The big problem I always had with vampires was one of mathematics. If one vampire bites someone and that someone becomes a vampire who bites someone who becomes a vampire and so on, eventually, there would be no more people--only vampires. Obviously that never happened, so you must draw one of two conclusions: Either vampires don't exist or the assumptions about how they reproduce are wrong. I'm here to tell you that vampires are real and therefore, the latter is true.
As a fan of horror movies and literature, I've seen the way that this subject has been approached in the past and with most legends people come up with to explain what they don't understand, there is truth and fiction involved. In the Anne Rice novels, you had to not only be bitten by a vampire, but also drink their blood. I've never actually witnessed that, but I have heard that it is part of the transformation, not necessarily causing it, but strengthening the fledgling vampire. More on that later. In the original Dracula, there seemed to be a lot of preparation that went into making a vampire, with Dracula visiting Mina over several nights and slowly drinking her blood. This appears to be part of it too, because the shock of too much blood loss from a vampire bite seems to lead to death and nothing more.
This is as good a place as any to talk about vampire bites. There is nothing romantic or elegant about a vampire bite. It is the animalistic tearing of flesh with the goal of causing the blood that gives you life to spill. Now it is in a vampire's best interest to not call attention to itself by leaving a lot of corpses around with gaping neck wounds, and the smart ones--the OLD ones, realize this. They also realize that it's wasteful to kill someone to drink their blood because the amount of blood they can actually consume in one feeding is relatively small compared to the amount of blood in the body. They make the smallest wound they can, in the hopes that the victim will survive and heal. The newer vampires just launch themselves at people and keep tearing until they find the jugular, then rip it open as wide as they can to get to the blood. That's why some older vampires will actually hunt for a fledgling vampire, taking blood from a victim and allowing the young vampire to drink from the older vampires own regenerative veins. By the way, speaking of vampire bites, there is another vampire myth has some truth in it--vampire bites, at least the smaller, careful ones, do seem to heal a little more quickly than they should.
So, just to sum up, if a vampire bites someone they don't drink all of their blood, but they may do so much damage that the person bleeds out anyway. If the person lives or dies, either way, they do not become a vampire. That leads us back to the central question--how does one become a vampire? The truth is, I don't know. The ratio of bite to change is small, though--maybe one in 20. Maybe the vampire does some special type of bite, or maybe it has to be a special type of vampire, or maybe they have to take just the right amount of blood over a long time period (like in Dracula). I think it's genetic. I think some of us carry the "Vampire gene" and some don't. Maybe if we have that gene, it stays dormant, hidden in our genetic code, only activating when experience severe blood loss. If that theory is correct, maybe someday we could isolate potential vampires and treat them, "Deactivating the gene." I don't know. The hole in my theory is that vampires seem to know when someone is going to turn--it's almost like a conscious selection process. Do they recognize the ability of someone to become a vampire, or do they actively groom that person to become a vampire? I guess I'll have to ask one someday.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Vampire 101
This seems like a good place to interject a bit of vampire education, a course of Vampire 101, if you will. Like you, I've watched the movies and read the books, so I thought I had a pretty good handle on vampire lore. That was all very useful...Sort of. Some of the legends are nonsense, some are true, and some fall between myth and reality.
I'll start with the most import fact. Sunlight kills vampires. Period. Sunglasses, sunblock, hoodies, tinted windows--none of it protects them. They need to be behind wood, metal, stone or dirt when the sun comes up, or they are going up like a Roman candle. Other types of light are a little more dicey. I've tried UV lamps, incandescents, blacklights and infra-red to no avail, however, fluorescent lights and laser pointers seems to irritate the heck out of them. The laser seems to be the equivalent of jabbing a person with a needle, and a well-placed laser flash can buy you enough time to escape.
Other classic vampire killing methods have been somewhat twisted over time. You've heard of the stake through the heart, the silver spike through the heart, the severing of the head with a silvered blade and so on...Let me simplify it for you. Destroy the brain or the heart and the vampire is dead, no matter what you do it with. I usually try to do both--why take a chance? Vampires do have regenerative powers, it's true, but the head and the heart have to be intact for those powers to work.
Here's a little side note on the whole religious thing. Can a cross or holy water stop a vampire? It depends on how he was raised. I'm dead serious (okay, poor choice of words). If a vampire was a devout Christian in life, the cross will give him pause and maybe even drive him back. Incidentally, the theory applies with other religions, too (Tim swears he drove back a vampire in Skokie with a Star of David.). Here's my theory on this. I think when religion is a central part of someone's life, that memory remains after they go undead, and serves as a link to their humanity. I've noticed younger vampires, the ones who've turned in the last decade or so, are pretty much immune to religious symbols of any kind, in much the same way that people in general seem to be immune to religion these days. I'm tempted to hold up a cell phone or a picture of Kim Karsashian's butt to see if it has the "cross effect" on the more recent generations, somehow linking them to their humanity.
Garlic is an interesting little myth. It kind of works, but not in a "hang it from your windows to keep evil away" application. You have to eat something heavy in garlic. I have a theory on this, too. Drinking someone's blood is a pretty intimate act (think of every other act in which bodily fluids are exchanged and I'm sure you'll agree, they require a degree of intimacy). Imagine the smell of someone who has just eaten pizza loaded with garlic and imagine pressing your face to their neck and holding it there for several minutes. Pleasant? It's probably not pleasant for the vampire either. Just a thought, but I have seen vampires pass on many a garlic-laden meal in favor of someone tastier.
In my next post, I'll talk a bit more about something that's always fascinated me--the epidemiology of vampires.
I'll start with the most import fact. Sunlight kills vampires. Period. Sunglasses, sunblock, hoodies, tinted windows--none of it protects them. They need to be behind wood, metal, stone or dirt when the sun comes up, or they are going up like a Roman candle. Other types of light are a little more dicey. I've tried UV lamps, incandescents, blacklights and infra-red to no avail, however, fluorescent lights and laser pointers seems to irritate the heck out of them. The laser seems to be the equivalent of jabbing a person with a needle, and a well-placed laser flash can buy you enough time to escape.
Other classic vampire killing methods have been somewhat twisted over time. You've heard of the stake through the heart, the silver spike through the heart, the severing of the head with a silvered blade and so on...Let me simplify it for you. Destroy the brain or the heart and the vampire is dead, no matter what you do it with. I usually try to do both--why take a chance? Vampires do have regenerative powers, it's true, but the head and the heart have to be intact for those powers to work.
Here's a little side note on the whole religious thing. Can a cross or holy water stop a vampire? It depends on how he was raised. I'm dead serious (okay, poor choice of words). If a vampire was a devout Christian in life, the cross will give him pause and maybe even drive him back. Incidentally, the theory applies with other religions, too (Tim swears he drove back a vampire in Skokie with a Star of David.). Here's my theory on this. I think when religion is a central part of someone's life, that memory remains after they go undead, and serves as a link to their humanity. I've noticed younger vampires, the ones who've turned in the last decade or so, are pretty much immune to religious symbols of any kind, in much the same way that people in general seem to be immune to religion these days. I'm tempted to hold up a cell phone or a picture of Kim Karsashian's butt to see if it has the "cross effect" on the more recent generations, somehow linking them to their humanity.
Garlic is an interesting little myth. It kind of works, but not in a "hang it from your windows to keep evil away" application. You have to eat something heavy in garlic. I have a theory on this, too. Drinking someone's blood is a pretty intimate act (think of every other act in which bodily fluids are exchanged and I'm sure you'll agree, they require a degree of intimacy). Imagine the smell of someone who has just eaten pizza loaded with garlic and imagine pressing your face to their neck and holding it there for several minutes. Pleasant? It's probably not pleasant for the vampire either. Just a thought, but I have seen vampires pass on many a garlic-laden meal in favor of someone tastier.
In my next post, I'll talk a bit more about something that's always fascinated me--the epidemiology of vampires.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Rolling With Tim
His name was Tim, and he was not quite what I expected. He was not a cop, a priest, a former commando or anything like that. He was a mechanical engineer. A fine profession, but not one that lends itself to a life of vampire hunting, or so I thought. In truth, he made a pretty good living, got plenty of time off, and knew a few tricks that made booby-trapping his home against nighttime visitations fairly easy work for him. And he traveled a lot for conferences, handy for his vampire-slaughtering hobby, for sure. Most of all, he was forgettable. You could talk to him for half an hour and the next day not have a clear memory of who he was, what he did for a living or even what he looked like. The CIA missed out when they failed to recruit Tim.
So what's a nice guy like Tim doing in a place like this? (The place in question would usually be a truly sleazy bar, hotel or house of ill repute in a part of town where people like Tim do not normally come out alive, at least not with wallets and extremities intact). Well, at the tender young age of 22, Tim got to see something that few of the living get to see--he saw a vampire feed. Unfortunately, he saw it feed on his young wife, just a few days after their wedding. It took a long time for him to share the story with me, so it doesn't feel right for me to give you the details here (since I hardly even know you yet), but suffice it to say that a honeymoon like that will either destroy a man or change him into something else. In Tim's case, it turned him into a predator. He hunted vampires the way a lion hunts gazelles. He was patient, cunning, and approached each hunt with the knowledge that there was only one way it could end--with another kill for him. I don't think I'll ever be the hunter that Tim was, and I hope I never have the inspiration to.
After I first "caught him in the act" and offered my services he was wary, not because he was afraid that I would turn on him or turn him in to the police, he was more resigned to the belief that this was a curiosity for me and that sooner or later I would wander off, realizing how incredibly dangerous and stupid this was. To this day, I don't know why he wasn't right. Maybe I enjoyed the danger, or the feeling of doing good. Maybe it's just that I knew I was meant to do more than work 40 hours a week for 50 years then die, mostly forgotten, having left surprisingly little impression on the world with surprisingly little to show for the effort of having lived a life.
I hung out with Tim on my nights off for about two weeks, mostly drinking watered-down drinks in bad bars, talking with hookers and low-life's. I think he enjoyed my company, but I also think I was cramping his style. Vampires are hunters, too, and they're much more likely to go after the lone target than a pair of them. In the end, our next target was revealed not when they moved on us, but when they moved on someone else.
It was at a strip club in Rockford where we observed Tamera. Actually, Tim observed Tamera, I was observing someone else entirely on the main stage at the time, but Tim saw Tamera, a pale, slim, brunette who looked to be in her mid thirties (a little old for a stripper in most cities, but pretty much the norm in Rockford), take a gentleman back for a private dance and when they returned, he seemed much more drunk than when they left. As Tamera departed, Tim made his way to the drunken gentleman and chatted with him. After a brief conversation, he came back and led me from the club. "She tapped him," he announced,once we were in the car. I looked at him blankly. "She drank some of his blood. Not enough to kill him, but a lot. He looks drunk, but he's not. The waitress will call him a cab, he'll wake up with a headache and assume he had too much to drink. Hell, he'll probably be back next week and she'll tap him again."
I asked him how we handle it and he basically told me that we stake out the building until daybreak. If she leaves, we follow her. If she stays, we know that's her den and we come in the afternoon and take her out. He made it sound so easy. It wasn't.
So what's a nice guy like Tim doing in a place like this? (The place in question would usually be a truly sleazy bar, hotel or house of ill repute in a part of town where people like Tim do not normally come out alive, at least not with wallets and extremities intact). Well, at the tender young age of 22, Tim got to see something that few of the living get to see--he saw a vampire feed. Unfortunately, he saw it feed on his young wife, just a few days after their wedding. It took a long time for him to share the story with me, so it doesn't feel right for me to give you the details here (since I hardly even know you yet), but suffice it to say that a honeymoon like that will either destroy a man or change him into something else. In Tim's case, it turned him into a predator. He hunted vampires the way a lion hunts gazelles. He was patient, cunning, and approached each hunt with the knowledge that there was only one way it could end--with another kill for him. I don't think I'll ever be the hunter that Tim was, and I hope I never have the inspiration to.
After I first "caught him in the act" and offered my services he was wary, not because he was afraid that I would turn on him or turn him in to the police, he was more resigned to the belief that this was a curiosity for me and that sooner or later I would wander off, realizing how incredibly dangerous and stupid this was. To this day, I don't know why he wasn't right. Maybe I enjoyed the danger, or the feeling of doing good. Maybe it's just that I knew I was meant to do more than work 40 hours a week for 50 years then die, mostly forgotten, having left surprisingly little impression on the world with surprisingly little to show for the effort of having lived a life.
I hung out with Tim on my nights off for about two weeks, mostly drinking watered-down drinks in bad bars, talking with hookers and low-life's. I think he enjoyed my company, but I also think I was cramping his style. Vampires are hunters, too, and they're much more likely to go after the lone target than a pair of them. In the end, our next target was revealed not when they moved on us, but when they moved on someone else.
It was at a strip club in Rockford where we observed Tamera. Actually, Tim observed Tamera, I was observing someone else entirely on the main stage at the time, but Tim saw Tamera, a pale, slim, brunette who looked to be in her mid thirties (a little old for a stripper in most cities, but pretty much the norm in Rockford), take a gentleman back for a private dance and when they returned, he seemed much more drunk than when they left. As Tamera departed, Tim made his way to the drunken gentleman and chatted with him. After a brief conversation, he came back and led me from the club. "She tapped him," he announced,once we were in the car. I looked at him blankly. "She drank some of his blood. Not enough to kill him, but a lot. He looks drunk, but he's not. The waitress will call him a cab, he'll wake up with a headache and assume he had too much to drink. Hell, he'll probably be back next week and she'll tap him again."
I asked him how we handle it and he basically told me that we stake out the building until daybreak. If she leaves, we follow her. If she stays, we know that's her den and we come in the afternoon and take her out. He made it sound so easy. It wasn't.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
How I Got Started
This all started, as most F'd up stuff usually does, at a Denny's around 2 AM. It was almost 20 years ago, and I was in my early 20's. I agreed to give a buddy a ride home after we had been drinking way too much coffee, eating way too much pie and talking way too much BS for about four hours. I dropped him off without incident, but on the way back, I had what would become a life-changing incident. I was passing a cemetery--the cemetery my father is buried in, incidentally, and I saw a man dressed in black crossing the road. I nearly hit him, in part because of how he was dressed, but in part because of the unexpectedness of where he was. He crossed from a spot near the middle of the cemetery fence--he must have jumped the fence from inside the cemetery! The really odd thing, though, was that he was carrying an old-style black doctor's bag, with what looked like a piece of wood sticking out of it.
It wouldn't be fair to say that I obsessed over this incident, but I thought of it often. Being a fan of horror movies, I naturally made the connection that the man in black was a vampire hunter. Or an actor playing the part of a vampire hunter for some indie guerilla film project. Or a psychopath who thought he was a vampire killer. I have to admit, I looked for excuses to go by that cemetery at night, taking that road whenever I was anywhere near it. It was about five years later that I saw him. He wasn't as obvious this time; he still had his bag and his dark clothes, but this time he was a few blocks from the cemetery and his bag was closed. I watched him walk into the parking lot of a shopping mall and get into his jeep. I took down the license number and had a cop friend of mine look it up. Not a known psychopath.
I got an address and this time I staked him out. Hmmm, I just realized what a poor choice of words that is when dealing with vampires. Anyway, I tried watching his place at night, but surprisingly, the jeep never seemed to move. I tried the morning. Bingo. He went to a little dive bar on the bad side of town that appeared to be closed. I watched him force his way into the door with the practiced expertise of a master thief, then slip inside with his doctor's bag. I almost drove away and called the police thinking the mystery was solved and he was just a common criminal. Then I saw him do something that seemed contrary to the M.O. of any thief I've ever heard of. He started opening doors and windows. Even breaking some of them out.
There was a long pause after that. I couldn't see him moving inside--there must have been a basement or something. Again, I pondered calling the police. Then the shrieking began. If you've never heard this sound, consider yourself lucky--it's like no other sound on earth. All I can say is that when I heard it, I knew that it was not made by a human. Mercifully, it did not last long. A few moments later, the man hurried out the front door with his bag, only now, there were clearly blood stains on his clothing.
Anyone who had ever seen a vampire movie could deduce what happened in that bar, but this is real life. My mind would simply not accept the logical conclusion to be drawn from the evidence. I needed more. The next time I followed him, I got it. This time it was a massage parlor in a similar neighborhood up north. This time, the shrieking didn't end so soon. My quarry came charging into the light on the first floor, pursued by something...Something that burst into flames as the man threw his bag through the last blackened window, sending a shaft of light at his pursuer. The flaming mass behind him was shaped vaguely like a human, and it burned to a thick black dust right before my eyes in only seconds. I don't know what possessed me to make the life-changing decision I made next. I emerged from my hiding spot, picked up the man's bag and brought it to the spot where he stood, bent at the waist, holding his knees and trying to catch his breath. "Do you need a partner?" I asked.
It wouldn't be fair to say that I obsessed over this incident, but I thought of it often. Being a fan of horror movies, I naturally made the connection that the man in black was a vampire hunter. Or an actor playing the part of a vampire hunter for some indie guerilla film project. Or a psychopath who thought he was a vampire killer. I have to admit, I looked for excuses to go by that cemetery at night, taking that road whenever I was anywhere near it. It was about five years later that I saw him. He wasn't as obvious this time; he still had his bag and his dark clothes, but this time he was a few blocks from the cemetery and his bag was closed. I watched him walk into the parking lot of a shopping mall and get into his jeep. I took down the license number and had a cop friend of mine look it up. Not a known psychopath.
I got an address and this time I staked him out. Hmmm, I just realized what a poor choice of words that is when dealing with vampires. Anyway, I tried watching his place at night, but surprisingly, the jeep never seemed to move. I tried the morning. Bingo. He went to a little dive bar on the bad side of town that appeared to be closed. I watched him force his way into the door with the practiced expertise of a master thief, then slip inside with his doctor's bag. I almost drove away and called the police thinking the mystery was solved and he was just a common criminal. Then I saw him do something that seemed contrary to the M.O. of any thief I've ever heard of. He started opening doors and windows. Even breaking some of them out.
There was a long pause after that. I couldn't see him moving inside--there must have been a basement or something. Again, I pondered calling the police. Then the shrieking began. If you've never heard this sound, consider yourself lucky--it's like no other sound on earth. All I can say is that when I heard it, I knew that it was not made by a human. Mercifully, it did not last long. A few moments later, the man hurried out the front door with his bag, only now, there were clearly blood stains on his clothing.
Anyone who had ever seen a vampire movie could deduce what happened in that bar, but this is real life. My mind would simply not accept the logical conclusion to be drawn from the evidence. I needed more. The next time I followed him, I got it. This time it was a massage parlor in a similar neighborhood up north. This time, the shrieking didn't end so soon. My quarry came charging into the light on the first floor, pursued by something...Something that burst into flames as the man threw his bag through the last blackened window, sending a shaft of light at his pursuer. The flaming mass behind him was shaped vaguely like a human, and it burned to a thick black dust right before my eyes in only seconds. I don't know what possessed me to make the life-changing decision I made next. I emerged from my hiding spot, picked up the man's bag and brought it to the spot where he stood, bent at the waist, holding his knees and trying to catch his breath. "Do you need a partner?" I asked.
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