A Vampire's Love Story

The time has come for me to stop hiding. I must resume my nightly hunt for that which I crave. My name is Patricia Atkinson. I am a Vampire. A long time ago, I became one of the Undead. Yes, Vampires do exist. We live among you and no one suspects our existence. That's the way we like it. I live in a nice townhouse in the Back Bay neighborhood of the city of Boston, Massachusetts. To my neighbors, I'm a well-to-do black businesswoman who leads a nocturnal lifestyle. My husband Steve Bastille is currently away on business. To the neighbors, we're a pair of eccentrics. We're so much more than that.

Meet the heroine of this tawdry little tale. I stand five feet ten inches tall, thick and curvy, with large and firm breasts, wide hips and a ghetto booty. I'm a voluptuous gal and proud of it. I weigh exactly two hundred and forty pounds and I can lift ten times my body weight. Such is the awesome superhuman strength that comes with being one of the Undead. I relish the powers that come with being a Vampire. I can run five times faster than the top Olympic runner in the nation. I possess stamina levels which human beings can only dream of. My body heals ten times faster than that of a normal human being. Like all my kind, I stopped aging physically the moment I became a Vampire. However, I am not indestructible. Beheading, fire and sunlight along with a stake through the heart will destroy me.

I lead a very careful lifestyle. During the day, I stay home. I run a small business empire via the Internet. Mostly, I buy and sell priceless artifacts. I became a Vampire in 1791, back when I was a forty-year-old African slave in the state of Texas. The Vampire who made me was a man named Kohl the Wanderer, and he had been around since 900 A.D. for a time, we were lovers. I was his apprentice. He taught me all the things a Vampire should know. Then, we amicably parted ways. I don't know what became of him. For over a century I roamed over the United States of America. I raged against the practitioners of slavery. They were my favorite prey. I transformed many a runaway slave into a Vampire. Thus, I created a small coven for myself.

My coven was made up of a few Vampires who were loyal to me. Elisabeth Ramon is a young woman of African and Hispanic descent whom I met in New Mexico in 1804, when she was twenty years old. We were lovers became I turned her into a Vampire. She was a real beauty. Six feet tall, slender yet busty and big-bottomed, with dark bronze skin, pale gray eyes and lustrous black hair. I was in love with her. So much that I also transformed her lifelong friend, a very macho and seductive Mexican Cowboy named Juan Pacheco, just to please her. Truth be told, Pacheco was tall, ruggedly handsome and fearless. Definitely the kind of man I was fond of having around. Pacheco made a magnificent Vampire. He loved inflicting pain on the arrogant and self-assured wealthy gringos we often encountered. Our little band was fun. And I had a family at long last.

I've never had a family. I don't remember my parents names. Truth be told, I was sold into slavery before I could remember them. In those days, black men and black women were sold from master to master. We lived from plantation to plantation. When a plantation got sold, the slaves often came with it, as did the horses and cattle. Yes, those were the good old days of the enlightened United States of America. Pacheco, Elisabeth and I preyed upon the members of the elite, the wealthy ruling class of the country. The rich white men and rich white women who owned the biggest slave-operated farms. Quite often, we disguised ourselves to fool them. Pacheco played the part of a well-dressed Mexican businessman obviously from a moneyed cocoon. Elisabeth was his snotty mistress and I was her handmaiden. Thus disguised, we infiltrated their society. The fun we had destroying them was priceless.

I recalled how we once feasted on the family of this rich Texan woman named Muriel Harrington. She was the wife of Austin City Mayor Jonathan Harrington. We were cordially invited to one of their parties. It was during a stormy winter night. Elisabeth and I barricaded the doors, and Pacheco began attacking the guests. We caught them and drank their blood, but not before making them suffer. Yes, we were a particularly cruel band of blood drinkers. By day, we hid. The sun's rays were lethal to us. It could burn us to a crisp. By night, we roamed the land and nothing could stand in our way. We were stronger, faster and more lethal than anything human. Bullets could slow us down but they could not kill us. Our legend grew. When fathers and mothers put their offspring to bed, they warned them about monsters who roamed the night. They warned them about us. As you can imagine, I reveled in it.

I once read that three is not the most stable number in the world. The third party in a relationship is often made to feel unwelcome. The other woman in a relationship between husband and wife. The junior partner in a hierarchy of three. The least powerful member of a triumvirate. Yes, the number three is not a very stable numeral. What I had always feared had finally come to pass. The lovely Elisabeth Ramon had fallen in love with the handsome and charismatic Juan Pacheco. Both of them were lovers. That didn't bother me. I've slept with both Juan and Elisabeth. However, they wanted their relationship to be exclusive and didn't want me around. They felt confident enough as Vampires to take on the world without whatever help, wisdom or support I could provide. I was the Master of this coven of Vampires. Yet I was being thrown out of it. As you can imagine, I was far from the happy camper.

They left me. For centuries, I roamed the country by myself. By day, I hid as best I could. By night, I hunted. I didn't make any new Vampires. Until I met my future life mate, Steve Bastille in 1851. He was a tall, good-looking black man. A runaway slave from Louisiana desperately trying to reach the fabulous North, where slaves were free. He had gotten as far as Boston when I met him. He was working as a sailor in the Boston Harbor. Ferrying rich tourists and businessmen to their destinations. Steve Bastille was one of those tall, fine-looking chocolate-colored studs who took your breath away. He looked good enough to eat. I've never believed in love at first sight, until I met him. I decided that I had to have this fine-looking brother for myself.

I approached him and introduced myself. Back then, Boston had a fledgling community of black men and black women who were free and living their lives more or less in peace. They were no longer slaves. Oh, this was generations away from racial equality, but at least they were no longer viewed as subhuman. The black men and black women of 1850s Boston had a sense of purpose and they were a fast-growing community. They made their living as artisans, sailors, messengers, cooks, and traders. My heart filled with hope when Steve introduced me to them. I was fascinated by this growing black culture. At long last, I felt that I had come home.

For the first time in almost a century, I was filled with a sense of kinship I hadn't felt with anyone since I became a Vampire. The life of a Vampire is a solitary one. We're predators and we don't like one another's company. Even when Pacheco and Elisabeth roamed the land with me, they couldn't stand my presence and I couldn't stand theirs. I can't explain it but Vampires don't like their own kind. We don't trust one another. Elisabeth and Pacheco respected and feared me, but they didn't love me. I cared for them, though, in my own way. And they betrayed me. Such is the existence of the Vampire. In Boston, I found myself welcomed into a fledgling but fast-growing community of hard-working black men and black women. Steve showed me around. He was so intelligent, charming and kind. Lots of women coveted him but I wanted him to myself.

You had to see him back then. He was so gorgeous and so kind. A strong black man who was going places. Back in Louisiana, he had been a guardsman on the plantation where he was born. It was his duty to protect the property from those who threatened it. He was a natural protector and shortly after he came to Boston, he became the black community's protector. Whenever our men and women were threatened by an outside force, he was the one they came to. The man was smart, level-headed and stern, and he knew how to fight. With a rapier or a rifle, he was virtually unstoppable. A magnificent warrior like his proud African ancestors must have been. Is it any wonder women all over the city, both black and white, were throwing themselves at him?

When did Steve and I become lovers? The night we were both revealed to one another. There was a young white woman named Katherine who lived near the Boston Harbor. Like a lot of women, she fancied Steve. He turned her down because he was in love with me. I loved Steve too, but I was a bit reluctant to jump into bed with him, no matter how tempting his fine body looked. The men and women I took to my bed usually became either fledgling Vampires under my thrall or dinner. I loved Steve. I didn't want to hurt a single hair on his handsome head. I also didn't want him to become a Vampire. We had known each other for over a year. Meeting only at night. I spent my days in the basement apartment of an impoverished old church whose kindly priest, Father Knox, offered me shelter. In exchange, I helped him keep the place running. That fateful night, everything changed.

Katherine had seen Steve and I together, and in a jealous rage, she did what many young white women were fond of doing every now and then. Falsely accusing a black man of sexually assaulting them. It was a surefire way to get an innocent black man lynched, even in supposedly progressive Boston. The white men came, armed and outraged, and they wanted to kill the man I loved. When they came, I refused to let them take him. Before Steve's amazed eyes, I tore into them. Seven white men came, armed to the teeth. Seven white men perished by my Undead might. Steve stared at me, astonished. He was shocked beyond belief. I stared at him, stunned. I had dreamed of revealing myself to him. In my dreams, he understood and accepted me for what I was. However, this wasn't a dream, this was reality.

My mouth filled with the blood of the men I'd killed, I looked at Steve and offered him a choice. He could come with me and live. Or he could stay and die at the hands of a bunch of hatemongering brutes for a crime he didn't even commit. Steve chose widely. We ran into the night. Not once did he question what I was. That night, we left Boston. We took a coach and rode it to the small town of Brockton. We hid in a shack. The whole ride, Steve hadn't asked me a single question. I knew his head was filled with them. So I told him the truth. I was a Vampire. And if I didn't hide from the sunlight, I'd be a dead woman. Steve nodded, as if he understood. He helped me find shelter from the daylight, thanked me for saving his life, then left.

All day, I hid in the shack. It was a cramped and boring refuge, but what could I do? I didn't want to burn to a crisp. Sunlight kills Vampires. That's why we hide from it. Still, I must say that I missed Steve. I could think of some fun ways to pass the daylight hours, but I thought better of it. Steve hadn't panicked like most people would when I told him I was a Vampire. I commend him for it. However, I was saddened. Story of my life, I guess. Everyone leaves me. Elisabeth and Pacheco left me, telling me that although I granted them eternal life and awesome powers, I was not the boss of them. It seems that I was doomed to spend eternity alone. Such was my existence, I guess.

Imagine my surprise when, at nightfall, Steve returned. I was stunned. This man was special indeed. He told me that all over Brockton and the neighboring towns, white men with guns were looking for both of us. We were both wanted for murder. I looked at Steve. He looked so beautiful right then and there. My hero. He had come back to me. He told me that I was his best chance for making it out of this alive. Well, he was half right. So, I made him the offer. I offered him a chance to become like me. Immortal. Superhumanly strong and fast. Ageless. A creature that would live until the end of time unless slain. A fantastic monster who could not die naturally. What do you think he said?

Three days later, Steve had risen from the dead as a fledgling Vampire. We walked through the streets of Brockton and hunted the men and women we encountered. In dark alleys and taverns, we found our prey. This was only the beginning of our lives together. Steve Bastille was a magnificent man. Strong, smart, and brave. He became an amazing Vampire. Powerful. Determined. Fearless. The perfect companion to spend eternity with. I love him as much as I love myself. We remained together throughout the centuries. And he's never left me.