“Here I lie on the ground soaked in my own crimson blood. The moon is snickering at my frail frame; laughing at the pathetic site of my agony. I hate myself. I hate what I am. I hate this plague that is poured upon my skin. God, please just let me die. Let my cursed and broken body be tossed into the deepest pits of Hell. Please show me mercy even though I don’t deserve it. Lucifer, I’m begging you in my despair, please this time just let me die.”

“Stop! STOP! Let me rot.”

I recall saying this; these very same words many times before. Satan, that coward, just won’t let me die. I’m sick of this feeble, forsaken mind. I’m sick of the maroon moon. I’m sick of people naming objects after my cursed habits. Harvest moon, the harvest moon is when I feast. To my prey, it is just a red moon.

Look at those fear-driven cowards and their family; they deserve to be feasted upon. They go about every day murdering my kind, just to watch us burn. I’m sick of it! They don’t think about what they kill. I have family too you know, except I haven’t seen them since I was turned. I probably wouldn’t recognize them now even if you offered them to me to save yourself, but I do remember my son, he is the very reminder that once I was something worth saving.

In my dreams and in my pain I see him, scared and alone. I’m sorry, my son, if you should read this. It wasn’t my choice, but it was my fault. Your mother was such a beautiful maiden, the flawless image of the sea. I’m sorry, my dear son, that I lost control of myself and that because of me she couldn’t be there for you.

My son, you were so young. I am going to tell you things that won’t make sense, but at least you will know.

On June 14, 1892, I deliberately disobeyed my father and wandered out into the bleak Transylvania night. There were warnings and rumors of sightings of the plagued Grim wolf all over town. The rumors spoke of a wolf that woke at night; a night wolf that brought death and insanity to all those who came across its path.

Naturally I denied the claims; tossed them aside. This was my mistake; for I wandered out into the night, the witching hour and sure enough I saw it. The big black beast stalking the night; my presence pleasing it. That creature; that dog of Satan sunk its long venomous fangs into my left shoulder, but before I could scream, I was already waking up.

I lay on a straw cot on the witch doctor’s porch. My father was too mad to look at me; my mother’s face was soaked with tears. The witch doctor pulled out my canine teeth hoping it was still early enough for the curse to leave my body. Those four canine teeth would have become my other half’s venom fangs.

The doctor prayed with the priest and my family. He had pulled out the fangs before the curse had consumed me, but not before it could turn me. Every full moon from that point on I became the object of those very same rumors that I denied.

The curse hadn’t consumed me, so I could refuse it; I could refuse to change every day. Every day except the harvest moon; that bloody moon loved me more than your mother ever did—until that dreadful night when I lost my temper. Why did that dreadful night have to be the night of the full moon? It all happened so fast, I’m sorry my son, but I couldn’t stop myself. At least that good Samaritan shot me with the lone silver bullet that saved your life. That lone silver bullet; my best friend.

I’d thank that bullet with all my soul, if Satan would just let me go. If that fiend, that foe, would just let me die. Just let my body rot. Let my cursed soul catch fire and burn.

Good Samaritan, I thank you for giving my cursed soul a chance of burning in Hell.

My son could you please find it somewhere in your innocent and pure soul to forgive me. If you could do that one thing, that one small favor, I would be happy. I would be the happiest that I have been since you were born, if you can do me that small task.

My wife up there in Heaven, I’m sorry I can’t join you, I’m sorry that I couldn’t control myself. For what it is worth my darling wife, I’m sorry that killed you out of my stubborn insecurity. I’m sorry that I killed you with my pride.

I’m sorry dad, my father that I did not listen. I’m sorry dad that I let you down.

“Mother I’m sorry that I’m not dying. I’m sorry that my stubbornness gave me this curse that against my will makes me heal.”

Good Samaritan, I beg you please take my son and run. For I don’t wish to harm you or him, but I don’t think I have the option of holding my other side, that blasphemous beast, in contempt. Good Samaritan, you have about five minutes to take him in run, for I feel the rush of my other half surfacing within me to have more fun.

Good Samaritan……son…….please God forgive me for what I have done. I need to die. Someone please shoot me. Please someone help a dozen silver bullets pierce my heart and lungs. Please Satan leave my side and let me rot; let me die. This cursed life of mine can’t be timed and only eternity its self can end it.

Eternity is my enemy then, an enemy that I can’t kill. I want to die. Please God set your fist on me.

Satan, please leave me. Leave me and let me die. Satan, you have my soul already, what more do you need. I haven’t got anything else worth taking. Satan, please release my soul from my body and rid me the sight of my walk of death.

My guardian angel, now it is to you I speak; leave me now and forsake me. Hope of me ever entering Heaven has long since been forgotten. Guardian angel, thank you for your faith, but I must leave you to leave this life. I must leave you so I may die.

Again guardian angel I thank you for letting me speak.

I thank all my foes for making my life misery. Now I thank you Satan, my life has been long and Hell. I thank you for finally letting me die to enter Hell. This day, the day of my death, even in Hell is by far the happiest day because this is the happiest I have ever felt.



Fresno, United States

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