Palace of the Cocaine Vampire

On top of a hill, over looking a small but lively city, there was a castle. It had once been a beautiful place, huge and noble as it overlooked the city from its regal perch. The rooms, of which there were many, were massive and polished to a glittering shine. The walls were filled with extravagant stain-glass portraits and intricate murals pieced together with precious metals and shiny jewels. From high-arching ceilings dozens of crystal chandeliers hung over pristine marble floors, adorned with fine, handwoven silk rugs. Centuries ago a prince or maybe some kind of archduke had lived there but now it was abandoned, bedraggled and squatting like some monstrous beast on the hillside. The high-arching ceilings were now drooping, full of leaks and holes big enough to see the sky through and nearly every beautiful window had been smashed in by either the wind or, more often, rocks thrown by the cities more audacious teenagers. The rugs and jewels had all been stolen long ago, revealing long, zigzagging cracks climbing high into the vaulted ceiling. The winter winds wailed through the fractured walls and caused the crystal chandeliers to moan eerily like they were threatening to lose hold of their anchors and come tumbling to the ground. What had once been a distinguished palace was now nothing but crumbling ruins. A mere shadow of its former glory.

Rumors circulated around the place. No one knew what had happened there or why it was left abandoned. Some would tell a story of a king who had ruled there for many years before he was assassinated by a jealous traveler. Still others would swear a prince had once hung himself from the high rafters after a lovely princess had spurned his affections. There were dozens of story variations, none of which could be proven. There was one thing everyone could agree on though and that was that the place was most definitely haunted. No one, not even the most fearless individuals, dared visit the place at night and yet, the few who lived near the edge of the city claimed to have seen shapes moving behind cracked windows in the middle of the night. The ghost of the king, seeking revenge or perhaps the spirit of the prince, mourning for his lost love.

This was, of course, pure speculation. Gossip, rumors, a scary story to tell by the campfire. No one had ever died there and it was not haunted, however, it was not totally abandoned either.  There was one permanent resident of the castle on the hill and his name was Nathaniel Hunt.

Despite the stories, Nathaniel was actually human or rather, he had been at one time or another although, not even he could remember that far back. From a distance one might mistake him for any other teenage boy. He looked maybe seventeen or eighteen years old and was appropriately tall and thin but when one looked closer they would notice his unnaturally pale complexion that appeared an almost sickly grey in low moonlight. His hair was a thick, satiny black curtain that fell lazily across his forehead and into sunken, blood-red eyes. Deep purple bruises framed this piercing feature, giving the appearance that he had not slept in years, which of course he hadn’t. His most notable trait, however, was not his eyes at all but his dazzlingly white teeth which grew straight from wine-coloured gums into deadly points. He was, what he supposed most people would call a ‘vampire’ though he had existed long before that name had been forced upon his race. He was never fond of that phrase either. It conjured up too many horrific images of senseless blood and gore that he, frankly, found distasteful. Naturally, he had killed many, many people in his day but that was purely for survival. He didn’t enjoy killing. Well, maybe a little.

Still, the reputation he bore with his title made it nearly impossible for him live among human society. He had traveled from country to country for centuries before he’d stumbled upon the castle on the hill. By that time it had been abandoned for decades and rumors were already beginning to stir in the city so it was a simple matter of perpetuating those stories and Nathaniel could finally have a home where he would not be disturbed by angry townspeople with wooden stakes.

He learned the subtle art of burglary and transformed it into a science. Before too long he had refurbished the castle with modern conveniences. He had shelves of books, huge couches, cosy chairs, elaborate paintings and later, when the technology was available, televisions, computers and video games. He traveled only when he had to feed and spent the rest of his time honing his skills in Call of Duty.

Although he loved not being run out of town by deadly force and an eternity laying on extravagant benches, watching ceaseless hours of mind-numbing television sounds superb, it got awfully boring. After nearly ten years of this monotony, Nathaniel grew restless. Before he had discovered the castle, he had simply moved on when a place no longer peaked his interest but now, he wasn’t willing to leave this lavish den and all the treasures he had collected in it. He had to get creative.

He discovered, through no small amount of trial and error, that a dark hoodie pulled over his inky hair could provide enough shadows on his face to mask the thirsty crimson of his eyes and obscure his bizarrely pale flesh.  He figured out how to speak without exposing his trademark teeth and even learned to imitate the accent of the native people. In the dead of night, he would slip from his refuge and wander the streets of the city. His dark dress along with the hour of his expeditions allowed him to meet some rather questionable youths who hung out well past midnight in back alleys and empty parking lots. They didn’t ask many questions which was just fine by him and although they weren’t the most savory of characters, they provided something Nathaniel had never had before; friendship.

His friends were always burning strange smelling plants that were highly unpleasant to his hypersensitive nose but the group seemed to love it, always smiling and laughing hysterically like the whole world was one big joke. So, Nathaniel played along. It wasn’t until one day when an elder member of the little gang brought a packet of white powder to their nightly meetings that Nathaniel finally understood. The leaves had never done anything for him besides assault his nostrils with it’s foul smoke but almost from the moment the powder enter his system, Nathaniel felt different. It felt like what he imagined a good nights sleep felt like. He was happy, satisfied and for the first time in his seemingly endless existence he felt invincible and he didn’t mind. Too soon though the feeling disappeared and he was left more miserable than ever before. He begged his friend to get him more and soon his televisions and video games disappeared from the castle to be replaced by thin packets of white dust.  

Gradually, his days were no longer measured by the rise and fall of the sun but rather by the unimaginable highs and dreaded lows the chalky substance induced. His friends told him the powder was a drug called ‘cocaine’ and that is was much more intense than the leaves they had smoked before. They warned him not to go too crazy with it but his body had other ideas. His craving was nearly impossible to satisfy but he never developed any of the other side effects his friends had warned him so intently against. In fact, it made him feel stronger, more powerful, than weaker as he came down from his high and back to omnipotent once again, like waves crashing on against a shore. His very existence seemed now to hinge on when and where he could get his next hit. Nothing else mattered, nothing else made him feel alive. Not even the precious blood of victims, the only thing that truly sustained him.

He lost interest in his books and games and even in his nightly escapades into the city. He locked himself up more and more in the castle to enjoy his euphoria away from prying eyes. They didn’t, no, they couldn’t fathom the way his vessel yearned for the stimulant. He grew increasingly more paranoid his so called friends were plotting to take away his prize, his reason to live. He couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t. He would rather die than suffer an eternity without this blessed gift. He no longer visited the city, no longer met shady delinquents in back alleys and abandoned parking lots and Nathaniel became an outsider once again, hiding from the world that would never understand him.