Happy Phantom A Vampire Tale

A lot of things can and will go wrong in life. It is the nature of the universe. What can any man do against such inflexible ruling forces? I do not know, but I sure as heck am going to try. I wouldn't be the one and only Devin Stronghold if I didn't. First things first, though. You need to know who you're dealing with. I am a twenty-year-old vampire. What else is there to know about me? I'm a native of Boston. I am an Aquarius. I am not a Republican. I love the Celtics, the Patriots and the Red Sox. I hate the Lakers, the Yankees, the Giants and the Republican Party. Oh, and I'm also bisexual. Just thought you ought to know. Please don't believe the hype about vampires. We're not what the movies make us out to be. We're people just like you.

Being a vampire isn't that different from being human. I was born of two vampires. My father, Darwin Stronghold is a sergeant with the Boston Police Department. In the eyes of the world, he's a six-foot-two, burly black man with a fierce gleam in his eyes and a strong work ethic. He's been a cop for twenty years. My mother, Eileen James Stronghold is a criminal justice professor at Boston College. Anyone looking at her would see a six-foot-tall, slender, short-haired, light-skinned black woman in her early forties. You would never suspect that she was a vampire aristocrat. But she is. Like I said, there are a lot of myths and lies about vampires that humans simply aren't bright enough to figure out.

Vampire society is much like human society. There are law-abiding people and criminals. There are leaders and followers. Oh, and no human can become a vampire after being bitten. That's just a myth. Vampires are a species, pure and simple. I was born a vampire and cannot become human. No human can turn into a vampire any more than he or she might turn into a goat. Seriously. I don't know where science fiction writers and movie producers get their ideas. The idea of vampires surviving by living nocturnal lives and drinking human blood and occasionally transforming themselves into animals is simply too crazy. At least to me.

I am a vampire, not some supernatural beast. My teeth are normal sized. And I pride myself on their pearly whiteness. The result of brushing six times a day with Colgate, folks. I am strong and fast, though not exceedingly so. I can lift five times my own weight and maybe run three times faster than an Olympic athlete. Physically, I look no different than a any ordinary young black my own age. Distinctive characteristics? Um, let's see. I have a tattoo of a hawk on my left bicep. I'm also uncut because vampires, being mainly an atheistic bunch with immunity to all human diseases, don't subject their offspring to outdated and decidedly barbaric surgical practices.

As a result of my vampire heritage, I heal faster than an ordinary human being. I can move about in daylight just like you can. Sunlight doesn't bother me. I like to hit the beach occasionally. And I even lie in the sun by the pool once in a while. Silver does to me the same thing it does to you. Nothing, unless fashioned into a weapon. Holy water doesn't harm me. Hell, I went to Catholic school, duh! Surprise, mother fuckers! As a vampire, I have certain special abilities. But I am not Superman. I am not immortal. Oh, and I cannot fly. As for the whole immortality thing, it's such bullshit. No one lives forever. Once a vampire reaches adulthood, he or she will age much slower than a human. We basically age one year for every three hundred years that go by. A lifespan of thousands of years is possible. Unless you get yourself killed. My parents are mad old, folks. My father was once an African king in the land of Ghana, around 400 A.D. And my youthful and regal-looking mother was once a Gladiator in Rome. Talk about ancient!

There are quite a few vampires living in the city of Boston. I'd say about five thousand or so. We are lawyers, doctors, college students, crooks, cooks, artists, actors, activists, politicians, police officers, firefighters and businessmen and women. Some of us are hobos, too. We don't prey on human beings. At least not for blood. We do consume blood once in a while, but we don't need it to the extent that humans think we do. I occasionally drink Pepsi or Coke and I eat at Burger King. I love red meat. Especially steak. I go to MacDonald so often that they know me by name. At five establishments. So much for the image of the vampire feeding only on blood. My people have evolved over time and developed a varied diet. It's called adaptation, what every species must do to survive.

Growing up in the vampire community of Boston was fun. For the most part. Of the three hundred students at Baxter Academy, forty or so were vampires. My best friend was a guy named Nigel Wellington. He is the great son of Jorge Wellington, a legendary vampire of British and Spanish lore. The name Jorge Wellington is infamous in the vampire community. He was the last vampire to be executed in the Dark Trials, back in 1780. It took place way before my time. I was born in 1988! Yeah, way back then, there was a war between factions within the vampire community. The Modernists wanted our kind to let go of ancient traditions and rituals and lead normal lives among the humans.

The Traditionalists wanted the vampire community to rise up against humanity and dominate the planet. The Modernists won. The Traditionalists were wiped out. Slaughtered by the tens of thousands. Their books of propaganda were burned. Their fortresses and lairs were smashed to bits. We completely wiped them out. Their madness threatened our species with extinction. Vampires worldwide only number around a hundred thousand today. We don't need the humans rising up against us. We have enough to worry about.

Nigel Wellington was the one who told me the story. It was fascinating. The only reason Nigel's family had lived was because they rebelled against Jorge Wellington's dark ways and handed him over to the Modernists, who put an end to him. That was harsh if you ask me. But that was all in the past. High school was over and I was starting college soon. I didn't know the twisted paths my life would take. This story begins when I received a certain letter in the mail. It was a letter that was going to change my life as I knew it. It marked the beginning of a turning point in my life.

The letter came from James Thorne, the Dean of Admissions at Saint Christopher College in Virginia. It came a week before I graduated from Baxter Academy, a small, single-sex private school located in the town of Boston's Back Bay area. Baxter Academy had four hundred pupils, selected from the state's wealthiest families. I got accepted there on a scholarship, ages ago. Now, I was a graduate, ready to take on the world. I had a pile of acceptance letters from schools like Boston College, Northeastern University, Boston University and even the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Yet I was intrigued by Saint Christopher College. I'll tell you why.

Saint Christopher College was well-known as the biggest athletic powerhouse among colleges and universities in North America. The secular private school had only twelve thousand students yet it was considered a Division One educational institution. The Saint Christopher College Department of Athletics sponsors Men's Intercollegiate Archery, Alpine Skiing, Basketball, Bowling, Cross Country, Swimming, Squash, Fencing, Soccer, Golf, Rugby, Gymnastics, Lacrosse, Ice Hockey, Rodeo, Rifle, Cheerleading, Pistol, Wrestling, Rowing, Sailing, Football, Track & Field, Water Polo and Volleyball. For female student-athletes, they offered Women's Intercollegiate Archery, Alpine Skiing, Basketball, Bowling, Cross Country, Swimming, Squash, Fencing, Soccer, Golf, Rugby, Gymnastics, Cheerleading, Lacrosse, Ice Hockey, Rodeo, Rifle, Equestrian, Pistol, Wrestling, Rowing, Sailing, Field Hockey, Track & Field, Water Polo and Volleyball. All of their sports teams, collectively known as the Crusaders and Lady Crusaders, compete in the NCAA Division One.

The school had an endowment of twelve billion dollars and was considered the top Catholic school in the nation. It offered one hundred and twenty majors in about as many fields. Students who earned their associates, bachelors, masters and doctorates from Saint Christopher College often went on to become serious competition for Ivy Leaguers at the top of the business, political, educational and scientific worlds. The top men and women of the nation were educated there. In the twenty first century, Ivy Leaguers were overrated and Saint Christopher College had a lot to do with that. And these people were offering me a full student-athlete scholarship to play football for them. How could I say no?

And so I packed my belongings, waved my parents goodbye, and got on the plane. I arrived in Blacksburg, Virginia, and took a cab to Saint Christopher College. I thought I had it made. How naïve of me. I remember my grandfather Lucas once telling me that whatever seems too good to be true usually is. I should have heeded his advice. But how could I know that what I thought was the best school on the planet would turn out to be my nightmare?

At first glance, the town of Blacksburg seemed quaint. Goes to show you the inexperience and naïve mindset of youth. I was only nineteen years old. That's mad young whether you're a human or a vampire. Most American vampires tend to stick to places like New York, Los Angeles, Austin and Boston. Big metropolitan areas. We tend to avoid small towns, especially in the south and the west. I've heard horror stories from my parents friends about humans rising up to kill peaceful vampires in places like Kati, Texas, and Dayton, Ohio. I'm not saying most vampires are saints. However, it is against our law to feed on humans. We have our own police force, made up mostly of members of our species who worked for the police and fire departments around the country. Our Trackers, as the vampire police are called, track down vampires who break the law. Death by decapitation or immolation is the punishment. When we die, we turn to ashes within a matter of minutes.

I didn't know that the entire state of Virginia was the powerhouse of the Night Cadre, those fanatical men and women who hunted vampires because they thought we were a threat to humanity. Someone should have told me. My mother warned me against associating with strange humans, especially the religious ones, and my father told me that if I messed up he'd kick my black ass from here to the moon. I thought they were just being parents, you know. It doesn't matter if you're a nobody from nowhere, they think the whole world is out to get you. You know the drill. You got parents too. So I didn't hit the panic button when I moved into the Saint Christopher College dorms and found out my roommate, a tall bald guy named Derek Longshoreman was a religious devotee. To each his own, know what I mean?

Life went on. I went to my business management classes. I had five of them in total. There were a lot of hot gals in my classes. Some of them were not so hot when you looked up close. Hey, I'm just being honest. And there were some good-looking guys as well as a few dudes who could star in Mr. Ugly commercials. In case you're wondering, yes I really do check people out extensively. Even in class. Officially, Saint Christopher College's student body was fifty percent female and fifty percent male. Male enrolment had been low in the past ten years, until the school's athletic department added football and wrestling. Then they came in droves, and I was among them. Minority enrolment was still drastically low. Less than five percent of the student body was non-Caucasian. Fun, hey? Yet somehow, the football, men's and women's basketball as well as the men's and women's cross country teams were nearly all-black. Some things never change.

Things were alright for the first few months. I went to class and I attended football practice. Since I was a freshman with little experience playing college football, I didn't see much playing time. The team quarterback, Lloyd Shanks was considered a potential First-Round Draft Pick for the NFL next year. I looked at him. At six-foot-six and two hundred and forty pounds of red-haired, muscular Irishman, he definitely looked like NFL material. Of course, he was only human. In his wildest dreams he couldn't match me in strength and speed. It just wasn't possible.

So, here we were at football practice. The guys were playing on the field while the coaches watched. On the bleachers sat the assorted team girlfriends. Gorgeous, well-dressed young women. Some cheered their men on, others were busy checking their cell phones or chatting away. At least one was reading a book and more than a few looked bored. To be honest, I didn't think much of the Saint Christopher College football team. This was their second year as a team and they had a lousy season last year. Virginia Tech had beaten them senseless, as did the Naval Academy, Boston College and Notre Dame. I kind of looked forward to playing BC. They were my father's alma mater and he wanted me to play for them. Instead I chose Saint Christopher College, mostly because I wanted out of the nest. Out of my parents reach. But I now realize this may have been a mistake. I was playing for a team of losers!

Watching the humans play was painfully boring. I felt like driving a stake through my own brain as I watched Todd Simmons, our starting quarterback fumble around. Ugh, he was worse than a third-string loser and seemed incapable of throwing any passes. Maybe he was drunk or something. My pal Eddie Chang, a large Asian dude, told me a bit about Mr. Butter Fingers. Todd came from Avon Old Farms, one of Virginia's best single sex schools. Too bad they hadn't taught him about playing football at the college level. He just plain sucked. Then, out of the blue, Mr. Jenkins, the Special Teams Coach told me to get in the game. I was up, apparently. I was surprised, to say the least. Oh, well. Time for me to show the humans how it was done. Back at Baxter Academy, there were twenty of my kind on the varsity football team. Even in such superhuman company I was a force to be reckoned with. Against mere humans I would be a force of nature. My actions that day were given fuel by overconfidence and should be chucked under the inexperience of youth.

I was playing in the lineman position. Larry Shay, a burly black guy, was the second-string quarterback and I was playing the part of his bodyguard that day. He caught the ball and ran with it. Three large guys rushed toward him. I ran close by, watching Larry do his thing. He actually knew how to play. Hugging the ball tightly, he ran with it for forty yards, dodging the onrushing guys. Not bad. Of course, he didn't have eyes in the back of his head and couldn't see the six-foot-nine, jet-black, three-hundred-pound mountain of a man known as Drake Stanford who came charging at him like a bull. And Drake was not alone. With him ran an equally impressive specimen, a burly Latino guy named Juan Gutierrez. They were going to mow down Larry Shay. Well, not if I had anything to say about it. With that, I ran ahead of Larry. As Gutierrez and Stanford made their move to intercept him, I made mine.

I sprang, like I had been taught by my father since before I could remember. There are quite a few martial arts techniques known only to vampires because humans lack the strength and speed to execute them. It's not enough to have superhuman strength, speed and stamina, you've got to know how to fight. Otherwise a well-trained fighter with patience and adaptability, human or otherwise, can and will kick your ass. I summoned my strength from my deepest core. The fierce strength of every man and woman among the members of my eternally persecuted inhuman brethren. I sent it to my arms and legs, and it was as if my body had gone from flesh and blood to steel. I charged Gutierrez and Stanford, slamming into them with all the force I could muster. I heard surprised grunts, and the crunch of bones. The crack of fractured ribs, broken joints and splashing blood. And then I stopped. I stood over Stanford and Gutierrez, and the two of them lay writhing on the ground. Larry Shay rushed past me, free as a bird with nothing in his way. And he scored a touchdown.

Larry came back, jumping up and down. Then he saw me standing over Stanford and Gutierrez and froze. The rest of the team came rushing toward us. I offered a hand up to Gutierrez. He grimaced in pain, and stared at me with wide, shocked eyes. As for Stanford, he just lay there, unconscious. I cried out for a medic. The coaches and the other players surrounded us. Everyone was looking at me funny. I felt a twinge of guilt. What had I done? I only wanted to help my quarterback score a touchdown. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Not seriously, anyway. An ambulance was called and showed up a few minutes later. Stanford and Gutierrez were carried off on civvies and taken to the Saint Christopher College Medical Center, where the med school was.

Larry clapped my shoulder and told me everything was going to be okay. For reasons I couldn't fathom, the other guys looked at me in a very strange way. Guys hurt other guys during football practice all the time. This was nothing new. It happened all the time on high school, collegiate and professional football team practice sessions around the country. Yet my so-called teammates looked at me like I was some kind of freak. Their eyes probed me. I took my helmet off and walked off the field. A shout from Thomas Sterling, the Head Football Coach and Athletic Director stopped me. I was in no mood for a lecture but there was something about the man's voice. He had been an NFL legend ten years ago and was the architect of the Saint Christopher College football program. And he had a voice that could make Darth Vader tremble. He said he wanted a word with me. I nodded and followed him off the field. I could feel my teammates stares on me. I ignored them.

Coach Sterling's office was located deep inside the Athletic Department. It was not what I expected. The office was vast, but with a Spartan look. Coach told me to sit down. Again, something about his voice made me obey. I sat down, musing on what my fate would be. Gutierrez was a junior and Stanford was a senior. Both were respected members of the football team and had put their time and energy on the line in its name. I was a newcomer from Boston who had managed to damage valuable athletes. My slightly paranoid mind kept whispering to me that they were going to throw me out of the football program. I would lose my scholarship and be shipped back to Boston. Back to my parents dominion. Unable to make my mark on the world.

Coach Sterling put an end to all my doubts. He smiled and said I was the best damn lineman he'd ever seen. Then he asked me how I felt about being put on the front lines in every game until the post season. I grinned from ear to ear. I couldn't believe it. This was my lucky day. I felt so happy I could have hugged the man. Coach put an end to that toot sweet by holding out his hand. I shook it, and promised not to let him down. Then, I vaulted out of the office. I went back to my dorm, feeling like a million bucks. My father was right. Power was what made the world go around. If you have enough of it, you can do whatever you want. As a superhuman in a league full of mundane humans, I was going to live like a king. I was going to whip this sorry bunch of losers into shape and bring the team to NCAA glory.

When I went back to my dorm, Larry Shay was waiting for me. Alone. I paused. What in hell did he want? He smiled as I walked up to him and we shook hands. He offered to take me out to lunch. On him. I accepted. I went to my room to change, then we went out. We went to the Dragon Buffet, a nice Chinese restaurant located near the campus. There, over some coke and three plates of shrimp-fried rice, Orange chicken and egg rolls, we became friends. Larry Shay was a really nice guy. He came from Massachusetts, like me. He used to play football for Plymouth North High School. Like me, he opted out of playing for the local college football teams and went way out of town. I was pleased to be friends with a fellow New Englander. We shared a love of TV shows like Smallville, Stargate Atlantis, Law & Order : Criminal Intent, The Ultimate Fighting Championship and American Gladiator. This dude was mad cool. He was easy on the eyes, too. Unfortunately, he was straight as an arrow. He introduced me to his girlfriend, a tall, good-looking athletic blonde named Jade Simpson. She was captain of the Saint Christopher College Women's Basketball team. They looked good together. Jade was pretty cool, too. She majored in civil engineering.