Part One

            At the start of my life, my birth, I obviously can not tell you much besides what you could already assume.  I was delivered normally, my parents seemed glad enough to have me around, and I was half vampire.  Nor could I explain my early child hood up until the time I was seven, then again that’s when it started to get interesting.

            I suppose you could say I started to get these intense urges, not for blood though.  Instead I had the insatiable appetite for wanting to feel life slipping away.  My first experience was when I was eight.  I had caught a rabbit, easy enough for someone of my kind even at that age.  Distinctly I remember holding it to my chest, feeling it’s heart beat quick, as if it were about to explode against my abnormally slow one.  There had been some blood spilled whilst I had attempted to catch which blended quite sweetly with the scent of fear.  Without truly thinking I had tightened one of my hands around its neck, not enough to neither kill it right away nor snap its neck, just enough to provide a blockage in its airway.  At first its heart beat got even quicker before it gradually began to slow down.

            Just when it was about to stop I released my grip around the small animal’s neck, allowing it to get some oxygen.  I had massaged around where its heart was, not that I knew that at the time, it just seemed like a good idea, until it was almost “as good as new.”  That is when I brought the rabbit to my mouth and tore its throat out.  Here the pulse could be felt even stronger as it gushed into my mouth, nearly choking me, though I kept latched on until it was completely drained.

Before I continue, I must tell you I do not have anything against rabbits, actually I rather like them.  The animal was just what I could catch and the way I could feel it die fascinated me.

            Returning home with a blood-stained front and a rather pleased look on my face I met my mother.  I began to try to tell her what happened before she sent me into what was my room until my father had come home.  At the time I could see no wrong in what I had done and I wanted to share with her what the tiny little “thump thumps” in our chest did.  I also wanted to share with her how easily I caught the rabbit and how good its blood tasted, but instead I was locked away as if I were being punished.

            Luckily, not too long after I was told to stay in my room did I hear my father, along with the conversation he was having with my mother.  I recall the conversation going something like this:

            “Yes!  Came home with blood all over him and around his face!”

            “Let’s not jump to conclusions. He’s much too young to have had that accomplished already.”

            “I thought you said he wouldn’t get like this until he was much older…does this mean…?”

            “Actually I don’t know.  Let me see him.”

            The conversation had been meant nothing to me, but I was glad when my father had opened up the door, so I did as any other small, confused child did, I ran up to him and hugged him while excitedly trying to explain what I had failed to with my mother.  “Dad!  You know that thing that goes ‘thump’ really loud in your chest?  Well I found out what it does today!  It-”

            “Nero.” He interrupted me, looking rather disturbed, before pulling me closer into him while he took in a deep breath.  “Rabbit,” was the only explanation I got before he closed the door.  More conversation. 

            The next morning was almost like nothing had happened.  I went outside, only stopped briefly by my father.  He placed his hand on my chin and stared directly into my eyes, the only time in my life I had felt something like what I image fear to be.  “Do not do that ever again.” He spoke softly, but it got the message across.

            I nodded then ran out to spend the rest of that late summer’s day by the forest, but not even making the slightest attempt at chasing anything.  It was obvious that I had done something wrong, though I had no idea what.  Nothing had felt wrong, in fact it had been feeling like that is what I should be doing and it made that horrible craving go away.   I knew that by the way my mother had reacted that there was something going on, but being just a child at the time I didn’t know how to find out what. 

            For awhile at least, I had listened. Though the appetite of a small, growing monster knew not how to rest, everyday seemed like my personal hell.  I wouldn’t eat the flesh portion of my diner with my family, instead I picked at it, then later in private, tore it apart, attempting to recreate the feeling I experienced what seemed like so long ago.  As I went out to play I’d find comfort in watching an animal be shredded then devoured by another.  I craved blood, but more so the moment of pure ecstasy I had experienced as I felt the rabbit die.  Still to this day I could never find a feeling that could compare to it in the slightest manner.  Not until age twelve was it that I started up again, but this time after spending time in observance I had “evolved” so to speak, I was much cleverer.

            My second kill was out of bloodlust, not an innocent curiosity, and this time my prey was larger, but harder to find.  The victim, a Red Deer, very large but shy creatures that take much practice and silence to properly hunt, at least by human rules.

            Within an hour I had found quite a few grazing, that was by pure luck, yet misfortune.  Having more strength then a fully grown man, but weight of a twelve year old would do no good if one of the males had found me threatening and charged me with their antlers or better yet, trampled me. It left me no choice but to wait until I could find the one that was staggering behind.  That was the only semi-safe bet I had, all other options ended with high chances of me becoming maimed beyond recognition.

            I had to wait a half an hour until they began to clear out.  In this time I devised a plan of attack.  Being out of practice it was nothing but idiocy to charge at one and hope to god my instincts would take over.  Many different ideas from diversions to head on attacks went through my mind.  I decided I needed to be silent and stalk the animal, when it got on to I was following it I’d lunge at its throat from the side to not get trampled.  After I had properly grabbed on to the deer I would kick a leg out, hopefully breaking it, then pinning it on its side, the animal at my mercy to feed.  The shirt I was wearing out of the house was hidden in a tree so I wouldn’t be slathered in blood.  Never in my life had I felt as pleased with myself as I did that moment, I actually felt in control, however, as fate have it have it, nothing went as planned.

            One lagged behind, an elderly male by the looks of it, not too big but large antlers for its size.  I had shed all fear and immediately went into my plan, though only a few steps in and my foot caught on a twig, causing a large crack to echo throughout the forest.  The deer had bolted, much faster then it looked.

            I chased after it, barely dodging trees as the forest grew denser. Picking up the pace, I was at the side of the deer.  It was at its maximum speed and strained to go faster, I couldn’t have pressed much more either, but I was determined to catch it.  It would be a battle of desire, would it want to survive more then I wanted it’s life?

            Just as it started slowing down I leapt on it, arms wrapped tightly around its neck.  Wildly, it thrashed, trying to get me off of it as I attempted to kick back its leg.   The problem with this scene is neither of us was paying attention to the direction that we were going and just as I put my foot down and indeed did break its leg we fell on to what was a river bed.  A rock had cut me from my kneecap to my ankle as we fell.

I tried to stand up, but immediately fell back down on the animal.  The scent of blood, both mine and the deer’s was causing me to become woozy, almost as if I were to faint and in a sense I had.  After closing my eyes for a moment to collect myself I opened them and found myself attached at the animal’s jugular.  The pressure of the vein was barely there, I must have been feeding longer then I realized.  I stopped, just as the animal was about to die and gave it a quick mercy kill. This time I felt no pleasure as I took its life, perhaps because now there was no challenge.

After I had drunk I immediately felt better, more centered, and filling to the brim with energy.  The only negative thing I had experienced was an itching on my leg, but I’d ignore that for now, I wanted to see the damage that had been done to the deer.

            It lay on quite a bit of rocks, all covered in blood that hadn’t been directly from me.  My eyes strayed to its head, already its eyes began to glaze over, then down to its neck where I found a large whole for where I had broke the flesh, but I was curious to what had happened to its underside.

            Freely I had turned the animal over to see a large gash down its stomach, intestines spilled out of the hole.  It had disemboweled itself when I broke its leg and I had gashed opened mine—I stopped to look at my leg.  There was a scab-like material where the gash had been.

            An inquisitive finger scratched at substance to see it just fell off, revealing a slightly pinker version of my skin.  I continued until all of the substance was off and nothing but my “new” skin remained.

            Now, as I headed back to my home, I knew something about me was odd.  The urges I got, skin reforming, blacking out to find myself at an animals neck, running faster then a deer, finding unusual strength that I just knew normal people didn’t have.  Or at least my mother didn’t.  Then why had every time I went out my father had warned me about running to fast, or picking up something that was too heavy?  Things weren’t adding up, but I couldn’t directly ask my parents.  Not after directly disobeying them.

            I approached the end of the woods and found my shirt just as I had left it, exchanging it with the other blood and dirt covered one.  Concluding, I would just have to wait until all of this overwhelming evidence would show itself.    

            Absolutely nothing had happened until a year later, when my father had waken me up one morning before the sun had risen.  In a somber, yet authoritative tone he said, “You and I need to go out.”

            I went to open my mouth to ask about what my mother was going to do when he answered for me, “Your mom is staying here, this is business between you and I.”  And without a single other word he walked out the door, expecting me to follow.

            As I exited the house the first thing I noticed was the changing weather and how it seemed to be still night outside.  Already it was starting to get cold.  I was trying to keep pace on the semi-frozen ground.  Whatever was going on was important, I could feel it.

            For one my father and I never went out alone except for when I was much younger, and never in my life did anyone have business with me.  Backing up my evidence was my father’s quick pace and a slightly sick feeling inside of my stomach.

            When I had caught up I noticed the direction that we were heading, to the woods.  More specifically, the part of the woods that I had hidden the smaller corpses of my misfortunate marks over the course of a year.  Had he found them?  Was he coming out here to punish me, perhaps even kill me?  I would find no sin in the act, perhaps he knew I was a monster and he needed to act as the hero and destroy me before I did something horrible.

            We reached the clearing, only a few feet in and there was the tree I hid my “hunting shirts” in, though we did not venture that far.  Instead my father had sat down on a tree stump.  I followed suit and sat on the ground.

            Sitting there, I examined him.  We had the same pale skin, black hair, and black eyes.  At this time I wondered what I had inherited from my mother.  Picturing her, I realized she was completely different in looks from my dad. While he seemed made of mostly two colors she seemed glorious in comparison.

            Her skin was light colored, though she had a soft, rosy glow to her, we both lacked that.  I thought of the way her hair fell down to the middle of her back, in color it was every shade between light brown and blond.  Her eyes were a warm amber that made me feel safe as she smiled.  She was so full of life it was easy to see how a man like my father could have fallen in love with her.  Did she know of the beast I was?  Could she feel it as she held me against her?

            Still sizing myself up to my dad I figured his shoulders where much broader then mine, then again I was just a boy.  Perhaps I had gotten a smaller frame from my mother.  Something would have been better then nothing.

            “Nero.” My attention immediately snapped back.

            “Yes father?” I asked trying not to sound too curious to what was happening.

            He sighed then looked me over, giving me a half-smile that somehow seemed extremely sad.  “I brought you out here to tell you something,” he looked around his surroundings briefly, “I knew you found comfort here, along with a small burial mound.”

            I froze as he said the last part.  “Don’t worry,” he reassured, “I knew about that the whole time, your mom…well let’s just say we’re keeping this between you and I.”  He paused, perhaps trying to find the right words, “I suppose you’ve been feeling out of place now, perhaps a little different?”

            ‘A little different’ didn’t even begin to cover it, still I nodded.  He continued, “I have something very important to tell you.  Nero, you’re not like other children your age, you’re not going to be like adults later in life, nor can you ever be.”  I must have looked confused because he gave me a sympathetic look and rested his hand on to my shoulder, “You’re a dhampir.”

            He let a few moments of silence take over.  Everyone in Romania knew what a dhampir was as well as how bad it was to be one.  You were considered lower then a mortal to most vampires, and wouldn’t gain acceptance anywhere.  Surprisingly I felt rather calm about this whole matter.  “Mom’s the human and you’re the vampire.” I said, “How romantic.”

            “Your mom and I love you very much-”

            “I know,” I interrupted, “I didn’t mean to sound like a smart-ass, I was just stating.”  I waited a moment, before I asked, “Now that you told me this am I going to have to keep hunting animals or are you going to show me how to hunt people?”

            He looked at me, perhaps considering what he was going to say to me.  “Honestly I think you could take someone yourself.  From what I’ve seen your work is very precise…very neat.”

            In vain I attempted to cover up a smile.  An artist is always proud when they hear how their work is appreciated, though I didn’t want to seem too proud that I exceeded in the art of killing and covering up the tracks.

            “I think I’ll just have to tell you the basic guidelines and see how strong you are.”  He continued, “I’ve never fathered a dhampir before.”

            “Wait,” I paused, “You’ve never fathered a dhampir before.  That means I have siblings?”

            He smiled, “Yes, though you wouldn’t want to meet them.  Most turned out to be nothing more then something of ravenous wolves.”

            Little did he know I was probably no better then them.  “What was your first wife like?”  I asked

            “She seemed beautiful at first, but a few years showed me otherwise.  In fact she was more dead that I was.” He seemed sad as he said this.

            “Are you dead now?” I looked up at him

            “Not any longer.  It seems I found life, though let’s not get off topic.” He looked up at the sun that was about to rise.

            “Are you able to go out in the sun?” I took note of the worry on his face.

            “Oh I can, that’s usually when I do my hunting.  It’s just an annoyance.  Now where were we?  Ah yes, guidelines.” He rested his head on his hand casually, “First don’t make yourself known, though I’m sure that’s obvious.  Second, don’t kill more then you need.  Most of the time you’ll have to completely drain someone of their blood, but if you don’t it’s better to finish them off anyways.   Don’t create someone unless they know what they’re getting into and you can take the responsibility of them hating you.” He paused, a small frown playing at the corner of his lips, “Actually I don’t know if you can create since you’re not fully vampiric, though if you want to test it out I’d suggest you pretend like it’s going to work and follow what I said.”

            “As for your victims, make sure they aren’t someone that will be missed.  On the road merchants, hunters, and lone travelers are ideal.  Don’t make a personal connection with one you wish to make your victim, you’ll get noticed and most likely hunted down and killed.  If you can’t get someone, do as you are now with animals.  They won’t be nearly as filling, but you won’t die.  And lastly, try to not skip feeding for longer than a week, if you do you endanger yourself of over feeding and becoming sick, or noticed.  Got all that?”

            I nodded, man questions came to my mind, but none were important or formed enough to properly ask.  “I don’t think so.”  I replied, standing up, “So what now?”

            “We’ll get to that later.  It’s getting a bit too bright out for my liking.” He stood as well, leading us back home.

            I followed behind him silently, now knowing I wasn’t going to die and my father had accepted me for who I was, even admired my work, but that wasn’t where the importance lie.  I wasn’t quite sure how to take all of this in.  After all I was just told that I was something that wasn’t human, and that my thirst for killing was fine, or well barely brushed over.  At the moment, however I felt nothing.  No anger, no disappointment, just nothing.

            Halfway to our home I stopped.  My father, sensing that I wasn’t following turned back.  Not but a few feet away from him I found myself studying him again.  The sun shone, its rays red and reflecting off of his hair.  His face seemed to now have color, though only an illusion I could imagine what he looked like before he was turned.  I wanted to know what his life had been like.  What had he seen?  How old was he?  How did he end up becoming a vampire?  When he and my mother met had she known he was a vampire?  Unfortunately I would never be able to get the answers out as there is only so much you can get from a corpse.  However, there was one question that I would ask that had been bothering me.

            “Dad,” I said quietly, “What exactly did I get from my mother?”

            His eyes scanned over me, picking out my features before he gave an answer.  “You got her smile.”

            For an unexplained reason I quickly embraced him, breathing him in.  He didn’t smell sweet and floral like my mom, but instead like cedar and smoke.  I squeezed on to him, as if I were afraid he’s push me away, and in some sense I was.  After a moment his arms gently rested around me and I felt oddly warm, somehow complete and I didn’t want to let go.

            But when I did I saw my father looking more alive then just when the sun hit him.  In one swift motion he picked me up and carried me the rest of the way home on his back.

            The rest of the day passed quickly, my mother greeted me with a hug and breakfast made.  She didn’t seem surprised that we were coming in together or were out that early.   She probably told her that we had a father-son moment, or something along those lines, which wasn’t untrue.  I remember her commenting on how cold I seemed and she got me a blanket, then the rest of the hours were insignificant until night time.

            I didn’t sleep in my room that night, but instead somewhere around the middle of the night I crawled into bed between my parents.  Unlike the usual of where my mother would wake up and hold me close I found comfort in the form of my father’s arms around me.  Previously to that day we were never close, but it seemed in one morning’s time we became as close as if we had spent every day of my childhood together.  It was difficult to grasp that not even a day later I would be ending both his and my mother’s life.

            Like before I held him close, but this time his arms were around me immediately.  Burying my head into his chest I soon felt comforted.   His voice was quiet, and lighter sounding then normal, “I love you.”  He kissed the top of my head, “Now to sleep with you alright?”  I nodded against him, falling asleep in his arms.

            When I woke up the next morning my father was still holding me and my mother was out of bed.  Unlike the day before, where I had felt comfortable, I felt out of place.  I suppose it was all the information I had gotten yesterday finally piecing itself together and I realized that I was a monstrosity regardless at the attempt of my dad to make me feel like everything was going to be alright.  I knew there would be no way to control it and that I would end up doing worse if they let me live on.  Even if they did let me, how could I bear to let them live knowing that I was out there, killing and not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

            The answer was obvious.  If I were to beg them to kill me they wouldn’t, but if I were to make an attempt to kill both of them I would surely be killed.  My father would step in before I could hurt either of them, perhaps seeing the error of not taking me out and killing me.  I was sure that he loved me enough to make it quick, after all I didn’t think I could be punished.  It was just the way I was born.  There was no way of helping what can not be changed, let alone correct it through discipline.  In death I would find solace.  No way of hurting anyone and my parents could always try for another kid that wouldn’t be so destructive. 

            I kissed my father on the cheek, and got up to begin the day of my goodbyes.  My mom was sitting casually by a fire, I decided to give her company.  She ran her fingers through my hair as we made small talk.  She told me how glad she was seeing how my father and I were getting along so well.  I nodded, and made a quick excuse to go outside, as I still needed to say goodbye out there.

            Flurries of snow were drifting down the frost covered grass.  I listened to it crunch beneath my feet as I paid respects to the animals I had killed.  Here a strange thought entered my mind.  Did animals have souls?  They seemed fearful when I approached, but in the wild they reacted as people did to each other, so why should they be any less deserving of a soul then a person is?  Did I have a soul?  At times I could feel like I did, but most of the time I felt nothing unless I was killing.  Occasionally I’d feel affectionate to my mother and father, though not enough to find killing them difficult.  I was pretty sure I didn’t have a soul.  In that case what would happen when I died?  They say that good souls would ascend into heaven where they were free of worry and bad souls go to hell where they were tortured.  But if you didn’t have a soul what would happen?  Perhaps you just linger or disintegrate into the earth, leaving nothing of your formal self behind.  I found the latter option comforting.  I didn’t want to linger, being no more would suffice.

            Reaching the stump where my father had been a day ago I sat down.  Did I ever once yesterday consider his thoughts?  Was it hard for him to break the news that I could never lead a normal life?  I’m sure I could try as he did, but I believed it was hardly worth the effort.

            I sat there until almost sundown, where my father retrieved me.  I wouldn’t have noticed him if he hadn’t placed his hand on my shoulder and got me to go back to the house.  Again I wanted to feel his arms around me, but it hardly seemed like the moment.  When I looked into his eyes I saw fear.  It wasn’t so hard to believe that he knew what I was up to.  Would he find it hard to kill his own son even if he did know that I needed death?

            We went inside, I prided myself in acting like nothing was wrong.  Diner carried out as normal, I even helped my mother getting everything cleaned up.  When it was time to go to sleep my mom asked if I was sleeping in my own room.  I told her I was, I didn’t need my plans foiled so early that I wouldn’t even get a chance to get myself killed, then I went to bed.  There I waited anxiously.  This would be my first human kill, even if it had to be those who had created me. 

            When it had been long enough to feel comfortable, I slipped out of my bed and out of the house.  In what I suppose was a shed I got out a scythe, that would suffice as a weapon.  Going back in almost silently I was stopped midway to my parent’s room.

            “What on earth are you doing?”  It was my father, he had somehow heard me.  Now was the time to go on with my plan.

            With one motion I slit his throat.  He looked surprised for a second before grabbing on to his neck and dropping to the floor.  Blood poured out of the wound.  He was loosing more blood then the time it took him to heal.  I kneeled down next to him holding on to his hand as he mouthed the words “De ce?”

            In response I lie my head on his chest and listened to his heart beat slowly cease to beat.  Unlike what I believe the normal response was I felt emotionless.  Effortlessly I carried him off to where his bed was, blood dripping over me and on to the floor, then finally sat him down.  Next part would be harder, yet easier.

            My mother was still asleep as I stood over her.  I couldn’t bare to leave her knowing that I just killed my own father.  I moved her hair from her neck and she woke up.  Eyes only focusing on me she smiled, “Nero, you’re freezing.  Do you need to come in here after all?”

            I leaned down and kissed her lips, feeling how warm she felt beneath me as I maneuvered the scythe’s blade on to her neck and quickly sliced.  Breaking away I saw a look of confusion set upon her face before closing her eyes again.  This time I made the cut much deeper, and because of her lack of vampirism I’m sure the death was quick, and almost painless, as I’m sure it was more of a shock then anything.

            Now self-orphaned, I set my scythe down and lie in between my parents.  Some emotion must have been present, as I found myself clinging to the corpse of my father.  I brought my lips to where his wound was, taking in some of the blood and unknowingly damning myself to depend on blood.

            After a sleepless night where my eyes were sore and dried from my sobbing I was on my own.  Not too long before the sun rose I set to work on digging a grave.  The spot I chose was where I had first embraced my father and realized that my parents did love me.  I almost felt regret, though I was sure in the long run that this would have been better for them.

            After I had a big enough hole I went indoors and cleaned of my parents.  Most of the area that needed attention was just where the wound was.  Then afterwards I dressed them in their formal clothes.  Being without a coffin or anything of the sort I wrapped them in separate sheets and hand them covered before midday. 

            Going inside again I packed a bag with my necessities and picked up the scythe from my parent’s room.  Exiting, I stopped by their grave, had a moment to pay my respects, and then move along.

            Now I was alone.