Woes Of An Undead Child

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
There may be no place left for the likes of me in a world of reality where fiction abounds.

Submitted: April 19, 2017

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Submitted: April 19, 2017









I saw the sunrise last when I was twenty nine years of age. Twas the year of sixteen hundred and eleven .

Now, four hundred years later I will witness one more sunrise before I answer the call of death,

but first my story I wish to tell.


Run I did whence I was born into the undead world. I wished not to burden my mortal kin with such devastation. Better when I was discovered unconscious in that mire that all who saw me

believed me dead…..and that they would never know that the mother of my rebirth was a She-beast of the dark world of Sanguivors...so crudely named Vampires.


She was beautiful. Black hair, skin of alabaster….a form to rival a goddess and eyes the colour of midnight. She was alluring like a warm fire to someone caught naked on a

gelid night, drawn near to death.


And she that gave me ever-life too became my mistress, Consort and collaborator in the hunt for the nectar of life. The Blood, warm and rich of human. More than food but a burning need like heroine to an addict.

My fangs. My syringe.


From my grave, my village, my kin I fled. Taking not with me but memory and a chest of the earth in which I was laid out in to dwell eternally. How little did they know of the truth in those words.


By Pony and hay cart and a mindless minion to do my bidding

I crossed five counties where the likes of my mortal self wereunknown.

And there I took refuge

In a cavern hidden deep in the forest.

There I slept by day… and by night sought out my Mistress

And hunted ‘til the night grew old.



One and twelve years soared into memory.

I have no account as to those who fell victim to our nocturnalrampage.

I tell here now of one night

Near the end of my habitation near the village of Belmoglyn,

Not far from Castle Vlad.

Twas the month of November,

A night the wolf bane bloomed beneath a full moon

And the Werewolves howled in anger

At the great silver disc in the sky.


I had woken from my day sleep only minutes after sunset

To hear something scratching at the entrance of my cave.

I could smell the grease and oil of unkempt fur

And the blood soaked drool.

And I could hear the pain and rage of death

Coming upon he, whom had been my friend for many a year.


I jumped from my coffin and went to him,

But too late I was,

And likely there was nothing I could do to save him

For he had been struck by the only deadly curse to him....a silver bullet.

Yet before he perished he gave me fair warning.


“Flee my companion. The Mortals hunt us with a vengeance.

Seek your Mistress and fly from here for on this night they hunt tirelessly.

© Copyright 2019 Donald Harry Roberts. All rights reserved.

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