I’ve even watched some of those ridiculous shows on TV, those shows that are all growl and no results.
Foolish mortals. Yes, I say that in jest, but it’s the truth. Never send a human to do what a vampire can do better. I am, of course, the perfect hunting machine. My ears can pick out the smallest sounds, the slightest rustling—breathing from across great distances. My eyes see deep into the dark. Hell, to my eyes, there is no dark. The night is alive with incandescent light. And I’m fast. So much faster than those bumbling idiots weighed down by camera equipment and backpacks.
I will wear nothing but the clothing on my back.
It will just be me and them.
And I will find them, to.
Oh yes, I will.
The ultimate prize.
* * *
The woods are dark.
But not to my eyes. No, to my eyes, the woods are alive with supernaturally bright filaments of lights. Thousands of them, millions of them. All melding together to illuminate the night. At least, for creatures like me.
Hunters like me.
It is late, perhaps 2:00 in the morning. I have about four hours left before sunrise. And when the sun does rise, I want to be long gone...with a belly full of a rare and very prized blood source.
I’m in a prime spot along the Olympic Peninsula. In fact, not far from the now famous Forks, with its glittering vampires. Lord, we are so much more than fictional heroes...or villains. Writers only partially get our stories right. Mostly they get us wrong. Granted, I’ve made it my life purpose to cover my tracks, to conceal my true nature. But a few of us get sloppy, and a few of us even fall in love with mortals. I don’t fall in love. I take what I want.
Like now, for instance.
Now, I want to taste the blood of this legendary creature. This sasquatch. Yes, legendary even to vampires. You see, we vampires don’t know all, see all. We’re not plugged into some supernatural network. I, like the bungling idiots you see on TV, have to find them just like everyone else.
Except, of course, I will find them.
All I want is one.
One beautiful creature to feed upon. One beautiful creature to destroy. To claim, to be conquered by me.
Yes, I’m the asshole of the vampire world.
Pray you don’t cross paths with me.
* * *
Speaking of paths, I find myself on a narrow one now.
A game trail, no doubt, one that winds through thick ferns and stinging nettle. Of course, unlike with mortals, the stinging lasts only seconds. It’s good to be me. Bad to be anything I’m hunting.
Like sasquatch.
Speaking of which, I am in a location along the densely forested peninsula that was considered a hotbed for bigfoot sightings. I know this because I feasted on the director of a popular Bigfoot organization just last night. Such a shame he died tragically in a house wire. Damn faulty wires.
I chuckled now as I moved stealthily through the forest, my hiking boots whispering over tree roots, compacted dirt and fallen leaves. I doubted even an alert dog would hear me. Hell, I barely heard me...and that’s saying something.
I sensed something out here. Something that was neither animal nor human. What that something was remained to be seen. Or remained to be feasted upon.
Centuries of hiding—hell, millenniums of hiding—were about to be undone in one wild night of hunting. By a real hunter.
By a vampire.
Quickly I moved through the forest, pausing only briefly to listen, to sniff the air—sasquatches are known for giving off a tremendous stink—and to feel. Yes, feel. Vampires use a sort of sixth sense. An ability to feel our way through any situation.