of someone out there who can help gives me a reassuring warm fuzzy feeling.
So many questions for Henry are queuing up on my mind, if he is a real vampire.
How long has he been a vampire?
Who changed him?
How does he stop his flat from stinking?
Has he killed anyone?
How does he control his vampire urges?
8.20 p.m. Still no sign.
I am scanning the road and pavements for a guy who might be called Henry. We never swapped photos or anything. He told me he would be wearing a blue suit and I told him I had long brown hair.
I have checked my phone a hundred times, my email and the vampire chatroom we met on. Nothing.
9.01 p.m. He’s not coming. There is no word from him.
Tears are streaming down my face. It was all a hoax. He probably didn’t live in London and he was not a real vampire. I was someone who he could satisfy his perverted vampire girl fetish with.
A bus goes past and I am caught in the spray from a puddle. A young couple laugh at me and walk off arm in arm, with matching grins.
I start to sob. I was stupid to get carried away with some stranger from the internet and think that there would be someone like me out there. It was all a fantasy. I am alone and a monster.
Before another bus gets the chance to drench me I start to walk away. I hate myself.
I stuff my hands into my coat pocket and cry like a baby. The people who pass me are too busy listening to their headphones, talking on their mobiles or engrossed in conversation to notice that I am a mess.
My phone bleeps. I quickly take it out of my coat and groan. It is from Sam, my ex-boyfriend and reads ‘thinking of u x’
I stuff my phone in my pocket. There is no point in trying to carry on with my life. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t have the energy. Being a vampire disgusts me and I am scared of myself. My body and mind are not my own anymore.
I’m no longer Sasha Green. She died when Boris sucked the life out of her neck.
I’m a monster, a danger to everyone around me and a freak.
There is only one option left. I must find ways to end my life. It is for the best. I am doing it to protect the rest of the world.
Ok, so I did not expect to only live twenty-three years but death comes to us all. It feels like the right thing to do.
First, I will have one last night out as a vampire.
11.34 p.m. Earlier I found a rock music club down a back street.
I am now in the rock music club bar, surrounded by an array of beautiful bodies, glazed in sweat. A crowded dance floor, with a band playing at the far end face me.
Earlier I drank an emergency blood ration. It tasted good as it slipped down my throat, velvety and soft. However my small container was not enough. For the first time in my vampire life I finished it wanting more.
I watch the swaying throng of music fans. My eyes scan their heads, limbs and necks, as a delicious warm glow spreads through my body.
My tongue finds a trace of blood on my lips and I savour the taste.
11.55 p.m. A frantic search through my handbag has revealed I have no more blood containers. I thought I had more left. As I claw the table with frustration I get some odd looks from some people around me.
I run my tongue over my dry lips, in a desperate attempt to find one more tiny drop of precious blood. Nothing. My heart has broken into a gallop and my breathing has become raspy.
There is a young couple in the corner and I can’t stop staring at the girl’s delicate white neck. She has long red hair, nestled in small piles on her shoulders.
I clench my fists. ‘No! You are not a killer!’ cries a strange little voice inside of me.
My eyes linger over her head, thrown back in laughter and onto her neck. Instinctively I know where I will sink my fangs. They will enter at the side of her windpipe where her carotid artery carries oxygen-rich blood up to her head, brain and face. Once you become a vampire you find yourself googling arteries a lot. I try to stop myself but it’s become a bad habit.
I am moving towards their table. In my head I am imagining what her blood will taste like. Will it be different to what I drink at the moment? Will it make me want more?
She rises from the table and grabs her diamond studded clutch bag. I know where she is going.
Before I can think about what I am doing I am following her and entering the ladies toilets.
In the back of my mind the little voice is crying out ‘no..Sasha…please no! It is being drowned out by something much louder.
Tomorrow I will be dead. It will all be over. Why should I deprive myself of a glorious drink?
‘This girl doesn’t deserve to be killed. You are not a monster!’ I can barely hear the little voice.
I feel like I am being shrouded in darkness. My body is stiffening and my eyes are on fire. I can’t shake this terrible thirst.
The girl is looking at herself in a mirror. I am standing behind her.
There is something terrible welling up inside of me. I can’t breathe. It is too strong for me. I have no control anymore. Everything is going dark.
If Henry had showed up I wouldn’t be contemplating such a thing. If he had not made a fool out of me.
She’s brushing her long thick hair. My hands are clenched. I am taking short and quick breaths.
Once I do this my life is effectively over.
“You had too much to drink?” she giggles, grinning at me through the mirror.
If only she knew what I was about to do. I step forward.
“Look for your light Sasha!” urges the little voice.
Don’t miss part 4 next week!
Things are about to get interesting.
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