It wasn’t always as it is now; Once, I was a boy and a coward. Monsters would swarm and feast on the blood of innocence while I hid and trembled behind fallen carriages. These killers, these vile creatures knew...they knew exactly whose lives they took each and every night. Rather than kill the man who had stolen and raped just hours before, the sinners chose a child, with hardly any sins to her name, save the occasional lies to her parents. Oh, how the saints have fallen! Once a saint could say they’d never delved into the ways of the world once they were saved by Christ’s blood. Now, a saint is always a sinner. A parent blamed their dogs for the missing bread when it was the child who stole it all along. But is this just cause for a young girl to die? No! Yet the creatures feasted on pure souls in the dark of night. And they do, Still, to this day, they ravish in the glory of the lives they slay.
Agh. Haven’t I ranted enough? They are ugly creatures in need of God; what more can I say? I do not fear them as I once did. Our small village in Germany became their fixation, and fixation led to my desensitization. Thunder rolled, and lightning cracked across the sky, lighting their faces. I began to recognize them, and soon none of them were strangers to me. I cannot say I was comfortable, but I no longer hid; just gazed from afar, praying to the almighty God He would deliver us, for none in our village nor anyone nearby was strong enough to defy these devils. But there was worse to come; hoards of them! Flying into our village by night, crying with lust for blood. My parents, I am afraid to say, were not spared. I wept openly for the first time. I knew then that there would be no more dances. No more singing and drinking and no more glorious stories of old. My mother would never tell me of the ghosts who protected her in times of trouble, and my father would never again show me the wonderful things that could be created with just a knife and some wood. I’d have to discover those things on my own from then on. And perhaps, in my former cowardice ways, knowing I could never depend on them, troubled me more than their loss did. One of them saw me in my sorrowful state. He lashed and hissed, crawling at a rapid pace in my direction. But another stopped him. I cannot tell you why; I can only tell you that at that moment, he wasn’t as sinister as the rest. “Let the child be,” the monster said. “His blood is poisoned from sins brought upon by his fear.” And dear God, I was offended! The nerve of me to stand up and scream at the top of my lungs. Nothing in German or English, or any Language really; just babblings of a broken child. “I should kill him now!” The first monster groaned. But the other again protested and said, “His blood would kill us.” It took me years to understand what that meant. I wept again, saying nothing intelligent. The creature who would have wished me dead quickly crawled from the wreckage and into the night
while the other stood staring me down until he vanished.
It was later on that I discovered my purpose in life. It wasn’t to hide, to wallow in self-pity; it was to rise to the challenge! Avenge the deaths of innocent and prevent further bloodshed! When there are questions, there are answers. When there is sin, there is justice. When there are vampires, there is Van Helsing.