Ship of Fools

They knew who I was. They’d heard the stories, knew the legends and myths. While some tales are complete fancy, most hold some, if not absolute, truth.

It is safe to say my reputation preceded me. Even if it did not, I myself regaled them, told them who I was and of what I was capable. And still, they did nothing.

The fools should have known better than to think me merely entertaining. Even a child recognizes a leopard can’t change its spots.

As such, hear me when I say I should be assigned no blame for the events I describe henceforth.

Due to no fault of my own, a simple misunderstanding really, (laughable, that my few nocturnal sips from King George III’s noble neck should be considered the cause of his ensuing madness! The way he screamed and pleaded while I lapped up, well, it was quite obvious to me the man was starkers before I ever entered his bedchamber) I’d been forcibly shipped out and buried at sea under a boulder the size of a small house somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Eventually, a gargantuan, raging storm finally dislodged the offending mass, and I was ostensibly freed.

Loathe to leave the dark comfort of my watery grave and face the unknown, I remained another fortnight in the depths to gather my wits and devise a plan to get back to terra firma. I toyed with the idea of waiting until I was discovered by fisherman who might also bring my coffin to the surface, but seeing as it could take millennia to be found, I must escape, coffin be damned. I would swim for the nearest shore, travelling only at night, using my strong sense of smell, made stronger by an intense hunger, to gather and follow the scent-trails of living land creatures.

For many, many nights, I was directionless, earthbound animal-smells becoming no more and no less profound, and I began to lose hope. My skin grew wrinkled and grey, sloughing off in great strips and chunks. Though normally quick healing, constant immersion in salt water slowed its regeneration such that bone began to jut out where skin was thinner, at the elbows, shoulders, and ribs. Small fish became my constant companions, nibbling at my shredded, waterlogged hide.

Hunger became a near living thing inside me. During the day, inert and hidden on the ocean floor away from the destruction of the volcanic sun, I howled with the pain of it.

So, you see, the suffering and indignities I endured upon the high seas knew no bounds. It more than justifies what ultimately occurred.

That fateful evening, the moon was full, afloat in an ocean of stars above me, the actual sea’s vastness before me, black and pitiless. I swam on as before, directionless, until, wonder of wonders, I perceived on the horizon an otherworldly glow, almost as bright as the moon and stars above.

A ship.

I raced toward it, not caring about my appearance, how my epidermis hung in flaps, exposing my skeleton and insides in ways no warm-blooded creature could withstand and yet live. All I could hope is that I could get on board and heal without anyone seeing or identifying me. And once healed, I could mingle among the red-blooded, and when the time was right, feed in ways undetected until we docked somewhere.

I swam in a stupor of speed, and reached the gigantic ship just as the insidious sun began to turn the sky a hideously bruised purple. I clambered up the metal hull and collapsed onto the lowest open deck, where cool air slapped my entire body for the first time in weeks. Much as I would have stayed there to recuperate, the sky had already began to turn a wretched, fleshy pink. Large lifeboats covered with some kind of impervious shiny membrane, hung at the sides of the deck, and seeing as they might go unused unless the ship were sinking or anchored, I crawled, naked and shivering, under the membrane into the bottom of one. For the first time in an eon, I sank into something akin to a deep slumber.

I know not how long I slept, but when I awoke, my body was nearly entirely healed, save for a few spots that might be hidden by clothing if I were able to procure some. I peeked out of my erstwhile coffin to see that it was indeed night, and driven mad by my hunger, perhaps more piqued now that I was so close to sating it, I slid out onto the deck.

Was it my fault those first two hapless mortals crossed paths with me in the pale moonlight? Is it the lion’s fault an antelope carelessly stumbles downwind of him? They knew the stories. They should have been more cautious in the dark of night, even a-sail upon Poseidon’s realm.

The couple, a large man and larger woman, did not see me lurking in the shadows and strolled leisurely past me, alcoholic beverages of some sickly-sweet nature adorned with tiny paper parasols in hand. They paused, leaning against the rail mere feet from me, and slipped their arms about each other, little knowing it would be their final lovers’ embrace. All my plans to remain hidden, to partake surreptitiously with spiderlike grace, were subsumed by my starvation-level hunger. All reason left me as the smell of them drove me to madness. I set upon the hapless creatures, dragged them to my boat, and fed until they were drained, and my belly expanded taut and tick-like with their lifeblood.

Finally, finally sated after so many years of deprivation, I quickly undressed the male corpse, tossed both bodies overboard, and donned the man’s unusual garments, his overlarge blue cotton pantaloons and voluminous, short-sleeved blouson with verbiage printed upon it—“Got meats?” perhaps an ingenious attempt to advertise his butchery establishment named for his given last name “Arby,” since that, too, was writ upon the vestment. Terribly strange, but likely an effective sales technique, based upon the man’s healthy girth.

I ran my fingers through my hair, dark and lush again, but in need of a good barber’s attentions, and set about entering the throngs of humanity aboard this mighty, iron vessel, intending merely to gather information.

Instead, my senses and desires, too long sequestered, were beset by a feast of tempting sights, sounds, and smells. I entered a huge dining room, where a line of people of all shapes, sizes, and colours, snaked beside long cases of foods.

Good god, I tell you my mouth watered as I took in the human buffet before me, even though my esurience had been satisfied.

“Where you from, bro?” A male voice behind me brought me back to myself, to the present.

I turned with a polite smile across my lips, taking care to hide my straining canines, and bowed. “Good evening, sir. Enchanted to make your acquaintance.”

“Whoa, fancy!” The man laughed. “You from England or something?”

“Originally from Transylvania, but I emigrated to England near three hundred years ago.” I always try not to mislead my potential prey about what I am, for what would be the sport in that?

“Lol, man, that’s awesome!” The man laughed again and slapped me across the back, which caused my gorge to rise, and blood from my belly to spew forth in a rush upon the ground.

“God, bro! Are you okay?!” the man cried, then called out above the general hubbub, “Is there a doctor on board?”

“I assure you I am in fine fetters, my good sir,” I told him, gripping his arm and gently glamouring him with a look. “Merely a touch of indigestion.” Again, no lie. I endeavour to tell the truth if it will not cause general panic in the populace. “Now, I pray you, attend to your business.”

Thus enchanted, the man fell silent and moved away from me in a blissful trance. Others who had witnessed my carnal fountaining stared until I smiled a bloodied smile with all my teeth showing, and they skittered away from me post haste.

As I said, they knew who I was. They had witnessed it.

Several days passed. I continued my daytime slumbers in the covered boat and joined the people in their eating and drinking frenzies after the sun set, never hiding who I was when asked (“Count Dracula at your service”) nor correcting them when they laughed and said I must be “joking.” I learned we were on what was called “a cruise” to islands they called “the Bahamas” for “fun in the sun.” I told them I found the idea most repulsive, again to peals of laughter.

I became a most popular dinner guest, regaling the soft, naïve humans aboard with tales of my life and many banishments. No one shied away in fear when I spoke of my victims, just asked me question, and shook their heads with amazement and amusement. Had I been this open in the court of King George III, I would have been sent to the briny depths long before I could come anywhere near his blue blood. I could not determine whether these modern humans were foolish or brave.

Meanwhile, my hunger began to build again. I would need to feed soon.

I decided on an experiment I had never conducted before. Willing victims. Since they seemed so amused and unafraid, I asked for volunteers, who I promised I would not kill, but drain only to the point of slight weakness. In fact, I told the group of eight faithfuls who gathered round me, eyes wide, my draws would also remove any bad humours from their blood as well, a win for all.

After much discussion about the parameters, most of the eight walked away, shaking their heads and murmuring unfathomable things like “horror swingers” and “polyamorous weirdos” and “goth orgies.” In the end, only two pretty, young men of gentle nature and one older woman with more than a modicum of rouge upon her sallow cheeks, threw their hats in. Metaphorically-speaking, of course, since hats in this new era seem to be optional. And, I might add, highly unattractive.

But I digress.

We four agreed to meet the next night, at the stroke of midnight, in the older woman’s state room on what they deemed the “Fiesta” deck.

All during that day, I planned how best to dine, how to suckle without going too far, for though I felt no special tenderness toward these people, I am a man of my word. I intended not to kill them. I had managed it before, of course, but I had been kept away from my mortal quarry for more than two hundred years, and I feared the starved beast within me would rise as it had that first night on the ship. I resolved to count to twenty while at each neck, then rotate through twice more and be done.

When I arrived at the woman’s room, I was shocked to see the three in a state of complete undress, but I quickly saw the practicality—no clothing would be bloodied and destroyed during my feeding. So, I followed suit, removing my “Got meats” shirt and voluminous blue pantaloons.

“Ooo, look at the sexy vampire,” the woman crooned. “Suck on my neck first.”

She lay back on the bed, docile as a lamb, and when I crawled atop her, she moaned, and her eyes rolled back in anticipatory ecstasy. I leaned over her throbbing, blue jugular, felt my canines unsheathe, and I clamped on. She screamed, then the boys screamed, and suddenly everything was a turmoil of spraying crimson and blood-curdling screams, and I no longer cared whether they lived or died, because their screaming, if I did not stop it, would bring others who might not understand the consensual nature of our gathering.

And, so, yes, I drained them. But only out of self-preservation, or, as you say now, “self-defence.” I was so distended and blood-tired when guards came, that I went willingly and in full cooperation to the brig, where I remained until we landed in the Bahamas. I was then flown in a giant contraption (wonder of wonders!) back here to King George’s former American colonies for this trial, where I knew we could all come to some understanding over what is obviously a terrible misapprehension.

For, as you have heard, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the fools the prosecution claims I “murdered,” entered into a pact with me, fully cognizant of my nature. I cannot be blamed for their belief they could dance with the devil and pay no dues. I urge you to vote “not guilty” on the merit of my position, my lack of artifice and total innocence.

But if you decide to vote guilty, remember that my life is eternal, and my memory is just as long. I may serve consecutive life sentences if convicted, but when I emerge, you can be sure I will be ravenous, especially for anyone with your last name.