Four

The blood failed to stop me, however. Again and again I plunged the silver dagger into its heart, again and again it screamed a primal shriek that sent every living creature in the woods running for safety. I was unsure when to stop; I don’t know if I could have had I wanted to. By the time exhaustion took hold and the adrenaline crashed from my system I had morphed the monster’s body into a pulped mass of blood and sinew, gashes and holes.

What I had accomplished I was unsure of; would this abomination truly stay dead, or had I simply postponed the inevitable? Tradition was mixed on how best to deal with the undead…some said a stake through the heart, some said garlic, other decapitation. I feared all these were the meanderings of weak minds watching too many Hammer horror films. Christopher Lee, as entertaining as he might have been, was no basis on which to build a practice of vampire hunting.

Vampire hunting. As I thought back on the last 7 days I came to the reluctant realization of it: I had, for better or worse, become a vampire hunter. Shit. Hugh Jackman looked better in a long coat and hat, Buffy looked better in a cheerleader outfit. I looked better in my Dollar General black shirt and khaki pants. I was built for unloading a truck and stocking shelves with shampoo, toilet paper and potted meat, not running through spooky forests, breaking into old mansions and stabbing vampires to death (death?)

I guess it was unavoidable, however. The moment that bastard grabbed Natalie and took her from me, changing her into the monster she is now, I had to act. One down, an entire coven to go. Do vampires have covens, or is that witches? Fuck. I have to get on Wikipedia and do some goddam research. Until then, I could really use a shower.