One More For the Road

by Spikesdeb

Another?  Yeah, okay - not like it’s going to rot my liver is it?  And I’ll take a cig if you’re offering.  Thanks. 

Shall I just ramble on or do you want to ask me questions?  I see you’ve got one of those little tape recorders?  Good, ‘cause let me tell you I’m taking you on a ride, honey!  Now, before I start spilling my secrets, you say you’re from the Watchers Council?  Well, I’m not sure I want those bastards knowing all my intimates, but I like your face so let’s see how we get along.   

I suppose I should follow tradition and start at the beginning.   First 20 years or so of my life were pretty dull; if I had to describe it with colour I would say “beige” so you see what I’m getting at.  I was born in a small cottage on the edge of the Yorkshire Moors; my father was a farmhand and my mother cooked up at the big farmhouse.   Nothing interesting ever happened in our tiny hamlet.  You came into the world kicking and screaming on a bed and that was the last excitement you had until you went out the same way.  My mother died in childbirth, as was quite common in those days, so my father and his mother, my gran, raised me.  I also had an older sister.  Had, you understand as in past tense.  I suppose it’s all past tense now, it was so long ago.  But my sister…she was never destined long for this world, too sweet in face and spirit to dull herself with the mundane.  She passed away when I was only 13 years old, she was 17 and as weak as a kitten by the time she breathed her last. 

Of course we didn’t know what had taken her off then; from the symptoms I now know it was cancer.  She wasted away before us.  I was devastated.  One minute there, the next gone.  Nothing.  I just couldn’t accept that I wouldn’t see her again.   

The date?  When she died?  Oh, when I was born – that was 20th August 1915, right in the middle of World War I.  Father had enlisted as most men did, but had managed a few days’ leave with mama that resulted in the birth of yours truly nine months later.  My life took her from him.    He was away when I was born, fighting for his life in the hell of the trenches.  He learned of my birth and his beloved wife’s demise by letter, sent shortly afterwards.  I never knew when he received the news, it was a chaotic time and it may have taken months for him to get the letter. 

You’d expect him to resent me for that, but he never did.  He worshipped me from the day I toddled towards him when he returned from the front.  My sister, Alice, kept telling me that although mama had been taken to heaven, father would be back from France one day.  I knew him immediately although I was only three years old.  He limped down the lane that led to our small cottage.  We were waiting for him; the telegram sent by the War Office having told us to expect him.  Alice gripped my hand tightly as we waited but I pulled free and started to walk towards my father to meet him, before he reached the house.  Of course I don’t remember all that, but Alice told me the tale so many times I can almost see it in my head. 

As I reached the tall, fine figure of a man he shrugged his kit bag off his shoulder and dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face.  He wrapped me in big strong arms and hugged me to his chest.  I can remember the powerful beat of his heart and the scent of his skin as I rubbed my infant face against him.  Then Alice was with us, hugging us both as father got to his feet, shifting me to rest in one arm as he encircled my sister with the other.  Gran was next, her eyes filled with tears as she beheld her son, the hero, with the family he thought he would never live to see.   

Ah – I’ve made you cry.  Yeah, well – you grow out of the sentimental shit when you realise life’s a joke.  Another beer and I’ll take you through my childhood years.  Didn’t seem to last two minutes so it shouldn’t take long.  Right then, click your little tape thing, I’m heading back to 1923. 

As I said, not much happened where I come from.  Two sunny days in a row was news and had the old dears all aflutter, and the tinker calling to sharpen the tools and knives was a free-for-all party day.  Makes me laugh now, but back then I was as caught up in it as the rest of them.  I remember long days of sunshine and rippling corn, the cold and dark of lambing.  I’m sure it wasn’t all like that but I had a happy childhood.  Mostly.  So, why 1923?  Well, something happened to me that year, late September - can’t remember the exact date.  I just remember sneaking out of the house after dark to go into the woods over the fields.  I was off to meet some pals from school, some scheme to dig up a badgers’ sett.  Lunatic plan, but we were young. 

I would be 8 years old, petrified in the dark but not wanting to lose face with the others.  I remember the moonlight glimmering down through the trees as I came to the edge of the wood.  I could just see the floor once my eyesight adjusted to the gloom.  Suddenly, there was a movement to my left.  I stopped and spun round – a figure giggled then slipped further into the darkness.  A woman, what was she doing there?  Then another sound behind me; I turned but just saw the hem of a scarlet skirt.   

It was too much; I decided to run back home as fast as I could.  I didn’t care if the boys teased me the next day; I sensed danger.  I raced over the fields, glancing back as I went.   Two figures broke the cover of the trees and started after me, both women.  I don’t know what scared me so, but I was almost sick with fear.  I stumbled and fell hard, skinning my hands and knees.  Scrabbling backwards, I got up and hurtled on -- just a few hundred yards to my front fence.  As I reached the perimeter I looked behind me again, and what I saw made my blood run cold.  The two women were bathed in the moonlight and there was something wrong with their faces.  They were strangely ridged around the nose and forehead, yellow eyes and blood red mouths with the sharp teeth of a lynx.  I let out a whimper of terror but then my survival instinct kicked in as they neared and I vaulted over the fence and rushed headlong into the house. 

My heart was pounding thunderously in my chest and I could hardly breathe as I slammed the back door behind me.  I didn’t care that I would wake the house – I was safe.  I heard doors upstairs open, the rustle of clothing as my sleepy family whispered to each other in alarm.  My father was first down, a stout walking stick in his hand to see off any intruder.  I lay huddled at the foot of the door, shivering and crying, my face a mess of tears, snot, and blood from my grazed hands. 

Gran peeped from behind the shelter of dad’s broad back as she heard me sniffle.  Alice trotted down the stairs, eyes big with fear, and they both rushed to my side.  In an instant, Gran took charge, ordering Alice to fetch warm salt water for my wounds and dad to carry me to the rag rug in front of the kitchen range.  The range fire was never allowed to go out, and dad soon had it blazing away as I huddled in front of it.  Alice returned with a bowl and some cloths and gran cuddled me close as she cleaned my face.  I cringed as she bathed my grazed hands and knees with salt water, but Alice smoothed my hair and kissed my forehead to distract me from the pain. 

Eventually I was all cleaned up and it was time to face the music.  Dad sat back in the rocking chair at the side of the range and lit his pipe.  He tried to look stern, but he could never stay angry with me for long.  I hated his disapproval and stammered out the reason why I was out of the house at night. 

I told them I’d fled because two monstrous women had chased me from the woods.  They didn’t believe me of course, I mean who would?  Dad even flung the door open and checked outside, but there was nothing to see in the moonlight.  He turned back, shutting out the night, smiling as he assured us we were all safe.   

The excitement over, we all trudged up to bed and I was allowed to sleep with gran, as I was scared to be alone.  I had nightmares of being chased by devils, but when I awoke I was safely cocooned in the warm arms of my beloved grandma. 

At school the next day there were four empty desks.   The boys I was to meet in the woods had vanished.   They never found the bodies, never discovered what happened in the woods, but I know I was gathered into my family’s arms and held close when I got home that night.    

I didn’t believe that the monsters were real; the memory of those distorted faces faded in the light of my family’s assurances that it was just a dream, a nightmare brought on by an overactive imagination and moonlit wanderings.  How wrong could a child be? 

Need filling up again, love, getting parched here.  Make it a pint and a whisky chaser, there’s a good girl.  Whoa!  Listen, you want the story  - you pay for it.   Sooner you’re at the bar, sooner you can get more out of me.  Now skedaddle. 

See, that didn’t take long!  Now we can get on.  So, monsters and such round the homestead, me not believing.  Mass cover-up in the village - or mass denial, rather.  The families of the boys moved away so the only person left in the village that knew anything of that night was me, but as I’d never said anything and my family kept their theories to themselves, the disappearances were forgotten. 

So, years went by and I did the usual boy things, got myself a puppy, learned how to ride, how to shoot.  When I was ten, the farmer took me on to work alongside my father.  Of course I kept up my schooling, but every spare minute I was out and about, no doubt getting under everyone’s feet as I learned to ‘help’.  I was a healthy lad, tanned by the sun and wind, spending days and nights in the fields with my gentle father and his fellow workers.  It was understood that I would follow my father into farming. 

But that was before I discovered books; thin books, fat ones, huge tomes that I could hardly lift.   

It was gran who wanted that for me.  She was always reading me this and that, encouraging me to study.  She introduced me to the novels of Charles Dickens, read out loud great passages that made me laugh or fume at man’s treatment of his fellow man.  Somehow, and don’t ask me how this happened, I told my family that I wanted to be a lawyer.  I think it started as a whim, something I’d read in a Dickens book that appealed to me.  But then it became the aim of my life.  So from being a sun-kissed boy from the fields, I became a pale shadow of my former self, constantly staring into books in the quiet depths of the family kitchen. 

Pale!  Little did I know that was how I was to end my life too... 

At school my teachers were surprised at my newfound zest for knowledge.  I had never been stupid, you understand, always turned in my homework and took part in class.  It was just that I was usually more interested in playtime when they let us outdoors.  Now they had to drag me away from the school library.   

Life rolled on in this vein as I grew in both knowledge and stature.  I was filling out and became a younger version of my father in looks, save for green eyes that were entirely my mother’s.  I had jet-black hair and broad shoulders.  I still worked on the farm as was expected, but it was understood in the family that when school was done I would continue my studies and apply to law school.   

Then we lost Alice.  It still hurts to speak of that time -- we were so close.   She’d always looked after me, despite the fact that there was only four years between us, always putting my needs first.  She was fiercely protective of me and proudly encouraged my academic aspirations.  I can’t believe how quick it was, but in a way it was a blessing.  She started feeling ill at Christmas 1927 and by Easter she was weak and mostly confined to the house.  Come summer she couldn’t walk and barely took food.  It cut me to the quick to see her so wasted away, so weak.  My vital and energetic Alice, bedridden, her wan face and faded hair on the pillows as her hands gripped the bed linen.   

Of course, I knew she was failing, but I didn’t want to believe it.  I hoped against hope that I’d wake up one morning and she would be hale and hearty, ticking me off for leaving my things lying in her path to trip her up.   

I was with her when she died.  She asked me to read to her, some gossip from the latest penny dreadful.  I rolled my eyes and teased her that the other law students would shun her brother if they knew he actually read such nonsense!  She giggled with me, the exertion bringing on a coughing fit that panicked me into shouting for dad.  As I stared wild-eyed around me, I felt a cool, dry hand on my arm.  The touch was feather light, had no substance to it.  She smiled at me and then raised a shaking hand to cup my face. 

“Gregory” she whispered, “you’ve been the delight of my life.   Make something of yourself, my love.  Make me proud of you.” 

Do you think she’d be proud of me?  Of this?  What – never seen a vampire in full face before?  Oh, the Watchers Council found a real gem when you enlisted, didn’t they? 

Anyway, that was that.  She breathed her last.  I’m glad I was there; it was only right.  She’d been there as I was born into the world and I was there as she left it. 

From that moment I became fascinated by death.   

I sought it out.  I haunted the graveyard, crept out of the house at night to loiter by the inn.  I wanted death’s fetid touch.  If Alice wasn’t in the world, then I didn’t want to be in it either. 

Dad spent hours weeping by the fire.  He’d lost his soulmate when mother died, but he had found comfort in the daughter that looked so like her, and the son she’d given her life for.  Pictures of my mother and Alice could have been of sisters.  It must have broken his heart to see my seventeen-year-old sister on her deathbed, her face so like his beloved wife.  My mother was twenty-two when she died, not much older than Alice.  Life is cruel.  Death is more so.   

And now, I am death. 

Fancy coming for a walk?  I won’t eat you, promise…cross my heart and hope to…well you know what I mean.  Let me know if you change your mind… 

Knew you couldn’t resist!  Is it my good looks and charm?  No, more likely the chance to make Watcher history, yeah?  Maybe a bit of both.  Come on then, let’s take a stroll through the park and I’ll continue down memory lane for you. 

So, there I was.  Spent the rest of the summer after her death trying to get killed.  Didn’t work, no matter how recklessly I put myself in harm’s way.  I’d even spend nights out in the woods, hoping the strange ladies might return.  They never did, and eventually I moved on to more mundane dangers.  I’d pick fights with boys much older than me.  Fortunately, my stint in the fields had packed my shoulders and arms with dense muscles.  I always came out on top. 

It was gran who brought me round again.  After spending another night worrying where I was, she begged me to think of my father, of her, of our Alice.  Her parting words came floating back to me - “make me proud”.  I cringed as I thought back over the last year since she’d passed; I’d done nothing to be proud of and much to bring shame.   

That’s when I became a true student.  I studied with the same zeal I’d applied to mayhem and was able to go to university a full year ahead of my planned time.  My father was so proud as I showed him round the grounds, his best Sunday suit on and boots polished to a high shine.  Gran came too, despite the fact that she was almost crippled with arthritis.  No, she wasn’t missing her Greg’s big day.   

Don’t think you want to hear about the dull and boring law stuff, do you?  Bet you’ve already got all that down.  No?  Well, I don’t want to go through it all again, so let’s just say I studied, I read, I sat exams and I passed.  The interesting things started happening in the middle of my third year. 

Take a seat, girl.  You’re safe with me…relatively.  No, I’m joking – sit.  Ok, take your cross out if it makes you feel better.  I’m not easily offended.  You’re shivering -- here, take my coat, I don’t much feel the cold, part of the dark gift, I suppose.  And it is a gift, you know, not always one you want but there are advantages. 

As I was saying, part way through my third year strange things started to happen on campus, people disappearing and rumours of bloodless corpses.  I didn’t take much notice, immersed as I was in my studies.  It had nothing to do with me.  

Until the night I saw the two women from the woods again.   

At first I thought it was a nightmare, that I’d fallen asleep on my books.  It wouldn’t be the first time I’d dreamed of them and woken in a cold sweat.  They’d been relegated to the realms of fantasy along with the Tooth Fairy and hobgoblins, packed away with the toys of my childhood. 

But still, there they were – the redhead and the brunette – dressed still in long outdated dresses, their faces grotesque masks and their fangs sharp and glinting in the lamplight.  I was between the university buildings and the halls of residence, not near enough to either to seek safety.  My heart raced as I dropped my pencils and papers from suddenly numb fingers.  I was a little boy again, scared beyond reason and desperate to escape. 

But not this time. 

This time the nightmares were real, the monsters were real, and there would be no escape.  They seemed to recognise me as they circled my frozen form, icy fingers trailing along my skin as they whispered to each other.  I couldn’t catch what they were saying, but the glint in their eyes told me that I wouldn’t leave their embrace alive.  My final thought as they simultaneously pierced my neck, my body sandwiched between them, was that at least I would see Alice.   

Come on, little miss, you’re cold.  Let’s get you back inside.  No point me telling you all my little secrets if you die from the pneumonia.  There’s a pub up the road, I’m drinking if you’re buying -- courtesy of the Council. 

Make it two pints, doll.  I’m getting to the good bits and we don’t want to be disturbed.  Throw in another whisky chaser seeing as your bosses are forking out. 

Right, you comfy?  Well, I didn’t die – obviously, since we’re sitting here having a chat.  Not as such.  I don’t remember the drinking, no idea which one fed me.  They wouldn’t tell me after I was raised.  They treated me like their baby, each wanting to be called mama.  I didn’t know any better, and as long as they kept bringing me warm bodies to bite and their cold bodies to fuck, it mattered not to me. 

I can’t tell you how strange it is to open your eyes on a world and perceive it all so differently.  Sharper colours, tantalising scents wafting across enhanced senses, taste more intense.  Everything was the same as when I’d breathed my last, but at the same time everything was different.  When I first woke, I thought I was alone, had no idea where I was.  I was empty inside, a hunger gnawing my body and demanding to be assuaged.  I was still me, still aware of my identity…but I knew I was now so much more.   I felt liberated.  Of course, I know now that I was lacking the soul so had no guilt about anything at all, but at the time I just remember feeling powerful and bursting with energy.  I wanted to rampage and rip and rend.   

I sniffed the air, sensing that someone was approaching.  I was lying beneath a blanket of flowers that slid off me when I sat up, the scented petals making me dizzy as they crushed against my naked flesh.  My two fiends from the forest came in, laughing in delight that their ‘baby’ was awake.  Cool hands brushed my face and as they swept across my brow I realised that my forehead was ridged just like theirs.  I touched the new contours then ran my fingers along my pointed fangs.  I was just like them.  I was a monster. 

And I was intoxicated with the power running through me. 

I leapt from the marble surface on which I had been laid out, snarling and crouched, ready for flight.  I looked around, my vampiric sight taking in every shadowed corner, the flicker of candlelight, the moonlight coming through the latticed windows.  I realised I was in some sort of tomb, my movements making echoes in the dead silence of the mausoleum. 

My companions advanced, cooing soft words to calm me and reaching for me with open arms.  I still growled but stayed in place, allowing the redhead to gather me to her ample bosom.   

“What’s your name, my pretty?” she whispered, my other demon mother moving to stand behind her and stroke my hair.  I answered, my voice muffled by her chest.   

“Gregory…my darling Greg…welcome to your new world.  I think you’ll like it.  My name is Natasha and this is Harriet.  We’re your family now, your mamas.” 

So saying she raised my head, gripping my chin in her tiny hand and moved to kiss me.  Now I was 19 when I was turned so I’d been kissed before – but never like this.  Her tongue was cool and sensuous as it slid inside my mouth and her sharp teeth grazed my lips, as she pressed closer to me.  The boyish fumblings I’d had with girls were a pale imitation of the arousal I was feeling.  I seized the woman – Natasha – crushing her to me with my fingers gripping her upper arms.  She cried out in pain then pleasure as my obvious erection dug into her soft stomach.  I was acting on pure instinct; I wanted everything at once – I didn’t know whether to fuck her or kill her, or which first.  I wanted to inflict pain, that much I knew.  She didn’t seem to mind; in fact the rougher I got, the more she squirmed and moaned against my mouth.    Harriet stood off in the periphery of my vision, clapping her hands in delight. 

“Oh Natasha!  He’s just perfect!  You’re so clever to seek him out and let us make him!” 

I was pushed roughly away then, my arms and cock aching for more contact.  I was confused and upset and as I sprawled naked on the floor, I felt my features slide.  I reached up to confirm that I had lost the hideous ridges and was now back to normal.  That was interesting, let me tell you. 

Slide me over that pack of cigs, there’s a good girl.  Need a quick drag before I move on.  And the glass…thanks.  Want to go get another one while I’m taking a breather?  Well, not with the actual breath of course, just a figure of speech.  Yeah, a double, why not. 

Not too shocking, am I?  A vampire is a base creature, darling, ruled by instincts older than you’ll ever know.  Think how you feel when you really lust after something or someone, and multiply that a hundredfold; now take away any restraint caused by guilt or moral beliefs…yeah, you see where I’m going?  Nothing to stop us going after anything and everything we want.  We see it – we either want to kill it or fuck it, it’s the way it is.   

Well, for most of us.  Older vampires can rein in their appetites well enough to pass in society and mingle with their prey; this is something you may not know – make sure to highlight this in red for your little report: the older your sire, the more aware you are when you awake from your first death.  See, to turn a vampire, you drink from your sire – that blood shapes you, transforms you into a killer who needs more blood to survive.  The older the blood you drink, the more memories and abilities you absorb and the more adept you are at controlling the demon that inhabits your shell.   Also if your demon’s controlled, you retain more of your own personality and experiences so you don’t completely lose it when you come to. 

The women, my mothers, were ancient - both well over 400 years old when they turned me.  So I was completely self-aware from the moment I opened my eyes, and was able to think in terms other than “food” and “fanny”…what’s fanny?  Means pussy, love.  Led a sheltered life then, have you? 

So, I was there, on the floor, puzzling as to how I’d got there.  Seeing the two women watching me, I rose and approached them, completely unashamed of my nudity.   I was embraced in their arms then, welcomed.  The three of us celebrated with a night of such unbridled violence and sex that…  best not go into details, don’t suppose the stuffy Watchers library could stand the excitement.  Suffice it to say, the first night after my turning was not lacking in either blood or bonking…you know, shagging?  Do you know any terms for sex, love?  You need a good seeing to…I’m willing -  if you’re up for a bit of the undead…whoa!  Backing right away, no need to get the stake out, it was a sincere offer! 

Jesus!  You’re wound so tight; could only be a Watcher with the stiff upper lip and the spine to match.  Don’t take offence; I’m only saying it as I see it.  Do you want to know more?  Then sit down, and pass the scotch. 

So, we got to know each other during the long night before I needed to feed.  Hunger brought on my vampire features and I craved a kill.  My mothers were prepared, had a little treat standing by.  As I lay wrapped around Harriet, my cock still buried within her, Natasha rose naked from our love nest on the mausoleum floor and padded on bare feet into another crypt.  She returned dragging a young girl clad only in a shift, her hands bound and her mouth gagged.  The girl was terrified; my demon rejoiced.  I growled, my cock hard again as she started to cry, then she fell across the two of us on the floor as Natasha thrust her towards me.   I knew what I wanted to do, but was unsure with it being my first kill.  My two temptresses encouraged me to bite, Natasha kneeling at the side of Harriet’s prone form and holding the girl still, Harriet wrapping her legs around my hips to keep me buried inside her.  I licked my fangs, nicking my tongue and tasting blood for the first time since I’d woken.   

It was too much.  I lunged for the girl, stabbing my fangs brutally into her soft neck.  I heard a crack as her spine snapped with the force of my slamming her to the floor.  She died in that instant, her heart stopping even as I drank down her sweet, virgin blood.    I threw her away from me like an empty flask as one appetite was sated; I saw to the other by fucking my insatiable brides with cock and tongue until we all came in a frenetic rush. 

I slept then, surrounded by death, and it felt like home. 

And that was how we lived for several years, moving around England until we grew bored and went to Europe.  Then the war broke out in 1939.  Great opportunity for demons of all kinds during those years.  Got to say, not every monster involved in that debacle was soulless, know what I mean?  If I hadn’t witnessed some of the human atrocities myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.  Good times. 

What?  I’m a vampire! Undead, demon, blood-drinker, killer.  Ring any bells? 

We travelled all over, picking off victims as they fled.  Feeding was good during the war and we lacked neither a meal, nor willing companions.  Made people crazy I reckon, all the killing; not that we were complaining.   

In the end, easy killing lost its charm and our little family was off to America.  Can you believe I actually managed to complete my studies there?  Don’t laugh!  I wanted to see if I could do it, all I had to do was flash my Oxford papers and talk the talk; just sat one exam and that was it – I was a lawyer.  Hey, just because you’re dead, doesn’t mean you let go of your ambitions.  I promised Alice; a gentleman keeps his promises.  Don’t look at me like that, like I’m a freak.  Shall I show you how gentle I am?  No, didn’t think so, don’t make a big deal out of it, just click away with your tape machine and keep the ale coming. 

Would have made my old dad proud too, his son the lawyer.  Just after the war, things were in upheaval, stuff not checked as thoroughly as it should be.  You’d be surprised who got where they are today on false or doctored papers. 

Then I met my first Slayer.   We were out one night, having fed on a group of youths oblivious to the danger as they sat and chatted in the shadowed gardens of the local town hall.  Seven between the three of us was a fine feast, and we were sleepy and replete as we headed back to our rented house.   

Oh, the place?  Virginia, right by the ocean.  You got it? 

So, we’re almost back to the house, relaxed and looking forward to a fuck before bedtime, when Natasha’s hand stiffened on my arm.  She stopped, looking around her with fear in her eyes.  I laughed, my feral beauty afraid?  I thought she was playing a joke on me but as I turned to say so to Harriet, her face mirrored that of her sister vampire.  I whispered a question, what was it?  But they didn’t speak, simply gripped my arms tighter and almost dragged me towards the house. 

Before we got there, we ran into a snarling young girl, long black hair flowing free and wearing trousers.  I thought she was a lunatic and was about to lunge for her, fangs at the ready, when Natasha shrieked and beat me to it.  They met in a flurry of fists and feet and the only way I could follow the moves was by Natasha’s flame of hair outlined against the girl’s dark clothing.  What the hell was she?  I’d never seen anyone who wasn’t a vampire move as quickly as she did, but she clearly wasn’t; her features were smooth, eyes human when her face came into focus.  I growled and moved to join in the fray but Harriet stayed me and leapt at the pair who fought on the ground.  Brunette hair joined red and black as the three tussled, accompanied by snarls and screams.   

I tell you, I actually found the whole thing very arousing – three girls fighting and clawing – quite the turn on.  Was even contemplating getting out the lad and having a wank right there as they fought, the scene was so erotic.  Before I could get at my flies though, disaster struck. Suddenly there were only two fighters and a cloud of dust.  My glorious titian lover was gone.   

I couldn’t believe it – Natasha, erased from existence with one cruel blow.  I stepped forwards a cry of anguish on my lips, determined to see an end to the bitch now pinning Harriet to the ground.  She whipped her head round, teeth bared in a feral grin, right arm raised to show a wooden stake gripped in her hand. 

“Don’t worry – I’ll be right with you” she quipped, and then plunged the stake down into Harriet’s chest.   

“Gregory…” she whispered before her body shimmered then dissolved into dust to mingle with all that was left of Natasha. 

“NO!” I howled as I saw the only family I now had disappear. 

The girl stood, wiping herself down and tossing her hair over her shoulder.  She fixed me with a hard stare, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.  She was toying with me!  I was only a youngster, barely a decade since I’d been turned, but my family and I had slaughtered thousands since I’d awoken in that mausoleum and this chit of a girl was taunting me?  Who was she? 

I crouched, ready to fight with my fists up.  The girl stretched her muscles out, cracking her knuckles and twirling the wooden stake in one hand.  I had to know. 

“Who are you?  What are you?” 

“You don’t know?  Thought you vampires had a close-knit community?  And where’s that accent from?” 

“I’m from England.” 

“Ah, right.  Well – I’m Maud and I’m the Vampire Slayer.” 

I stared at her, completely at a loss.  She laughed. 

“You still don’t know who I am, do you?” 

I shook my head, not taking my eyes off the lethal weapon she gripped loosely.   

Rolling her eyes, she continued.  “One girl in all the world Chosen to… You haven’t heard of the Vampire Slayer?  Don’t you guys gossip or swap tales?  I would have thought the big bad slayer would be bedtime stories for you lot?” 

I shook my head again, beginning to feel foolish. 

“Well, Gregory… she did call you Gregory?  Have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever met a vamp that hadn’t heard of the Slayer.  You intrigue me; I’m gonna give you a head start.  Run.” 

I stood stock still, brain failing to translate thoughts into action.  She tilted her head and thumbed over her shoulder to encourage me.  At last, legs caught up with my thoughts and I took off, not knowing where I was going but knowing that if she caught up with me I’d soon be swirling in the ether like my beloved mamas. 

She didn’t catch up with me; part of me thinks she was intrigued and wanted an opportunity to taunt me again, maybe she ran into a bigger vamp – who knows?  At any rate, I found sanctuary in an abandoned shop and holed up until nightfall.  As the last rays faded, I shot out of the building and headed to the station.  I wanted out of there and home.   

Another pint, if you please.  Got myself all thirsty now, and it’s wringing my heart to think of my poor darlings all gone to dust.  What now?  Yeah, we love, some of us more than others.  Don’t believe all the Watcher’s bastards tell you.  Do you think they’d get many volunteers to see us vamps out of our misery if they knew that we were just like them?  Well, yeah – without the soul, I’ll grant you that.  Okay, okay - and the mass murder.  I take your point.  But the ability to be a murdering bastard isn’t restricted to us demons.  Well, you’re pissing me off with your high and mighty attitude.  Just go and get the drinks, there’s a good girl.   

Thanks.  Sorry about that, I get wound up easily, always been that way. Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  So – I took passage home on a merchant boat, making a good dent in the crew roster during the voyage.  Had to eat, didn’t I?  I was itching to find out about this Slayer girl, so I headed to London figuring that the capital should have all the answers I needed.  It wasn’t long before I found out.  The Slayer.  Retribution gifted with superhuman strength and speed and supported by a network of men and women with access to centuries of demon lore and knowledge of fighting skills.  Their one focus – rid the world of unspeakable terrors like vampires and other creatures of the night.   

Pardon me if I shudder.  You have to agree, knowing that there’s an organisation set on your destruction doesn’t exactly give you feelings of comfort and deep joy.  Still, being the contrary vampire that I am, instead of running fast in the opposite direction, I was intrigued by the Watchers Council – how had it formed, where was it based, how good was it?  Only one way to find out; I joined up. 

Now that look, love, should be caught on camera.  Bet your bosses didn’t let you into that little secret did they?  Yeah, I was a member of the Watchers Council.  I think you could do with a drink yourself.  Fetch me a chaser while you’re at it.  Vampire here, takes a lot of booze to see me off into slumberland.  

Thanks.  Cheers!  Now, you must remember we’re talking about post-war Britain now - bomb damage everywhere, rebuilding just starting.  Things were even more chaotic than back in the States.  It was easy to say you were something you weren’t; and there were none of these fancy computers, no data file at Big Brother’s HQ!  Oh come on, I know there must be a file on me and mine, stands to reason.  Well, if there isn’t I suppose there will be when you’re done. 

Anyhow, I discovered that although the Council’s main operation was in London, there were offshoots all over the country – maybe even the world.  But I wasn’t leaving Blighty again:  not then anyway.  So I found myself heading home, back to Yorkshire.  I was tempted to look my family up, see if they were still there – but I couldn’t, didn’t trust myself not to rip out their throats, and I was more interested in learning everything I could about the Council.  I was sent to a small fishing village anyway, quite a distance from my former home.  Staithes it’s called, near Whitby.  Ironic really, you know, Whitby?  Where Bram Stoker set his Dracula story?  You lot have got a sick sense of humour, you know?  And I know for a fact that Dracula was never in Whitby so it’s wrong anyway. 

No, that’s a story for another day.   You can wait for that one. 

I settled into my new duties as a clerk to the Council, flashing my qualifications and working away digging deeper and deeper into the archives.  I was curious about the Slayer – what she was.  Turns out of course that the Slayer I met wasn’t really the Slayer at all; well yeah, one at a time, but she was only a Slayer in the long line of Slayers.  I was intrigued.  I offered to write up a history of each Slayer that had been called…see you’ve heard of it.  Bet it’s not credited to me though, is it?  Didn’t think so.  I was doing so well with it that they sent out a Watcher to work with me in my isolation. 

That’s when things changed.  I’d kept a really low profile; all my kills were people who wouldn’t be missed, drifters and the like.  It was easy to lose bodies, lots of wild moors and rocky shores to pick from up that way.  The locals kept themselves to themselves – think they looked on me as a mad professor who spent all his time indoors buried in books.  As long as I didn’t cause trouble they didn’t bother me.   

So, the Watcher they sent me?  A young woman, still wet behind the ears.  She’d never set foot outside Council headquarters and was thrilled to be given a mission in the field.  Still makes me smile when I think of her.  She wouldn’t have known a vampire if it’d have worn a sign saying, “Stake me”.  She certainly didn’t comment on my cool hands or pale skin, didn’t seem to notice that I never left the house in daylight.  She began to spend more and more time with me, becoming as pale as I was.  I resented her presence at first, but couldn’t really complain or my cover could have been blown and I wasn’t finished.  After months of working side by side though, I found I was waiting for that door to open and her small, quiet figure sidling in to sit the other side of the desk.   

Somehow, the Watcher had got under my skin.  I began to miss her when she wasn’t there, worried when she was out alone.  It eventually hit me – I was falling in love with her.  Yeah, that look on your face is probably what I’d have seen on my own, apart from the whole no reflection thing.  Crept up on me, the feelings did.  I began to watch her, my little Eleanor, as she worked alongside me.  I noticed that her heartbeat raced when she sat near me, her cheeks flushed.  It occurred to me that she might be feeling the same way. 

I had to know.  One night, after she’d been with me for about eight months or so, I asked her to have dinner with me.   I didn’t normally eat human food – didn’t feel the need, but I was prepared to do anything at that point.  Eleanor had never noticed since she didn’t lodge with me – wouldn’t have been proper a single man and a single woman in the same house.  She was surprised at my invitation but I could tell she was pleased.  She consented to come round that evening.  I ordered food to be brought in from the local pub and set a table.  There was still rationing then after the war so it wasn’t anything fancy, just a little fish and vegetables, some soup - usual village fare.  And wine, of course, needed to have the wine.   

I don’t know what I had planned, hadn’t really thought it through other than getting her there.  Worked out perfectly though.  We got on so well, came from similar backgrounds.  Of course, I seemed in my early twenties just like she was, although I was in fact 32 in real years in 1947.  She’d been a scholar all her life, joined the Council at 16 to study, following her father into the business.  Most children did, following family tradition.  No point trying to look her up in your archives, honey.  She won’t be there -- save for a line consisting of a name and date of death.  Why?  I’m getting to it. 

We got on so well, my Eleanor and I, that dinner became a regular thing.  We grew closer until eventually I kissed her.  I was struggling with the demon, her blood simmering beneath the surface of her ivory skin was pulling at me to bite her and bed her, but I managed to rein in the lust and kissed her gently like the shy clerk I was pretending to be.  She was a revelation, clinging to me with hot hands and returning my kiss with real passion.  Her moist tongue ran across my lips and delved inside my mouth, caressing my teeth.  God, it was hard to keep control then, let me tell you!  I’d not been celibate since my darlings disappeared in America, but the fucking I’d had was just that – fucking, when my victims were on the point of death, more about power than anything else.  This was different; this involved both the man and the demon.   

I pushed her away before I lost all control.  She was bewildered by my reaction, obviously, and leapt to her feet to run out of the house.  I grabbed her, staying her flight.   

“Don’t go,” I whispered. “I need to explain some things to you.  Sit with me.” 

She sat, eyes wet with tears and her face all pink and blushing.  Mmm, the sight and smell of her...  Anyway, I decided to be honest.  She wasn’t a danger to me, wouldn’t know how to see off a vampire if that was her reaction.   And if she showed willing, well – I was ready to do anything to keep her in my life.  She moved close, hesitantly laying her hand over mine where it rested on her knee.    

“Alright, Gregory.  You have my undivided attention.  Whatever it is, I’m listening.” 

Her big blue eyes were fixed on mine.  I took a deep unnecessary breath and just told her.  “Eleanor, I’m a vampire.  I was turned in 1934, I kill people to feed and I love you more than I thought was possible.” 

She flinched -- who wouldn’t -- but she didn’t let go of my hand and didn’t immediately up and run.  I took it as encouragement.  I asked her to say something.  She didn’t, she just leaned in and kissed me gently. 

Told you she was something special, didn’t I?  After that, I told her everything, my childhood, the woods, the meeting with Natasha and Harriet, and my subsequent rampage of terror.  I told her about the confrontation with the Slayer, how that had triggered my fascination with the Slayer line.  She listened, murmuring understanding words. 

We were never parted from that day.  I kept up the work for the Council, and Eleanor moved in with me.  I’m not giving you any juicy details about our lovemaking to put down in your bloody report; it’s private – it’s not like the other women I’ve bedded so you’ll get nothing from me.  I’ll just say that she matched me in everything and surprised me every day. 

Couple of years went by, Eleanor never tried to change me, accepted my vampire side, and turned a blind eye to the nights when I returned home with skin warmed by borrowed blood and aching for her body. 

Sounds like a happy story, don’t you think?  Yeah, it was – until the bastards you work for put an end to it.  They found out I was a vampire, no idea how; maybe I wasn’t as discreet as I thought I was with the feeding.  So they sent in their wet squad to put an end to me - couldn’t have a vampire holding the keys to the kingdom could they?  But when they got to us, my Eleanor wouldn’t let them at me – she stood between me and their stakes, their weapons.  So they killed her.  One of their own and they just cut her down, knife in the chest.  I went berserk, vamped out and ripped out the throat of the bastard that dared lay his filthy hands on my woman; the other two were regrouping to see me off but I had more strength than I’d ever known, fuelled by grief and rage.  I punched through the chest of one and grasped his still-beating heart in my hand before ripping it out and tearing it apart with my teeth.  The remaining murderer was more than afraid now, I could smell his fear and his piss and hear his racing heart.  This one I wanted to eat.  Slowly.  I wanted him to suffer, looking at his friends’ cooling and mutilated bodies as his life ebbed away.   

I wrenched his head to one side and slid my fangs in ever so slowly to maximise the pain, his screams like nectar to my demon.  I ripped at the delicate skin as I fed and for good measure I wrenched one arm up behind his back with such force that I heard bones snap.  I took hours; each time he was about to pass out,I stopped, allowing his heartbeat to strengthen.  When I felt he was strong enough I’d start again, biting a different spot to maximise the pain until his neck was wreathed all the way round with a bloody necklace.  Still eight pints of blood isn’t as much as you’d think and eventually his body packed up before I’d even started to take my true revenge.  I drained him and dropped his carcass among the dregs on the floor.  I picked up my lover’s body and leaving everything else behind, I made my way out of the house and up the steep hill out of the village across the hilltops, the moon glinting off the ocean down below as I ran.  It was over. 

Another drink I think.  Make it a double again, no – make it two doubles.  I think they owe me that at least. 

Since those days, I’ve spent the last fifty-odd years picking off members of the Council and I’ve relished every single one I’ve killed.  I’m still not done.   Don’t worry – I’m not going to kill you; I want you to go back to the Council and tell them what they’re dealing with. 

You see that wasn’t the last time they’ve messed with me.  I told you I’d been to America with my girls, well I went back round about 1975 or so.  Had me a sweet time there, met up with some other vamps in dire need of a leader.  They were just fledglings, no organisation beyond the next meal.  I fixed that.  We heard that there was a hellmouth, no, make that hellmouths, that were magnets for badness and I decided we’d pay a visit.  We ended up in Cleveland.  The rumours were right; the hellmouth drew every wacko and deranged killer for hundreds of miles around.  It felt like home, so we stayed.   

The pickings were easy, too.  There was always some little college boy or girl who wanted to test the boundaries and sneak out after dark to spite their parents.  You see me today?  Well, I’ve looked like this for decades, just like any other college boy, so it was easy to offer to see a scared girl home safely.  And what good little girl wouldn’t invite the nice college boy in for a drink.  As I said, easy pickings.   

Other demons were drawn there, not vampires.  Now I’m a tolerant guy usually, but I knew that sooner or later the buggering Council would send a Slayer to sort out the escalating problem.  I tried to clear the demon nests out but the fledglings that made up my ‘army’ didn’t understand and thought I’d gone soft.  I made examples of the worst rebels, but it still didn’t sink in that I was doing it for us.  Bloody fools. 

And then she came, the Slayer.  Summer of 1977.  Little thing she was, dressed up in mad punk clothes.  Hair black, ears and eyebrows studded.  I watched her the night they arrived, patrolling with her Watcher and yet another Council wanker – where the hell do they get them all from?  She seemed too young to be the Slayer, too tiny.  Still, she packed a punch with the best of them as I recall. 

Do you know of her?  Jess I think she was called or Bess or something.  But her Watcher… Sally.  Ah, I see you’ve heard of them both, but do you know what happened to them?   

Ah, well that would be telling, wouldn’t it?  Ok, well as it’s you…fill me up this glass and I’ll spill the beans.  Thanks, love.   

Yeah, I was there when the Slayer went back to her house.  I had a squad waiting to take her out.  They attacked en masse and she tried to push the Watcher back indoors for safety.  Feisty little thing, got to give her that.  Unfortunately, she pushed the Watcher back into me.   

I gripped her by the shoulders and she spun her head round to look into my eyes.  Pow!    Sucker punch to the gut.  Those eyes…I knew them.  My Eleanor.  I even whispered the name, “Eleanor!” 

She looked at me, eyes frightened but darting away to look at her Slayer.  “Please no, please…let her go…take me, please…” 

I signalled my minions to bring the Slayer to me.  She’d been wounded badly, her side gushing blood.  They had orders not to feed from her, that privilege was mine alone.  Legend said Slayer blood had special properties and I wanted to taste it.   

Despite the blood loss, the Slayer still kicked and screamed, managing to dislodge at least two of the vamps restraining her.  She snarled as they forced to her knees.  When she spat at me, she took me by surprise. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to piss me off, now are you, Slayer?” 

“You’re English?” she queried, “What are you doing here?” 

“Well, it’s not exactly the time to go over my life story but I’ll bet I’m here for the same reason you are – the Hellmouth.” 

She was panting, losing more blood and her heartbeat was becoming erratic.  I shoved the Watcher into the arms of my minions and leant down to grab the Slayer myself.  I raised her, licking at a wound on her face as I did so.  The blood was nectar!  It zinged through my redundant veins and I couldn’t wait to get more than a lick.  I turned so that I was looking at the Watcher.  I wanted to see her pain as her Slayer died. 

But then I met her blue eyes again, my Eleanor’s eyes.   “Please!” she begged. 

Don’t ask me why, but right then I made a decision.  I quickly drained the Slayer, never taking my eyes from the woman held captive by my cadre.  The blood suffused me immediately and I felt an incredible strength surge through my body.  The Watcher was weeping and sobbing, crying out the girl’s name.   

As I continued to hold the limp body of the Slayer, I moved towards her.  “I can save her, Watcher if you tell me to.  Do you want me to?” 

At first she didn’t understand what I was offering.  She was puzzled; then she realised with horror that I was offering to turn the Slayer.  The anguish that went through her eyes was delicious!    

“Yes” she whispered as she sobbed.  “I can’t lose her…” 

I bit at my wrist and quickly forced my blood down the Slayer’s gullet.  I was almost too late.  I felt her reflexively swallow although she was weak; then her heart stopped.  My minions were perplexed; this wasn’t the plan.  One dared to question me. 

“Not now!  Take her back to the lair, but do not harm her.  I will be there soon enough,” I told them.  Despite their misgivings, they knew enough to obey me.  Soon I was alone with the Watcher, the image of my dead Eleanor.  She was crying silently now, tears tracking down her face, body shaking with shock.  I touched her golden hair; she didn’t even flinch at my touch she was so far gone in grief.   

I narrowed the distance between us; they say the blood of a Slayer is a powerful aphrodisiac and they aren’t wrong.  I was filled with a powerful yearning to take this woman and make her mine, make her mine for eternity as a substitute for my Eleanor.  They were so alike in looks it was uncanny.  So, I asked her.   

“Do you want to join your Slayer?  Do you want to be like me?” 

She turned tear-filled eyes to meet mine.  I gasped; it was my Eleanor looking back at me.  She drew in shuddering breaths to regain control, sticking her chin out as she made her decision.  “Yes - I want it.” 

I didn’t need telling twice; I bit into her lush flesh drinking deeply whilst at the same time caressing her and tangling my hands in her hair.  I wanted her, was about ready to throw her down on the ground and fuck her right there.  But that could wait.  She didn’t make a sound, no cry of pain.  She brought her hands up to hold my head in place as I drank. 

Her grip grew weaker and I drew away from her neck, licking at the puncture holes to stem further blood loss.  I wanted to feel her mouth on my neck so I slashed with my nails until the blood flowed, bringing her lips to the wound and feeling her suckle weakly.  It would be enough.  Soon, her body cooled as she left the mortal world so I scooped her up and returned to the lair.   

We buried the Slayer and the Watcher; to be honest I wasn’t really looking forward to dealing with a pissed off newly risen Slayer but the request had been made and I intended to honour it.  I kept vigil over my Watcher until she rose.  I knew she’d rise first because…no, that’s a secret that you don’t need to know.  I’d just as soon the Council didn’t know the ins and outs of our turnings. 

So, Sally awoke and after a few minutes of distress, I reassured her that I was with her and we’d soon have another member of the family with us.  She responded with mewls of longing and I recalled the night I was made, the appetites that had me craving flesh and craving blood.  I made love to her then until I grew hungry and then I led her out to teach her to hunt.  She was a natural, the years of Watcher training no doubt adding to her skills.  We found a schoolgirl who was happy to be escorted home by a well-to-do English couple; but she never made it.  Sally followed my direction and had her first meal while we sat waiting for her Slayer to rise.  But it wasn’t to be that night, sometimes that happens.  So when we sensed the sun rising we returned to the lair to sleep and cement the bond between us. 

The next night we returned to find an empty grave.   Sally was ferocious in her desire for vengeance against whoever had taken her Slayer.  She hadn’t risen, I would have felt it.  We tracked the body to the house formerly occupied by them both to find the Council’s representative huddled over the remains of the Slayer, notebook in hand.   

Sally wasted no time in getting his blood on her hands, mutilating him before draining him with vicious bites all over his body.  She keened over the ashy remains of her Slayer until I dragged her back to the safety of our lair.  There was no consoling her.  She swore the Council would pay. 

So we returned to England, and here I sit.  I suppose you know about Sally and her little slaughter.  I was away making arrangements for our new home when she came up with her plan.  It would have worked too if it wasn’t for that Watcher who grabbed the chair leg.   

How did he do by the way?  Still in therapy?  I returned to the flat to find it empty, sanitised.  You do move quickly don’t you when there’s a clean up to be done?  Most organised, soulless bastards in the world.  Got to give you credit, you’re good at it. 

I didn’t know what had happened at first, but some judicious stalking and torture got the story out of one careless young man who was no doubt mourned by the Council in the usual way.   Is it still a pension for the family and a funeral?  Yeah, thought so. 

Anyway, that’s all really.  I keep myself to myself, I pick you lot off one by one and I revel in the intimacy of it.  You’ve taken away the women I’ve loved – probably erased all their records, save for some impersonal note about name and date of death. 

Well listen, sweetheart.  I’m going to let you walk out of here tonight because I want you to go back to your masters and let them know that Gregory Martin will have his revenge.    They won’t know where, and they won’t know when.  I know their secrets, I know how to get to them and I intend to take every last one of them.  I have eternity.  Tell them their days are numbered. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

This is a direct transcript of the interview with Gregory Martin, ex-Council Clerk, conducted by Jennifer Sutton in London, 10 February 2002.  It is to be classified as extremely harmful and filed in the top-secret file archive.   

END TRANSCRIPT

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