The river was in the way – it was the only escape route I had to get away from the vampires. So the question was – did I jump in or not?

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Comment by Carrie Humphrey on October 21, 2011 at 7:22

The vampires were closing in on me so I made a quick decision and leapt into the river launching myself as far forward as possible. The currents swept me up and I found myself being pushed down the river at alarming speeds. I could see the vampires chasing down the riverbank after me irritated that they could not get to me. From where I was in the river I could now see them more clearly. They had bulbous yellow eyes and thick black hair that fell in disarray over their shoulders. Suddenly I felt myself stop and looked ahead to see what had stopped me. I looked and saw I was hanging on the rim of a waterfall. The water cascaded downwards ending with a crash in a treacherous rock pool............


Carrie Humphrey
Renaissance Learning

Comment by Anne-Lise Robin on October 21, 2011 at 8:33

At this very moment I had to make the worst decision of my life. Should I plummet to certain death or let the vampires do their sinister deed? There was no escape, I was going to die.

I could see on their faces, the realisation shining. Their faces seemed to light up, glowing in the moonlight. Their sharp teeth now showing, I panicked and started to swallow more and more water. I closed my eyes and let fate decide.

This is all I can remember from my previous life.

Comment by Sorrel Anderson on October 21, 2011 at 9:40

I gag, and start to choke, and the hypnotherapist brings me round again. I'm back again on the brown leather couch in the small, warm consulting room.

'Here, have some water,' she says, handing me a small, plastic cup, and I start to choke again, as the smell of fish fills my nose.

Comment by Caroline Roche on October 21, 2011 at 10:30

I start to recover slowly.  Am I a vampire then?  Did they catch me?  I am not sure I even believe in vampires anyway!  On the way out of the office I catch a glance into a mirror. I see my own reflection staring back at me.  I check my teeth, all normal.  So that's it, I am not a vampire.  So, why do I get these dreadful dreams, and wake up with the taste of blood in my mouth?  Why do I have an allergy to sunlight, which the hypnotherapist was trying to help me with before this surprising session?  I prefer nightwork, always have - surely lots of people do and that is nothing to do with being a vampire! 

When I get home there is the local newspaper on the front step.  I open it up and see that there has been a series of grisly murders in town.  In every case the victim has been found with their throats ripped - and the perpetrator has been called 'The Vampire Killer'.  My heart stops and I feel a chill - surely that's not me!  Surely I can't be the Vampire Killer?  Wouldn't I remember it if I had done that?  And anyway, vampires don't exist, do they?

Comment by Adrian Thompson Laisterdyke UK on October 21, 2011 at 10:44
Sleep. Dream. Blood. I wake up, but it's dark. I can't see very much. As my eyes get used to the darkness, I look up - straight into the stone eyes of an angel. Back away - fast! Then see it's not a real angel (if there is such a thing!) - it's one of the monuments in St Joe's churchyard. One of those old Victorian statues they'd put up if someone important, rich or popular died. I'm still backing away (not sure why now) when I stumble over something lying in the grass. It's soft, sticky - and dead. Slowly turning, I take in the face, the teeth - what big teeth you have... - and the bloody hole where the throat should have been. I look at my hands - the same red, sticky, mess. The newspaper headline flashes back into my head. Maybe "Vampire Killer' has a different meaning...
Comment by Evelyn Westwood on October 21, 2011 at 11:49

I stumble away.  Amidst the horror that has my mind reeling, some instinct for survival says I must get away from the scene of the crime.   My heart is thumping.  If any one sees me with the victim's blood staining my hands and clothing, I will be done for.  I have to get away - get home - find space to think.  A thin moon casts enough light for me to weave my way between the pale shapes of the gravestones and the kneeling angels towards the church, then, a figure steps forward, blocking the path.  It is the priest, and he is brandishing a crucifix.

"Stop, unclean creature," he says.  "You shall not pass."

Comment by Tamsyn Murray on October 21, 2011 at 12:44

I hesitate and, for a moment, I almost believe his words are true; I am unclean. But if it is the truth, and I have become one of the undead, surely the crucifix would affect me? I reach out a bloody hand and grasp it. The priest's eyes widen in shock and he stumbles backwards.

"No! It cannot be!" he cries.

Blue lights are flashing in the distance and the wail of sirens fill the air; I have to get away from here. Wrenching the golden metal from his hand, I turn and run, avoiding ruts in the grass and fallen headstones as best I can. There is only one thought in my head - home. If I can reach home, I will be safe.

Comment by Lynne Coppendale on October 21, 2011 at 13:12

So.  It is true.  I am one of the unclean.  One of the evil immortals who prey upon humankind as if they were cattle.  How I do not remember this I will never know?  The books, films, television shows have not prepared me for this.  How do I come to terms with becoming a myth?  With a start of dark humour I consider Wikipeadia’ing myself!

I realise I have arrived at what feels like home.  It’s a mausoleum in a graveyard – cliché much?  I look inside and the cliché goes.  No coffin for me but a kingsize bed that looks as soft and inviting as a fluffy cloud of cotton.  I have no memory of arriving and realise I am not out of breath.  Breath?   I breath?  Well, there’s one myth dispelled.  I wonder if I am immortal or not then?

In no time at all it is the next day.  I hear a knock at the mausoleum door.  I can only imagine how that must have hurt it being 5 thick feet of stone.  I answer it and… Well, there goes another myth… daylight and I’ve not burst into flames.  There are 2 people outside, so stereotypical of a doorstep religious intervention I almost laugh and slam the door.  A surprisingly strong hand stops the door from closing.

“We’re sorry we’ve taken so long to get to you” the elder of the two says, with a most pleasant grin, not at all frightening, unless bright and sunny is your kind of alarming, “but there have been so many conversions lately we are struggling to get to you all.”

The other one, equally agreeable, nods assent “please take our card”. I take the proffered card…

Summers and Stackhouse.  Counsellors to the newly reanimated.

Don’t Freak because you’re a Freak.


Lynne Coppendale.

Danum Academy Librarian

Comment by Carol Williams on October 21, 2011 at 14:13

“You really should invite us in, you know”, said the younger
one, a remarkably pretty blonde woman. “It’s only polite – I know we can come
in anyway, but it’s best to follow the conventions”.

 “OK.” I was so confused, I let them in, before I could
wonder whether it was such a good idea. I mean, I didn’t know who they were,
but then I didn’t have a lot to lose really.

“How….? Why?.....Am I….?” – I just didn’t know the right
questions to ask in the circumstances. The couple weren’t phased by my
confusion, they’d presumably come across other people just as challenged by
their situation.

“Now,” the man continued reassuringly, “I’m sure you would
like to know how and when you came to be in your current state, and that is
what we are here to do.”

“Hold on – how do I know you can help me? Do I even need
help? If I do, why should I trust you?”

“So many questions!”. The woman, who seemed a little less
officious than her partner, was clearly amused. I wanted to close my eyes and
forget about the whole thing. I mean, was I really a killer? A vampire? An evil
monster? Here I was again with all the questions, and no answers. 

“Now”, the man continued, “we can offer a range of therapies
for the undead. There is general counselling, just talking can help to bring
back those precious memories, but one of my specialities”, and here he gave a
self-effacing little laugh, “is hypnotherapy”.

“No,” I cried, “not again………!”


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