The Amethyst Curse

By Chantelle Thomson

Alexandria Taylor, Alex to most, lived the life of any average young adult since 1929 under the guise of a human. But it’s not always easy to live amongst your prey, as a vampire with animal instinct.
Then one day, after 85 years living as one of the only vampires in the world, fate came knocking on her door, in the form of another vampire. Suddenly dragged into a world Alex never knew existed, she is forced to face the facts of her past that lead her to this life.
Things only get worse when Alex stumbles upon a murder. But it’s no coincidence. After being framed and locked up for the murder, Alex must break out and find the real murderer before her captors find her. As she pieces together the clues, it becomes evident that she was a part of a much bigger plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483533841

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Glïchezäre

INTRODUCTION

Humans hear about vampires throughout mythology and folklore stemming from many millennia ago and each region of the world holds their own lore and belief system about the creatures of the world. These tales inspire new stories of fiction seen all over the world in the 21st century in books and cinema.

Blood drinking demons were supposedly first depicted by the Persians, though almost every culture has their own lore adapted from what their people claim to have witnessed and believe to be true. For example, tales about their drinking habits ranged from being exclusively newborns (drinking their life source for immortality,) to mothers and their children, to any human at all. Some Vampires were said to be devilishly unattractive creatures, others angelically beautiful spirits of the night, descriptions sometimes almost mirroring those of actual demons or angels.

While most lore claimed vampires to be undead, that is, a creature that died and became reanimated after death, the Ancient Greeks’ versions weren’t believed to be so, but demonic blood-drinkers nonetheless.

12th century Hungarian lore spoke of one particular blood drinking demon by the name of Izcacus , who was the only vampire, without the ability to turn others into vampires. The Greeks had Lilith, the demon drinker of babies’ blood. Indians believe in the wandering soul of a man named Bhuta who drank blood and attacked the living, turning them into vampires. Africans tell of Asanbosam. The classic novel Dracula by Bram Stoker was based on Irish and Scottish mythology including the legend of Droch-fhola and his castle. Roman lore included two races, Moroi and Strigoi, the latter being the more evil, often confused with witches and being said to posses two hearts or two souls, sometimes both. This idea of having two hearts or souls, (often an attribute associated with witches) is echoed in Slavic lore, though they didn’t agree with the two races.

The Greek lore described that one could become a vampire in their afterlife, roaming the earth as undead, by being excommunicated, desecrating a religious day, committing a grand crime, dying alone, being cursed, or even a cat jumping over one’s grave. Slavic lore is similar, though causes also include being victim of an unnatural or untimely death, or certain burial rituals.

In more modern times, the 18th and 19th century Greeks would go to such great lengths to stop a human from becoming a vampire that bodies were commonly exhumed and a sort of exorcism ritual performed on the bodies. Romanians had a similar ritual of unearthing and cleansing their dead after a certain period of time had passed since one’s death.

Crosses, wards from the Church, and piercing the heart with an iron nail were all thought to be wards against vampirism according to the Greeks, with the last resort being to set alight a body. South Americans believe in aloe vera hung backwards by a door to protect their families against vampire intrusion or attacks.

Some cultures even believed their version of vampires would transform into a certain animal to give it certain advantages when fleeing from humans hunting them. Some were very symbolic, such as the Slavs, who believed vampires could turn into butterflies, often a symbol of renewed life or a new beginning. Africans believed they would turn into fireflies or great majestic birds of prey. Greek Lilith could supposedly turn into a cat. Others say vampires can transform into bats.

Of course, this is all hokum – mythology and folklore – some of which may be based on true vampires, but most of which obviously isn’t. Because the story I’m about to tell you is the way the world really is, and you’d do well to remember that as you read my story. The lore the world should be taking note of is as follows.

PROLOGUE

There is a lot the world still doesn’t know. There is also a lot that the world thinks they know. They are usually wrong.

Predation: the interaction between two beings of the Animalia kingdom, whereby one aims to capture, maim and eventually eat (in part or as a whole) the other. How to avoid being the one preyed upon is as simple as knowing whereabouts you lie on the food chain and who you are prey to. Insects, for example, tend to have pretty tough luck, even considering their inbuilt defences, due to their unfortunate lack of size, weight and small-scale abilities when compared to, say, a tiger or even Fluffy the housecat living down the street. To combat this, they make good use of those wings and stay out of reach of the average tiger, housecat, spider’s web, or human’s fly-swat.

Arguably the best predator is the Desmodontinae – commonly, the Vampire Bat. These little bastards are experts when it comes to navigating the food chain, since they are the only mammal that can fly, the only species of bat that can run, are nocturnal, and have a diet consisting purely of the blood of other mammals, usually much larger than themselves. Being so petite, they are able to sneak out while the rest of their hemisphere is at rest and tap into nature’s private food supply all for them – usually in the form of a tender, juicy cow – all without being seen, heard or felt. Their prey is none the wiser the following morning, bar a couple of tiny teeth marks which tend to go unnoticed. Heat sensors in their nose tell them where to find the best source of warm blood close to the skin. Eventually they bite and lap up the blood as it flows out of their prey.

Xenopsylla cheopsis: essentially, a flea. In more descript terms, a specific flea with the ability to carry a certain zoonotic virus which must pass through the vampire bat, (non-essentially, through livestock, though this step is more for practical purposes) to a human. Once the virus is transmitted to a human, the human body’s simple regime of headache, fever and chills onset while the body attempts to fight off the intruding virus’ cells. Next is the coma, during which time heart rate and breathing slow dramatically and pupils dilate, giving the victim a deceased appearance. Most humans during this stage are presumed dead and buried, meaning that they suffocate and die. The small number of victims who are strong enough to come out of the coma (which otherwise commonly results in death) do so at nightfall and are never the same again.

The transformation essentially allows them the same physiological benefits that vampire bats have over their prey. They have fangs which pierce the skin to draw out blood, which they live on as a supplement for any other food or drink. They have greatly heightened senses of taste, hearing, smell, eyesight, and even touch. The same as vampire bats, the altered human creatures take on the same nocturnal quality, however they are hyper-sensitive to natural light; in the sunlight they burn. Speed is another part of the package, meaning that they can run at roughly double the average speed of a human sprinter. This asset is based on the vampire bat’s ability to run across the ground fast and attack from there – they’re the only bat with this quality.

Moreover, for all intents and purposes, they’re dead. No heartbeat, no blood flowing under their skin, organs all dead, and therefore cold to the touch. But the best part of all is that they’re immortal and something in the new makeup of their blood cells allows rapid healing of even the most severe wounds. Only extreme exposure to sunlight, pure silver, or obviously decapitation – which is pretty hard to heal – can truly kill them.

I am not exactly an expert myself on the topic, mind you, I only know this stuff from what I was told over 100 years ago when… well, that’s another side of the story I’ll get to later. The point is that I’m not an expert, so I don’t know where the skill comes from in relation to the vampire bat’s existence, but the infected human creatures also have the power to compel a human into believing certain things. The vampire performing the compulsion must actually believe in what he is making the human believe, and therefore the statement must have some truth to it. For instance, occasionally these altered creatures feed off a human who is still awake and compels him or her into believing that he won’t hurt them and they will not remember what happened afterwards, so as not to get caught by human authorities. This allows them to remain inconspicuous to humans, but also he truly believes that he will drink without hurting this human and that his compulsion will wipe that person’s memory of the feed.

The point is that while they’re extremely dangerous and the best predator to ever walk the earth, there are very few of these infected humans around today, and I cannot stress that enough. However, those who survive the coma until the following nightfall are the strongest in body and will, and learn quickly how best to continue their survival. They are the top of the food chain and the best predators in the world.

They are called vampires, and I am one of them.

The difference with me though is that I wasn’t created by nature. There are two ways in which a human can become a vampire: the way I described, which we call infected, or the way I was created, which is to be turned.

For a human to be turned into a vampire basically requires a blood swap followed by death. The vampire drinks the blood of the human he or she wants to turn while the human is conscious, and then feeds his or her own blood back to the human. Then the human dies with vampire blood still in their system. Whether the death is natural or caused by the vampire or even another human doesn’t matter; the deed is done. The vampire blood inside the human heals them of the fatal wound and shortly they encounter the same process that a newly infected human would: the headache, fever, chills and coma. If the victim survives the coma until the next night, he or she awakens as a vampire.

Obviously the chances of surviving either aren’t great, however humans’ immune systems grow stronger as time progresses and the species is less likely to die out with the option of turning humans.

The very first vampire was obviously created the natural way by infection, and those who are infected are rare, notoriously extremely old and powerful in their acquired skills, and known amongst us as ancients. Every turned vampire therefore stems from an infected ancient.

I learnt all of this information about what I am and our heritage when I was first turned, in the first torturous years of my vampiristic state before I was abandoned to fend for my own in the world. Since then, I’ve integrated into human life, and life was all fine and dandy until the year 2014 when a stranger knocked at my door and changed my entire life and challenged the way I perceived everything.

CHAPTER ONE

Now, I know I said that we are an intelligent race, having survived for over a century myself, and being the strongest to survive the transformation, however I am still myself in my personality and physical being. By this, I mean that while I do my business at night, prefer to fly rather than carpool, and drink the blood of my fellow beings, I am still a 20-year-old who barely had the chance for the raging teenage hormones to leave my body and – now, it might just be me, but – boys these days seem to be getting increasingly better looking. Maybe breeding hasn’t gone to the dogs after all, if I am truly seeing what I think I’m seeing. Or maybe humans look more appealing to me because of my age; the majority of my senior class are rotting underground and the rest are pissing themselves in their nightgowns on the night nurse’s watch. Meanwhile, these hormones never get easier to deal with. One night I’m at a slumber party playing truth or dare and making out with some Mister Tall-Blonde-Hair-and-Blue-Eyes in the next room to the party, and the next I’m wondering how a generation bred amongst such advanced technology and medicine can produce offspring with so little respect for the world and their fellow beings. I say this, of course, as my dared intimacy partner decides I bite a little too hard and our time in the closet is up. What, I thought guys liked the odd lip bite or ear nibble?

Alright boys, time to send you packing. My ‘rents won’t let me have boys stay overnight and us girls have pedicures to do. The announcement from our host was followed by a chorus of high-pitched screeches of affirmation and manly grunts of disgust.

Considering I was born in 1909 and turned into a vampire in 1929, I think I have this new-age young adult act pretty down pat. I even have my own iPod and a personal laptop computer to load on my music. I buy music online, have a bank card, and an email account. But as for anything further than my own personal online entertainment, I do not engage in such websites as YouTube or Facebook or blogging. I have been able to successfully adapt my vocabulary with the times since I integrated into human society many decades ago and can now go fairly well undetected around a university campus or shopping centre, communicating and dressing the same as my prey as I live among them. I’ve got a pretty good gig going on.

While sleepovers or slumber parties are a brilliant way to feed, surrounded by tender adolescents, I’ve found they rarely actually sleep among company. It’s also tough to justify why I should be sleeping through every minute of daylight, in pitch black.

Hey, um, Carla? I won’t be staying the night either. My mother needs me to drive her to work in the morning. Erm, her car is getting serviced… and she works weekends. Twenty-odd heads turn in my direction. That was a lie, since I don’t have a mother anymore, but these people didn’t know that.

Chorus: Aww!

That sucks. Well, I guess we’ll see you next week then. That’s Carla. You can tell she was slumber-party-hosting, prom queen type in high school. She’s the type who wears far too much makeup and dresses or midriffs to university when everyone else is in jean pants, oversized sweaters and Ugg boots, half-asleep and living off at least a litre of coffee a day. She makes friends easily and sort of just slots into the role of leader of whatever group she is with. Most of her friends are like her in that they’re confident, outgoing and smart. To be honest, I don’t know how I came to join Carla’s group. I’m quiet and reserved, but I guess that means I do a lot of thinking and analysing, giving me a one-up socially since I can recall all the best new tunes, movies and fashions – in their opinions, that is.

Stepping outside into the soft mid-spring breeze, I located Ol’ Reliable, my old semi-rusted Honda that I had bought for nights like these, when flying simply wouldn’t be appropriate. The engine stalled before I eventually set off and putt-putted my way home at no more than 40 kilometres per hour. By around 3am I was climbing the four narrow brick steps which lead to the small porch area of the old house I had resided in for the past 40 years, give or take. The solid old thing had been a part of my family’s history for well over a century, starting with my grandmother, so my mother once told me. Being built in the early 18th century, it had the chance to acquire a sort of personality, as generation after generation tended its gardens and sunk money into keeping the old Federation style architecture alive.

I pushed the old, bronze key into the keyhole in the wooden door, and turned slowly so as not to damage the ancient lock. Granted, my humble abode was more a show of antique aesthetics than a practical home for the undead, but it had solid grounding and served the purposes of a home well. Relieved to finally be away from society, my spacious bedroom and soft, large, four-posted bed seemed to beckon me into a state of peace and restfulness. I quickly stripped out of the tight dress and heels I had worn to Carla’s and threw on my favourite baggy sweatshirt and denim shorts, determined to go with the relaxed vibe I had created for myself within my home. Having fed only the night before – knowing that I would be out most of tonight – my cheeks held a lovely vanilla pallor and my mouth felt moist with a vague saltiness still held on the tips of my fangs. All the housework was recently up to date, and with that in mind, what else was there to do tonight but read, watch movies and relax?

Collapsing on the daybed in the corner of my bedroom, I pulled out my favourite classic and started where I had left off, roughly a third of the way through F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, for the second time since its publication in 1925. Unfortunately my mild state of Zen was knocked on its head when the crunch of gravel from outside invaded my thoughts. Being the one of only about six blocks of land in the small town in which I resided, chances were that the neighbourhood visitor was mine.

Vampires generally are not social creatures, having abandoned their entire family and any friends or social circles in the community the moment they were turned, and then moving around the world as soon as it became noticeable that we hadn’t aged a day since moving in. Living so far into the outskirts of any well-populated towns, I’d been able to keep out of sight fairly well until I got so bored I pursued my current study venture to complete a university course for the first time, which I was doing mainly for fun, attending night courses and doing the rest online (which I had been allowed to do on the basis of a medical condition). Needless to go on, I didn’t expect visitors often, especially after three in the morning on a Friday night.

I jumped to attention and flattened myself against the wall by the front door, silently cursing the fancy patterned and colourfully stained glass which fitted the entire window frame and allowed me no sight of my driveway – like I said, not entirely practical, but enough. Now on high alert, I listened carefully for any hint of who – or what – my visitor might be.

The ignition clicked off. Rattling and fumbling. A car door opened followed by a light step on the gravel. The second foot came out after a few seconds – did I detect hesitance? Crunches from the transference of weight and shuffling out of the way as the door swung closed. A light, almost delicate thud echoed across the wide, open property entrance telling me that it was probably a fairly new car – my guest had money. Solid footsteps made their way increasingly closer to the front door. Either my mystery visitor wasn’t another vampire or was simply already using his car for the night and therefore drove instead of flying. Either was just as likely a possibility and I decided I was probably too paranoid and thinking too deep. Before I had fully processed all of the information my senses were feeding me, the firm sound of work boots against brick steps knocked me back out of my own head. Finally, three sharp, evenly spaced