Somali Vampires in Canada

Night falls over the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Ismail Aden sighed deeply as darkness descended across the frozen Canadian Capital. Rising from his bed, he turned on the light and walked up to the fridge. Grabbing a pint of blood, he poured it into a cup and warmed it in the microwave. The minutes ticked by on the timer. Five minutes later, Ismail grabbed the cup and drained it. Hmm, nothing quite like human blood, even if it's the kind that one purchases through dubious means.

"Oh yeah," Ismail said to himself. Pulling back his thick dark curtains, he peered outside. Snow blanketed the Glebe neighborhood of Ottawa. Perfect night for staying inside. Centuries ago, in the environs of Hargeisa, Somalia, Ismail was quite the vampire. Yeah, in his heyday, Ismail roamed from Somalia to Yemen, from Libya to Morocco, and beyond. The people of Sub-Saharan Africa and Northern Africa feared Ismail and his ilk. Of course, that was before the Pact. In the year 1877, a Pact was signed between the Princes, the rulers of the vampire world, and the Authority, the secret cabal that rules the nations of the world.

From that day forward, the vampires swore to stop hunting humans, and the humans tolerated their presence as long as they were discreet. The Princes established the Network, which provides fresh blood for vampires willing to pay for it. The Network is global. It is the hidden power behind the various blood banks. Ismail, having left Somalia for Canada, is well-acquainted with the Network. They've got an Uber-style delivery service for the hungry Undead. Still, as convenient as existence has become for the modern vampire, Ismail misses the old days.

Turning on the TV, Ismail watched the evening news. The boyishly handsome and progressive-minded ruler of the frozen northern hellhole has lost favor with the public. On the southern side of the frozen northern hellhole, a black woman and an old white man vie for power. Ismail licked his fangs before switching to something more fun. Pretty Little Liars rerun? Nah, seen them all. Classic horror shows like Buffy and Angel? Ismail knew all the episodes by heart. The Boys? Ismail loved it and couldn't wait till the upcoming season. So what's a bored vampire to do?

Ismail stepped into the shower, and got cleaned up. The Undead have no scent, but that's no excuse for being dirty. Under the warm water, Ismail hummed a song that was old when America and Canada didn't yet exist as fully fledged nations. The Somali vampire lathered himself with soap, scrubbed and then scrubbed some more. Some of the Undead are neat freaks and Ismail is most certainly one of those. Stepping out of the shower after turning off the hot water, Ismail looked at himself in the mirror.

A tall, dark-skinned man with faintly luminescent brown eyes and short dark hair stared back at Ismail. He didn't look a day over thirty and would remain unchanged forever unless he was slain. So goes the existence of the vampire. Ismail hadn't aged since he became one of the Undead, centuries ago. Yeah, one night, while roaming his hometown of Xuddur in the southwestern Bakool region of Somalia, Ismail ran into the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. What followed was a night Ismail would never forget.

" As Salaam Alaikum, cutie, I am Ismail, what is your name?" Ismail asked the lovely lady as he approached her in the marketplace. Dusk had fallen mere minutes ago, and the marketplace of Xuddur was still open. The tall, dark-skinned young woman in the flowing blue robes and stylish azure hijab did not come from the villages. Of that much Ismail was sure. Ismail visited places like Mogadishu and Somaliland and knew that the ladies in those places, where the strongest tribes ruled, carried themselves differently.

"Walaikum Salaam, brother, I am Habiba," said the mysterious beauty. Ismail's heart skipped a beat as he looked into Habiba's eyes. They were a very pale brown, almost yellow, like the eyes of a leopard Ismail once encountered in the wilderness outside Kismayo City. The young Somali woman smiled at Ismail, flashing teeth that were too damn white and too sharp. In spite of this, Ismail was drawn to Habiba. He approached her with a smile, clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head gently.

"Pleasure to meet you, Habiba, you must be new in town," Ismail said, and Habiba nodded. In deeply traditional and proudly Islamic Somalia, lovely young ladies like Habiba did not wander the marketplace at night all by their lonesome. Islamic tradition and prudence demanded that Habiba be accompanied by an adult male family member such as her father or brother, assuming she didn't have a husband of course. Observant Muslim women did not touch unrelated males, so Ismail was surprised when Habiba held out her hand. After a brief hesitation, Ismail shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Ismail," Habiba said as she shook his hand. Ismail was surprised both by the firmness of Habiba's grip and how cold her hand felt. The summer of 1117 A.D. first century of the Sultanate Of Mogadishu, which ruled Somalia at the time, was not a cold one. In fact, a choking heat gripped much of Somalia most of the time. Coastal cities were a bit cooler but the towns and villages of the mainland weren't so lucky. All the more reason why Ismail found Habiba's cold touch rather peculiar. The last time Ismail gripped such a cold hand, it had been that of his recently deceased grandfather Yusuf Aden.

"Sister, your hand feels cold, are you ill?" Ismail asked, genuinely concerned, and Habiba just smiled mysteriously. The young Somali woman fed Ismail a story about being ill and coming into Xuddur, also called Huddur, from the City of Magadazo, Crown Jewel of the Sultanate of Mogadishu. Ismail half-believed Habiba. Everyone knows that Prince Yassin ruled the Sultanate of Mogadishu since the death of his father King Ibrahim and that he was currently at war with rebels from the Warsame Clan. Such conflicts usually sent people fleeing for their lives in all directions. During armed conflicts, victor and loser alike preyed upon the Somali populace...

"I am new in town, Ismail, and could use a friend, especially a strong one like you who could help me with some heavy things," Habiba said flirtatiously. Ismail looked at her and grinned. Habiba was curvaceous and lovely. The lady did not seem to be accompanied by any male family members who might object to her associating with Ismail. Figuring this was his lucky day, Ismail followed Habiba as she led him to Bashir's Inn, where she was staying. Ismail figured he was going to get lucky. Even in deeply traditional and Islamic Medieval Somalia, many a woman has rewarded a man's labor in the most pleasurable way possible.

"Happy to help a sister in need," Ismail assured Habiba, as she led him into her chambers. Bashir's Inn was one of three inns in town, and it was quite popular with those who led secret lives. From married men meeting lovers on the sly to brigands and bandits from the countryside, Bashir's Inn was popular because its owner, Old Man Bashir and his son Kader did not ask a lot of questions. They also supplied their clients in Khat herbs and alcoholic drinks bought from traveling infidels from Ethiopia, in spite of such things being considered illegal by the Sultanate. Money talks, folks, even in Medieval Somalia.

"Thank you kind sir," Habiba said to Ismail as she ushered him in the dark chamber. As Habiba lit a candle, Ismail took a look around. There was a bed of furs, a table, three chairs, and a well-worn copy of the holy book. There was no luggage anywhere. As Ismail pondered this, Habiba pressed her curvy body against him. Ismail grinned. Habiba's body felt cold but when her sleek hand gripped his crotch, Ismail did not protest. Grinning, Habiba got down on her knees and most definitely not to pray.

"You must be a city girl," Ismail said, grinning, as Habiba pulled his big dark dick out of his trousers. Habiba winked at Ismail and then took his cock into her mouth. Ismail exhaled sharply as Habiba began fellating him. Once, in the environs of Kismayo City, Ismail bedded a courtesan named Fatima, a big-bottomed beauty from the Djibouti City region. Fatima had been fun but she couldn't hold a candle to Habiba. Hell, Habiba's cold lips sucked Ismail's cock like there was no tomorrow while her cold fingers massaged his balls. Let the good times roll.

"You got no idea," Habiba paused to say, and she winked at Ismail as she continued fellating him. Hiking up her skirt, Habiba slid a hand between her legs. Ismail groaned as she sucked his cock while fingering her pussy. Soon, they went on the bed to continue with their fun. Lying on the bed of furs, Ismail grinned as Habiba straddled him. Ismail caressed Habiba's big round ass with one hand and pinched her nipples with the other. Resting her hands on Ismail's broad shoulders, Habiba rode him hard, her cold pussy gripping his hard cock like a vise.

"Oh yeah, ride me," Ismail said, and Habiba closed her eyes as she rode the hell out of him. As Ismail fucked the hell out of her, Habiba moaned and groaned. Ismail sighed, loving the feel of Habiba's pussy ensnaring his cock. Just as Ismail was about to climax, something unexpected happened. Habiba stopped riding Ismail and instead, gripped his throat as if trying to strangle him. Ismail struggled and tried to pry Habiba's cold hands from his throat. Roaring like a feral beast, Habiba sank her fangs into Ismail's neck. Ismail passed out after a long struggle. When Ismail woke up, he was...changed.

Ismail woke up a few nights later, finding himself in a grave, at the center of the Al Zahrani Cemetery in the south side of Xuddur. The young Somali man had no idea that he'd been turned into a vampire. Habiba was gone, and Ismail never saw her again. Abandoned by his maker, Ismail had to figure out the ins and outs of the Undead existence for himself. The first lesson was to fear sunlight. Ismail found out the hard way. As the sun rose, Ismail hid inside an ancient crypt belonging to the Osman family. The following night, driven by hunger, Ismail returned to the streets. He fed on stray dogs, stray cats, and finally caught a homeless old woman whom he drained.

"I am a monster," Ismail admitted to himself after draining the homeless old woman on Bakir Street, next to the Al Zahrani Cemetery. The newbie vampire looked at the world and took it all in. From the moment Ismail came into the world, one fine day in early February 1087 A.D. he felt like he had been cursed. For starters, his mother Hawa Hassan died shortly after giving birth to him, and his father Malik Aden died fighting for the Armed Forces of the Sultanate. Ismail's paternal grandparents Yusuf Aden and Amal Aden did their best to raise him. Ismail became a vagabond, an adventurer and a hired hand, nothing more...

Roaming the wilderness of Somalia, Ismail learned the truth about himself. He was born to be a vampire. When night fell, Ismail fed upon men, women and beasts. To him, blood was blood. In time, Ismail encountered other vampires. The Undead were solitary creatures for the most part. Vampires view their fellow Undead as competitors in their endless quest for blood, rather than friends or allies. From time to time, Ismail asked some of his fellow Undead if they ever met Habiba, and none knew of her.

"I know nothing of Habiba," said Marwan, an old Arabian vampire whom Ismail encountered in the City of Al Mukalla, Yemen. Ismail considered the older vampire's answer. The two of them were dining together. Five brigands and six courtesans lay dead upon the floor of Madame Khadija's Bawdy House, an establishment catering to the shady types. Men went into such places to drink liquor and bed the sort of women who demanded to be paid upfront for the privilege of their pleasure. Perfect spot for a pair of vampires to sneak into and feast to their ( non-beating ) hearts content...

"Duly noted," Ismail said as he drained a lovely courtesan named Afaf. The dark-haired and bronze-skinned Yemeni beauty had a fine ass and curvy body. Ismail finished drinking Afaf's blood and then sent her into the afterlife. Ismail did not care to curse anyone to the nightmare existence of the Undead. The year was 1333 and Ismail had been roaming Africa and the Arab world for centuries. The Somali vampire found his existence fraught with much danger and few pleasures. The Undead can barely tolerate each other's company most of the time. Makes for a lonely existence.

After feasting, Marwan and Ismail parted ways. Ismail continued to roam the world. When the New World was discovered, the Somali vampire was intrigued. Of course, Ismail didn't feel safe traveling to America as a dark-skinned Undead man in the old days. In 1972, Ismail came to Calgary, Alberta, after a lengthy boat trip from North Africa. The Somali vampire has roamed the breadth of North America ever since. From Calgary, Alberta, to Toronto, Ontario, along with New York City, Boston, New Orleans and even Cancun, Mexico. Ismail has come to love the North American continent.

Of course, that was in the old days. Since the Pact became law for the Undead, with the Enforcers killing any vampire who fed upon humans, life has grown boring for Ismail and his kind. Tonight, Ismail is going to meet some Undead pals of his in Barrhaven, Ontario. A vampire master named Jonathan Wagner, his Undead wife Eloise Daughtrey and a few others were having a soiree. Ismail, who is well-acquainted with the couple in question, got ready. Decked out in a black business suit, white silk shirt, black tie, black dress pants and the obligatory black Timberland boots that are popular with black men, Ismail got into his old Mercedes and hit the road. He texted them that he was on his way, then put away his cellphone.

With Lana Del Ray's classic Gods And Monsters blasting through his car radio, Ismail got going. He drove through the Glebe and then hit the main roads, heading towards the west end of Ottawa. From the rooftop of a nearby church, a shadowy figure watched the Somali vampire's every move. The tall, dark-clad figure wore a hoodie, stylish black jeans and black boots. Stylish black gloves covered sleek hands. A smile creased the figure's lovely face as she watched Ismail get into his car and speed away.

"We've adopted to this new century quite well, I see," Habiba said, smiling. The ancient Somali vampire licked her lips. No breath issued from her mouth as she licked her pearly white fangs. In 2024, precisely 907 years after Habiba turned Ismail Aden, Somali ruffian, into a formidable vampire, master and fledgling are about to be reunited. Habiba doesn't care for the Pact, or the domesticated vampires who abide by it.

That's right, many among the modern Undead don't like the Pact. Vampires are the apex predators of the world and humans have no more right to police them than sheep have any right to police wolves. Habiba feels strongly that the humans and their top secret Enforcers need to be taught a lesson. Vampires who like the status quo are cowards and weaklings. The Somali vampire mistress intends to gather Undead acolytes who want to go back to the old ways. Habiba intends to approach Ismail with one hell of a proposition. Either Ismail joins Habiba's band of renegade Undead, or he dies for real. The Undead existence is simple like that...