Blood Passion: Volume One

By J.M. Valente

Book I

 This engaging, and gripping story, is the memoirs of young Michael Valli; a Modern Gothic American Horror chronicle which takes place in the present-day picturesque waterfront town of Mystic; which has a folklore history of Vampires allegedly residing there, circa the late Eighteen Hundreds.

   

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Jul 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954371903

Book preview

Blood Passion: Volume One

Copyright © 2021 by J.M. Valente

Published in the United States of America

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-954371-91-0

ISBN Hardback: 978-1-954371-92-7

ISBN eBook: 978-1-954371-90-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

Bible verses in English are from the King James Version.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of ReadersMagnet, LLC.

ReadersMagnet, LLC

10620 Treena Street, Suite 230|San Diego, California, 92131 USA

1.619.354.2643|www.readersmagnet.com

Book design copyright © 2021 by ReadersMagnet, LLC. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ericka Obando

Interior design by Mary Mae Romero

Review / Praise

"Here and Now for your reading pleasure!

Incorporated into One Volume, the awesome complete Macabre Trinity; of the unfortunate and forsaken Souls of Michael Valli and his daughter Rachael. This BLOOD PASSION Trilogy commences with the excellent Novels;

BOOK I~BLOOD PASSION, BOOK II~FAMILY BLOOD, and BOOK III~CHILD Of MALICE encompassing the first three Narratives in the Series of the genesis; of a Modern Gothic Vampiric curse. Here are J.M. VALENTE’s first three BLOOD PASSION Novels presenting themselves in one exclusive Collection to be devoured."

Jeannie Scott Flynn

~Dedication~

To all my loyal fans.

Thank you,

J. M. Valente

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prelude

Chapter One: The Old Typewriter

Chapter Two: Challenging

Chapter Three: Genesis

Chapter Four: Malice Rising!

Chapter Five: Inception!

Chapter Six: On The Town!

Chapter Seven: Paint The Town Red!

Chapter Eight: Home again, Home again

Chapter Nine: Malicious In Mystic

Chapter Ten: Malevolence

Chapter Eleven: Majestic Magnetism

Chapter Twelve: Mystical Passions

Acknowledgments

A special thanks to my Beta readers:

Jeannie, Debra, and Pam

for keeping me on track

With all the female dialogue and interactions.

~And~

for help with the editing:

the GINGER Program

and

my FIRE TABLETS.

Prelude

IT WAS EARLY evening on their last full day of vacationing in Mexico, when Vincent Weiss, a six-foot, slender, fair-haired, light-skinned, handsome man, and his wife of four years, Vanessa, a five-foot-four inches slender, fair-haired, light-skinned attractive female, came back to their room at the hotel to find a large Bat flying around. Immediately Vanessa wanted Vincent to call the front desk, with her arms held over her head as she backed away from it until her back was against the opposite wall from the Bat.

Vincent believed he could handle this himself, so he picked up a floor lamp approached the culprit, swinging it wildly with his right hand while covering his head with his left. He hit it and sent it catapulting into the corner of the room with what he figured was just dumb luck, where it fell to the floor. It lay there quite still, except for a slight twitching of one leg.

Vanessa breathing a sigh of relief looks at her husband, who was breathing a little uneasy, and asked sternly,

Now, will you call the front desk?

Just a moment, hun. I want to take a closer look at it before I call anyone. He answered.

Vincent squats down to get a closer look at this Bat; it didn’t look to him like any Bat he had ever seen before. First of all, it was larger than anyone he had seen and had unusually long fangs, and its face almost looks Human. Spending many of his summers on his uncle’s farm in Connecticut as a young boy, he had seen many Bats in the barn but never one that looked like this.

Vanessa realizes the time. They had a dinner reservation in thirty minutes; she reminded Vincent of it announcing.

Vince, sweetheart, we need to get going to our dinner reservation!

That’s right, honey, I had forgotten about it. Let’s dress and go!

He agreed and suggested.

What about the Bat?

She inquired.

Don’t worry about it hun, I’ll leave a window open, so when it wakes up, it will more than likely fly out.

So they freshened up, changed their clothes, and left for dinner, not giving another thought about the Bat.

About thirty minutes after they had left, the Bat revived, but it didn’t fly out the window as they had hoped. Instead, it found its way into the packed and opened red suitcase on the bench at the foot of their bed, for they would be leaving in the early morning and wanted to be packed and ready. The Bat crawled in under some clothing and settled in to convalesce.

They awoke early, dressed, grabbed their luggage, and hurried off in a taxi to the airport. The only thought they gave to their intruder was that they were happy not to find it in their room when they arrived back from dinner.

Arriving home to Cedar Lane, Mystic, Connecticut, midday Sunday, they had what was left of the day to get ready for the start of the coming work week. Vincent took the suitcases and put them upstairs in their master Bedroom. Vanessa remembered she had packed an outfit she had planned to wear but didn’t, so she decided to get it out of her red suitcase to wear to work on Monday. She entered the room, to find it a little stuffy, so she opened a couple of windows, found her suitcase on the bed and began to open it. She thought she felt movement in the bag and shrugged it off as her imagination. Opening the bag, she saw the clothing moving and backed away from it. As her back hit the wall, she saw something black find its way onto the top of her clothes, with its mouth gaping, showing the full length of its fangs and its red eyes staring at her intensely. She let out a scream and yelled to her husband downstairs,

Vincent, come up here quick!

Vincent heard her and quickly made his way to their Bedroom. He entered the room in time to catch a glimpse of something black flying out one of the windows.

Vanessa moved toward Vincent and hugged him, sobbing,

Oh, Vince, it was the Bat!

Well, it’s gone now, so let’s get back to what we were doing and forget about it. Okay?

He comforted her.

She wholeheartedly agreed.

Outside, the Bat was looking for someplace to roost. It flew around Cedar Lane and made its way into the Attic through an open window for ventilation of the large Victorian house at the end of the road.

CHAPTER ONE

NE The Old Typewriter

Moving In

TWO WEEKS AFTER Michael Valli’s Grandfather died. He began to move into his Grandfather’s large Victorian house at the end of Cedar Lane in Mystic, Connecticut. Michael, a lean, thirty-two-year-old, tall, dark, and handsome young man of five-foot-eleven, was the only Grandchild and had visited with his Grandfather every chance he could. They had spent much time together and became very close.

Michael was born an only child and grew up in Woonsocket, Rhode Island, on Pine Street. His mother was the only child of his beloved Grandfather. His father always seemed too busy to spend time with him; therefore, Granddad would be there for him as Michael fondly called him.

When Granddad suddenly died, it was no surprise to anyone that he left his Victorian house and a substantial amount of money to Michael. His Grandmother had died nine years earlier. His mother had made it very clear to her father that she didn’t want the house, making Michael the likely inheritor, which his mother always wanted for her son.

Back in the nineteen forties, Michael’s Grandfather had bought about sixty or so acres of land in Mystic, Connecticut, at a very low price. This land ran from Cedar road to a cliff overlooking the ocean. He cleared a road to the Cliff and built his large Victorian home, with the back of the house about thirty-five feet from the cliff.

That made it the last house on the road that was eventually named Cedar Lane.

In the nineteen fifties and sixties, he divided the unused land into lots and started to sell them off lot by lot. Needless to say, he made quite a bit of money, hence Michael’s inheritance.

It took Michael about a week to move in. When he was just about settled, some of his neighbors who knew him came by to pay their condolences and welcome him to the neighborhood permanently.

Finding Something To Do

He walked Cedar Lane, talking to some of his neighbors, thanking them once again for their commiserations and salutations. They were all happy to have him now living in the neighborhood and not just visiting his Grandfather for a while and then going back to Rhode Island. Some of them asked Michael what he planned to do with his time because they knew–but didn’t say–he had inherited a good amount of money and didn’t need to work at a job. He told them that he was playing with the idea of authoring a book of some kind and asked if any of them had any thoughts on subject matter, especially the women, because, in general, women did more reading than men and formed book clubs. He needed something that would be in the mainstream interest of the general reading public. One of the women mentioned to him, Vampires and Cyber Space stories were starting to become popular. Michael took this as excellent food for thought. He then announced to them that if he does this, they would not be seeing much of him, and they shouldn’t be too concerned. Because once he started, it would be full speed ahead until it was finished!

Back at his house, Michael sat on the front porch, taking a relaxing break from his move-in. All he had left to do was finish putting his clothes away. Just when he decided it was time to go in and finish, he noticed a taxi cab pull up in front of the house three doors down on the right-hand side of the street.

He watched as Vincent and Vanessa Weiss came out of the cab, picked up their luggage off the sidewalk where the cabby had left it, and went inside their house. He had asked about them earlier, and his neighbors had told him they were vacationing in Mexico and due back today.

Michael’s thoughts were now focused on the writing idea. This could occupy his time because, with his inheritance, there was no need for him to work.

The writing thing intrigued him greatly. He had sometimes thought about writing a book. After all, it has always been said: ‘there is one good book in everyone’ so if he could come up with a good topic, he now had the opportunity and the time to write the one in, him.

Thinking,

An author that sounds really cool, yeah, I could get into that.

Getting Started

Back in the house, Michael arranged the small alcove office, off the Kitchen, to do his writing at the rear of the house. Looking out over the ocean and hearing the waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff may inspire him with some ideas. And in good weather, he could go out on the back porch or sit in the Gazebo in the yard.

In the evening, after he had his clothes put away and made himself some dinner, Michael made a promise to himself to make a start on a book. At about ten, he put his Laptop computer on the small desk in the office, a notepad to write down random thoughts and ideas, but not too many because his handwriting was nearly unreadable, even to himself. He checked out the TV listings to see what kind of shows the networks were being produced for some ideas on what is popular. He wasn’t in the practice of watching a lot of network television.

He scoured the internet to see what new books were being written by authors and what kind of movies people were spending their money to see. His neighbor seemed to be right about what was popular at this time. This provided him with some subject matter to consider.

Being an only child, he’d spent a good amount of time alone, playing by himself in which he developed a very active and vivid imagination. He felt this would now come in handy!

Delete, Delete, Delete…

He began to type what came into his mind but kept deleting it, as not good enough. Saying things out loud like,

Oh, that stinks!

Delete, delete, delete…

Good Lord, that’s horrible!

Delete, delete, delete…

That’s even worse.

Delete, delete, delete…

Oh my God, this one doesn’t even make any sense!

Delete, delete, delete…

Now he started to doubt his abilities to be a writer. Getting frustrated, he decided to take a break and make some coffee. He put his Laptop in sleep mode and opened the new coffee maker his mom gave him as a housewarming gift, placed it on the counter, set it up to make coffee, plugged it in, and hit the start button. As he did this, the lights in the house blinked and flickered but didn’t go out. He thought,

I may need to get an electrician to check out the electric service. It might need an upgrade.

While the coffee was brewing, he’d get back to the Laptop. He pressed on the button to bring it out of sleep mode and see if it would write anything of its own, he jokingly thought, but wished it were true. The Laptop screen came up black with a message saying something about a Windows system file has become corrupt or missing, and Windows could not startup. He tried everything he could think of to get it to startup, but to no avail. The Laptop was not going to work! He now thought he would just go get another one, but then he looked at the clock on the wall that read, one A.M. pondering,

Where’d the time go!

No stores would be open at this hour, so a new Laptop would have to wait until later.

Just at that moment, he hit on what he thought was a great idea for a book. He would try very hard to hold onto the idea, carefully and slowly jotting down a few words on the notepad to help him remember.

He poured himself some coffee and sat down to think of what to do. It dawned on him, remembering that many times he had gone up in the Attic to get Granddad, his old typewriter, he would still use it on the desk in his Bedroom from time to time and kept it up there covered, to protect it from dust, so he knew it still worked. So to the Attic, he would go. He opened the tool draw taking out a flashlight and headed for the stairs to the second floor to make his way to the Attic staircase.

CHAPTER TWO

Changeling

Foray In The Attic

MICHAEL, REACHING THE top of the stairs, turned to his left and walked down the hallway toward the Attic staircase. At the bottom of the stairs, he hesitated, with a thought,

Should I pursue this now or wait to do this after getting some sleep at this hour of the morning?

He turned around and sat on the stairs, continuing to think of what to do.

Well, I’m not tired, and I have these great ideas for a story and want to get some of them on paper before I forget. At least I can set up the typewriter, get a page or two done, and then get some sleep.

He stood up, turned around to face the Attic stairs. The memories of doing this for his Granddad came flooding back. These recollections made him feel melancholy about the loss of his beloved Grandfather. As he ascended the squeaking, creaking stairs, he shook off the gloomy feelings and was now standing in front of the Attic door. He knew it wouldn’t be locked because Granddad never locked it. He put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, pushed, and the door swung open with minimal effort from him. The door hinges creaked rather loudly as it opened; the dry, dusty smell brought back memories. He took the flashlight out from his back pocket and turned it on. He would need it for the dark corners where the two lights hanging from the ceiling did not give much illumination. Reaching to his left, he found the light switch, pushed it up, and the lights came on. He entered the Attic.

He remembered the last time he came up here, about six months ago, to get it for Granddad; it was on a shelf at the far end toward the front of the house. He began to walk in that direction, looking at all the stuff lying around him, and thought,

I should have a yard sale with all these things, I don’t need the money, but it would make some room for my stuff.

He arrived at the shelf where the typewriter should have been, but it wasn’t there, now he had to start looking around the Attic to find it, as he swung the flashlight around he thought he saw something, two small red lights, but when he swung back around to the place where he thought he saw them, they weren’t there. He rubbed his eyes to clear any dust that may be in them and continued his search. Rummaging through some things, the dust really started to fly. He coughed and choked a little, rubbed his eyes again, and then spotted the typewriter under one of Granddad’s old chairs. He leaned in to move it out of the way. As he did this, something hit the left side of his neck and almost knocked him over, retaining his balance. He could feel the thing that hit him was still on his neck, his right hand went up to the left side of his neck, feeling something there he grabbed it and pulled it off, he winced with pain, feeling it moving in his hand, he threw it extremely hard to the floor. And curiously questioned,

What the hell is that?

Moaning in pain from this thing hitting him and then him ripping it away, he put his now empty hand to his neck, as we all do when someplace on our body is injured or hurts! He felt it was wet, pulling his hand away, shining the flashlight on it, and saw it was Blood!

Putting his hand back on his neck to try to stop the bleeding, he shined the flashlight where he figured this thing should have landed, but it wasn’t there. Quickly moving the light left, right, up, down, he still couldn’t find it. Unbeknownst to him, it had rolled away.

He thought,

Maybe it was a bird, and I startled it!

Nevertheless, he grabbed the typewriter and headed out and down the stairs, making sure the door was closed behind him. He could feel the Blood running down his neck onto his chest and quickly made his way to the second-floor Bathroom. In the Bathroom, he put the typewriter on top of the linen floor cabinet. He proceeded to wash the wound to reveal what looked like two small holes in his neck, bandaging them by wrapping a length of gauze around his neck to cover his wounds. He secured it with medical tape, thinking.

I’m probably going to have to get a rabies vaccination later this morning, just in case, and try to explain how this happened. I mean, how? I’m not even sure what did this to me, and I’m not going back up there to try to find out.

He then proclaimed out loud.

What a pain in the neck, literally!

Back to the drawing board

Now in his Granddad’s Bedroom, which is now his, he went to the desk and removed some paper. Back in the office, Michael moved his now dead Laptop out of the way and put the typewriter in its place, grabbed some paper towels, and wiped any dust left on it. He poured himself another cup of coffee, took a sip, and looked at the clock to check the time. Only forty-five minutes had elapsed, it now being, one forty-five in the morning.

He sat at the typewriter, put his hands on the keys adjusted his chair to be comfortable; it felt a little strange to be using a typewriter and not a Laptop computer. He felt like he’d gone back in time when there were no personal computers. He inserted a sheet of paper and began to type, he wasn’t very fast at it, but it’s better than his handwriting. At that moment, it suddenly felt like the room was spinning. As quick as it started, it stopped. He shook his head and questioned,

What the hell was that all about?

Tilting his head left and right to see if it would happen again, it didn’t. He shrugged and thought,

That was weird!

His hands still on the keys, he began again, and a wave of nausea came over him, and he started to sweat. It was a cold sweat because he wasn’t feeling hot, and then suddenly he began to feel hot. He was getting hot chills, cold chills, and what seemed like lukewarm chills. He also felt a very strong pulse from his neck wound, and it was getting stronger and stronger and then suddenly stopped. He slowly stood up from his chair and looked in the window over the Kitchen sink at his reflection to see the gauze on his neck wound had a Bloodstain. He then rushed into the first-floor Bathroom, stood in front of the mirror, and took off the bandage to find the only Blood on his neck wound was dried up. He then examined the gauze to find the Bloodstain was only on the outside. There was no Blood where the gauze was against his skin.

Thinking this was the strangest thing he had ever seen, he bent his head down in the sink to splash some water on his face. When he brought it back up to look in the mirror, for an instant, his eyes appeared to look red! He blinked hard for a second, and they went back to their usual hazel. Dried his face and hands with a towel, and headed back to the office, sat at the desk chair sideways, and gulped his now cold coffee. Michael turned in his chair to face the typewriter and had a feeling of vertigo making him feel nauseous; he hastily stood up from his chair and quickly went to the Kitchen sink and vomited his dinner from hours ago.

Michael was now feeling somewhat weary, felt he should go lay down, but first, he would get a cold facecloth to put on his forehead. He laid down on one of the three couches in the living room that are placed in a letter C in front of the large fireplace. Lying on the one that faced the fireplace, he placed the cool facecloth on his forehead. He starts to feel more lucid. His thoughts became fairly rational, so he realizes that whatever caused his wound is definitely producing these effects. Thinking,

Maybe whatever bit or scratched him was rabid, and these are the typical side effects and will diminish.

He then closed his eyes and fell off to sleep.

Strange Awakenings

Michael awoke after six hours of sleep. It was now morning. He felt more normal than he did before falling off to sleep. Giving no thought of getting back to his book’s writing, he remembered he needed to go to Rhode Island to get his motorcycle from his parents’ garage.

It will take about forty minutes or so to get to his mother’s house and another forty minutes or so to get back. He checked on his neck wound in the first-floor Bathroom to see if it looked any better or worse. The Bloodstain on the gauze was no longer there. He thought that was strange. The wounds looked good. As a matter of fact, they looked almost healed. He then put some more disinfecting healing gel on them and placed two separate band-aids on each of the two puncture wounds. He cleaned up, changed his clothes, grabbed his keys, and headed outside to his black Chevy pickup truck, pulled out of the driveway, and headed for Rhode Island.

He arrived at his parent’s house, to find happily that his mother was at work because if she were to see his neck, she’d go ballistic! He unlocked and opened the garage door, brought out the ramp, laid it down on the open tailgate, and slowly drove the motorcycle up the ramp into the bed of the truck, secured it with some bungee cords. Grabbed his helmet and a few other things from the garage he had forgotten to take, tossed the ramp in, closed the gate, and then back on the road and headed home, only stopping along the way for a fast-food breakfast. When he arrived home, he put the Motorcycle and the ramp in the garage on the right side of the house at the end of the driveway, put his helmet on the seat, and covered the bike. Took in the other things. He was still feeling pretty good, so he decided to go and get a new Laptop.

When he returned home from buying his new Laptop, he went to set it up in the office off the Kitchen, realizing the typewriter was now in the way. He would have to return it to the Attic. Although he really didn’t want to go up there, it was something that had to be done. Now knowing there’s something up there, he will be on the lookout for it. Without any more hesitation, he grabbed the flashlight, put it in his back pocket, picked up the typewriter, and took it upstairs; when he reached the Attic door, he opened it slowly this time.

Being very aware of everything around him as he put the typewriter where it should have been before. He was still very curious about what it was that had attacked him, so while he figured he was up here, he’d take a quick look around. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, not too far from the place he was attacked, he found it, lying still on the floor. It wasn’t a bird. It was a creature with wings, yes, but no feathers. Its skin looked like leather and fur, giving it a closer examination. He realized it was a Bat, but this was no ordinary Bat. It wasn’t alive, he noticed as well this Bat was larger, and its fangs were longer than any he had ever seen, and its face looked almost Human. The questions that entered his mind were what caused its demise, and was there any more up here. As he scanned the Attic with his flashlight, the light fell upon his Granddad’s set of encyclopedias.

Ah, these could be helpful!

He exclaimed with enthusiasm.

Michael pulled up a chair in front of the bookshelf, pulled out B’s volume, and opened it to the Bats section. There was a picture of just about every Bat there is. He found a picture of a Bat that looked somewhat like the one lying on the floor with some strange alterations, and to his shock and horror he learned, it’s a Vampire Bat. Now the question was, what will have been bitten by this creature do to him? He honestly didn’t believe a Hospital or a Doctor would or could help him. He resigned himself to the fact; he’d just have to wait and see what happens and try to deal with it as best he could. Michael wasn’t sure what to do with this dead Bat. Looking around the Attic, he found an empty metal lockbox, large enough to keep the corpse in for now. Putting the Bat in the box, he placed it on the shelf next to the typewriter, picked up the B volume encyclopedia, and left the Attic.

Sunshine Through My Window!

Michael went downstairs to the Kitchen. As he entered the room, the bright Sunlight coming through the windows was hurting his eyes. He started to feel dizzy and quickly sat down at the Kitchen table and covered his eyes with his hand, opening a slit between his fingers enough for him to see where he was going. He walked to the windows and drew the shades, thinking with pleasure,

Ah! That’s better!

Setting the new Laptop on the desk where the typewriter had been, he plugged in its power cord, pressed the start button. The new Laptop computer started up and was ready to work within a matter of seconds. He then opened the word processor program, putting his fingers on the keys, anxious to get started on his idea for the book, the brightness of the screen bothered his eyes, looking around, he spotted his Sun glasses on the Kitchen counter, Michael stood up from the desk to get them, and his cellphone on the Kitchen table rang, he picked it up, the caller I.D. showed mom, he answered it, saying.

Hi, mom.

Hello, Michael, I noticed you came by and picked up your motorcycle and a few other things you had left behind, so how are you. How are things going down there?

She replied and inquired.

Yeah, mom, I did it this morning when you were at work. Well, mom, I’m still getting settled in, and I have decided to try my hand at writing a book. I had a problem with my old Laptop, so I had to get a new one. I had just sat down to get started when you called.

He informed her.

"Well, Michael, that sounds great. I won’t keep you. I just called to see how my son is doing. I will talk to you soon, be well; I love you, bye-bye."

She informed him.

I love you too, mom, talk to you soon, bye!

He replied.

Michael puts away his cellphone, puts on his Sun glasses, and sat back down at his Laptop. Wearing his Sun glasses, he felt a little silly, but the Laptop screen’s brightness did not hurt his eyes as much as without them on. He questioned in his mind.

Why is the light bothering my eyes? It must be another effect of the damn Bat bite.

As Michael was thinking about the effects he’s been experiencing, another wave of nausea came over him. He quickly made his way to the Kitchen sink and vomited when he finished. He noticed some Blood in the sink.

As he looked around the Kitchen, the room seemed to have a red haze about it. He went into the first-floor Bathroom to use the mirror, looking at his face, to find his eyes had turned red once again. The first time this happened, he didn’t experience the red haze, this was something new, and he closed his eyes tightly for a second and opened them to find they turn back to hazel. At this point, the room started to spin. He held on fast to the sink until this spinning sensation ended.

What the hell is happening to me?

He inquired heatedly.

What has that damn Bat done to me?

He shouted irately as he slammed his fist on the mahogany sink vanity top, and it cracked all the way down the side to the floor under the force of his fist. The fact he had the strength to do this amazed and amused him!

A Demonizing Transformation!

As he exited the Bathroom, he felt his stomach tighten, and then a wave of pain bent him forward. He wrapped his waist with his left arm and reached out with his right hand for the closest thing to steady himself, to keep him from falling to the floor. Staggering forward, he grabbed the back of one of the three couches in the living room; this one was perpendicular to the fireplace on the right-hand side. Holding on to it, he guided himself to the front and lay down. His heart had a quickened pace, so strong he could hear it in his ears. His puncture wounds were throbbing so hard, it felt to him, they would burst open, and his head was pounding.

He started to sweat, felt hot, and felt cold; these effects came on and off rapidly. His eyes also were changing, quickly from red to hazel and back again. He knew this because the little he could see kept changing from having a red haze to somewhat clear! He felt himself spinning like he was caught in his own private tornado, not knowing if it was physically really happening or was it all in his head! All these effects started repeating faster and faster and growing more intense until he passed out.

He awoke to find he had slept for six hours, he had hoped these symptoms would have diminished by now, but they seem to be getting worse and more frequent. Rising from the couch a little unsteady, but quickly found his balance and went into the Bathroom, splashed some water on his face, and removed the band-aids from his wounds, to find, to his pleasant surprise, they were just about healed! Checked his eyes to see they looked normal. He smiled in the mirror and noticed his eye teeth seemed somewhat different than usual, extremely pointy and sharp. Touching one with his thumb, using very little pressure, he punctured it, and it began to bleed. Instantly he put his thumb in his mouth sucked the Blood from it, and strangely the Blood had an appetizing, somewhat sweet taste. It actually made him feel a little better!

Michael was getting extremely frustrated with the fact he had no control over what was happening to him. Until these effects either went away or stabilized, it would be tough to go out in public, so the best thing he could think of was to try to get back to writing the book. It had seemed every time he tried, the effects would overtake him, or his cellphone would ring. Right now, he was feeling slightly hungry for food. Back in the Kitchen, he had a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Finishing his sandwich, he once more attempted to start writing his book; before he had the first sentence finished, his cellphone rang, he picked it up. He saw the caller I.D. showed Sherri, and reluctantly he answered it.

Hello, stranger.

Hi Michael, it’s been a while. I wondered how you are doing. I ran into your mom at the supermarket the other day. She told me you were now living in Mystic, Connecticut, at your Granddad’s house. He had given it to you in his will. Sorry for your loss. I remember being at the house a few times. It really is quite beautiful.

She explained.

With a callous approach, Michael replied.

Yeah, so?

Michael, I would really like to get together with you. So, what do you say?

She announced and requested.

I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Sherri!

He answered her, attempting to discourage her idea.

Well, if you change your mind, you have my number.

She frigidly informed him.

Sherri, I was right in the middle of something when you called. I really want to get back to it; I really need to hang up now, so I’ll say goodbye!

He callously informed her.

Okay, Michael, Goodbye, be well, take care, and please don’t be a stranger.

She somberly replied and then hung up her phone.

Michael, shut off his cellphone and put it down on the desk and proclaimed.

Bitch!

Bittersweet Feeding!

Michael was now somewhat disturbed with the fact, Sherri had called him. Their relationship was not one of the better ones in his life. It was very problematic and emotionally straining. He was relieved to be out of it, with no interest in getting back into it.

With his right hand down by his side, he touched his thumb to his forefinger. It felt wet, the puncture on his thumb strangely started to bleed, and he put it into his mouth. Again, it had an appetizing taste, but this time more sweet and savory, and again it made him feel better. Michael decided to try to start the book one more time. Glancing at the clock on the Kitchen wall, he took note; it was eight o’clock in the evening. Once again, he took a seat in front of his Laptop; the screen brightness bothered his eyes, so he put his Sun glasses on. With all these strange things going on, it started to make more sense to him to write his memoirs. He laughed to himself, thinking,

With all that’s been happening to me, it would make for a really good horror story!

He began to write his memories of him and his Granddad, being together, having some good times. His most vivid memories started when he was about ten years old. Most of these memories were of happy times. Just as he finished writing about one of them, he heard a rustling noise out on the back porch. At about the same time, he experienced a brief hot flash. He felt a hunger come over him, but not for food. Everything started to have a faint red haze, and he was experiencing a slight pain in his mouth; a resurgence of the taste of his own Blood entered into his mouth. This was a whole new experience, strangely one his mind could now understand and recognized as a thirst for Blood, a Blood Passion. At that instant, all his senses became heightened. He could smell as well as hear the creature on the back porch through the closed door. He slowly stood up from his chair, went to the back door, opened it, and saw it was a large Raccoon. He opened the door with lightning speed, and snatched up the animal, snapped its neck like a dried twig. It made a muffled faint squeal and went limp in his arms. As he did this, the red haze became like infrared night vision. He could see like it was daylight. There was a modest pain when his eye teeth lengthened and just a slight oozing of his own Blood, like an appetizer before the main course, quickly he bit down on the animal’s neck and sucked out its Blood, the Blood of this animal had a different taste than his own, more like a bittersweet than sweet like his. He then laid the corpse on one of the cement benches on the porch, which circumvented the house. Back in the Kitchen to get a large trash bag, and then went to the garage to get a shovel, put the Raccoon in the bag, to bury it in the backyard. With that done, a strange feeling of nourishment came over him. For the first time in days, he felt good.

Sitting now in the Kitchen, his vision cleared and eye teeth retracted. At that moment, he now realized what the bite from the Vampire Bat had done to him, suddenly his head fell forward, his chin resting on his chest, just as suddenly, he awoke as if from a dream, felt something wet around his mouth wiped it away with his hand to see it was Blood. He then quickly went into the Bathroom, washed it off to see it was not his Blood. Looking in the mirror, he scoured, and with conjecture, asked himself.

What have I done?

CHAPTER THREE

Genesis

Michael and Malice

MICHAEL RETURNED TO the Kitchen. And try to make some sense of what just happened, he sat down at the table, assessing in his mind what he could remember of what had taken place. He could recall clearly that he went to the door to look outside on the porch to see what was making the noise and his sight having the red mist like before. Then he remembers waking up back in his chair, with Blood around his mouth. Whatever he did, it made him feel auspicious. He now felt completeness in his body and mind. It was a totality he had never felt before. It was completely different than if he had eaten a large, satisfying meal or had sexual bliss, which were feelings he was familiar with. This new feeling of execution was unlike any he had ever felt before, and he liked it!

He took the flashlight from the tool drawer and went out on the back porch to see if he could find out where the Blood came from. Maybe a corpse of some living thing would still be there, hopefully not a Human. Unfortunately, there was no evidence, so there was no way he could find out where the Blood came from. Back in the Kitchen, he sat down at the table to try to think logically and fill in the blanks in his mind.

The most logical conclusion he could come to was this Bat had infected him with the need to consume the Blood from a living organism to avoid suffering the ill effects. His most concerning question was, would he need the Blood to sustain his life.

As a young boy and man, he had read books and seen movies of what he thought were fictional anecdotes about Humans, who needed to consume Blood to sustain themselves and virtually live forever.

These Humans were and are referred to as Vampires. It sounded crazy and totally