The Early Education of Ernie Biggs, Part 2
From the journal of Ernie Biggs, Vampire

Sleep beckoned, and I stopped. It's another night now and I've been busy. It's four in the morning now, at least another hour till sunset. Let me try and explain all that I went through this time. It was a busy night, but let me try anyway.

I woke up at eight, some time after sunset, and I realised that I need to find a new place to live. My own place is hard to get into. I'd have to get into her house. Her. That's another story. But first there was something else to deal with. There was the thirst. I had such an incredible thirst, I was dying for a taste of blood. Dying. Hah. That's a joke.

The need was so bad that I could taste the blood on my tongue, feel it rushing hot flowing from a living neck straight into my mouth running over my tongue. I could think of little else and I knew I couldn't do anything without first finding a victim.

But the idea of actually hunting someone down, and drinking up their blood, killing them, was a little creepy. I wasn't sure if it was right to use someone like a cow or a chicken, as just another dumb animal. Then again, that's the kind of argument that leads to vegetarianism. Besides, I really wanted to drink some blood. And I probably needed it to survive. It definitely felt good. So it had to have been the right thing to do.

I got out of the house for the first time since this change happened, and once I was out in the open I realised a few things. I was faster than I had ever been, I realised. Not only could I run faster than I used to, my reflexes were quicker too. And as my experiments yesterday proved, I was stronger than I used to be. I could easily take anyone down. Nobody was going to be able to get away from me. I felt more confident than I had ever been. This, truly, was living.

I still had some issues with what I was about to do though, and decided that I should at least try and find the most wretched person I could find, so that I would not destroy a life without promise. Wherever I went the smell of blood floated through the air all around me, tempting me, driving me mad. I ducked through the alleys, and finally found what I was looking for.

There was an old man curled up in a back alley. It was the kind of place where nobody goes. He wouldn't be missed by anyone. He looked 60, at least, and I knew his life probably wasn't a happy one. He was perfect. I went up to him, and grabbed at his collar. He was still half asleep when I bit into his neck, fighting my revulsion of the many smells rising up from him.

The taste of his unwashed neck was far from the sweet tender caress of blood I was expecting, and it took all my strength to drink down his blood. Throwing away his spent body, I staggered against the wall, and realised that this was not what I wanted.

After all, wasn't I making a mistake when I went and hunted the lowliest human? I had decided, hadn't I, that I wasn't one of them anymore, that they were no better than milling cows? And if I was selecting an animal for slaughter, would I select an old and sick beast, or a fat healthy one? No, clearly I had been making a mistake.

Unsatiated, I knew that I had to hunt out another human. Someone fit and alive. Someone whose every heartbeat could take me to the abyss, to an eternity of pleasure. It would be harder than taking this creature, I knew, but also far more rewarding, if I could just find the right specimen.

I stalked the streets through the night, seeing many prospective victims, young and fresh and tender and so lush, but none alone. I knew I didn't dare risk exposure by hunting a group yet, oh my tender succulent treats, moving blindly all around me, not knowing what I saw when I looked at them, every atom of their being dancing, alive, beckoned me to them, tempting me, yet I had to hold back.

It was in this walk that I finally saw her, through the open first floor window of the house she lived in. She looked to be no more than thirteen, and she was perfect. Her large eyes had an innocence to them, her cheeks had a rosy blush. Her whole being was alive, brimming with potential, filled with delicious red blood. The door to her room was shut, and the rest of the house was dark.

It was already eleven, and no doubt her parents were already asleep. She was sitting by the window, at a desk, and reading, and even in the dim light I could see the slight pulsing of her throat as the blood beat through her. I knew that I had to have it, and looking around the street to make sure no one else was watching, I ran towards the house and jumped straight towards her.

The feeling I had, of being on the verge of flying, was so intoxicating that I almost forgot about her as I landed in her room, and she stared at me with a horrified expression in her eyes. I reached out and lifted her so she was level with her face, and looking into her eyes said that she must stay quiet.

The child was too scared to say anything, and just kept looking at me. Without waiting any further, I leaned in, and bit her throat. It was beautiful, tender and pathetic, all at once, a faint smell of talcum and beneath that her body, a slightly sour smell. I ignored the smells, and bit harder. All at once there was another smell, and another taste, sweet, oh so sweet, but slightly metallic too, a hard taste, no softness to it, and I was drinking her blood, more more more, and there seemed no end to it.

Her little heart beat strongly, taking me to the edge of insanity, I had never felt such pleasure, it was ecstasy, it was intoxication, it was beyond words, it was truth, it was beauty, and then it was over. All of a sudden the high ended and the blood stopped and I was fallen in a heap intertwined with the girl's still form, every drop of blood drained from her body.

I wasn't sure what was worse. The cheap huddle with the bum, or this exhilarating, excruciating taste of blood. This was enough to drive anyone crazy, and I couldn't decide what the proper thing to do was. What had led to my being selected for feeding? Was I good prey, or a pathetic example of humanity? What had led to this? I don't know. Daylight is coming. I need to think more about this. I don't know.

Ok. I might as well admit it. First off, the whole thing with Ernie is getting forced now. I am feeling compelled to write about him, simply because he exists. Be very careful when creating characters, because they can be very demanding on you. Of course, the biggest mistake I made was apologising to Ernie for the rewrite of the first story... I have to kill him off so that I can move to stories that are interesting for me... Unless I kill him though, the bastard won't let me write anything else!