Desires of a Vampire (A Southern Tale) A Novel

By Jo Ann Atcheson Gray

An epic tale of lust, love, and cruel fate.. Get lost in this emotional battle of Anna Pearl, who was just a southern girl with forbidden dreams and desires. Experience her journey of becoming an immortal and the hurts she had to face in this life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Ann Gray
• Release date: Sep 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088039274

Book preview

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Desires of a Vampire

(A Southern Tale)

A Novel

By: Jo Ann Atcheson Gray

Copyright© (2023) Jo Ann Atcheson Gray

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author or publisher, except as permitted by U. S. Copyright law.

Published by: Jo Ann Gray

Poems written by: Jo Ann Atcheson & Anna Elizabeth

Desires of a Vampire

Red Rose

Take this rose, red as fire,

Drop it into the soil. my deepest desire.

Lying in the darkness, voices I only hear,

Saying goodbyes as I shed a tear.

Left alone in this silence,

Only this red rose I hold as guidance.

Closing my eyes, I know it’s real,

Death appears to come, no matter the deal.

Drifting into the vast unknown,

No shadows around to call my own.

Knowing this fate, I cannot heal it,

As I hold this red rose, I can no longer feel it.

Jo Ann

Lady

The lady closes her eyes to what is seen.

Her need to rise is far from in between.

Blessings fly away within the clouds,

As she screams for love entirely too loud.

Eternity is all that lies in the distance.

If only it could really exist in an instant.

Darkness closes into one’s own heart,

As she expresses her pain through such art.

Jo Ann

Anna Pearl

My tale is not for the weary heart. I’m Anna Pearl. I am immortal. I was slavishly turned at the age of twenty, but not by choice. I’ve lived for many decades and seen several interesting things. I’ve learned many lessons within this undead life. One experience taught me that ‘love’ can be a cruel word. Lust can confuse you to believe that it’s a type of love. Heated passion can make one’s heart believe any lies. Friendship is a word that should be cherished. Eternity is unending, and the pain, guilt, and torments of it can remain within one’s undead life without any restraint. As an immortal, I’ve had to face many of my ‘demons’ over the century. This is my story as best as I can remember it. My memories, as an immortal, come and go throughout time. Some memories, I will cherish to the end of eternity, while other ones seem vague.

I was ‘sheltered’ at home since I was the ‘baby girl’ in our family. I never experienced dating, and I was not allowed to even like a boy. I couldn’t even express any interest in the opposite sex, or my mother would ‘preach’ at me about fornication and how I should be married before I lusted after a boy. I was always playing some type of sport with my siblings in our spacious backyard, but I knew this lifestyle wasn’t meant for me. I craved ‘art’ and new adventures. Our nearest neighbors were five miles away, so I had no close friends. The only families with children were several miles from our closest neighbor. Besides, they didn’t have any young girls my age. The boys in these homes were much older than me and my brothers. It wasn’t until I was twenty years old that I experienced my first ‘taste’ of lust.

An intriguing story I once read when I was sixteen years old added to my passion for the fantasies of mysterious vampires and dark, mythical tales. My aunt visited one summer weekend and had a documentary about the vampire myths and legends in New Orleans, a book she had purchased as she toured the French Quarter. She allowed me to borrow her book for the duration of her stay. After reading about the tale of Jacque St. Germain, I was hooked on such mystery and fantasy. It was the story of a man, or what was believed to be a type of demon or vampire that was accused of being immortal and murdering innocent women throughout the French Quarter of New Orleans. I never would’ve guessed I would meet a ‘vampire’ that reminded me of this mystical tale, and how he would change my entire life.

My aunt was amazing in my young eyes! I wanted to be like her. My mother’s younger sister had lovely black hair that resembled silk and passionate blue eyes and fair skin. She was a petite woman and always dressed in a classy way, completely different from my mother’s appearance. Her makeup was perfect, and her fingernails were always painted as she wore too many silver rings on her fingers. My mother told me that I was named after her. My mother explained to me that my aunt was a strange one, especially since she would rather drink her tea unsweetened, hot with a lemon, and in a cup. My aunt would tell me tales of the places she would visit, especially in Louisiana. She had distant relatives, related to her husband, who lived throughout the state, so she frequently traveled there regularly. Her former husband had passed away and left her a considerable amount of money to last a lifetime. The deceased man was nearly ninety-eight years old, but my aunt faithfully cared for him until he passed.

My aunt told me about the plantation homes she’d visited and how beautiful and mysterious they were. She would express to me how some of the places were considered ‘haunted’ and had terrifying stories attached to them. I was instantly mesmerized by her tales. My aunt was so lucky to get to travel so often. So, it was my aunt who inspired me to be so intrigued with the dark fantasy world, but I knew my mother would strongly disapprove.

One instance, my aunt and I pleaded and begged my mother to let me go along with her to Louisiana, but my mother rejected and said that I was too young to be roaming about all over God’s creation and that it was sinful to chase after the paranormal stuff. She needed me to stay at home and help her with household duties, especially since my father wasn’t here anymore, and I needed to keep such evil imaginations clear of my mind. The subject of traveling with my aunt was never brought up again.

I was a nice-looking young lady with long black hair, like a raven. My eyes were brown and green, hazel eyes. I was petite compared to my brothers and I have a pale skin tone, favoring my father quite a lot. I was a silent child most of the time, never verbally expressing my opinion on things. I was much like my father, who was a mild-mannered man and polite in character.

I remember, one Saturday afternoon, it was hot and humid outside, and my father decided to take me fishing while my brothers were at football practice and my mother was at the neighbor’s house learning how to sew a quilt. It was my first-time going fishing, although my father would take my brothers regularly. Once we got to the pond, my father baited my hook as I held tightly to the pole. Watching with much curiosity as he placed the earthworm on the sharp, pointed hook. It squirmed about trying to break free. I felt my stomach grow nauseated.

My father grabbed the pole from me, tilting it over his head casting the line and bait far into the pond. He handed me the pole back explaining how to rotate the reel on the pole. As I stood on the grassy bank of the pond, I waited anxiously for a fish to bite my hook and take the bait. After a few minutes, I felt a tug, then the pole jerked hard, almost pulling it from my hands. Nervously, I screamed for my father to help me and take the pole, but he insisted that I turn the reel as fast as I could and hold the pole straight up. Doing as he instructed, I tried to be brave as I reeled with all the strength I had, firmly holding my grip on the handle. Finally, reeling a small fish to the bank, I smiled as if I had received an extravagant gift.

My father reached down and removed the poor creature from the hook, as I stood extremely still holding the pole. With the worm still in the fish’s mouth, it started flopping on the ground like it couldn’t breathe. In my childish mind, I thought this fish was going insane! The moment it crossed my bare foot, I threw my fishing pole in the air and ran behind my father as I peeked over his shoulder. He was kneeling in front of me in the grass trying to catch this crazed little fish. After he finished laughing at me, he gripped the fish tossing it back into the water. I watched as it darted away under the green moss. I was only seven years old, so this experience thrilled me, yet frightened me at the same time. This was a special part of my childhood that I will always hold dear to my heart, or should I say my ‘undead’ heart.

My father passed away while working offshore on an oil rig some years after our little fishing trip. He suffered a massive heart attack. My mother was never the same after that. The joy she once showed no longer remained within her. She wouldn’t leave the house, only remaining in her room watching sad movies as she cried holding my father’s portrait in her hand. Most nights I could even hear her crying quietly to herself. She would venture out of her bed only to shower or to eat, yet it was on a rare occasion. She was a petite woman of simple character. Her faded black hair was now gray, and her reflection was of an older person who had been through too much sorrow.

My mother always burned scented candles throughout the house before my father died. Her favorite scent was ‘strawberry’ and now she still likes it for one to be burning next to her bed on the fragile bedside table. She says it would soothe her, helping her to sleep better, more peacefully at night. She became so fragile after my father went away. So, I felt obligated to stay at home, now that I am of age, and continue to take care of her. I had cared for her since I was very young along with my brothers helping when they could. During school hours, the neighbor from down the street would sit with our mother until we returned home.

After some months past my father’s death, my mother seemed to be improving but only vaguely. She would prepare my brothers and me dinner after school but that was it; and told us to make sure we got our baths and do our homework before bed. Mother seemed to be ‘far away’ and couldn’t focus on taking care of us, nothing like her spirited, smiling character she had when Father was alive. This was difficult, being just children, but my brothers and I managed to survive.

My brothers moved away to pursue their college football scholarships at the university some months ago, only visiting on major holidays. Freedom to do what I wanted to do with my life just wasn’t an option during that time frame.

It was a simple unpleasant phone call that changed my entire life and set my path to new adventures and places unknown. I wouldn’t be the same ‘country girl’ that I had always been. I would become something I’d never imagined I could be, a creature of the night.

This is where I’d like to begin my tale of love, lust, loss, and cruel fate…

Chapter 1: My Raising

It was a beautiful sunshine day as I finished my routine of caring for my mother. A few weeks ago, she suffered a massive stroke and became immobile, yet she kept a saddened smile across her face. With tears in her eyes most days, she seemed to manage to grin every so often. I knew she was trying to be in good spirits, but she was not happy.

Needing to clear my mind, I made my way to the old tire swing underneath the magnolia tree in the front yard placing my bottom in the center. Swinging back and forth I imagined my life as if I was in college pretending to have a major degree in arts and theater. Dreaming of having my paintings, that I haven’t painted yet, displayed in an art gallery somewhere fancy like New York City. People would stroll around gazing upon my ‘nature’ masterpieces with champagne glasses in their hands wearing expensive clothing and extravagant jewelry.

Quickly shaking those absurd thoughts from my mind, I remembered that I had to be content and happy in my present circumstances. Stopping the tire swing, I stared at the unique house thinking back about my childhood and growing up with my two older brothers. Only a few years older than me, my brothers were always so protective of me and very tough toward me. My eldest brother was called Dale. He was a tall, strong, and straightforward guy with broad shoulders and a nice muscle tone. He never minded giving his opinion on any situation. My other brother was Charlie. He was also tall and smaller framed compared to Dale. Charlie was a quiet guy most of the time and seemed to be more of a charmer with the ladies. They were into football a great deal all through high school. Dale played the position of ‘quarterback’ while Charlie was a ‘running back.’ It was the only sport I really knew about because of them. Our neighbor would take them to their games every Friday night, yet I only got the privilege of attending on a few occasions.

My mother was stricter with me than my brothers. She made me go with her to the local Baptist Church service every Sunday morning, but that ceased after my father’s death. She never insisted for my brothers to go to church with her, but I was obligated since I was a girl. She drilled religion in us and proper morals. She taught us ‘respect’ for our elders and to always be polite.

I remember being seated upon the church pew during a Sunday service, which was uncomfortable, feeling restless and ready to go home. The preaching service seemed to drag on for hours as the preacher screamed and shouted about our sinful souls, and he looked like a raged animal as the blood vessels popped from his forehead. I knew better than to complain or my mother would ‘tan’ my bottom. Although, I enjoyed the singing service, where everyone would sing a hymn from the songbook, and it would sound out of tune while the pianist played in the wrong key.

My ‘raising’ was simple… I had to always be a ‘lady’ with proper attire and a decent attitude toward everyone. I had to love my family even in the toughest of circumstances. No