That was centuries ago, back when I had just changed. I spent the next five or six hundred years giving into my bloodlust as I wished. I earned many names over the years, Vlad the Impaler for instance, it was the one I had when I realized just how far I had fallen, and what kind of monster I had become. I faked my death and left the nation I had spent years crafting into a playground for myself to its’ own devices. I moved to England for a while, then to Scotland, where I had another relapse and gave into blood lust again for a few years. After I got control of myself once more, I moved to the newly founded American colonies and decided to try to make amends for my past by aiding them in their war of independence. The war was won, and I had a thought that I couldn’t shake; how long would I need to make amends for all I had done? I still haven’t found the answer, even now in the year 1892.

I am currently living in Boston and have been for the last thirty-six years or so. Except for the time I spent deployed on the front lines while fighting in the civil war that raged in America for a while. I had a few close calls during that time, all that blood everywhere brought me close to the edge of that great abyss a few times, but I never blinked when staring into it. I’ve kept my secret as safe as I could in recent years, but over the centuries I had made such a name for myself that now the myths of “Vampires” were well known. As of this moment I’m just getting for a wash. I need to make sure I’m not covered in blood while walking around; people tend to worry about stuff like that. I had my house, which is technically a converted light house, renovated specifically so that I don’t have to go outside if I don’t want to. You’re probably aware of the myth that vampires burst into flames in the sun, well that’s not quite right. The sun doesn’t hurt me, but rather it weakens me and makes me feel like a normal person who hadn’t slept in days would feel.

I took a bath and washed the clothes I was wearing to get the smell of blood out of them. Human senses may not be as sharp as mine, but if I stink then they might know I’m nearby. I heated the water and enjoyed my soak for a while, then toweled off and got some laundry cleaned. My life now isn’t too dissimilar from most peoples. I even have a job at the morgue, a perfect way to cover up the crimes I committed. The men I hunted may be criminals, but the police do still investigate when a pile of bodies shows up in the street. Normally, I would have taken the time to hide them or sneak them into the morgue, but last night I was in a rush. Most nights I will only go after one or two people, but these past few days the drug trade has become much more violent. I decided to do something about it. I stalked specific people I was able to deduce were involved and figured I would do the police a favor. My usual way of finding blood is go out to rough parts of the city and wait for a terrible crime to be committed, such as murder or the like, then I wait for a good opportunity to take them.

After laundry was done, I started getting dressed for work that day. I wore a dark hooded cloak with red trim and a pair of black dress slacks that my boss insists I wear at the office. On top of that I have a white, and neatly pressed, long sleeved dress shirt and white gloves to cover even more of my body. I finished throwing on my clothes after wrapping my face in some bandages, and a scarf for good measure as it was particularly bright out, then walked to work. I live about ten or fifteen minutes from the morgue, depending on the sun and how busy the market I cut trough is. I mad it in about eleven minutes that day and made sure I stuck to the shadows just in case. I walked into the back door as normal, closed the door behind me, and hung up my coat on a rack. I also undid my bandages and stored them in my desk along with my grey scarf.

“Good morning Vlad.” My boss, Mr. Theodore Fredrick exclaimed happily. Mr. Fredrick was a generally happy man, with whom it was not uncommon to see smiling for no reason.

“Good morning sir.” I greeted with a nod of my head and a polite smile back.

“It happened again, Vlad.” He said pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the front door of the building. I knew exactly what he was talking about but feigned ignorance.

“What happened again?” I asked.

“That killer the police have been chasing left a pile of bodies in front of the morgue. Just like he did seven months ago.” Mr. Fredrick explained. Six months ago, I found out that ten sex traffickers had started looking into the area for potential “resources” and hunted them one by one. I hadn’t bothered draining them to save time so there ended up being a big mess outside.

“Should I get the mop again?” I asked jokingly. Over the years I have figured out that if you pretend to be happier than you are, then most people are less likely to suspect you for anything. So, I have gotten very good at seeming to be good.

“No need this time,” Mr. Fredrick started, “the killer drained them all of their blood, like some kind of absolute fiend.” I didn’t react to his hash words; over the centuries I have definitely been called worse.

“I take it to mean that you’ve already performed the autopsies?” I inquired while sliding on my surgical apron that we wear and rolling up my sleeves.

“On some of them yes, but it is a simple matter of deductive reasoning to assume that if three of them have no blood, then neither will the rest.” He boasted and twirled his broad handlebar mustache.

“Shall I finish the others?” I asked him. I wasn’t fond of the idea that he might accidentally stumble upon any actual evidence that might lead the police to me, so I would prefer to do them myself to hide what needs to be hidden.

“That would do me some good I think.” He answered. “I’ve needed to use the toiletries for an hour now and run errands. So, I will be ack by noon, please have them done by then if you can.” Mr. Fredrick requested and threw on the jacket he wore every day. He then gave a smile, a wave, walked out the door, and left me to my work.

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I cut up the body in a way that would make it seem as if I had done a proper autopsy, and even made up a few things for the paperwork, being sure to mention the lack of blood so that it would seem more convincing and closed the men up. I also made up a few details that I hoped would throw the police of the trail and confuse anyone who seriously into the deaths. I spent the rest of the few hours I had answering any calls that came for us and just general cleaning up around the office. That is, until I heard the bell ring in the front room.

“Hello?” I called out and walked to see who was there. It was Miss Annabelle Wilson, a local journalist who had been investigating the recent rash of murders sweeping the city. “Ah, hello miss Wilson. How can I help you?” I asked the you lady. She was around twenty-six years of age, like to wear the most outlandish of frilly colored dresses, today it was a bright green with black trim, and large hats with puffy feathers.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times Vlad, you are allowed to call me Annabelle.” She smiled softy and corrected.

“Apologies, how can I help you Anabelle?” I put on a fake smile and gestured towards a seat. Miss Wilson has taken a liking to me, for some unknown reason. I hold no illusion of my appearance, I am a pale frail looking man, which helps sell the persona of a sickly weakling that hides me from most suspicion.

Miss Wilson gracefully sat in the chair and stated, “I’m here because I wished to as you a few questions about reports of another pile of dead bodies laid out in the street in front of the morgue, just as had happened not a few months prior.” I smirked, and sighed, she is a woman of a ferocious nature.

“Annabelle, that’s an open police case. Meaning I cannot discuss any matters regarding it.” I explained, just as I had done many times before. This wasn’t the first time she had come to the morgue in search of answers to questions I would prefer no one asked.

“Oh, come now, surely there is something you could tell me?” She pleaded and gave me a look that made her eyes seem bigger than normal, like a dog begging for scraps at his owner’s table. Women in this new century are far more brazen than they were in my day, not that I mind truth be told. I know Miss Wilson well enough to understand that she is not above using tricks and her pleasant smile to extract information from some soft minded men. But a beauty she may be, inside lays a keen mind, and I need to be wary when speaking to her, lest she see something that puts her on my trail. She is like a bloodhound, once she gets a scent, she follows it to her prey, not unlike myself.

“I’m sorry Annabelle, but the rules are the rules. I can’t give you anything.” I told her. She rolled her eyes and crossed one of her ankles over the other.

“You know, if keep denying me, I might start to think you don’t like me anymore.” She teased and began to fan her face with her notepad.

“I like you fine Annabelle, but it’s better you stop asking questions about matters such as these. Surely the public doesn’t wish to read about gruesome murders.” I said hoping to turn the conversation to what the public wishes to read about.

“So, you admit the murders were gruesome.” She happily exclaimed. I shook my head.

“If you have nothing else Annabelle…” I let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

“How about a date then Vlad, if you are so keen to get me out of here.” She smiled. She knew my answer already, as we had done this dance many times before.

“As lovely as you are Annabelle, I am still happy in my marriage to my work.” I remarked.

“Perhaps next time then.” She winked and took her leave of the morgue and of me, hopefully for a while. The clock chimed eleven and I went back to cleaning for a few more minutes before Mr. Fredrick came back whistling his favorite tune. Some song about a blacksmith toiling near a furnace, rather upbeat, which fit him well.

“Hello sir,” I greeted him.

“Hello Vlad, did you finish those autopsies yet?” He asked.

“Yes, and with enough time to spare to clean up a bit.” I said and sat down, acting as if I were completely exhausted.

“Don’t work yourself too hard, a man with your chronic fragility shouldn’t push himself.” Mr. Fredrick was a kind man, more caring than I have ever been, and rather gullible. When he hired me, he inquired why I looked as if I were already knocking on death’s door myself. I told him I had a condition in my blood that made my appearance different and caused me to bleed less when cut. He assumed I also was as weak as I looked, so I never bothered to correct him. Something I learned a long time ago is, when a man comes to a conclusion, if you reinforce it, it must sure be the truth, and no amount of evidence, no matter how correct, will ever convince him otherwise. This is another way I hide my true nature, for in his eyes I could never commit such heinous acts due to my “condition”; or rather, would not be able to. “Have you eaten yet Vlad?” He asked.

“No sir, not yet.” I answered him.

“I stopped on my way back at a café and had something. You should take a break and get yourself some food,” Mr. Fredrick suggested.

“Thank you sir. I think I shall.” I said and gathered my things. I rewrapped my bandages, put in my coat and gloves, and left. Mr. Fredrick knew of my bandages, and I explained that due to my condition I burn in the sun rather easily, a lie he believed well enough. I wasn’t worried about food as I don’t actually need to eat anything but blood, although I can if I want. Instead, I spent my lunch break the same way I always do, researching my next meal. I took an hour visiting brothels, watching back-alley deals, and talking to other people that civilized society would deem wretched. I have one specific person, who is somewhat aware of my secret, that deals in information trade. He funnels me name, locations, and sometimes even one of those newfangled photographs so that I can tack them. “Good evening Marshal.” I greeted him. He jumped in surprise, I had made sure he hadn’t seen me when I approached by taking the rooftops and landing as quietly as possible a few meters behind him.

“Good grief, how do you always do that Alucard?” He asked. Alucard was the name I gave him when we met.

“Anything new for me?” I asked avoiding his question.

“Yeah,” he said in his gruff haggard voice, most likely cause by years of smoking his pipe. “Word is, a few of the men you took out last night had friends. They are making a big deal in two days at noon.” He smirked and added, “but I know how your types feel about the sun so…”

I cut him off with, “I’ll take care of it. Where will they be?”

He waved a fly out of his face, “at the docks, in a warehouse. Number seven I think.” Without another word I turned and walked away. He called out sarcastically, “good chat as always.”