They say we’ve roamed this Earth for centuries—unseen, unnamed, lurking just beyond the reach of fact. I didn’t believe it. Not until 2016. I was one of the people who thought vampires were fantasy, characters written for cheap thrills on TV or in novels. I never expected one to walk into my life and rip everything away from me. But it happened. And now… I’m one of them.
I’ve learned quickly that myths only tell part of the story. Lock your doors and windows if it helps you sleep, but we’ll still find a way in. A stake to the heart? That’ll slow us down. Sunlight and decapitation? That’s your best bet if you want to end us. But the truth is, we’re not just monsters. We’re misunderstood. Dangerous, yes—but with stories of our own. My story started the night I died.
Back then, my life wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. I shared it with Vanessa—beautiful, bold Vanessa with eyes like emerald fire and skin kissed by the sun—and Derek, my best friend, a Mexican guy with a name like “Derek Graham,” which always made us laugh. I was the one they called “pretty boy,” always making sure my locs were perfect. We didn’t have much, but we had each other.
That night was meant to be a celebration. Derek had just passed his state exam. Vanessa was about to graduate. I’d finally gotten a real paycheck for my photography. We went to Club Reign to toast our good fortune. The drinks were smooth, the music loud, the night electric. But when 2 a.m. rolled around and our phones were dead, we took a shortcut through an alley to find a cab—and walked straight into the moment that changed everything.
There were three figures ahead, two young men attacking an older man. I rushed to help, ignoring Vanessa and Derek’s pleas to stay back. The attackers fled. The older man looked homeless, fragile. I helped him up and said, “Are you okay?” He didn’t answer—just looked at me with glowing red eyes, sharp teeth gleaming—and then he bit me.
My screams echoed through the alley as my body weakened, and I collapsed. I remember Vanessa screaming my name. I remember the hospital. I remember dying.
And then—I woke up. Not like before. Everything was sharper. Brighter. My body is stronger. I could hear whispers through the walls. I escaped through the hospital window, and that’s when I heard it: a voice calling my name. “Michael…”
The voice led me to the park where Derek and I used to ditch class. And there he was: Aries. Six-foot-four, long black hair, Creole charm, and a woman on his arm. He introduced himself like an actor on a stage and told me he would teach me the way of “our kind.”
At first, I denied it. I didn’t want to be a killer. I didn’t want to be anything like him. But when he sank his teeth into that woman’s neck and let her fall to the ground like a ragdoll, I couldn’t deny what I’d seen—or what I had become.
“I won’t do it,” I said. “I won’t kill people.”
“You’re in denial,” he said. “But that’ll change.”
I ran. Four nights passed. Hunger gnawed at me. I grew so weak I could barely stand. When I stumbled onto a farm, desperation took over. A pig. Two cows. That was my first meal as a vampire.
As I wiped the blood from my mouth, Aries appeared again. He looked at the carnage and smiled.
“Animals?” he said. “We must start somewhere.”
This is my rebirth. The death of Michael, the man. The beginning of Michael the monster, or whatever I choose to become. My story isn’t over. In fact, it’s only just begun, which you can explore by reading “A Vampire’s Story.”
Brace yourself for a descent into the abyss, for this is the chilling saga of A Vampire’s Story.
Grab your copy on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1C1YYQ.