Not Like the Tales

I never believed in vampires. Not until today. I still don't believe in the kind you get in the books- the monsters or the romantics. No, I believe the real, messed up truth.

*****

"What happened?" I ask as a man with short black hair,  skin a tan colour that spoke of multi-herital lineage and a powerful, tall frame walks into the room where I sit on a bed.

"What do you think?" asks the man, his head tilted to the side and his eyebrows raised.

"I don't know," I said in exasperation, resting my head in my small, pale hands. "That's why I'm asking."

The man sits beside me and wraps his powerful arm around my small wrist. I rest my head on his shoulder and he squeezes me gently, giving me comfort.

"Please tell me," I say, close to tears. "Please don't make me beg."

"Shh," says the man, his voice coming out hoarse as if he was choking tears back. "You will never have to beg for anything again. You were attacked by two men on your way home from school. I was out gathering herbs with my brother and we heard your whimpers. We found you where the men had left you beaten, bruised and crying. They beat you up, stole the clothes off your back and left you there to die."

"How did I get here?" I ask, still trembling.

"My brother and I carried you back home with us. This is our mansion," says the man.

"Were you the one who put me in this nightgown?" I ask, quietly.

"Yes," says the man. "We couldn't very well leave you beaten, bruised and naked. My brother used some of the herbs we collected to heal your body and then we put this on you before lying you on this bed."

"Herbs? We're in the 21st century. We use medicine," I say, confused.

"Yes but my brother and I are from a time where they did not have medicine like you do. We tend to be a bit stuck in the ways of our past," says the man, his voice slightly happier than before.

"That's why you put me in a nightgown instead of pyjamas," I muse. "What are you?" I ask. I know they aren't human. They couldn't be human and live since about, judging by the fact that they used herbs effectively- I couldn't see a single bruise on my body- and the look of my nightgown and their clothes- renaissance period.

"Vampires," says the man with a laugh. "But not like the ones in your stories. We were born, not turned, not created. We have families and can eat food. We can go out in daylight, we aren't all beautiful or all ugly. We aren't all pale. We do, however, drink blood. We aren't even immortal- we just live very, very long lives."

His words shock me. I had always scoffed at the romantic notions surrounding vampires but I had also dismissed the tales that depicted them as monsters. I didn't believe in them and I didn't think anything- real or not- could be completely good or completely evil.

"I guess I'm kind of shocked," I admit. "I never believed the tales about your kind."

"Good thing too," says the man with a small laugh. He unravels his arm from around my waist and turns so he's facing me. He grasps my hands in his. "We aren't monsters but we aren't angels either. I'm glad you didn't believe the tales about our kind. If you did, you might run when I tell you how we had to heal you."

"What did you do?" I ask fearfully.

"We had to make you drink my blood. You were going to die," says the man.

"I am a vampire now?" I ask, confused.

"No, I told you- the tales aren't true; you cannot be turned. You are either born one or not. But... you cannot live if I die and you cannot live without me," says the man, his eyes downcast. "I'm so sorry."

I lie back, shocked and my black hair spools out around my body. I notice that it's practically thigh length. It was previously only to my shoulders. I had decided to cut it two years ago when I turned thirteen. It couldn't have grown so quickly.

What the hell happened to me?

Author's Note

I may add more, I might not.