Dead in 2005

I know why I took up smoking. Back in the eighties it seemed so wonderfully fresh and new, the thing all the teens were doing. Now, I just do it for the curling wisps of smoke that rise to the ceiling and fade to nothing.

Teachers come in and out of the lounge at a regular basis as I sit and light up one cig after another, sitting in the corner, watching. I have a class at eight.

It never fails to amaze me how slow the students I teach are. They drift in and out of the lessons like ships on a calm sea. I know that they are far more capable of receiving high marks but they just don't care.

And, frankly, neither do I.

I ground out the current butt and lean back in the plastic chair. When I realized how bored I had become with my life, I sought employment. I don't need to work, having come from a wealthy family and aquiring much more wealth over the years, but boredom is a slow death, one I don't relish.

I glance at the large faced clock above the door and smile. 8:15pm. Perfect. The weevils were much better listeners when they had to wait a few moments.

I stand slowly and stretch, feeling Miss Crents eyes on my slender body. I am the best looking professor in this college, by the way, and definately the youngest. The other men were gray and balding, something that would never happen to me.

I move down the hall in a slow saunter. This job was wearing on me, I realized yesterday that even the sex romps with random girls in the janitor closet wasn't thrilling anymore. I would just have to move on, I guess.

I glance into my classroom and see the students milling about. I feel like kicking the door off its hinges and giving them the fright of their life but instead I turn the handle and enter.

"Hello," I say, not bothering to look at them. "Papers on my desk." I command.

I used to be rather patient and kind with these freaks of youth but now I just don't have the desire to be liked, especially by a bunch of slackers who will be dead in thirty years.

There is a great deal of noise as they all move forward to turn in their papers. Essays. That was my torture for them. Seven page essays, single spaced at ten font. I love to see their faces.

Most of these are rambling works of sheer crap and I give most of them slightly passing grades, only because I don't want to see them next year. But, since I've officially decided not to teach next year, I feel like flunking a few.

I sit behind the large desk and smile. They look at me in abject terror. I'll be nice before I move in for the kill, I decide.

"Go home," I say loudly. "But return tomorrow prepared to work. I'll grade your papers."

They stare at each other in mild wonder before the brave few make for the door. As soon as they make it out okay, the rest rush forward in a mad dash. I let the smile fall from my face.

I gather the papers and stare at the title pages in boredom.

My First Car

Life as my Sister's Slave

The Love of my Life

Colorless Tears

I admit that some of the students have a flair for writing but it's all half-hearted, all done out of neccessity. I continue to flip through them until a bright red font captures my attention.

Dead in 2005

The other papers fall to the desk as I search in vain for the identity of the writer. Is it a suicide paper? A essay about the death of a family member? There is no name on any of the pages. I return to the first page of the essay and read.

I'm dead.

So, what does that have to do with personal experience? If you're dead, you can't have experiences, can you? Well, I can tell you that I am dead and I have had many experiences, and continue to do so, by the way.

Last year, I stumbled on a horrible truth. My sister was a slut. Now, if she had ever been nice to me, ever allowed me to borrow her pink cashmire sweater to impress Eric, allowed me to be a part of her clique, even showed me that she was grateful for a twin, I would have been sad.

But she was cold and cruel and so I didn't care if she was a whore.

She still is a whore, I believe, but I've been buried for six months so who can say.

It's November now and I've finally decided that I don't like being dead and I am attending college. This class has been the bane of my existence and so you won't see me again. Okay, you will. I'm just feeling like rambling. A dead person has a little trouble writing seven pages on being dead. I'll try my best, though.

In August this year, my family and I, including my slut sister, went to the beach house my stepfather received in his divorce from some actress. Whatever. Anyway, I was sitting out on the hot sand watching the waves caress the beach when my sister strolled up, a guy on her arm.

"Don't come looking for me," she slurred.

"I won't," I snapped, irritated by her interuption. The guy with her was a seedy looking character with long black hair that was tangled and unwashed and pale skin. He stared at me with piercing brown eyes and I glared at him.

"Come on, Billy," my sister giggled and tugged at his arm.

"Maybe she'd like to watch," he said, nodding in my direction.

My sister looked disgusted for a moment before she saw the exact same look in my eyes. "Sure," she said.

"No, thanks," I replied as I stood but before I could take a step, Billy had tackled me, knocking me to my back on the sand and straddling me.

"What are you doing?" My sister screamed but not for my welfare. She screamed because her latest screw was not focusing on her.

"Get off me!" I kicked and squirmed but he was strong...a little too strong for such a wiry guy...and he smelled like sex and dirt.

"Whore!" My sister shouted at me as Billy brought his face close to mine. I stopped struggling because fangs suddenly slipped between his lips and gleamed in such a Hollywood horror flick way that I decided I had fallen asleep and was dreaming.

"Go home," Billy rasped and my sister immediately stopped staring, turned on her heel and strode away. "It'll only hurt a second." He said and went for my neck.

His bite was painful before it was blissful and soon it was like we were having sex on the beach as I moaned and moved beneath him. But eventually, all strength left me and all I could do was stare up at the blue sky and inhale his dirty scent.

When he withdrew, I had the same dizzying sensation I'd had when I'd had blood work done two years before. I could only lie on my back and die as Billy wiped his lips, blew me a kiss and walked away.

I lay there for hours before my stepfather ventured out to find me. I was able to see him and hear him and feel his hands upon me but I couldn't move. Actually, I never tried. My breathing and heartbeat had ceased. I was dead.

It was remarkable watching my funeral and not feeling any emotion. My sister was in some sort of trance for she wouldn't look at me even when I willed her to say goodbye to me.

They buried me.

It was a month before the hunger hit me. I was being torn apart on the inside as I began to desire blood, just like in the books. The vampire truth still lingered in my mind but Billy had been in the sunlight. Was that possible?

I figured I had been damned to live in my dead, decaying body for some past sin unforgiven but as the hunger grew I realized that vampires actually existed and I was one.

I thought that there would be no way for me to emerge from my coffin but as I shot my left hand forward, it burst through the wood and out into the dirt. I quickly dug myself out.

I have been spending a long time hiding and feeding but decided to try to make a life out of my death. And there you have it, Professor, a vampire in your very own class.

Everytime I look at you I want to dig my fangs deep into your neck and kill you for all the pain you've brought your students. But, in writing this essay, I'm sure you've guessed that I've decided to let you live.

One day, I may stand at your desk and call your attention to me, lure you into the janitor's closet and give you the best experience of your life. Maybe...

I shut my eyes a moment and smile. Another vampire? Here? How perfect. I have been alone for far too long, feeding on the mortals around me but never daring to inject the venom that makes them like me. Never able to work up the nerve to damn one as I have been damned.

But here is one handed to me. My job now is to find out who she is...

...

Friday evening and class is about to begin. I wonder if I'll be able to spot her, if I'll be able to persuade her to show herself.

I have shuffled through the papers and located three girls who did not submit a paper. Narrowing the candidates down doesn't help any.

I watch all the students sit in their desks looking miserable and dejected. Won't they be surprised to see an A on their paper.

"Please come up and get your papers," I say, hopeful, knowing that the red type will be easily noticed in the hands of one of the girls and even if I miss it, I will see which one of the three opts to collect her paper.

But, the three girls remain seated and, glancing over, I notice that Dead in 2005 still sits at the edge of my desk. I refuse to relent.

"A rather quick assignment," I say as I stand and pace, taking in the now smiling faces of my class. "Write about tomorrow and what you think it holds for you. As soon as you complete it, you can leave. 500 words, handwritten."

I sit behind the desk and watch as everyone scrambles to complete the task. Everyone. No one sits and stares at the remaining paper in thought or anger, no one stares at me in silent curiosity or even desire to kill. I frown.

Patience. That is something I have definately learned over thousands of years of waiting, of being alone, of being hunted. The time always comes...always.

...

The class has emptied and I shove all the papers into my briefcase, including the essay that revealed a vampire in my midst, and snap it shut. I intend to discover who she is, one way or the other.

I move down the darkened hallways to the parking lot. In the shadows made by the inadequate lamp light, I see a figure. Jessie, the pretty brunette from class, leaning agains my darkened car.

"Professor," she says, with a slight incline of her head that only a night stalker such as I could catch in the darkness.

"Jessie?" I make my voice curious, as though I cannot make out her every little flaw.

"Did you read the papers?"

I feel a tingle and realize she can reach into one's mind and feel the vibrations of lies. Fortunately, I have had many years of practice lying.

"No,"

"Ah, well," she says, with a mild shrug. "Can I have mine back then?"

"Why didn't you claim it in class?" I ask. I have reached her now and can smell the scent of her skin, see the spark in her eyes.

"Coffee, Professor?" she asks and I frown.

"What?"

"Let's go for coffee," and she opens the passenger door to my Mercedes and climbs in. I have no choice but to walk around and enter the drivers side.

...

The coffeehouse is empty. I always come here though I only relish coffee with blood rather than cream but this place only offers the latter. I stare into the black liquid and watch as she sips hers delicately. Was she lying?

I know the answer immediately. I would hear her heartbeat if she was alive, would smell the blood as it raced throughtout her veins, but all I smell is her.

She stares at me with dark brown eyes and I feel uncomfortable. I refuse to open the floodgates of conversation.

"Do you enjoy screwing girls in the closet, Professor?" she asks at last, a sardonic smile upon her lips as she places the half full coffee mug aside.

"Yes," I say.

"Honest," she nods. "I like that."

I look toward the doors into the dark night. Six hours until dawn. Only six.

"Billy was in the sunlight," I say, not willing to waste anymore time. "That's impossible."

"So you did read it," she snaps.

"Didn't you want me to?"

"You shouldn't have lied to me,"

"You should have signed your name,"

The silence falls as I avoid looking at her. Finally, she speaks.

"The way I understand it is that some vampires can be in the sun and some cannot. The ones that can, do and the ones that cannot use familiars." she smiles a cold smile. "I had you figured out almost instantly. No heartbeat."

"I never paid close enough attention to you," I admit as I meet her eyes at last.

"A deadly error, not paying attention got Billy killed,"

"So, you got your revenge, then," I state.

"Oh, yes," she says and I know that her sister is dead as well.

I shake my head. "You didn't change her did you?"

"No," she says. "I held the venom back."

"How did you learn so much?"

"Billy was alive, for lack of a better word, for a very long time before I finished him off. He told me everything he knew. The rest I gleaned."

"Purifier..." I feel terror in the bowels of my decayed body. I had heard of them but never had a run in with one. Until now.

"Yes,"

"So, are you here to erase me?"

"At first," she admits and I glance away. "You are a puzzle to me, though, taking pleasure where you will but leaving victims alive and unaware. A gentleman vampire."

"How did you become a Purifier?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.

"Billy was my first, actually," she smiles in remembrance. "They found me. Hunt out the cruel and uncaring ones and eliminate them. I thought that was what you were at first."

"And now?"

She pauses and leans close. "And now, I think I love you, Professor."

...

She caresses my back as we lay naked in my coffin. She is a daywalker but I am not and she seems comfortable to stay in the stiffling confines of my coffin though she could lie anywhere and be fine.

Her eyes are closed but the constant movement of her hand tells me that she is still awake. I shift and her eyes open.

"Again?" she murmurs lustily.

"No," I growl, fighting the desire her voice rises. "Talk to me."

"I want you, Professor. I'll protect you and remain with you. I am weary of being a Purifier. I long to be yours."

"So you've said," I state. Something is amiss, though I can't discover what.

"I can't work in this day and age as a vampire," she says after a long pause. "I need your comforts."

"You want to use me and my money?"

"I want to be yours and your money is a perk I only recently discovered."

"Are the Purifiers after me?" I ask.

"No," she says as she moves and mounts me. "Only I desire you, Professor."

...

The final day of class and all the students have passed though they can't understand why. I can't understand why.

I frown at the empty seats and think about the resignation letter submitted the day after Jessie moved into my mansion. Daywalkers are annoying, strolling about without a care in the world while we nightwalkers live in dread and fear.

I slam the briefcase shut and look up at a gentle touch of my hair. Jessie smiles at me.

"I have an idea," she says and I feel evil touch me.

"What's that?" I ask, trying not to sound bitter and unhappy. Isn't this what I wanted? Someone with me?

She lunges at me and her fangs slide into my neck. I am in shock as I feel her venom slide thickly into my clotted veins, breaking up the clots and renewing the blood flow for mere seconds. I close my eyes in ecstacy. She withdraws.

"Let's watch the sun rise." she says.

...

Two months have passed and I am working a day job in a plush office. I have met and hired many lost and confused daywalkers who try desperately to survive in the world of the living. Soon, the company will be nothing but undead.

Jessie had discovered that daywalker venom could overpower nightwalker venom, no matter how long in the system. She released me from my curse that night and now she seeks others worthy of freedom. Every night she returns to my side and my bed and we join with passion and release, taking great pleasure in sex.

Even now, a young vampire sits before me in his suit and tie and seeks something to help him escape the sewers he's been abiding in. He broke into a house and stole the suit in order to come to me. I welcome him to the company. V.D.N. Corporation is owned by me, Charles P. VanDaren and welcomes all vampires, day and night walkers all.

Need a job, vampire? See me.