The Vampire Memoirs

by Mara Mccuniff

  Rather than great joy and relief, we were met with bewilderment. It seemed clear to me that Elizabeth and her aunt had never met, but Heather extended her arms to Elizabeth and beckoned her forward. I didn't realize how tightly I had been holding Elizabeth's hand until she pulled away from me to greet her aunt.

  "You are Wayne's daughter? My niece?" she said.

  Elizabeth nodded.

  "I am your aunt Heather. Hast thou heard of me?" she asked. Elizabeth nodded again, and her aunt began stroking her hair out of pity.

  "You poor child," she said, "To have lost thy parents and siblings through such a horrible sickness. But God had mercy upon thee, and let thee live. But where were you all this time?"

  Richard told about my "adoption" before Elizabeth or I could say anything.

  Heather then called me to her, and the familiar questions continued: "You took care of her?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "Oh, what a Christian"—and so on, until they offered to entertain us with food and more questioning. They brought out bread and cheese, which Elizabeth feasted on contentedly. I had some myself, if only to be polite, and the questioning went on.

  "Why did you leave the house, into the streets?" (Well, she was terrified and confused, why else?)

  "Why didn't you seek us out?" (How would a little girl know where to start?)

  "Why didn't you seek the clergy for help?" (Over half the city was doing the same thing for the same problem.)

  "Where have you been living?" ("But a few miles away.")

  "How have you been living?" (As well as possible, of course.)

  Nothing was said or asked about how she felt about her experiences, and I was very pleased that Elizabeth never once betrayed my nonhuman nature. Meanwhile they thanked me several more times for taking care of her and offered various rewards. Food? Clothes? Money? And oh how I wanted to shout out what I really wanted—Elizabeth!—but it was too late for that. I was losing her—slowly enough to be painful, and quickly enough to be a shock. Her aunt and uncle were discussing their role as Elizabeth's new guardians amongst themselves, and Elizabeth was chatting a little with her cousins. I felt like slipping away into the night and running home, but that was a coward's way. If I was to lose my child, I would do so with dignity.

  I interrupted the aunt and uncle's animated dialogue, but found myself hesitating before I was able to speak.

  "Master Richard. Mistress," I said. "I can see how excited we all are that Elizabeth has returned, but, um… I was wondering if there might be some place I can talk to her privately?" They looked at each other first, and then Richard furrowed his brow in thought.

  "The study?" he said, and Heather nodded approval. She then rose and guided us to the stairs and up into the room. I waited for her to shut the door before sitting on the bed. Elizabeth waited for me to speak.

  "Elizabeth, my child…" I said, taking her hands into my own, "They seem very pleased to see you. They even talk of making you their own."

  "I heard some of that," she said. "Does that mean we'll be living with them now?"

  "Umm, I—I am not so certain of that."

  "What do you mean?" she said. "I know Uncle Richard will let us stay here, and you won't have to pay him anything!" She then rushed forward to hug me. "Oh, Mama! We are home now!"

  Blast the child; she was making me cry. For all my "inhuman" might I barely had the strength to pry her from me and hold back my tears. I tried keeping my composure by straightening out her robe.

  "Now, Elizabeth," I said, "it is true; you are home now. But this is your family, not mine. I have no say in what happens to thee next."

  "Wh—what do you mean? Why can't you—"

  "Hush. Let me finish. I—I—oh, Elizabeth, I am so afraid."

  "Why, Mama?"

  "Because—because of what shall happen next," I said. "I—I must leave you with your family now."

  "What are you talking about? We can move out of that cellar now and—"

  "Please let me explain, Elizabeth," I said, my voice choking. "It—I can only hope that you understand me. You see, this is your aunt and uncle."

  "Uh huh?"

  "And—and that means, since your parents have died, they can be your new parents. Your guardians, that is."

  "Uh huh? But what's that—?"

  "Shh, hear me, child," I urged. "This is… very difficult because—well, because you may live here now, but I cannot. Do you understand?"

  "But why not? We can both live here."

  "Please, Elizabeth, you must—you must think of this," I said. "How could I possibly live here? Think of it. They would discover the truth about me."

  "You mean, about you being a vam—" I covered her mouth quickly and nodded.

  "Yes, child," I whispered. "And not so loudly, please. But—dost understand that?"

  "Well, they don't have to find out. Not if they give you your own room."

  "Uh—no, I fear it would not be so easy," I said. "Remember, child: you discovered what I am within a day. How long could I keep it from them? And how long would they let me live once I was discovered?"

  "But they wouldn't kill you," she said. "You're not a bad person. Why—"

  "It doesn't matter how 'bad' or 'good' I am," I said. "I am a vampire. That alone is enough for them. Please believe me on this, I know whereof I speak."

  "But—well, then I won't live here, either, "she said "I'll stay with you."

  "That would never do," I said. "Now that they know of thee, you cannot expect them to let us go back to our cellar, and—and forget about thee. You are their niece—their family. They are not about to leave you with some woman who found you in the streets who—"

  "Stop it!" she cried, tears bursting from her eyes, "I don't want you to leave me! I won't let you leave me!"

  I leaned forward and hugged her long and hard.

  "Shh," I said, when a knock came at the door. It was Heather out in the hall.

  "Oh, please, mistress, another moment with her," I called, and she reluctantly agreed. I took both Elizabeth's hands into my own.

  "Please do not think I am leaving thee, cub," I said softly. "I cannot actually live with thee now, but I will always visit thee."

  "All the time?" she sniffled.

  "Well… every night, anyway," I said. "Is that—will that please you? Every night I will visit thee, without fail."

  "I want you to stay with me. I—I wish I'd never come back."

  "Oh, Elizabeth, do not fault thyself," I said. "You were curious, nothing more. But meanwhile, you must be strong for me, for I know you are a brave girl, and I know you will obey your aunt and uncle as your own parents. Will you promise this?"

  She opened her mouth to protest, but then a quick look from me made her close her mouth and nod instead.

  "Excellent," I said, and kissed her several times on the face and hugged her. "And you remember my own promise to visit you as much as I possibly can. For you remember how difficult things were for us; you know how hard we had to work to survive."

  "Yes," she said. "But… I didn't mind. Sometimes it was fun."

  I laughed and rubbed her head playfully.

  "Yes, it was, wasn't it?" I said. "And you know, from the night I first saw you, I knew I would want you for my daughter. And you always will be my daughter."

  "You'll always be my Mama," she said, "Even if Aunt… um…"

  "Heather."

  "Even if Aunt Heather is supposed to be now."

  I kissed her again on the forehead and hefted her into my aims, where she wrapped her arms around my neck and let me carry her downstairs to rejoin her new family.

  They thought something had happened to her until I explained that she was only tired, and that we'd simply been saying good-byes to each other. They informed us that Elizabeth would be adopted as soon as possible, but why were we saying good-bye? I explained that I had my own home which suited me, and the child was theirs now, but I asked their permission to visit her in the evenings. They gladly
granted it and wondered if there was anything else I needed? I insisted on nothing, but I did not decline their insistent offer of some money.

  Then it was time to say good-bye to Elizabeth one final time, and I bent down and called her to me. She was reluctant to approach, but I finally had her in my arms and hugged her long and tight. I did not look at her again, nor she at me, as I released her and stood to bid farewell to her aunt and uncle. They didn't seem very pleased at such a blatant display of affection, but I didn't care. I had left my frigid days behind me and wanted to keep them that way.

  And then I had said all I had to say to all of them, and I was outside the house, and the door was closing. Then it was shut.

  Chapter 29

  I kept my promise to Elizabeth, for the most part. That is, I visited her every night that I was able. Nights of the full moon were out, for instance. Her new guardians weren't very good with children's games or bedtime stories; childhood is really quite a new idea, historically speaking. Children were meant to behave as adults, or stay out of the way. But sometimes I talked her aunt into letting me see Elizabeth to bed so I could tell her a story.

  Her relatives had a remarkable talent for making me feel frightfully uncomfortable. It was all the questions they kept asking: where I was from, where I lived, what I did, where is my family from, blah blah blah. I don't blame them really; after all, I had come literally from nowhere to snatch up their little relative and take care of her for over two years. It's only natural that they'd wonder just what sort of person I was. But obviously I just couldn't afford to answer all their questions, and I hate lying, even when it involves just holding back information. And they kept asking about my religious background, of which I had had none—but I couldn't let them know that.

  She got along well enough with her three cousins, which was fine, although I noticed that she did far more chores than they ever did whenever I visited. Because she was a girl, that is, not because she was an "outsider."

  The years seemed to fly by before I knew what was happening. Soon it seemed that every time I visited, Elizabeth had grown another foot taller. She was becoming a young woman before my eyes, and every time I looked at her, I would think of Kiri, and how she must have grown to be just as fair and pretty. Elizabeth was my reason to live then; truly my own pride and joy. She was bright, kind, polite, cheerful, and becoming prettier by the day. Her aunt and uncle were not quite so open with their feelings; in fact, they were often downright prudish, the uncle infinitely more so, but they weren't to be blamed, really. It was not exactly in fashion to "be free" with one's feelings then, and someone like me, who threw her arms around everybody she knew, made people like Uncle Richard uncomfortable.

  The next thing I knew, Elizabeth was standing up to my shoulders, and she had all the marks of young womanhood about her. This was fine with Uncle Richard; he knew of a young man—from a good family, a wealthy family—in Cambridge who needed a wife. So a wedding was arranged. When I first learned of it I almost cried, for that meant Elizabeth would have to leave London. The night before she was to leave for Cambridge, I asked her to walk with me. I held her hand as we walked and spoke.

  "I will miss you, child," I said at one point.

  "I know," she said. "And you know I will miss you, too, Mama."

  "You'll be starting your own family now. Have your own children. I'm very happy for you."

  "You don't sound it."

  "Don't I? Ah, well, it matters not, cub," I said. "Fate has dealt its final hand, and we're to be parted for all time."

  "Oh, Mama, you know I will visit London again," she said. "If I can, that is."

  "I know," I said. "I know you will try your very best to return. But if you are unable to… well, you know you will always be in my heart."

  "You will always be in mine."

  "Yes…" I said, and then stopped walking.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "No, I—I just thought of—I would like to try something, Elizabeth."

  "Try what?" she asked. I turned until we were face-to-face, and held her gently by the shoulders.

  "Do not be afraid, child," I said, and concentrated. I had never charmed Elizabeth before, and thought I never would, but I felt that, this time, it was something I had to try. She was not expecting it, so it was easy for me to nudge aside her will and replace it with my own. I had never tried something like this before; my plan was to place some of my thoughts, some of my feelings, hopes, and dreams, into a small corner of her mind, and leave them there. Permanently. My plan was to leave her the most personal part of me—my thoughts—and let her carry them with her always. I wasn't sure exactly how to do it, or what the effects would be, but I would do it.

  And I did. I don't know how long it took me to do it, but I waded through the ocean of her thoughts and found an island to plant my own thoughts on. They would stay there forever, always waiting for her to visit if she so chose. I had given the essence of my being to her.

  "Wake up, Elizabeth," I whispered, and she did. I didn't blame her for being disoriented at first; even I was a bit drained from the experience.

  "Mama…" she whispered, "What… I feel so strange…"

  I took her gently by the arm, and we continued our walk.

  "Forgive me for the surprise," I said, "but I didn't know if it would work. I wanted to leave you one last gift from me, one very special gift. Elizabeth, remember this: no matter where you are, or where I am, from now on, you have only to think of me, and I'll be there."

  "How could that be?"

  "Oh, I don't mean really there, as I'm here now, but here—" I said, pointing to her head. "My thoughts. My memories. Everything about me, cub. So if you're sad, or your husband treats you harshly, just think of me, and let the love I have for you comfort you. Will you do that?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, it—it's wonderful, what you have given me. I can feel you even now. Your thoughts, and feelings. It's remarkable. Thank you, Mama-wolf."

  She never did return to London, not that I know of. I am certain she must have tried, but was unable to. My life continued much as it had before: live everywhere and work any job I could get. The years—nay, centuries—were taking their toll on me. I had fallen into a rut of just existing, not living. I had acquaintances, not friends, and few of even those. I worked my jobs, went home, slept, worked again. Rarely spoke with anyone. I saw scores of people live, grow, age, and die of the same without ever having known them. Part of the distance I kept was intentional.

  So there is the true curse of the vampire. Not the blood or the lack of sun, but the immortality. Agyar's "gift" to me. Those we love will only grow older, and sicker, and weaker, while we stay as "young" as we were when we died. Does the parent want to outlive her children? How about her grandchildren? Great-grandchildren? Friends? Spouses? Her own brother or sister?

  I don't know what kept me going all those years, through all those wars, plagues, inquisitions, famines, droughts, revolutions, witch hunts, religious "reforms." And worst of all, the loneliness. Perhaps it's because, for all my existence as one of the undead, I was still afraid of dying. And still am. If I'm halfway there already, I don't want to complete the journey. I'd much rather turn around and go back the other way. Impossible, you say? Perhaps. I know of no vampire who has really, truly tried to regain his or her humanity. It's always been accepted as impossible. Perhaps.

  I could go through a detailed history of little things that happened to me during the time I was in London, especially in the wake of great events such as (in no real order) the Renaissance, the Plague and Fire of 1666, the Inquisition, the Reformation, and every war fought up to World War I. But then, with some exceptions, all that really ever happened to me was that I remained poor, childless, friendless, unmarried, half starved, and often homeless. And, during most of the above-mentioned great events, things often became worse. I was unmarried, poor, uneducated, was limited to nighttime work only, and, worst of all, was female. Let's just say I became the world's
longest-working waitress.

  In the end the waitress jobs proved to be a major liability. Read on, and see why. This was in the early eighteenth century.

  I was finishing my shift at a crowded pub one night. In all of my jobs I always tried to avoid working during full moons, due to its effect on me, but every now and then I had no choice. Tonight was such a night, and I had a hell of a time wandering back and forth between all those men—old and dumpy and vulgar and ugly though they were—and still function normally. I wanted nothing more than to finish my job fast and get out of there, and find some safe place to "let off steam," as it were. But one particular gentleman (correction: he was hardly a gentleman) was constantly trying to get my attention, and whenever he succeeded, proceeded to make passes. Normally I might have written him off easily and gone my merry way, but circumstances were different: the moon was at its height, and at last I could stand it no longer and promised to meet him after my shift.

  This I did, he took me to some inn, procured a room, climbed into bed, and we proceeded to have sex. No love, no tenderness—just sex, nothing more. Not even good sex, for that matter. If the man was married, I doubt if he ever pleased his wife. Nonetheless I hadn't been with a man for so long that it didn't matter how good he was, as long as he was a man. So to make a long story short, I lost control. I gave in to my urges and my hunger, and fed from him. Not converted him—just fed from him. And when I regained my senses, I cried out for what I had done and scrambled away from the bed. The man would not die, but he had been charmed into sleep and would be mighty weak and confused when he woke. But he would live, and that was most important.

  Fortunately no one seemed to hear my cry, and the man was still asleep, and I cowered off into the corner, afraid, confused, uncertain what to do next. I hadn't taken blood from a person in so long I'd almost forgotten what it tasted like.