The Seventh Son

The Seventh Son

The stars portended something dark
the night that I was born.
The priest was called for blessings,
from the rose there came the thorn
that would grow up strangely different,
as though the birthing wasn’t done.
And so began my life of pain
cursed as the seventh son.

I never understood why
my Mother turned to gin…
She must have understood
what was growing deep within.
I never knew my father;
she would cross herself when asked.
Then on my fourteenth birthday,
the truth was, at last, unmasked.

Growing up it seemed
I was both blessing and a curse.
For a bribe of liquor or, at times,
for something worse
my Mother would hold sessions –
healings they were called –
where she’d mumble arcane words
over symbols that were scrawled
on tattered bits of paper.
Then, she’d have me lay on hands
and people would be cured
as if by her command.

The world I knew came to an end
the day I turned fourteen.
In my room, late at night,
from forces then unseen
I felt myself changing,
feelings overwhelmed me like a flood.
A hunger woke inside me
that could only be quenched by blood.

For all the healings I had done
while my Mother prayed
I would now collect my due –
in blood I’d be repaid.
As I sought the shadow’s shelter,
protection from the dawn
I knew at last my father…
for I was his vampire spawn.

Born in the darkest sin of all,
I listen to the bloodlust call.
I am nurtured one last time
as payment for her silent crime –
I willingly give in
… to her blood laced with gin.

An entry for "The Lair Contest (Mythical Creatures)" 
Prompt: Vampire
Line Count: 50