The rebellious vampire

I woke up with a strange feeling as my first sense. My surroundings felt small, and I shifted, searching for a more comfortable position. That’s when I realized it… I wasn’t in a bed. There was no soft plushness of a pillow against my cheeks, nor the firm but familiar comfort of my Tempurpedic mattress.

Instead, I felt a hard, grainy surface beneath me, and the scent of fall filled the air. It was a mix of vanilla, butterscotch, or perhaps the sweet, rich aroma of cider, enveloping me and making my nose its prisoner. Normally, such scents would bring me peace, reminding me of cozying up with a good book next to a warm fire. But something felt terribly wrong. The sensation beneath my skin left me feeling empty, and my stomach twisted. Or was it that I felt empty, not just in my stomach, but in a deeper, more profound way?

I reached out, brushing my fingers over the surface I once thought was my bed. A sharp prick confirmed that something was seriously wrong. Finally, I did what anyone might think was the most important thing to do in this situation: I opened my eyes.

They felt like sandpaper—so dry that I wondered if I had been staring at the sun for an eternity. I blinked against the disturbing sensation, but despite the searing pain, I couldn’t cry. I needed tears to soothe my weary eyes. I quickly closed them again, though they hadn’t stayed open for more than a minute. But I had seen enough to understand what was happening.

I was in a wooden box. The tightness I felt, the overwhelming claustrophobia, suddenly made sense. I waited for the panic to set in, for the rapid, uncontrolled breaths—but none came. In fact, there was no rise and fall of my chest at all. Was I dead? How had I died? And why, if I was dead, was I conscious of it? Wasn’t death supposed to be the final disconnection of the soul from the body? So why was my soul still lingering?

I wiggled my hips—I could move. I tapped my toes—I could still feel them. Against my better judgment, I ground my teeth, and yes, I could still do that too. Was I some kind of undead monster? The absurdity of the thought made me laugh, though it wasn’t funny. I must have been completely out of my mind.

I tried to take a deep breath—a gesture that turned out to be useless. The air entered my mouth and nose, and I could even feel it move through my body, into my bones, but it didn’t do much beyond that. My lungs no longer seemed to serve any real purpose. I raised my arms and, assuming I was trapped in a wooden box, began kicking and screaming. I feared I might be six feet underground, already buried, soon to be forgotten.

What scared me more was that it didn’t quite feel like fear—it was more of a detached observation, almost like an out-of-body experience, as if I were watching a stranger. It was cold where I was, and I tried to remember what season it was, but the memory escaped me.

With very little effort on my part, the lid of the box went flying—not just flying, but shredding into pieces.

Looking outside the box only left me with more questions than answers. I was lying inside a very old-fashioned coffin, but it was the room beyond that caught my attention. My eyes immediately focused on the details of the ceiling. The crown molding was intricate, telling a story—almost singing a song. If I could cry, I might have, because it was one of the most beautiful yet heartbreaking things I had ever seen.

A woman, half-naked with a baby in her arms, was painted there. She was clearly beaten and battered, but her eyes told a different story. They held a fierce resilience, as if she were saying, "You can beat me, you can kill me, but you'll never break me."

I tore my eyes away from the mural and focused on the door. Suddenly, I could hear piano keys in my ears—so vividly, as if the music were playing right in front of me. I had never played the piano, but the melody felt so real that if I closed my eyes, I was sure I could see it: a man playing with such passion, his fingers gliding effortlessly over each key. The song seemed to finish the woman’s story, adding the final, haunting touch.

I felt a strange tickle in my brain, and then—

"Finally awake, are you?" a voice glided almost like butter. I spun around, but there was no one else in the room. And yet, the voice hadn’t come from another room either—there was no echo on the walls to suggest that. It was as if it had come from within me.

My focus returned to the man. He was no longer playing the piano—now he had turned on the bench, his eyes fixed directly on me.

I had so many questions, especially about the trick he had just played on my mind. But the only words I could manage were, "Who are you?"

His response was simple: "Come."

Almost instinctively, I opened the door and began walking down a long, thick hallway lined with what had to be at least a hundred photos—all of the same man. The very man I had seen in that... vision? Trick? Dream? I wasn’t sure what to call it. What surprised me most was how the photos showed him living what seemed like dozens of different lives across various decades, maybe even centuries. One photo showed him as a young man, days away from heading to war in the drafts. Another showed him as a prince. One depicted him as far back as the Revolutionary War.

I settled on the idea that this had to be a dream. Nothing else could explain the sudden changes in my body—its new abilities, and the old yet useful things it seemed to lack now. And nothing could possibly explain why this man hadn't aged a day beyond 26, even after what looked like over 200 years.

Finally, I reached the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a massive door with an archway at least eight feet tall. I didn’t know why, but I was certain of what I’d find on the other side. It had to be him—the owner of the photos, the piano, the house. The door silently glided open, though I hadn’t touched it.

For the first time, something deep inside me—something old that hadn’t stirred in what felt like forever—screamed for me to run. None of this was normal, natural, or okay. Something was terribly wrong. But then I had to remind myself—I was part of that wrongness. Whatever had changed in me, whatever piece was now missing, this man was the key to it.

I stepped forward, accepting whatever came next. His eyes dazzled, dancing over my face and body. His smile reached every inch of his unsettlingly beautiful face. No one had the right to be this beautiful. His emerald eyes sparkled, his skin smooth and perfect like porcelain, and his teeth—sharp as kitchen knives.

Before my brain could process it, my mouth moved. “Aren't you an interesting... man.” The hesitation hung in the air, my uncertainty gnawing at me. Was he still human? Could something this far removed from humanity even be called a man anymore? Could I?

The thought lingered too long.

“You have questions?” His voice was smooth, too calm for the situation.

“Of course I have questions. Why was I in a coffin? Why am I not breathing? Why do I feel this constant tingling in my head? And most importantly, who are you? I don’t know you.”

He chuckled, the sound light and dismissive. “You don’t know me? Do you know anyone? Do you remember anything?”

His words sent a cold shiver through me. I hissed, my body instinctively reacting to his arrogance. How dare this stranger tell me what I did or didn’t know. But then, as the seconds ticked by, the truth in his words hit me like a stone. He was right. I didn’t remember him—but worse, I didn’t remember anyone. Not my mother, my father, my birthday, my favorite color. I couldn’t recall a single thing about my life before this moment. The realization clawed at me, unsettling me to my core.

“I don’t,” I admitted in a voice that felt foreign. “Why is that?”

“Because, my little shadow, you are a vampire. You’ve been reborn. Your old life—its memories—are no longer necessary.”

“And who decided that?” I shot back, the fire in my words surprising me. I didn’t remember my past life, but I could feel in my bones that I had never been one to go quietly.

He stepped closer. “I did.” He paused, examining my face with a hunger that mirrored my own growing need. “Are you hungry?”

At his words, a tightness gripped my throat, and a burning hunger overtook me. Then, a blonde girl entered, her adoring gaze fixed on him. Without warning, he grabbed her wrist and sank his teeth into her. Horror and desire collided inside me, twisting my gut. I wanted to feed, the thought terrifying yet intoxicating.

He turned to me, wiping his lips. “Your turn.”

I recoiled, pretending to retch. “You want me to bite her?!”

Before I could resist, his hand snapped to my head, forcing me toward her wrist. The hunger overpowered my will, and when I got close enough, I couldn’t stop myself. The thirst consumed me, and I gave in.

Her blood filled my mouth, hot and sweet, electrifying my entire body. My mind screamed in horror, but my body craved more. Each swallow dulled my feelings of being human, replacing them with a twisted, all-consuming hunger. The girl gasped beneath me, her pulse weakening under my grip, but I couldn’t stop.

Finally, he pulled me back, chuckling softly. “See? It feels good, doesn’t it?”

I wiped my mouth, trembling, unsure whether to scream or thank him. The hunger had receded, but it left me hollow, a darker part of myself now awakened. “What... have I done?” My voice shook.

“You’ve become what you were always meant to be,” he replied, almost affectionately. “My little shadow, now fully reborn.”

The girl collapsed onto the floor, her eyes fading, and for the first time, guilt gnawed at me. But beneath it, the hunger simmered, stronger now. I felt tethered to him, his words wrapping around me like a chain I couldn't break.

He watched me closely, a smile still playing on his lips. “You’ll learn to enjoy it in time. You’ll see.”

I stood there, trying to make sense of everything—of the hunger, the power, the girl now lifeless on the floor, and him, the vampire who claimed to have "reborn" me. The taste of blood lingered on my lips, repulsive yet intoxicating. The room felt suffocating, but something in his voice—a possessiveness that sent chills down my spine—kept me rooted in place.

“You’ll learn to enjoy it,” he said, still wearing that confident, smug smile. “You were always meant for this.”

My throat tightened. “How would you know? You don’t even know me.”

His smile deepened, a flicker of something darker passing through his eyes. “Oh, but I do.” He took a slow step closer. “More than you realize.”

A cold dread crept up my spine. His words hit me like a slap. “What do you mean?”

He circled me now, his footsteps silent, his presence overwhelming. “I’ve known you for years. Watched you. I chose you long before you ever saw me.” His voice was laced with amusement, as if he was enjoying my growing horror. “You didn’t think this was a random act of fate, did you?”

I froze, my mind scrambling to piece it together. Watched me? Known me for years? A flood of questions rushed to the surface, but none of them could break through the icy fear now gripping my chest.

“I’ve been following you, waiting for the right moment,” he continued, his voice like silk. “You were always so… intriguing. So full of life. I admired the way you moved through the world, unaware of the shadows lurking around you.”

Memories flashed in my mind—moments that I had brushed off as paranoia. The strange feeling of being watched when I walked home alone, the chills that crawled up my neck in crowded spaces, the unfamiliar faces in the background of familiar places. I’d always shaken it off as nothing more than nerves or coincidence.

But it wasn’t.

“You…” My voice trembled. “You’ve been stalking me.”

He didn’t deny it. His grin grew wider, more predatory. “I prefer the term ‘observing.’” He said it with such casual ease that it made my stomach turn. “I had to be sure you were the one. That you were worthy of this gift.”

My fists clenched at my sides. “Gift? You call this a gift?” I gestured to the girl’s body, to the blood staining my lips, to my own empty chest that no longer breathed. “You stole my life.”

“I gave you immortality,” he corrected, stepping closer, his voice low, almost seductive. “You should be thanking me.”

Anger surged through me, hot and blinding. “You think this is some kind of favor? You’ve been stalking me, watching me like a predator, and now you think I should be grateful?” I spat the words, my body shaking with rage.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my defiance. “Gratitude will come in time. Right now, you’re just overwhelmed. It’s natural. But soon, you’ll see things the way I do. You’ll understand.”

But I didn’t want to understand. My memories of who I was might be gone, but I knew one thing—I would never become what he wanted me to be. The revelation that he’d been watching me, controlling my life from the shadows, made my blood boil. He had taken everything from me, and now he expected me to fall in line, to become his creation.

“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to decide my fate.”

For a moment, something shifted in his eyes—maybe surprise, maybe anger. But his calm demeanor didn’t falter. “I already have.”

The rage inside me snapped, and before I realized what I was doing, I lunged at him, all my new strength and fury behind the attack. My hand closed around his throat, and for the first time, his smile faltered.

“Not anymore,” I snarled.

I knew I couldn’t kill him, not yet. He was too strong, too ancient. But I wasn’t powerless anymore either. I let go, stepping back as he straightened, his eyes narrowing in cold amusement.

“You’ve got fire,” he said, rubbing his neck as if I’d merely amused him. “I like that. But you’ll learn your place soon enough.”

“Maybe,” I said, my voice steady with newfound resolve. “But I won’t be your shadow. I’ll find a way to end this. To end you.”

His grin returned, sharp as ever. “We’ll see, my little shadow. We’ll see.”

As I turned and walked out of the room, the pictures lining the hallway seemed to mock me—photos of him throughout centuries, living countless lives while stalking other's, molding their fate for his own twisted purposes.

But now I knew the truth. And knowing that gave me the only weapon I needed—my will to fight back. He may have taken my past, but my future was still mine to reclaim. And I would, no matter what it cost me. He could beat me, he could kill me, but he'll never break me!

The rebellion had begun.