The First

by Michael Santana

  "I have kept my promise, but if you have lied to me in the slightest, I shall return, and you will hear the cries of the children as I feed upon them. As long as you live, if I am ever afflicted by anything of this nature, I will find you all and drain you dry."

  To make sure she never passed on her knowledge of me and how to hurt me, I ripped her tongue from her mouth. I placed it with the doll. I tore a piece of cloth from her dress and wrapped both items in it, before carefully tucking them away in the inside pocket of my coat. I tossed my old violet handkerchief in the fireplace and set the rag ablaze.

  I left the little shack with the old woman still inside. I picked up one of the sweets at her door and handed it to a child as I passed. I smiled as I watched him place it in his mouth before waving at me.

  I sped through the darkness and into the marsh. There under the light of the moon, I buried my trophies deep in the swampy marshland, far from the prying eyes or hands of those who would do me harm.

  I occasionally dropped in on the old woman over the next few years. In the dead of night, I would whisper in her sleeping ear. I whispered that I was still there and waited for her garbled assurance that she understood.

  I left Savannah the day before the Union troops, led by Sherman, invaded on his "March to the Sea." I had tired of the bestial ways and wanted to rest my head once again on soft pillows and silk sheets. This little state wasn't going to offer me such luxuries. After first retrieving my little totem from the marshlands, I made my way away from Savannah and headed north.

  Chapter 17

  In 1865, the Union army emerged victorious in" The war between the states." Lincoln kept his promise and freed the darker races from slavery, although not from their station in life. As I moved through the northern states, I noticed that things were a little different, but not much.

  Even though they were now free, they had nowhere to go and no way to feed themselves. Their plight was no longer my concern, as once again I considered them no more than meals. Like everyone else, they now fed my insatiable thirst, on my trek through the war-torn country.

  My last stop in the newly revamped United States was the city of New York. Humans came from all over seeking a better life. Some found what they were looking for. Others found that there was no escape from their miseries.

  The wealth varied from one home to the next as beautiful homes neighbored wooden shacks. The only difference being the luck of the occupants that lived inside. Streets, some built of cobblestone, others of dirt, all smelled of manure. The city droned of activity as people moved about in horse-drawn carriages, omnibuses, trolleys, and on foot.

  I moved among them under the guise of Egyptian royalty. I returned to using the name Ammon and rented a room at one of the grand hotels, much to the chagrin of its white patrons and staff. Although they had abolished slavery in this state in 1827, to say I stood out was an understatement.

  My skin color might have caused more of a problem if it hadn't been for the gold. Gold is a magnificent metal; it has a way of opening doors that would otherwise stay closed. By this time in my life, I had acquired an almost never-ending supply of it. Once again, I prowled the night, although it was under an eye of scrutiny.

  The ships came in at all hours of the night. I didn't have to try hard to find a meal with so many people coming and going via the port. Missing immigrants were rarely investigated. Yet, if I didn't find one to my liking, I had other choices. Beautiful women prowled the night alongside me. They, of course, were on a hunt for money, not the life-giving elixir that I sought. Some of these women would open a throat as quickly as I would, if not quicker. Monsters in their own right, they preyed upon the men, as I preyed upon them.

  I filled my purse as I quenched my thirst, "killing two birds with one stone" as they say. Even though I had no need for the money, to have left it with them would have been silly. I spent my nights enjoying everything the "City of contrast," and the outlying territory had to offer. I had made sure to leave no stone unturned and fed from all the races I could find. New York was a smorgasbord of cultures and skin tones. With the docks emptying more and more immigrants into the city every day, I now had a mixed buffet from which to choose. Through the years of my life, I have heard many different tongues and dialects, mastering most of them. The amount of time you can spend learning is one of the many advantages of being immortal.

  Through this talent, I learned many things people thought confidential. I knew who was doing what with whom even though a certain significant other had no clue. Where the key to the house would be left, when someone was coming home later than usual. I knew where everyone kept their valuables, material and immaterial alike. The things people say aloud when they think no one is listening can be very informative. I was able to enter rooms without fear of being exposed knowing the husband or wife would not return for hours.

  I was also able to understand the fear a young boy showed for a man twice his size and three times his age. Sadly, no one else seemed to recognize the boy's plight. Well, no one with the power to do anything about it. That was until he had the lucky misfortune to burn the shirt of a vampire. Even though I have no problem keeping myself clean, sometimes my activities can become quite a bit messy. Said messiness is the reason why Irisi always insisted on disrobing before a playful feast. The blood does not concern me as much as the dirt. If something was too bloody, I discarded it. A little burgundy smear here and there never worried me, but never dirt. I am a beautiful creature who wears beautiful clothes. They should always be clean and pristine. My style was another trait I picked up from the self-proclaimed "Queen of the Vampires."

  One of the amenities at the grand hotel was a laundry service. I would leave my soiled clothes in a bag outside my door, and they were returned clean and pressed by noon the next day; Of course, I never saw them until mid-evening.

  The shirt that he destroyed was a personal favorite of mine. It was tailor-made for me while in Paris, with Irisi and Manuela. It held the memories of my last night with them. Irisi had made the man open his shop after hours to make the garment.

  The shirt was part of a three-piece ensemble he worked through the night on. Black pants with lavender thread, a lavender shirt with ruffled cuffs and collar, the jacket also black with lavender lapels and buttons. I found it hideous to look upon, but they seemed to love it, so I endured it. I was forced to board the ship to America wearing this outfit. If the people weren't inclined to stare before, they were after seeing my attire.

  Although I rarely wore the jacket and pants lest I look like a barker for a traveling freak show, I did love the shirt. It was beautiful except for the triangular burn mark that now marred the back. Furious, I headed to the front desk to inquire who was responsible for the travesty. The young man stared at me, fearful. He didn't know why he was scared he just knew he was. Even the dumbest of animals can sense when a predator is near.

  With a shaky hand, the young man wrote an address on a piece of paper and pointed me in the direction I needed to go. The door to the laundry was locked when I arrived, and the lights had been extinguished for the evening. This didn't deter me. With a quick twist, the door frame cracked and gave, leaving me holding the now useless knob. I entered with the intention of killing everyone inside for the shirt they had ruined.

  I stepped through the door and maneuvered my way through the dark room with ease. Light shone from under a rear door, and I moved towards it. My first thought was to burst in surprising them, before chasing them all around the small building. I would watch them beg for mercy and scream in agony. As I stepped to the door to do just that, I heard noises from the other side that froze me in my tracks. The loud grunts and moans of a man accompanied the near silent cries of a child. "Please, no more. Please stop! I can't take anymore. It hurts! Please stop." The child whimpered in Chinese.

  I kicked the door open, lavender shirt in hand, to find a young man in his earliest of teens being forcibly sodomized by a much older, larger man. The scene paraly
zed me, and I felt faint. Memories of a time long forgotten came crashing back. Recollections of pain and humiliations struck me numb. When I was a very young man, a few of my masters had a taste for young boys. It didn't matter to them if I had no interest in sex. My pleas for mercy were unheard. As I grew older, stronger, the master’s guards would hold me down while the masters abused me.

  I hated the fact that I never returned to the twisted men to make them pay for their crimes against me. Long dead, they were safe from the revenge I wanted to exact upon them. This man wasn't.

  The look on his face never changed as I moved across the room. It would not have mattered if it had; his face is not the one I saw. What I saw was a myriad of images of my own past abusers. Their faces, long ago purged from my memory, returned as crisp and clear as if the abuses had happened only moments before.

  Tears of blood streamed from my eyes as I slashed and tore at him with my hands. Once the floodgates opened, there was no stopping the memories as they washed over me. Howling in anger and shame, I tore chunks of flesh from his body. I whirled, throwing him against the far wall only to find myself on top of him again, screaming into his face.

  My fangs dripped saliva as I held his head in place by his ears. My last action before he died was to tear his offending organ from his body and shove it deep in his throat.

  I squatted by him, still pounding on his chest long after he had died. My tears had pooled and now splashed as I struck him repeatedly. The force of my blows crushed bone and organs alike. I don't know how long I was stuck in the nightmare of my memories. When I finally did stop, he was an unrecognizable blob of flesh, all human traits erased from him.

  The boy huddled in a corner silent and scared. I crawled to his side and sat next to him, head bowed. His tears mixed along with mine as we both sat together on the floor of the room sobbing at the thoughts of the wrongs done to us. I didn't taint my body with the blood of the pedophile. His blood, I violently scrubbed away in the basin. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror. The face I saw wasn't the face of the First Vampire, but of the child I once was. Then without warning, a tsunami of nausea came over me, and I retched and started vomiting.

  The young man held my hand tightly as the sickness took me. He had seen me for the beast I was and didn't care. In his eyes, I was a savior. I had rescued him from the true monster. Stricken by old emotions, I collapsed onto the floor. Soon after I felt a cold cloth on my face. With gentle hands, he washed my crimson tears away. I can only assume he recognized the truth and saw the victim in me, as I had seen in him.

  After a time I was able to regain my composure. His name was Hai Lin, and he was thirteen. His parents had worked for his abuser, but they had mysteriously gone missing three years prior. The abuses started a couple of weeks after their disappearance, soon after this tenth birthday. He endured the little touches that had started it, but they soon became all-out assaults.

  "Are you Xixiegui?" He asked me quietly in his native tongue.

  Xixiegui is what the Chinese call beings like me. I had learned this while trying to escape witches after drinking from an Opium addict.

  "Yes, I am," I replied.

  Which is not entirely true, the Chinese lore that surrounds those of my kind is a false one. They believe we are soulless, lacking in emotion and are driven only by instinct. My soul was bound to this body, and my emotions have ranged from deliriously happy to those of great sadness. "Thank you so very much honorable one." That was all he had said that first night, and it was all he had to.

  I took him back to my hotel and received scornful looks from the staff for it. The same man who had given me directions still worked the desk and looked at me contemptuously. His thoughts were on something that neither the child nor I had a taste for, considering our abuses. Although homosexuality is nothing new and has been practiced through the ages in many different cultures, I never had any inclination in that direction. The few rare times I have been sexual, it has been with women. The abuses I endured were just that, abuses, not sex.

  The man at the desk stared a moment too long, and I decided to have a word with him. He had to be taken care of anyway; he was the only one who knew I went to the laundry. Soon the bloody mass would be discovered since I hadn't hidden the body. I left the scum on the floor to rot and feed the vermin.

  His eyes lowered as he pretended to read something out of my sight. The lobby was vacant, with the previous onlookers having gone about their business.

  I told him of a complaint I had about my room, and it needed his immediate attention. He followed me to his death with a huff, but clueless. I fed as the young man bathed in another room, both feeling a little shy of the other. The body now drained was disposed of four streets away. I returned to find the boy sleeping. As he slept on the bed I stared out the window into the night; only then did I realize that I had saddled myself down with a child.

  Turning away from the window, I looked at him and made a decision. I cannot say that this was a wonderful or beautiful experience. That would be a lie.

  Before sunrise, I went to the lobby, ordered a full menu of breakfast foods and fruits, and had them delivered to my room. The young man awoke to the smell of eggs, fried, scrambled and poached. There was pork in all different varieties, ham, sausages, and bacon. Pancakes with butter and syrup running down the side rested alongside cakes with all sorts of jellies.

  He ate his fill, tasting some of everything. He took large bites from pastries before returning them to the tray to try another. The meats he ate by the handfuls, stuffing his mouth to capacity before starting to chew. I watched amazed as he devoured the eggs before returning to the cakes. For such a little person he could hold a lot.

  If I hadn't known his age, I would have thought that he was much younger. Dark hair and a high brown skin tone, made him stick out almost as much as me. His eyes were tiny and hidden behind low hanging lids. The scars that lined his arms and legs also marked his otherwise gentle face.

  When he had eaten all he could manage, and probably enough for two others, he rose from the table and walked over to me.

  "Is it difficult to be Xixiegui?" he asked.

  "What do you mean, " I replied with my own question.

  "Don't you miss cakes and sweets? I could never do it. I would miss cakes, I'm sure I would," he said "I do not remember them enough to miss them, I guess. It has been a very long time since I have eaten sweets and even then, it was a rarity. Now you should get cleaned up, we have errands to run." I replied smiling.

  He eyed me suspiciously, and I didn't blame him. Trust is a tough thing to give after the life he had experienced. The fact that I was Xixiegui didn't have anything to do with it.

  That night, as Irisi had once done for me, we called on a tailor and had Hai fitted for new outfits. I watched as he fidgeted and fussed, making the tailors job, very difficult.

  "Why are you doing this to me, kind sir?"

  "It is not to you, it is for you," I replied.

  "Why are you doing this FOR me?" he corrected himself.

  "You have suffered what no child should have to."

  "And you? Have you suffered?"

  "We all suffer tragedies in our lives, mine we will not speak of, yours only if you wish." After a couple of hours, with his measurements completed and outfits decided on, we departed the tailor's shop. This was only the beginning of my plans for the young man.

  The next night as soon as the sun had set, I met up with a man about purchasing a home. This meeting didn't go well, at least not for him.

  When the man first stepped out of his office and onto the street, he seemed a little taken aback at my presence. I assumed he was like the others and wasn't used to seeing an African in such fine clothes.

  We spoke for a few minutes, with me explaining what I was looking for and him telling me what he would need to make it happen. I assured him that money was of no consequence and pulled a large sum of bills from my jacket. He seemed very interested in helping me after th
e seeing the amount of money I was carrying. We walked through the street with him describing all the amenities the house offered.

  "The house has nine rooms, runs fully on electricity and is also equipped with indoor plumbing."

  He continued describing the rooms, and the décor of the house. I listened intently since this was the first time I was buying a home not just for myself, but for a human as well. Thoughts of the commonality of the torture and abuse, that the boy and I had in common ran through my mind. This is the only reason the man was able to take me so unaware.

  Being who and what I am I have never feared man or his instruments of death. Having always been the predator blinds me, and sometimes I do not see threats that stand before me. If I had been anyone else or maybe if I were a mortal, I probably would have thought better of showing him the cash that I carried. This mistake would haunt him for the rest of his short life.

  He cut down a dark alley, saying it was the fastest route to the home, and I followed unsuspectingly. I felt no cause for alarm when he fell behind.

  The attack came without warning; he must have done this many times before. His arm reached around my neck, and I felt a knife pushed into my back and pulled out again. The sharp pain caused me to turn and face him. This time, he plunged the knife deep into my chest.

  The blood that spilled from my mouth must have made him believe that he had mortally wounded me. Because without waiting for me to die he reached his hand into the inside pocket of my jacket and retrieved the wad of bills.

  He stood in front of me counting the money when he should have been running. If the pain of his attack hadn't been so intense, I probably would have enjoyed the look on his face as I stood and pulled the knife from my chest and looked at it. The weapon was a thing of beauty, ivory handled dual-edged blade with the Confederate seal at the hilt.

  Snatching the money from his hands with one hand, I pulled him into me with the other. "I should have known. Where would a nigger get that kind of money," were his very last words. Having fed for the evening and my currency returned, I made my way back to the hotel. I waited until the next night and found another man who could sell me the house. During the carriage ride, he talked of his partner. He stated that the man had mysteriously gone missing the night before while showing this very same house.