WANNABE

         







                                            WANNABE

         Tim opened one eye, glaring at the digital glow. 7:30 blurred into view.  Pissed, he was across the room by the fourth beep slamming his fist down on the snooze button.  He despised the one thing that forced him to face reality.  The clock was on the window sill, a distance from the bed, just for that reason.  If it would have been within reach its glowing display would have perished forever.  He reset the alarm.  As much as he hated his reality he would not be able to deal with it if he slept his already miserable life away.
         His annoyance grew when he pulled on the curtain cord and nothing happened.  He yanked harder and cursed as the curtain, curtain rod, and pieces of plaster fell around him.  He batted his way out of the mess, throwing the whole curtain across the room with a snarl.  When he returned his attention to the window the violet dusk managed to show itself through the grime coated panes.  He shook his head, surprised anything could be seen through them.
         With the knowledge that the ebony of night was approaching Tim began to relax.  Soon, he thought, they will awaken.  Then, they’ll come out to feed, and I’ll be there;  this time!
         Now that he was awake he began to hurry.  Dirty clothes and empty food containers littered the floor.  In one corner, where the clothes and garbage had fused together, he found the pair of tattered blue-jeans and sweat stained T-shirt he had worn the night before.  Somehow, the T-shirt had managed to bury itself within the mound.  The clothes, when he slipped them on, dropped loosely about his body, hiding his lanky frame. 
         Kneeling beside the stained bed he retrieved a pair of high-tops that were so worn that the logo could no longer be seen.  Thread like strands of leather barely held the soles on.  He put them on sockless.  He didn’t own any.  Socks were easily lost and too time consuming to find. 
         The final item of his attire was a heavily patched brown leather coat, which was on the bed along with another pile of clothing that served as his bedding.  The jacket was two sizes too big, making his upper body seem bigger than it was.
         He raised his arms and sniffed, and his facial muscles reflexively puckered.  Was it him or the room?  Probably both, he decided, grabbing a bottle of cheap cologne off the nightstand.  He poured a generous amount into his cupped hand.  He used it like a deodorant stick, applying it to his clothes rather then his skin.  The piney, sawdust scent was not sex appealing, but it served its purpose of overriding the stale musty smell of his body.  Bathing left him feeling vulnerable.
         Tim kicked a path through the trash.  He seemed not to notice that there wasn’t a spot devoid of refuse.  To anyone else walking across the small motel room, it would be like taking a stroll through the local landfill.  Even if he did notice, he didn’t care.  He never entertained guests and had no plans of ever doing so.  He only cared about one thing, and it wasn’t his living conditions.  The only reason why he even bothered to mask his body odor was because he spent his nights in a public place.  He could not afford to offend other customers and get kicked out.  That would ruin his plans.
         From the ledge next to the door he grabbed a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a five dollar bill.  After stashing these items away in the pockets of his jacket he grabbed a soda from the same ledge; it would serve as his breakfast.  He then left the room, not bothering to lock the door.  There was nothing even a drug addict would want to steal.  Besides, the only other people that came to the seedy, rundown motel were hookers and their trixs.
         Exit lights dimly glowing red served as the only sources of light.  The room numbers were barely visible.  He had no problem navigating his way down the hall and through the trash.  It was actually easier than walking across his own room.  Only the smell was worse.  It seemed that the drunks couldn’t find the toilets at the end of the hall, which cased its own rancid aroma.  Cesspool was the only description of the place.
         He headed in the opposite direction of the bathroom, towards the exit, and down the stairs which he took two at a time.  Elevators were too public for him.
         Once in the lobby he went to the front desk.  “Joe!” he shouted, filling the lobby with a sound similar to that of fingernails scratching across a chalkboard. “Joe!” he called again, banging the little bell impatiently.
         “Who in the hells pounding on my bell?” a large overweight balding man screamed as he pushed his way through a green army blanket that served as a door.  A fat obnoxious smelling cigar stub was clenched between his yellowing teeth.  Ashes from the cigar were clinging to the mat of grayish-black curly hair that seemed to sprout from every pore on his bare upper body.
         “You! I should have known it was you with all that sissy like shrieking you were doing.  What do you want?” he grumbled, rubbing the enormous bulge of his stomach.
         “Any mail Joe?”  Tim asked impatiently.
         “I’ll be damned!  You did all that pounding and squawking just to ask me if you had any mail?  I told you before not to abuse my bell.”
         “Sorry,” Tim mumbled meekly.
         “You come down here demanding your mail all uppity like, and you expect me to come running as if I were your personal servant.  You act like the president is sending you a letter.  What the hell are you expecting anyhow?”
         “Letters from home Joe.”  Tim didn’t look at the man.  His eyes were fixed on the floor, not because of Joe’s attempt at intimidating him but rather to hide his fury.  He did not have the money to move, and Joe would surely kick him out if he offended the slob.  Instead, Tim reminded himself that Joe’s name was already on the revenge list.  When the time comes, he thought, you’ll be the first to be eliminated.
         “Yeah, I bet,” Joe smirked, purposely prolonging the answer, thinking that he had his long term tenant squirming.  “You’re probably waiting for some girlie magazines,” he laughed at his own words, making his stomach ripple.  “You do like girls don’t you?  You sure do sound like one,” he laughed harder.
         A cheering sound wafted through the curtain, reminding Joe the basketball game was on.  “No, you ain’t got no mail.” Tim started to walk away.  Joe shouted after him, “And quit bugging me.  If you get mail I’ll tell you.” Tim looked back at Joe for one moment, long enough for Joe to see…., then stormed out letting the door slam behind him.
         Once outside, Tim stepped to the left so he wouldn’t be in Joe’s line of sight.  The building’s overhand served as a shield against the rain.  His hands trembled as he took out a cigarette and lit it. One day, he though, I won’t have to hold it in.  One day, people like that pig will fear me.  One day soon!
         Away from the source of his agitation Tim started to calm down.  Briefly, he watched the smoke from his cigarette curl upward only to dissipate in the drizzling rain.  The air was thick and sticky making it hot under his coat, but it was preferable to being wet.
         His carbonated breakfast fizzed as he opened it.  Tilting his head back, Tim guzzled the soda without pausing, then crumpled the empty can and threw it in frustration.  Three months had gone by since his ad was placed in the paper, and there was still no reply.  What the hell was going on!
          What if there were no more?  What if the Hunters had captured them all?  “No!” he hissed.  That line of thinking would never do.  His whole life revolved around the discovery of their whereabouts.  If there were no more, then there was no reason for him to go on.  That was unacceptable to him.  Thirteen years of his life had been dedicated to his secret ambition.  He wasn’t about to give up now.
         The street lights automatically came on, getting brighter as it grew darker.  “Waste of money,” he grumbled, getting his mind off the previous subject that was plaguing his mind.  He looked around.  The city workers had not been around lately.  Just about every other street light was out.  Even if they had come out and fixed them, the lights would just have been broken again.  The drug dealers that worked the street paid the local hoodlums to keep certain lights broken.  Cops seldom patrolled the street, but when they did the criminals didn’t want to be seen.
         He didn’t see anyone about.  It was still too early for business.  There were about five minutes before full dark was upon him.  That’s when the night would come alive! The night was his time.
         Vapors rising from a manhole in the middle of the street captured his attention.  It seemed to be taking on a definite shape as it surged upwards.  He stared at it, hoping.  His pulse increased, expecting.  Perspiration beaded on his brow, anticipating.  His hand began to tremble again as he waited.
         Then the street lights grew brighter, shattering the illusion.  It was what it was, steam from the sewer.  Disappointed, Tim flicked his cigarette butt at the vapors, pulled up his jacket collar, and abandoned the shelter of the overhang to enter the rain and falling blackness.
         The rain wasn’t much more then a mist.  The moisture that did gather on his uncovered head just rolled down his greasy, shoulder length, black hair. The only part of his body that actually got wet was his face.  Drops of rain dangled from his sharply pointed nose before falling to the ground.
         Time knew he wasn’t handsome or even average looking.  And now that he was wet he knew what people would think if they saw him.  His dirty, stinking clothes, greasy hair, unhealthy look, sunken cheeks, and pitted face gave him the look of a full-blown drug addict.  It was a preferable look for him.  People would cross the street to avoid him; afraid they would be robbed or would catch something.  But, if they could see through his squinting, they would think differently as they saw clear, very aware, dark brown piercing eyes.
         A lone car sped by causing Tim to move deeper within the growing shadows. There were six more blocks to go, and he didn’t want to run into any trouble, although there was little chance of that happening even gang members were wary of drug users.  If you used drugs and walked around this neighborhood, odds were you were a shooter.  And those that used needles more than likely had AIDS.  No one wanted to play with that.
         Yet, at the same time, Tim was hoping to be approached by one of the “Unseen”.  Maybe, he thought, one of them had seen his ad and instead of writing decided to come to him in person.  It would be safer.  They would know if they were walking into a trap or not.  He could only hope.
         A terrible thought flashed through Tim’s mind.  There was another group of people who may have seen the ad, a group Tim did not want to encounter, not before he had the strength and ability to defend himself.  Even then he would have to be cautious.  They seemed to have an uncanny ability, if not a sixth sense, to track and find new converts.  They are known as “Hunters” for a good reason. 
         But Tim was careful and full of hope.  He had started hoping thirteen years ago, right after he watched a movie called, “The Children of the Night”.  It was an old black and white movie of poor quality, but it had been the first time he had ever heard about the “Unseen”, and they fascinated him.  Their way of life, he though, was the answer to all of his problems.
         That one movie led to another, and then another, until he could find no more on the subject.  Then he delved into books.  The public library was filled with information he so desired.  Most of the books that dealt with his obsession were fictional novels, but their knowledge was still welcomed.  The books that claimed to be non-fiction were studied endlessly, like a priest would study the Bible!  He gained most of his clues from books that dealt with ancient religions.
         Even now, at the age of twenty-three, he was still searching.  The desire to learn more pulled at his every fiber of existence.  His job even revealed clues.  He worked at the post office from four in the morning till noon sorting undeliverable mail.  He had turned down several promotions just for the opportunity to search for more clues.  Every now and then a letter was found that would add one more piece to his nightmarish puzzle.
         Tim’s parents were the main motivation for his quest.  Had it not been for a miserable childhood the quest may never have grown to such proportions.  Most likely, he would have grown out of it.  However, being reminded on a daily basis that he and his younger brother and two sisters were nothing more than unwanted mouths to feed, drove him beyond reason.
         Physical abuse was also a daily ritual in the Lake household.  Whenever Mr. Lake got drunk, which seemingly happened twenty-four hours a day, he beat his kids and wife.  Mrs. Lake drank just as much and also took out her anguish and pain on her children.  Surprisingly, Tim did not do the same to his siblings.  Instead, he tried to protect them, which only brought about more abuse.
         If he had been the only one abused, he still may have grown up with normal dreams and desires.  But, when his father started sneaking into his sisters’ room late at night and molesting them, Tim felt pushed over the edge.  Being a weak child he was unable to help his sisters.  If he was only able to become one of the “Unseen”, then he would have the strength to overcome his parents and put a stop to the misery they caused.
         So, at the age of sixteen, he ran away and started his quest.  He had to find one of them, and knowing they were not to be found in his small town, he sought the big city.  According to many of the books he had read, they could be found in New York in large numbers.  It was written that they had their own clubs, right out in the open.  With his mind made up, and the money he had stolen from his mother’s purse, he got on a bus to New York.  The revenge list at the time only consisted of his parents, but it would steadily grow. 
         He found out from a tour brochure the best place to start searching.  No buses went to that part of the city.  He had to spend twenty dollars for a cab, leaving him with only five dollars to his name.  However, if he found what he was looking for money would not be needed.  The cab dropped him off right in front of the lone one-story building.
         Tim stood in front of the building and stared.  The only evidence that the building was even occupied was the flashing neon sign above the doorway.  “DEN OF THE UNDEAD”.  Here, he hoped his quest would end.  And it would, if he could just find one of them who would be welling to help him become accepted.  There was no reason why they should deny him.  He wasn’t evil; his intentions were anything but.  All Tim wanted to do was rid the world of evil parents.  If anything, he should be considered a saint.
         He snapped out of his thoughts of the past as he approached his destination, stopping in the shadows across the street from the club.  There was already a small group of people standing in line waiting for the “Den” to open.  This was where he came every night, from sunset when the place opened to sunrise when it closed.  From here he would go straight to work.
         Tim remembered very well the first time he had entered the “Den”.  He had been enthralled.  The “Unseen” were everywhere!  Two of them had even stood outside of the entrance acting as sentries, pale-faced and ready to admit new members.  He had thought that his life was about to begin, that his quest was finally over.  So he had thought.
         He recalled walking around the club in a daze, not seeing anything except them.  There were at least a hundred of them, and they weren’t even trying to hide.  There was no reason for them to do so, Tim thought.  Who would dare threaten such a mass of power?  Not even the Hunters were so brave.  To top it off, nobody told him to leave or looked at him as if he were a freak.  It was as if they had already accepted him.
         It took only minutes for Tim to spot the person he was seeking.  All of the books he had read described the man he saw as a leader.  It was beyond all his wildest expectations.  To find the club on the first night, and then to find a leader there.  For all he knew the man could have been the very first one.
         When Tim stood before the man he thought to be his savior, he mustered up all the courage he could find and said, “Sir,” his voice trembled with a tone of respect.  “I have searched for one of your kind my entire life.  For years I have studied your ways.  Now, I feel that I am ready for the change.  Will you please accept me, and turn me into a vampire?”  The man stared at Tim for a moment, and then smiled spreading his arms out, gesturing Tim to come to his embrace.  “Of course, my child,” he replied. 
         “Finally,” Tim whispered, submitting to the man’s embrace, exposing his neck.
         As the sound of screeching tires echoed between the buildings, Tim realized he had lapsed into the past again.  The club had opened while he was reliving his first experience.  The line waiting to get in was down to a few people.  The red fluorescent sign above the door was glowing.  He waited until the last person was admitted.  At the door, two muscle-bound men passed metal detectors over the customers searching for weapons.  If they found any entrance would be denied to that person.  The owner of the “DEN” prided himself on running a decent and safe club.  He had an army of oversized bouncers working within to ensure this.
         Reflexively, Tim rubbed his neck where the seven year old scar of his youthful stupidity was.  The man who had bit his neck was nothing more than a vampire junkie with self-sharpened teeth.  He wasn’t even a Wannabe.  Tim was a Wannabe, someone who wanted to be turned into a vampire.  There were many others just like him.  Junkies acted like they already were vampires. They had no respect for the Undead.
         His encounter with the Junkie made Tim become wiser about all of it.  He still believed whole-heartedly though, even more so now that he knew he wasn’t alone in his quest for a true vampire.  He was a Wannabe, and nothing less then becoming an immortal would be acceptable.  He should have known that they wouldn’t have been displaying themselves so openly.  Throughout time they have been feared and hunted.  Even though he wasn’t alone in his beliefs he continued to search alone.  There were too many freaks running around to trust anyone.
         When the last of the stragglers were admitted into the club, Tim crossed the street.  He didn’t notice the tall, shadowy figure dart around the corner and take up the same position he had just left.  He paid the five dollar cover charge and was admitted.
         The place was strictly a vampire club.  If you were not willing to participate in the spirit of the theme the bouncers would not hesitate to turn you away.  A white painted face, pointed incisors, or a Dracula costume would usually be sufficient to gain entrance.  The first time he had come to the club he wasn’t aware of the requirements, but his naturally pale complexion was so authentic looking that the door man let him in.  Now, next to the owner, he was the only regular with more then three years of frequenting the club.  Most of the employees knew this so he was never hassled.
         The owner, Mike Thompson, was a fifty-two year old Wannabe himself.  As a true believer he wanted to create a place where other believers could congregate safely and hopefully to attract the attention of real vampires.  Tim knew this and felt that the owner had succeeded.  The other two vampire clubs in the city offered nothing more then novelty entertainment.  In a way that was good.  Trouble makers and the macho-type would have somewhere else to go to since they would never dare wear make-up.
         However, the “Den” did have its share of weirdoes, Tim thought as he walked through the dimly lit corridors.  The “Den” was underground to muffle the noise.  Gothic music roared through the hallways.  The many hallways formed a maze that would be confusing to a new-comer.  The first corridor contained three rooms where the majority of the non-believers spent the night drinking, dancing, and just hanging out.  They didn’t really believe in vampires.  The club was just a fun place to hang out for them.
         Going down another hall, Tim passed a few more rooms where the vampire groupies would party.  The “Den” was set up so that the groups who believed strongly were close to the center of the building.  The maze ended at the room named, “The Coffin”.  Wannabe’s and true believers spent their time there.
         The “Coffin”, the whole purpose for the buildings existence, was still empty of customers as he entered.  He was usually the first one there every night.  A bouncer sat hidden within the entranceway.  His job was to keep out potential trouble makers.  He nodded to Tim in greeting.
         Tim pushed through the strings of black beads that served as the door.  As in the rest of the building, the smell of stale smoke and beer filled the air.  The stench seemed to be embedded in the walls.  Soon, when the place was busy, the air would become choked with cigarette smoke.
         Tables lined the left side of the room, far enough apart and deep within the shadows to ensure privacy.  The center of the room was sectioned off for dancing, although Tim could not fathom the activity performed in this section should be called dancing.  All the people did was run into each other and throw themselves around.  Yet, that was all they could do to try and keep up with the tempo of the hardcore death metal music that would soon thunder throughout the building.
         He veered to the right where a bar ran the length of the wall.  The bartender saw him enter and had his drink and a newspaper ready for him.  After two years of working at the club he knew Tim was a loner so he didn’t bother trying to make small talk.  The items weren’t even paid for.  Tim, by the owner’s approval, was the only customer with a tab.
         Tim took his drink to the table located in the darkest corner, feeling his scar along the way.  Mike, the owner, had given him a permanent reservation at the table once he realized Tim was going to be a regular customer.  Its previous occupant, the man who had bitten him seven years ago, had been banned from the place.  Ever since then Mike spent a few hours a week talking with Tim.  They shared the same desire.  Their time together was the closest thing Tim had to a personal relationship with anyone.
         The first night Mike had come over to the table to talk with him, he was seconds away from making the same mistake he had the first time he came into the club.  Mike was tall with slicked-back silver hair.  An air of elegance hung about him, with eyes of the deepest blue.  Tim had been ready to bare his neck again, but Mike spoke first, introducing himself, crushing Tim’s hopes, yet saving him from another humiliating encounter.  It was one less scar he would have to bear.
         Tim took a long drink from his glass.  The beverage was rumored to be blood, the house special.  Whenever asked what kind of blood it was the bartender would hint that it was the preferred choice of the vampire.
         That was unbelievable.  If a vampire had the choice he or she would choose the richest blood next to their own, human blood.  And then, they would want it so fresh that it could only come from a live human’s severed artery.  There was no way the club’s owner would risk going to jail by serving blood.  Besides, where would he get it?  Surely he didn’t have a human keg to tap into.
         The drink he had was sweet and syrupy thick and a bit acidic, unlike the metallic taste of his own blood he tasted from time to time.  He never purposely cut himself, but his job sorting mail left many tiny paper cuts.  The drinks malt like texture slid down his throat, filling him as if he had just eaten a meal.  The taste was one that had to be acquired.  The first time he had drank it he was sick for an hour, but that didn’t stop him from drinking more.  He pretended like the drink really was blood to build up a mental tolerance.  Blood would be a necessity if he was going to be a vampire.  Being squeamish wouldn’t do.
         A group of people passed by, a few nodded in greeting. They were headed to the private rooms reserved for Wannabes.  There, they could talk without the blaring music.  Most of their discussions dealt with the origins of vampires.  Most Wannabes believed that the first one originated because of a deal made with the Devil.
         Tim did not believe in this theory.  If the Devil existed, then God had to exist.  He would never accept that a God would allow such cruel parents as his to live, or that mankind could be so evil.  Besides, how could God allow such abominations as the Undead to roam the earth?  It went against all that religions taught.
         Even though he was unsure, Tim favored two other theories.  The first had to do with magic.  Some of the books he had read claimed that an alchemist, or a wizard, had discovered the elixir of life which could only function if it was supplemented with a regular supply of blood.
         The second theory he considered was that vampires were really aliens who either were stranded on earth or chose to stay.
         Regardless of the origin, a vampire could still turn him into one, and that was all Tim wanted.  His “Knight in Shining Armor” outlook had been shattered when he received a look at reality.  It seemed as if everyone possessed at least a little evil.  The only way he could rid the world of evil parents would be by killing everyone, and that would not be sensible.  Yet, the idea of turning his parents into ghoulish slaves still brought about a smile, along with eliminating the rest of the people on his revenge list.
         All Tim really wanted was respect.  He was tired of working at menial jobs that barely paid the rent.  It wasn’t his fault that he was born without model looks, and with a low intelligence level.  Yet, people still ridiculed him for it.  They treated him like a nobody.
         Once he became a vampire it would all change.  Power to control others, the ability to travel anywhere, to live forever, and to experience life would be his.  He would finally be somebody.
         The initial blast of sound that came pouring out of the speakers resembled a sonic boom and left Tim’s ears ringing.  As he looked around he noticed that the club was filling up.  A thin haze of bluish smoke created a foggy atmosphere as a strobe-light on the ceiling started flashing.  A few people had entered the dancing area and were banging into each other.
         He wasn’t interested in the dancing.  Instead, he thumbed through the newspaper until he located the “Personal” section.  The rest of the paper was pushed aside.  He scanned the ads until he found his.  It read:
HELP WANTED
Need to become one.
The sun holds no pleasure.
The night is my Mother.
Looking for one
Who is Unseen,
To turn me.
Can be found
Den of the Undead,
New York City.

This was the last night the ad would be run.  He couldn’t afford to let it run for another month.  It was a long shot, but he was willing to try anything.
         Unlike his last ad, he didn’t use the motel’s address.  It had dawned on him that a vampire might think the motel was a trap.  By using the “Den”, an interested vampire could blend in and check him out first, to see that it wasn’t a trap.
         Every night since the ad was placed he would sit at his table and send out a mental message.  For the duration of the night he would continuously repeat, “I am here and ready, turn me.”  A real vampire would not be able to miss his concentrated thoughts.
         Tim would continue this mantra until the club closed and then as he walked to work.  The only time his message was not being relayed was while he was working or sleeping.  Regardless of his growing impatience, he knew he would continue the same routine for the rest of his life if necessary.  What was seventy odd years compared to eternity?
         Only twice did he interrupt his vigil, and that was to get refills.  He was halfway through his third drink when the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened with a weird tingling.  It was like a soldier’s sixth sense giving warning of a nearby enemy.  He rubbed his neck but the feeling remained.  Finally, he passed it off as the result of something in his drink.
         This interruption had a peculiar effect.  Tim found that he could not regain the rhythm of his mantra.  Instead, an elated euphoria clouded his thoughts as his mind drifted into a debate he once had with Mike.
         Eternal life!  A vampire could live forever.  That was one of the main reasons why Tim wanted to become one.  Nothing would be able to kill him, despite what the myths said.  This is where he and Mike differed.  Mike believed many of the myths.  Tim had been studying the subject vigorously all of his life.  He knew all of the alleged forms of death and did not believe any of them.  They were just deaths of a fictional writer’s imagination.  Garlic was just smelly.  Holy water might quench a thirst, nothing more.  And a cross was nothing more then a potential box of toothpicks.
         Even though a vampire could not be killed, he could be immobilized.  A wooden stake through the heart would temporarily stop one, until the Life Blood could repair the damage and restore him back to new.  Even dismemberment and cremation would not work as a permanent solution.  The Life Blood was a living entity.  Its presence and life force was in a vampires every molecule.  Even if a vampire’s cremated ashes were cast into the wind, the Life Blood would seek out its counterparts.  Centuries might pass, but eventually the cremated vampire would reform, even if it had to take on another form as host.  The Life Blood was like water.  It could be turned into steam, frozen, or even broken down into separate elements, yet at some time, in some way, it would become water again.
         There was only one way to permanently immobilize a vampire, and that was by placing its cremated remains into several different crystal containers.  Even then, the person doing the separating would have to know what he or she was doing.  If the wrong parts of the Life Blood were placed together and the regeneration process was initiated, it would be possible for the resurrected parts to free the rest of the remains.
         There were many more myths that Tim believed were false.  For instance, death from the sun’s rays. The only way the sun affected a vampire was by activating within it an immediate, unavoidable, shut down mechanism.  Like humans, a vampire needed to recoup his strength.  They needed a longer, deeper sleep since they used up more energy with their considerable strength. The only reason why they slept in seclusion during the day was to avoid discovery and possible attacks while they were in a defenseless state.
         It was true that blood was necessary, but not to prevent death.  It was used as substance for the Life Blood.  Without it, a vampire would fall into a state of suspended animation until a new source of blood reactivated it.
         There was no such thing as killing the very first vampire so that the rest would die.  Vampirism meant eternal life.
         In Tim’s eyes vampirism was the perfect life.  Nothing would be able to hurt him.  Even though there were some threats a vampire faced, it had supernatural abilities to counter them.  These powers guaranteed victory, that is, unless the vampire was inexperienced in the use of his talents.  Tim wasn’t worried though; his life had been spent learning the ways of the Undead.
         And the ways of the Undead were that of kings, if not Gods. They were feared, respected, and worshipped.  He and other Wannabes were proof of this.  Soon, those ways would be his, along with riches if he so chose.
         But money wasn’t necessary.  All a vampire needed was a little blood, and that could be easily obtained.  However, the delicacy of human blood would have to be a rarity.  In past centuries it was a nightly meal.  As long as the vampire disfigured the fang punctures no one was able to pin point the cause of death.  Today, a coroner would know.  If too many cases of people dying from mysterious bites and blood loss arose, the hated Hunters would come out in force.  They would know the truth, even if the police did not. 
         The Hunters were dreaded men and woman who sought to capture and immobilize vampires.  They were the only people who knew how to achieve this effectively, and they did so because of a lie that regarded vampires as evil.
         One man was responsible for the Hunters and their beliefs.  Thousands of years ago a man named Yahl discovered a group of vampires, and upon discovery of their abilities begged and pleaded to be allowed to become one of them; however, they could see into his heart.  He was a tyrant with the title of Judge.  His rule was corrupt.  He seized property without cause, created new taxes at his fancy, and favored the rich while oppressing the poor.
         When Shaul, Israel’s first king was elected, Yahl became jealous.  He saw the kingship as the means to be the supreme ruler.  With the crown he could demand any tax he wished.  Every citizen would have to bow to him.  Yet, he could not obtain this without the vampire’s powers.  The only reason a king was appointed was because people started to think that the Judges were too corrupt.  In order for him to regain his power Yahl would have to become king, and that meant overthrowing Shaul.
         The vampires denied Yahl.  What he didn’t know was that they were responsible for the king being elected.  They saw what the judges were doing to the common people.  The vampire community looked upon themselves as the guardians of the under-privileged.  With their powers, they were able to help the sick and find new and better ways to grow crops.  Even though the vampires were peaceful by nature, they did not hesitate to use force against the corruption plaguing the land.  Since the people were highly superstitious, the vampires had to hide their true nature.  They helped people under the guises of doctors, scholars, and farmers.  They knew that if their identities were ever revealed they would be in danger.
         Yahl knew this also.  His anger towards the king and his loss of power now had a new victim.  He set out to destroy every vampire in existence.  The poor, who were the most superstitious, were the first allies he sought in his crusade. He easily won them over with lies that the vampires were responsible for the deaths of newborn infants, for the poor crops, and for the dry wells and droughts.
         With the poor screaming for revenge and justice and following Yahl, the religious leaders became his next supporters.  He convinced the priests with scriptures, showing them that God abhorred the vampires and demanded their deaths.  The priests, whether they believed Yahl or not, saw the large mobs of citizens behind Yahl and approved their cause.  They in turn damned the vampires, calling them the Children of Satan.  With the priest’s support, Yahl led the mob against the vampires, deeming himself the righteous leader.  His propaganda convinced the people of the land that they had to enforce God’s laws, and that a group of enforcers would be necessary throughout time because these spawns of the Devil were everywhere.  As a result, he obtained a position that held greater power than the king.  By the power of God he could do whatever he pleased.
         Over time, the enforcers lost many of the powers originally decreed to them, but they continued to believe in their cause.  Descendants of Yahl and other members carried on the hunt for the vampires.  Throughout the centuries, Yahl’s deceptions spread worldwide, deceiving other people into believing the lies.  Eventually, the government turned against the enforcers, seeing that they were too influential.  The enforcers were forced to flee.  They went into hiding and became known as the Hunters.  They were also known as, “The Keepers of Death Row”, the place where the immobilized remains of vampires were kept, contained within crystal containers as if dead.  No free vampire was ever able to locate this living hell where thousands of innocent souls were trapped.
         A violent shiver racked Tim’s body, clearing his mind of the deep thought that had descended upon him like an impenetrable fog.  He did not know such a state was possible.  At some time while he was contemplating vampirism, he had left the club and crossed the street.  His shoes squished, revealing that he had been outside long enough for the drizzling rain to accumulate.
         He couldn’t understand how it happened.  How could he have just gotten up and walked out of the “Den”?  The place was so crowded with people he would have had to maneuver his way through the people, and there is no way he could have done so.  He despised being touched, almost to the point of it being a phobia.  Plus, the quiet of the street compared to the roaring music should have been deafening.  It could not be possible, yet his feet being wet were enough proof.
         It had to be the drink, Tim decided.  He added the bartender to his revenge list.  Some drug must have been slipped into his drink.  The sabotage of his night might very well have cost him his life’s desire.  What if a vampire showed up and didn’t hear his mental call?  The bartender would have to be taken care of very soon.  Another trick like this would not be acceptable.  Tim knew where he could get a gun if necessary.  But first he would talk to Mike about having the bartender fired.
         The tingling in his neck returned even stronger, making Tim forget about revenge.  He repeatedly slapped at his neck.  He wanted to return to the club but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own and a separate destination.  His legs would not obey his commands to turn around.  Instead, they carried him deeper into the shadows, down an unlit alley, as if someone compelled them.
         A wave of panic washed over him.  It was not unusual for gang members to hang around the club looking for victims to rob.  Being in the dark would prevent them from seeing his drug addict looks, his only protection.
         Relax, a soothing voice whispered.  The voice sounded like it was right next to him.  An overwhelming urge to run filled his body, but his feet still would not obey.  His body felt paralyzed.  Only his head was free, which he frantically jerked from side-to side, searching for his would-be assailant.
         “Who’s there?” Tim whined in a quivering voice.
         I am, a deep voice replied soothingly.  The voice felt like it was penetrating his body, stroking his nerves, calming him.
         The quiver in his voice subsided somewhat, but it was still evident as he said, “Show yourself.”  He tried making his statement sound like a command but failed miserably.  His entire being was too occupied with trying to runaway.  The gentle stroking of his soul became a tight grip, and his fears intensified tenfold.
         Why did you summons me if all you are going to do is runaway!  The voice said, managing to convey the commanding voice Tim couldn’t.
         Tim could not reply.  The voice seemed to be only in his head.  Then the tingling in his neck increased to being painful, forcing an answer from him.
         “I do-don’t know wh-what you mean.  I di-didn’t call you,” he said honestly.  Even if he had wanted to lie, he didn’t think he would have been able to.  The tingling was having a strange effect on him.
         “You’ve been calling to me for thirteen years,” the voice replied.  This time Tim heard the voice echo in the alley, reinforcing his belief that the stranger hadn’t spoken aloud before.
         A mist arose before him, slowly taking shape.  It seemed like the mist just hovered for minutes, yet the final form appeared suddenly as if it had been there the whole time.  A man, six feet tall with blonde hair, stared at him with penetrating, somber eyes.  The stranger’s waxen pale skin had an unearthly glow which outlined his face, forcing Tim to see the truth.
         “Are you r-really one of th-them?” His growing excitement brought his childhood stammer out as his fear had a few moments ago.  Had the moment he waited so long for finally arrived?  Was his quest about to be fulfilled?  He desperately wanted it to be so, yet a lingering doubt remained.  Was he really looking at a vampire?
         Or was someone playing a prank on him?  Many people at the club knew he was a Wannabe.  This would be the perfect trick to play on a true believer.
         Do not doubt me!  The vampire shouted without moving his bloodless lips. 
         Telepathy!  Tim wanted to shout with excitement.  A prankster would not have been able to read his thoughts or speak to him mentally.  Only a vampire possessed these gifts.
         With this revelation came a tinge of fear.  Did the creature come to turn him or to kill him?  He remembered reading about cruel vampires who liked to torment their victims.  His question was answered without spoken words.  I am called Mikal, and I have come to grant you your desire.  Are you ready to become a child of the night, a walking undead, an immortal?  Mikal made vampirism sound like the most wonderful thing in the world.
         “Yes!” Tim answered without hesitation, or a stutter.  Mikal paused.  Then Tim felt a pressure in his head and a sharp barb-like prick at the base of his neck.  When the pressure subsided his savior spoke.
         “I have seen your thoughts.  You are well prepared.  What you do not know I will teach you.  But there is a condition.”
         “Anything!” Tim whispered hastily.
         “As you wish.  You now belong to me to command and to teach for the next hundred years.  To you, I will bestow my five-hundred years of knowledge.  Welcome to eternity!”  Mikal laughed mockingly.
         Tim felt the pricking on his neck before he realized he was in Mikal’s embrace.  There was no pain, just giddiness.  The loss of blood was making him light-headed.  His vision began to fill with a kaleidoscope of color.  A feeling of weightlessness gave him the impression he was floating.
         Then he felt warmth passing over his chilled lips, filling his mouth, forcing its way down his throat.  Blood!  Mikal was feeding him Life Blood, the only thing that could make him a vampire.  It was the richest, sweetest nectar he had ever tasted.  Until now, he had not realized how cold he had become.  The warmth of Mikal’s blood raced through his veins like a fiery comet. It definitely wasn’t the same drink the “Den” served.
         The Life Blood acted like a stimulant, creating a feeling of euphoria.  “Now, go,” Mikal commanded.  “Let the change run its course.  Feel your new life as it fills you.  But beware!  Take shelter before the sun rises.  Our enemies are near.  I will come for you at sunset.  Now go!”
         When the colors subsided and became the objects around him, he was alone.  The thought that he was dreaming quickly evaporated as he looked around.  His sight was now beyond that of a mere mortal.  He could now see in the dark alley.  Minute details in the concrete were sharp and clear.  Not even the builders could see what he could.  All of his senses seemed to be amplified.  He could smell fresh-baking bread that could only be coming from the bakery over on the next block.
         And the sounds were overwhelming.  He could hear music roaring from the soundproofed “Den”.  A drug addict was begging for a bag of dope from a dealer two blocks away.  A woman screamed in pain as her husband beat her.  He could even hear the insects crawling around on the ground by his feet.  Now, his life time of studying vampirism was going to pay off.  He knew that if he concentrated he could hone in on one particular sound, block them all out, or just reduce the sensitivity to that of normal hearing range.  If this gift wasn’t possible Tim was sure he would have to spend his life in isolation.  The abundance of noises would drive anyone insane.
         Sunrise was still a few hours away, but Tim decided to go back to his room.  He could easily lose track of time as he marveled at the new sights and sounds available to him.  The risk was too great.  Besides, he had all of eternity to wallow in his new found abilities.
         He heard footsteps following him as he made his way back to the motel.  They remained at a distance, out of his line of sight.  Normally, he would have run to the shadows for protection, but not this time, or ever again.  He could feel the inhuman strength coursing through his body.  Yet, he didn’t turn to accept the challenge.  It was too soon.  The change wasn’t complete.  His powers were not fully developed.
         On the front steps of the motel he stopped and looked around.  Whoever was following him remained hidden.  He concentrated on trying to hear his pursuer, but he or she was silent, and too many other noises interfered.  He did detect a distinct scent in the air.  He gave up and went in.  His stern glare sent Joe scurrying back to his office.  It was a first.  Tim smiled.  The change was becoming apparent.
         In his room Tim stripped off his clothes and lay on the bed.  The room’s odor was repulsive, or would have been to a mortal.  A simple thought blocked out the stench.
         For a few moments he amused himself by listening to the various hookers scattered throughout the motel.  He wondered if their customers thought it was their prowess responsible for the moans and cries of the hookers.  Tim knew from experience that the prostitutes could be quite convincing.  The few times he had paid them for sex they had tried to make him believe he was good at it.  He knew better though.  As a result, no street women were on his revenge list.
         It wasn’t long before the sensation of his skin blocked out the moans coming from the other rooms.  His skin seemed to be alive.  Tim almost believed he could see it rippling, as if a thousand ants were marching along his bones.  When he drew his finger over his body an icy trail remained in its wake.  His nerve endings had become super sensitive, making his body tremble at the slightest pressure. Even the slight draft had the effect of a gusty wind.
         The clock beeped.  It was five in the morning.  He didn’t need the clock to know this.  His body was attuned to the sunrise and sunset.  He knew he had only fifteen minutes until sun-up.  Then, the sleep of the undead would overcome him.  He glanced at the window.  The ebony of night was fading.
         Tim started to doze, just as a mortal would.  It was pleasant and easy as if the world was perfect, which for Tim it was.  That is, until the sun crept over the horizon.
         His body jackknifed in pain.  A soundless scream stuck in his throat.  His stomach felt like it was being squeezed in a massive vise.  The cramping of his bowels was drawing him into a ball.  His knees were trying to surpass his forehead.  If it were possible, his body would have curled into itself.  At the same time, an intense cold filled him, bringing with it a new unbearable agony.  It felt like a thousand needles were being jammed into his every pore.
         Then, he started to choke.  His lungs refused to draw in air.  It felt like there was a five-hundred pound weight sitting on his chest, preventing his lungs from inflating.  He couldn’t even cry out.  Each time he thought he would pass out a fresh spasm of pain would rack his body.  A blissful coma remained just out of reach, taunting him.
         Somehow, through all of the pain, Tim heard the door open.  He tried to cry out for help but only managed a whispery croak.  Then a familiar scent filled the room.  It was the same odor he had smelled outside of the motel.
“Mikal!” he soundlessly cried.
         The overhead light came on.  An older man walked into Tim’s line of sight.  He had never seen the man before.  He would have remembered the silvery hair and heavenly serene look.  The stranger looked like the grandfather everyone loved.  He put a black bag on the floor and looked directly at Tim.
         At that moment, Tim’s bowels burst.  He was soiling himself and the bed.  It felt like his insides were melting and oozing out.  Another wave of pain kept him from turning red with shame.
         Help me Tim begged.  His lips moved but no words left them.
         The stranger seemed to understand and shook his head.  “I can’t,” he replied solemnly.  There was no comfort or pity in the man’s voice when he continued to speak. “You’re dying son.  It’s what you wanted, according to your ads, isn’t it?”  Tim could not reply. 
         “Right now, the demon you so willingly invited into your body is destroying all of the organs it does not need to keep you functioning.  It is changing you.  Why do you think vampires are called the undead?  They’re nothing more than walking corpses with a possessed mind, and a heart to pump the toxin running through their veins.”
         “It hurts,” Tim managed to whine.  He knew he was crying but felt no tears.
         “I’m sure it does.  That’s probably why God releases the soul before the body dies.  What you are becoming is not natural.”
         The man’s tone and words had Tim scared. “Who are you?”
         The stranger knelt down and rummaged through his bag.  “I am only one of the many who search out your kind.  We have been charged with the duty of enforcing God’s laws, and we do this by destroying all that’s unholy.”  He showed Tim the items he had taken from his bag.
         “Hunter!” came a primordial scream.  Tim’s body jerked as if in response to his own words, but the change he was going through prevented him from defending himself.
         The Hunter raised a mallet and a two foot long wooden stake.  “Yes,” he confirmed, “and you are violating the laws of nature and God.  You can not be allowed to walk amongst the living.”  He proceeded to place the stake over Tim’s chest.  “As you know, this is only the first step.”  Contempt crept into the Hunter’s voice.  “But, unlike the Undead, we Hunters kill as mercifully and painlessly as possible.”
         “Mikal!” Tim cried out as the mallet descended, driving the stake through his heart, the same heart that pumped eternal Life Blood, the blood that would have fulfilled his every desire.  With this thought, Tim’s new life ended, just as it was about to begin.
         “I hate this part,” the Hunter mumbled as he dragged Tim’s corpse through the garbage, dropping it in the center of the room.  Here, he would dismember it, taking with him the necessary organs and limbs, to later be cremated.  Once reduced to ash, the vampire would be sealed in eight different crystal containers, properly contained for eternity on Death Row.  He smiled at the irony of the tomb’s name.  Yet, such abominations of God deserved no better.