The Curse

One Vampire's struggle with addiction, guilt, abuse, and desire

The Curse

 

 

 

People tend to think vampires lurk around in the darkness, jumping out from behind bushes and back alley dumpsters to attack unsuspecting victims. However, any vampire that suffers the condition for any amount of time will quickly realize this is not sustainable; they need a more long term, more easily acquired form of sustenance. They need a willing victim, a feeble minded individual who, for whatever reason, would willingly give their blood to monster. Basically, someone who didn’t realize what they were getting themselves into.  A child.

Vampires were sick, disgusting child abusers. And what’s worse, most of the vampires that take children as their long term food supply, suffered the same abuse themselves; over ninety-two percent. They’d swear they’d never pass their abuses on to others, almost one hundred percent did so, but the seed of vampirism had already been planted and it was so difficult to stop it from bearing fruit. Maybe they tried to fight it, maybe they didn’t, either way once they got their first taste of blood there was no chance of overcoming the thirst; the change completed and their soul was lost. From there the numbers were clear; about one percent would commit suicide and the others would continue their way of life, taking victim after victim for the rest of their days.

The numbers were all grim. I’d studied them, them and all the other knowledge available, trying to find a way out for me, a way to break the cycle. But I never did, there was no hope.

 

“I hate how you ask me these trick questions; you try to make me look stupid.”

“No, Darius. I just want to provoke some of your inner thoughts to the surface so that we can deal with them together.”

“You try to make me sound dumb!” I snapped. “I can’t help how you feel.”

“I know you can’t, Darius. And I’m not trying to make you sound dumb, however I do want you to hear yourself verbalize these…defenses of him. You have to see that this wasn’t your fault and he wasn’t a good guy; not even close.”

I sat there, hands clasped, elbows on knees, eyes to the floor. My 'shame position', that's what my shrink called it. It was the position I took while talking about the things in my life I had never wanted to talk about, things I had every reason to feel ashamed about.

"This isn't your fault, Darius; you've got to remember that."

"I know, it's just..." Finding the right words in times like these were always so difficult. How do you get a person to understand how you felt - how you feel - with such little things as words?

"I mean - it's like...ugh. I liked it, that’s what you don’t get. Every time I'd see him I'd get excited for it, I thought about it all the time and...it made me feel good.” I felt sick saying these words, even though I’d known all along how I’d felt, actually saying the words disgusted me “I knew it was wrong, knew it was; I didn't know exactly what was going on back then, but I knew it wasn't right, but I still didn't say anything because I enjoyed it."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened. He manipulated you, that's what they do. That's why they choose children as long term victims; feeble minds."

"But he didn't," I protested, lifting my head to look her in the face. "Never once did he tell me that what was happening was 'our little secret' or that I'd get in trouble if I told someone, or threaten me, or anything like that." I let my hand fall back to its position, and spoke quietly, "I knew it was wrong and I kept my mouth shut because I wanted it to continue. Period."

"One way or another, you were only a child," she retorted in a tone that was meant to be comforting, but seemed patronizing to me. "You can't be held responsible for the things he did. He had power over you simply through his age, if nothing else.”

"It was...cool, I guess," I said, ignoring her smug words. "I mean, I was hanging with an adult - not only an adult, a vampire. What twelve year old wouldn't like that? And he was so cool to me, like, nice to me, I mean. He'd take me to do all this fun s**t and show off his powers for me." I could feel the nostalgia creeping in; the childish twinkle of admiration in my voice. “HE never went all out; we called it keeping it Hollywood.” I said with a giggle. "Fangs only. I don't think he'd even have done that if he didn't have to."

The grin on my face persisted, sickeningly, in spite of my efforts to suppress it.

"He wanted to make you feel special, Darius. He wanted-"

"He loved me. I know what he did was wrong but he did it because he had to.

"I can still remember how he'd rub me down gently, barely touching my skin," I looked up at her awkwardly, realizing how that sounded. "That increases blood flow so he didn't have to bite as deep," I explained, then, shaking my head, whispered "I loved that."

"He had to bite where no one could see," I continued, "bottom of my feet, the back of my thighs, lower back,” I paused and a another grin spread across my face, "even my a*s, sometimes, if my other scars hadn't healed. I can remember the whole thing so vividly, it felt so...awesome. There was only a little sting when he first bit me then, the sucking was like, you know, like someone giving you a hickey or something, you know, pretty cool feeling. Then, there was the lightheaded feeling as you lost more and more blood, and of course the high from the venom."

Reminiscing over the feelings, I could almost feel the sensations again. I had enjoyed them, and I was enjoying them now and nothing could disgust me more. I was a sick, sick man; supposedly victimized enjoying every moment of it. What was wrong with me?

"How often would this happen?"

"Every three months, just like the Red Cross. Most guys were probably out draining kids dry every week, but he made sure he didn't overdo it with me." Was that pride in my voice? It was. I was actually bragging.

"He treated me well," I whispered, hanging my head in shame.

Even now he still had me in his grasp.

 

I sat back in my pew, staring at the giant, Christ-bearing crucifix at the head of the hall. Whose idea had that been? Who had sat back and the, “Hmm…perhaps we should put a giant statue of some poor man in the last moments of his horrific death, at the head of all of our facilities.” Seemed very sadistic to me, but maybe that was the draw; one last public execution, forever frozen in time, what better way to get butts in the seat than to appease man’s everlasting bloodlust?

Whatever the purpose, it only served to intimidate. A ten foot tall stone man, arms perched, head bloodied, staring down at you unblinking, waiting for the smallest misstep so he could reach down with his mighty fist and crush you. Perhaps that was the true purpose; intimidation. Maybe that was the church’s secret to its long grasp on control; a very physical manifestation of exactly what you’d have to explain yourself to one day. ‘That’s the guy who is going to hold you accountable for every word you’ve ever uttered and he does not f**k around.’

I chuckled quietly. It was probably wrong to sit in a church and chuckle at the fact that Jesus does not f**k around, but, hey, it was funny. I’m sure old sword-tongue would understand.

“A funny thought, Darius?”

I tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress my lingering grin. “Yes, Brian; you know how my mind wanders.”

“Yea,” he replied. “Well, do share. I wouldn’t mind a laugh myself right now.”

I grinned, “I don’t think you’d see the humor in it.”

“Ah, I see. Then, perhaps a few Hail Maries are in order?”

“Ahhh,” I considered the situation, “probably a few, yea.”

I lowered my head to the ground while my grin slowly faded.

“I’m messed up, Brian; bad. I can’t fi-…I don’t…I’m going to lose, Brian. This…evil in me, I can’t fight it anymore. It’s getting so hard…”

 “Darius, Satan does not work in you anymore than he does in me, or anyone else for that matter. I-“

“Really?” I interrupted.

I peeled back my lips and spread the corners of my mouth as far apart as I could, and Brian saw for himself just how much the devil worked in me.

“When did that happen?” Brian asked, trying and failing to suppress his shock.

“A long time ago, I can’t even remember when; I’ve just never showed anyone, it’s embarrassing.” I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my and clasping my hands.

“I won’t do this to someone else. I. Will. Not!” my voice came out a harsh whisper, “I’ll kill myself first.”

“You can’t think like that, Darius; you can’t let this beat you. Besides, suicide is a mortal sin; you shouldn’t even speak of it.”

His words sounded ridiculous to me, but I just nodded. Of course suicide was a mortal sin, but what would one call what I was sure to do if I lived? Surely there was sin in that. Was taking my own life worse than taking someone else’s? At least in taking my own I’d have the peace of death, my victims would have to live on, empty and tormented, soulless; like me. You never get your life back from this; I know firsthand.

Of course, this question was purely academic; I knew I’d never take my own life, I just didn’t have it in me and I knew it. I wished I could blame the Bible " maybe at one point I could have " but it seemed now I simply lacked the righteousness. I knew it was the right thing to do, the only way to stop me, but I couldn’t. I simple lacked the necessary constitution to cure the world of this sickness knowing that sickness was me. Why couldn’t I just be a hero? A hero would stop the monster, even if it was inside him, but I was no hero. I was too selfish, too proud, too cowardly. I’d kill the world before I hurt myself; what vanity.

“Darius,” Brian said, pulling me away from my thoughts. “I know this is difficult, resisting Satan’s temptations are the hardest thing we as humans have to face, and even more so for you. But, Darius, you can never forget the power of choice.

“There are going to be hard things in life, they’re supposed to be; resisting Satan is hard; it’s supposed to be. And of course it will be especially hard for people like you and I, people who get special attention from Satan.

“You may look at all those numbers and all that research that love to study so much and feel like it’s ok to do what you’re doing, you have no choice. You may feel like you’re destined to do it, you can’t help but to do it; all these others have failed so how could you succeed. You will give up on yourself just as society has given up on itself; people will have unwed sex, so don’t try to stop them; people will have abortions, so let’s just facilitate them, and people will live a life of sin, so just accept it.

“Do not believe it! There is always a choice, you are not resigned nor destined to anything! Yes you will be tempted; that unholy thirst will grab onto you and squeeze you so hard you will feel its pressure on your very soul! Who knows how low it could pull you. But when it pulls you to your lowest…when you have that child alone with you for the first time and that demonic thirst is overtaking you and you know he can be your indulgence, your solution. When you’re thinking of all the numbers " and I knew you rely on those things as if they were your Gods " and you’re using them to justify what you’re about to do; telling yourself you have no choice…when that happens, remember. You always have choice. It is a decision that you are making; no outside forces, no inner monster controlling your thoughts, no nothing! It’s you making the decision to do what you’re about to do and you who can stop it.”

 

A pickup game of basketball really gets the blood flowing; dilated vessels, pounding hearts, muscles flooding with the stuff. I could smell it from my apartment, but from here I could taste it. Perched against the chain link fence that lined the basketball court outside the apartment, I thought to myself, ‘this must be what hell is like.’ I could feel my teeth digging into my bottom lip, I could feel the hollow panging in my stomach, and I could feel the desire lurking just beneath the surface.

This was my torture; a wine tasting for an alcoholic, only worse. A small part of me enjoyed being here, the sights, the smells, the thoughts that burned through my head, but for the most part I would rather have been anywhere else. I had to be here, though, Michael wanted me here.  He mainly wanted to ensure I saw him put his skills on display, but also liked having me here to make sure the older kids didn’t interfere with their game. In reality, neither of these were valid reasons; bullies rarely showed up, and Michael wasn’t that good anymore, but he wanted me here, nonetheless and I appeased him.

Over the last few years the kid had grown on me. Well, a little more than that actually, he’d become like a son to me, no, a little brother. I thought about him nonstop: fun things I could take him to do; things I could pick up for him the store (I never left a store without getting him a gift, ever); if anyone had hurt him. His mother loved me - she called me the teenage pregnancy she never had - but she hated me at the same time for turning her son into a spoiled brat. Anything he wanted he knew he could come to me for and anytime he got in trouble I was his staunchest defender, if not his partner in crime; once I even snuck him a Nintendo DS while he was grounded. His mother really liked that one. She loved me, though, because she knew I loved him. What she didn’t know is that I also feared him, maybe more than anything.

 

“You won’t be seeing me anymore after today, Michael. I have to go away.”

“Wh-what?” The look that overtook his face was perhaps the purest form of shock I’d ever seen. “Where are you going?”

My glazed eyes darted around the room, avoiding his gaze. Just speaking was such a struggle. I was gurgling like a baby, trying to fight back a complete breakdown.

Meekly, I began to open my mouth to answer his question, but before I could he threw his arms open and shoved out his chest, the way boys do right before they scuffle. Then, in angry frustration, screamed, “what did I do?!”

His face was so strange to me then, even though tears welled in his eyes it was not sadness, but pure rage, insane rage, that covered his face.

“Michael,” I choked through my ever swelling throat, “I don’t want…I’m going to end up hurting you. I gotta-“

He stared at me with confusion and fear in his eyes. I felt like I was being strangled by the silence that filled the room while Michael sorted out his thoughts.

“Because you’re a vamp?” he scoffed, anger returning to his face. “You’re leaving because you’re a vamp? I don’t care, Darius. I don’t. F*****g. Care!”

“Michael!” I scolded. How off that at a time like that I would switch back into big brother mode.

“Darius! Please…PLEASE!” Michael’s body jerked violently into a pathetic slouch. “Please don’t leave,” he sobbed. “Don’t leave me.”

Seeing Michael this way was too much for me; I broke down. My sobs were uncontrollable, my tears flooded from my eyes. I had tried so hard to be strong for him and failed at even that.

“Michael, I’m sorry. It’s-“

“I’ll do whatever! Anything!” he pleaded.

Suddenly, he jerked himself upright, and once again stuck out his chest in pride. Then, he ripped off his shirt exposing a pale, skinny torso. I could almost see his ribs through his thin frame. And through his pale white skin I could easily see the pulsating vessels webbing throughout his chest.

“Bite me! Do it if you want, I don’t care! I won’t say a word, I swear! You can do it, if you just stay. Just stay.”

“Michael, I can’t”

But I could, and I wanted to. I could feel my teeth digging into my bottom lip. I could almost taste his sweet blood, almost feel its warmth washing through my mouth.

“You can do it, Darius, I don’t care, I don’t!” he begged. “It’s just me helping you out. I’m just trying to help you out! I want you to do it. You don’t have to go. No one will know.”

I could nearly feel it, the satiety, the absence of the horrible panging in my stomach. Quenching the eternal thirst that has tormented me for so many years I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have it there. What had it felt like before my soul had been taken, leaving behind an empty space constantly begging to be filled. Before I was left with this constant, insatiable hunger? I couldn’t even remember.

I could feel it again.

And he wanted it, he wanted it…but did I? If I took it, there was no going back from there. Once I did this, the change would be complete, and the no amount of willpower would be able to fight away the cravings then. I’d be a monster " the same monster that’d haunted me. I’d hurt people, many people, but worst of all I’d hurt Michael, over and over again.

He wants me around, but that’s only because he has no idea what I really am, nor does he know what I would become. He has no idea what the sacrifice that he was offering to make truly entailed. It was more than his blood; it was his childhood, his soul, his humanity, much of his life; all that would be lost. His life would be filled the grief and guilt, torment, torture, unholy desires, and constant battle. Satan would be in him the same way Satan is in me and when he was my age and he looked back at how the Devil got into him, it was my face he’d see. I’d be cursing Michael " who I love more than anything or anyone in the world " to live my life.

But he wanted it.

And so did I.

Reviews

[hatsXIV]

Ok here goes. Negatives first.
The very beginning paragraphs containing statistics are a bit weak in my eyes. The stats sound like their being presented in a report, and I'm sure Darius has in fact done the research, but because you don't use exact numbers it feels made up (which it is obviously). Especially the figure concerning what percentage of vampires swore they'd never repeat the abuse.
You have a few sentences that are awkward and could be rewritten, but this is a very minor complaint.
Who is Michael? He drops from the sky in the final section and immediately becomes the second most important character in the whole thing. It feels rushed and underdeveloped.
The vampire is quickly becoming played out. This is not your fault and your take on the condition is novel enough that it doesn't feel cliche, but I would personally love to see new entirely territory being explored.
The ending is abrupt by design and I suppose I understand that Darius is simply weak, but if there were more Darius/Michael interactions before Darius gives in I might understand his eventual collapse better.
Positives now.
Generally quite well written. The line about Darius' struggle to convey feelings with things as small as words is excellent. You could probably reintroduce the idea as he attempts to explain himself to Michael at the end.
It was interesting! I enjoyed reading it.

[Audrey Howitt]

Lots of vampire tales around now--but this started well and continued to move well--nice idea--addiction--Liked it a bunch!

[Eve]

A dark, seductive and powerful tale; you spun an imaginery world filled with emotions scenes. Beautiful job Timothy

[Rachael]

I was a little hesitant at first because vampire stories have become something of a cliche right now but I think you brought some interesting angles to it. Almost like it's a metaphor for...pedophilia or sexual abuse but you make it seem less evil because Michael loves Darius too. In fact that at the end made me think of it less a sexual abuse and more like homosexuality. Which was a far better metaphor for me because I wanted to root for Darius and I didn't like the priest at all.

Alright so things to improve....hm let's see. I think at the beginning when Darius is talking about the studies that you need to use more exact numbers. Don't use things like "over ninety" or "almost a hundred", instead use like "seventy-eight point five". Something exact because I feel like Darius would have read these studies so many times that the exact numbers would be engraved in his memory.

I think you did a really good job with character development, although the psychiatrist and the priest could have used a bit more development for me. Like I'm not sure how the shrink feels about Darius situation at all and while therapists are supposed to be objective I feel like some emotion or opinion might get loose from her by accident. I'd also like to see the priest exaggerated a little more. I can't tell if he's really gun-ho about religion and views himself as morally better than others or if he's one of those understanding types who respects others opinions. He seems kind of between the two.

Also, I was reading K. Pomaski's review and I think I agree with some of the things he's saying. Darius' character kind of switches from being unsure to being rebellious against the "right" decision, which would make sense if the priest overdid it on the lecturing and went on a huge rant or something.

I think it's pretty good though and I was definitely drawn in!

[hhoosh]

To start this critique, I'll ask a question;
What is the story here?

First, let me say you have a good writing style, especially with the narrative. The dialogue is a little blotchy, but eh, dialogue is tough and that's what editing is for anyway, which I can see you have definitely done with this story, probably many times. The only real suggestions I have toward it are;
1. Cut out the use of "Darius" so many times in the beginning. I'm not sure if you do this, and it's a bit weird, but after your write a segment of dialogue, read it out loud. If you were talking to somebody, even in a therapeutic manner, would you really say their name in each sentence?
2. Try to avoid using things like capital letters, lines of ..., and various other keyboard/messenger structures. They can work, and they do have a place in writing, but those types of image-based styles are meant to be used sparingly.


I know what the story entitles here, but the biggest issue with this story is lack-of anatomy. It begins strong, and lays out the fundamentals of the story (A vampire tale, and the protagonist's uncertainity of right-and-wrong), except it quickly explodes into new grounds, with no recollection of the previous area, or even reaction to it.
Again, it's a strong beginning, except the moment the next scene begins, in the church, it just goes way out of focus. Suddenly, the protagonist becomes a monologue-based egoist with absolute no care for what he just endured. In fact, he just rants the same thing later in that section that he did to the therapist.
The religious aspect is fine, except if that's going to be a part of the story, then the story either needs to be longer, or you need to layer it into the beginning. We're talking two, very large concepts here; Traumatized view of right-and-wrong, and (I'm guessing) the Catholic view/reaction toward Vampires. Both of these deserve a solid amount of writing and growth in this story and, although they both can go together, it would probably be better for the story to focus on one, and have it weaved consistently throughout.

The ending quickly shoves into focus the catalyst, which I wasn't expecting and had no idea of, which is a shame. Michael is just as important as your protagonist here, except instead of him being a part of the narrative and discussions, he simply gets dropped into the finale and it absolutely crushes any reason to have read anything but the very beginning.
Micheal is important, the most important part of this story in fact. He is the next Darius, the next boy to be cursed, or the first boy to be saved. He is what Darius needs to decide on. He IS the story.
The story deserves a fresh re-write, where instead of the protagonist listening (Or not listening) or monologuing about stone Christ's, he should be discovering and deciding, making a change in a fictional, fluent manner that speaks to how we, the readers as real people, also go about making change.

One last suggestion is; If you're utilizing direct, personal stances for yourself, then avoid putting them in the character. Perhaps I just dislike Darius, but a lot of his monologues are very, very self-righteous sounding, and very biased. And although a character must obviously have stances on things, there's a large difference between one stance being rational in regards to that of the character, and one being overtly odd to the point where the reader loses focus and thinks of the writer's unnecessary bias involved in the story.


Again, you have a great writing style, which is something you should definitely smile about. Looking forward to reading more from you!

[M Garcia]

nice job

[KimLove "The Beautiful ..]

I don't usually read stories they are to long. I did not realize this was one when I started reading but it sucked me in. So very intriging Timothy. Boarder line underline speaking of child abuse in a way that is what I saw. But the victum falls for the predator oh how often that happens. Nice job Tim would make a very interesting book. xoxox

[quinfinn]

seductive, savage, creepy and delicious! nice job...

[Valette]

This is beautiful. You really captured the guilt, the pleasure, the shame of a victim. And then the ending- it was amazing. How he wanted to go, the little boy begging him to stay do what he was struggling so hard not to, and wondering which would be the best choice for all? You do a great job of creating and building your character and making him so deeply real and lifelike.
Absolutely Amazing! You should try to get this one published! ^.^
100/100

[Butterfly Ninja :3]

wow it's great i was interested through out the whole thing and a new way at looking at vampires :)

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

Yes, I see the inclination for Vamp's and snatching the innocence of a child. However, blunt imagery and slap stick comedy doesn't gauge the reader to seek to learn of the turmoil of central character. Yes the kill and the purpose there of is of the utmost importance, but to relay all intention at the beginning, doesn't leave anything for the reader to learn or indeed yearn, be secretive!