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too far into the woods one night fell prey to my fangs. After I drank his life
away, I recoiled in horror at what I had done, and it was as though I awakened
for the first time since the Germans had captured me. I had murdered a boy. It
was truly the worst moment of my life.
I buried him deep in my fox burrow and fled deep into the woods. That
afternoon I sensed hundreds of men searching for they boy, felt their pain of
loss, their hurt and despair. I longed to go to them, to tell them what I had done,
to take my punishment like a man, but I could not summon the strength. They
never found either of us.
After that I vowed not to give in to my base instincts. I would not be a wild
creature unfit for human company. And so, very slowly, very painfully, with the
death of that boy, I did gain a measure of control over myself.
It was as though I had emerged from a dream, or perhaps from an infancy of
sorts. I came aware of myself and saw what I had become: a dirty, naked,
monstrous beast sucking the life from the living. I could not continue this way.
Over the next few months I took greater care. After satisfying my hungers with
the blood of beasts, I crept out of the forest and moved among the dwellings of
men. Now that I tried, I discovered I could render whole households unconscious
with the sheer force of my will. As they slept, I crept among them and took
whatever I needed: soap, a razor, clean clothes, and their brightly colored paper
money. The war must be over, I realized as I studied them in their beds. They
had the soft, well-fed look of peace all about them.
When I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror, I knew the truth. I had not
wanted to admit it, but inside I had already guessed what I had become: a
vampire. Not one like Bela Lugosi’s Dracula in the movies, cringing at crosses
and holy water, but a man transformed into a blood-driven animal, with all of a
man’s weaknesses and an animal’s strengths. I could not turn myself into an
animal; I was an animal—a nocturnal, blood-drinking animal with powers over
the minds and bodies of others—so much for legends, I thought. Crosses, garlic,
and running water wouldn’t stop me. I suspected bullets might.
Of course there were moments of self-pity, times when I wondered why I had
been spared death to continue this monstrous half life. Why me? I silently cried.
Why couldn’t I have died in that boxcar so long ago? I had no answer.
I had avoided the sun, but the next day I went out in it. As I suspected, I found
it uncomfortable and far too bright, but my flesh did not burn. With dark glasses
and a hat, I could move in the daytime if I chose.
I stole glasses and a hat that evening.