The creature knew that he would have to stand eventually, but that could wait a while longer. The shooting pain had just begun to subside, only to be replaced by the more monotonous agony of slowly feeling his arms and legs stiffen and his flesh rotting on the bone. Only one thing could prevent the natural progression of the nightly rigor mortis. The curse had to be satiated. It commanded that he be thrust into the hellish limbo that existed between the living and the dead. He would never live again, and one day he would truly die, but now he merely existed. If he did not rise and assuage the curse, he would simply continue to rot like any other dead body. Only he would be privy this torment until he finally passed out of existence.

Inhaling deeply, even though he had no need of air, the ancient being stood. Immediately his legs felt as thought they had caught fire. Another audible groan. He wished he could remember how he came to such a dreadful state, but this knowledge was now lost to him. He hated this, but had no outlet for his rage. He often wondered what he had done to deserve this. What great sin had he committed? Now he was a walking sin. He had read about the seven deadly sins, and now he embodied the entire septet at once. He hated the living, and sometimes envied the dead. He slept all day and only rose when spurred on by the bodily need to numb the pain of his curse. He also wished that there were others like him, but he was utterly alone. If there were others, how would those of his kind procreate? He doubted if they could.

Feeling as if his legs were encased in cement, the fiend took a heavy, agonizing step. The grinding of his joints made a sickening crunching sound that echoed through the crypt. He could see the rats scurrying away from his approaching steps. He knew that his kind existed outside the normal sphere of nature. As a result, he had no affinity with any of the other creatures in the world. Rats, bats, and all of the other animals normally associated with is kind in mythology avoided him like the pestilence he was. Human fallacies about his kind never failed to amuse him. They always told of any number of supernatural abilities he was supposed to possess. Some said he had the power to transform himself into different creatures, to move silently, or even to read the thoughts of others. He could do none of those things, but the false mythology worked both ways. Many of the weaknesses that were supposed to have crippling effects had as much impact as a warm breeze. He had no need of invitation to enter a dwelling, he could cross running water, and mirrors or garlic posed no immediate threat.

The storytellers did manage to get a few aspects of his being correct. The sun meant instant death, and any holy items would repel him. He had to seek refuge in a crypt during daylight hours and if some soul was lucky enough to catch him in this vulnerable state, a stake through the heart would be as lethal as the sun’s rays. Unlike other creatures of his ilk that were born out of legends, he did not have a castle, or an endless supply of riches. He never seduced women, and he definitely never went to parties or socialized with the living. He was a walking corpse and could feel himself continue to decay each and every night.

He pushed all his weight against the door of the mausoleum. At first, the heavy iron door refused to budge, but after a few moments, the rusted hinges began to groan. A grating, screeching sound filled the tomb as slowly but surely the door opened. He wondered why the door had to be so damnably difficult to open, but then realized that it was only designed to be opened and closed one time. This sort of nightly usage was never intended. Grabbing a black hooded cloak from a peg near the door and covering himself with it, the creature exited the crypt. The moon was a full and luminous orb, just reaching the tops of the bare trees that populated the necropolis. A frigid wind blustered through the night, but he felt nothing. The chill of the curse clung to him and was far more powerful than anything mother nature could muster. And always there was the pain. Each step was stiff, labored, and exceedingly difficult. Every instinct told him that he had no business walking at all. Something deep inside him told him that he should be laying in a crypt like the other dead bodies in the cemetery, but the curse spurred him on. He knew what he needed to numb the agony. Where to find it. That was the preeminent question every evening.

With each movement his bones ground and cracked against one another. Eventually he left the cemetery and found himself on the more even path of a paved street. Thankfully it was a cold evening and those that he passed would take no notice of the chill of his presence. He pulled the hood far over his face to help conceal his cadaverous visage. Even though he cast no reflection of any sort, he knew from touching his face how his features had contorted over the centuries. His nose had elongated slightly. His mouth had pulled back at the corners. His ears were now pointed. His eyes had sunken deeper into their sockets. All in all, he had the impression that his face resembled a sickly combination of a rodent and death’s head. Needless to say, it was not the sort of face one was anxious to share with the living. His glowing yellow eyes were constantly on the lookout for someone to help dull the wracking pain in his body. He knew they could not be too strong, lest they be able to struggle and fight him off. The emaciated condition of his limbs afforded him no musculature to speak of, so any person of average strength could shrug him off like a loose fitting garment. A sleeping person was ideal provided that they did not wake up when he availed himself of their services. Drunkards were adequate, but he always felt lightheaded after they assisted him. Thankfully he was able to sniff out those unlucky souls whose blood was tainted by disease. The irony of that notion always amused him. He was concerned about their impurities. Now and then he had to resort to allowing children to assist him. He simply told himself that he was helping to take them away from their miserable life in the street, but that rationale always rang hollow. He hated doing it. After all, if he was doing them a favor, they would not whimper and cry the way they did.

Movement at the mouth of a dark alley caught his eye momentarily, but it was only a cat who like himself was prowling for its evening meal. After some experimentation he learned that animals were unable to offer assistance to him. He could certainly partake of what they had to offer, but it would not sustain him. Apparently there was some special nutrient that only a person could provide. After a few more minutes search, he encountered something that looked promising. The doors of the building were marked with bright red cross symbols. A hospital. While the majority of the occupants would undoubtedly be useless to him due to the poisoning effect of the illnesses in their blood, there was bound to be someone who was recovering. After the latest wave of the plague swept the continent all facilities of this sort had become obsessed with cleanliness and fresh air. To that end, windows were left open a bit to allow air to circulate.

As quietly as possible, he managed to raise the sash, and with his ancient bones throbbing in pain, climbed into the hospital window. He landed with a thud and let out a low raspy groan. Listening for approaching footsteps he heard nothing and silently crept down the corridor. Like a living shadow, the creature slithered along the wall, sniffing the air. A diabolical smile curled over his features as he sensed something familiar and inviting. The next room contained what he sought. A woman was sleeping very soundly. He watched the almost hypnotic movements of her chest rising and falling. The woman had beautiful porcelain skin with long, rich chestnut colored tresses. He knew that what he needed lurked just beneath her smooth, luxuriant skin. A dull throb began to beat in his mouth. His tongue reflexively licked the elongated canines that were particular to his kind. His insides contracted in anticipation of the sweet relief that was mere moments away.

He stepped confidently into the woman’s room and was instantly overcome with a reeling sense of vertigo. He opened his eyes and the room was spinning all around him. His nostrils were suddenly invaded by a sickening antiseptic stench. A priest! The woman’s room had been visited by a holy man recently, who spread his putrid blessings all over the room. His innards felt as if they had been lit aflame and his vision clouded as the essence of the priest’s holy wards buffeted him from all sides. There would be no help from this room any time soon. Also, if the room was this thoroughly blessed, the woman would certainly poison him. Half crawling, half staggering, the parasite fairly collapsed out of the room.

Once back in the corridor, he did not move for many minutes. What little strength he had left slowly seeped back into his limbs. The encounter with the sacred elements in that woman’s room had nearly killed him, but he had to find sustenance before the evening was out, lest he die the agonizingly painful death of starvation. With legs that were barely functioning, he made a slow ascent of the stairs at the end of the hall. After scaling the concrete mountain, the creature crept down the corridor until he heard a sound that froze him where he stood. A baby was crying. He had entered the children’s ward. He hoped that it would not come to this. Of all the loathsome things he was required to do, feeding on children always struck him as particularly vile. The baby was crying louder now and it was only a matter of time before a nurse came to attend to the newborn’s needs. Hissing in frustration, he ducked into the next available room and shut the door behind him.

It did not take long for him to hear the nurse’s footsteps in the corridor. Soon after, another sound made itself known. Snoring! He turned and saw a young girl soundly sleeping beneath the moon-illuminated window. This precious beauty looked as if she was just past her sixteenth summer. The girl had short shiny blond hair that glittered in the moonlight, and a deliciously curvaceous figure whose outline could be seen beneath the linen bed sheet. The creature moved closer and could now hear the pulse of her carotid artery thundering in his ears. Ignoring the searing pain in his limbs, he slowly knelt before the girl’s bed like a penitent in the confessional. The fiend’s mouth ached to embrace the woman’s throat in a pure, dark rapture that made him quiver in anticipation. He placed his lips on the side of her neck as delicately as a lover delivering a kiss good night on his paramour’s lips. With one sudden motion, the parasite embedded his fangs in the woman’s throat.

As the crimson wine flowed down his throat an immediate sense of overwhelming relief washed over him. The pain in his body subsided as the unholy ecstacy took hold of him. The world became a realm of swirling, iridescent colors that continued to dance before his vision even when his eyes were closed. A tangible sense of warmth flooded his limbs. It had been so long, but he wondered if this was what it felt like to be alive. Normally thoughts of the pleasures that the living enjoyed angered him beyond measure, but nothing, not even the pangs of long lost regret could dampen the sheer joy and wonder he was feeling at that moment. Pleasure such as he had not known for decades permeated every aspect of his being. This girl was a virgin, and so her blood had a wanton, delectable flavor that demanded to be savored slowly, like the first night in a strange woman’s bedroom.

As he continued to siphon the girl’s life into his body, the creature could feel the girl’s pulse weakening. He knew that if he continued, he would slowly bleed her to death, but he found himself unable to wrench his mouth away from the sweet virgin’s beckoning throat. His eyes fluttered open and over time the whirling bodies of color began to slow, seemingly in time with the woman’s breathing until finally, they stopped moving altogether. With his hand resting on the girl’s chest, he felt the final unsteady beat of her heart. As the girl’s life faded out of her, the colors before the creature’s eyes followed suit. As the fiend basked in the delightful lethargy flowing through his veins, slowly but surely the world out the window began to take shape. The girl’s blood seemed to add clarity as well as color to his vision. In fact, all his senses seemed to be humming with life. He could smell the flowers by the girl’s bedside, he could see the crimson droplets standing out against the stark whiteness of the bed linens.

Lolling in utter satisfaction, the contented silence was broken by the clamorous ringing of church bells. Bells?! Churches never rang their bells in the middle of the night. It was not until then that the creature observed just how much the sky had lightened from when he first looked out the window. The bells were ringing for the morning mass at sunrise!

A sudden searing pain, the likes of which he had never felt before stabbed him like a hundred red hot daggers as the first rays of morning crept over the horizon. His mind bellowed at him to flee, but his limbs refused to respond. He found himself transfixed by the blinding radiance of the sun’s killing embrace. He could feel the agonizing burning of the morning’s first light searing him deeper and deeper with each passing moment. The creature bellowed in agony as he felt his skin begin falling away in charred flakes. A cacophonous shriek filled the room until the sun’s rays turned his lungs to ashes. As he burned, the creature could feel the curse being purged from him. He realized that the purifying death by sunlight was what was truly needed to release his soul. He began to revel in the burning, and his last thought was one of joy as his brain slowly disintegrated. His face melted away and his limbs crumbled as finally, mercifully, his immolation was complete, and the curse was lifted forever.