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Scribe
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Wyoming (it is its own state for those of you wondering)
Posts: 58
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My Dark Angel, Angela (horror)
Hello reader, my name is Jonathon. I do not really care exactly why you have picked up my story or why you have decided to read it. I am just glad that you have chosen to read it. Now, before I tell you my story I will tell you something. This is a factual story, it actually happened. Saying that, I will now say this: vampires exist. How do I know? I am one and this story is how I became one.
It was the 1980’s when I was alive and heavy metal hair bands were popular. It was cool for guys to have longer hair then girls and to dress up as women sometimes. In fact one band, Twisted Sister, had made their entire gimmick on dressing up and wearing make-up. I, however, was never much into the hair band thing. I was always the social outcast you would see sitting in a corner, wearing black, and scribbling away in a notebook about one thing or another.
I can’t count the number of times that I had been harassed or “hazed” by many of the rockers and jocks. I got to know the inside of a school toilet very well from an upside down view as my tormentors dunked my head into them. As you can imagine I tried as hard as I could to avoid those people.
All of this over my years in school, from elementary to my sophomore year in high school, led me to retreat from social groups everywhere. Most of my time was spent in my room among my books and writing my own tales. I enjoyed reading the words that my favorite authors put down on paper because it transported me to a different world where I wouldn’t have to deal with womanizing jocks, shallow cheerleaders, and sneering metal heads. In these universes created by words I wouldn’t hear things like “Eeew, get it away from me” or “Careful, he might bite” or even “Do everyone a favor and die.”
As I read I decided I wanted to become a writer, a literary icon, a chronicler of worlds. I wanted to create worlds that others like me could escape into whenever they could so that they wouldn’t go insane. That was my dream and my new mission in life.
My parents, however, were less than supportive. My father was a construction worker through and through. He was balding, had a large gut from beer, and had arms like a gorilla. He scoffed at me when I told him what I wanted to do.
“Jon,” said my father, “your grandfather worked his hands to the bone as a farmer and rancher to make a living for me, I have shed blood, sweat, and tears in construction to bring you a good living. How do you repay me? You want to be a writer? No son of mine will become some sissy writer who can’t do manual labor. You’ll get a real job that pays, just like everyone else.”
Upon hearing that; I retreated to my room, my sanctuary, and dropped onto my bed. Anger was coursing through my veins as I stared up at my ceiling. I didn’t want to be like my father, working in a dead end job because I couldn’t afford college. If my father wouldn’t support my decision, maybe my mother would. I was wrong on that one, also.
My mom was a housewife who always talked with her social group on the phone. She was always embarrassed because of me. The woman was afraid of the shame I would bring her from her peers. The other housewives she talked with all had sons in sports that were being sought after by a multitude of colleges and universities. I had grown tired of my mom telling me that I should have been more like them. So I should have thought it through before I told her I wanted to be a writer.
“A what?” asked my mom in shock, “You want to be a writer? But Jon, honey, why can’t you be an athlete like Mrs. Dunbar’s son. Did you know that he’s getting a full ride scholarship to Yale? Isn’t that great? See, if you would have just taken part in sports when you were little that would be you. All you do now is spend time in your room, scribbling away on a notebook. You’ll never get anywhere like that.”
I looked at my mom with cold eyes. She had never truly accepted that no one like me or wanted anything to do with me. When I was little my mom though I was lying when I told her that Mrs. Dunbar’s sons or Ms. O’Hara’s son beat me up. Whenever I came to her with a bloody nose or bruises and told her what happened, she would spank me and tell me I was a bad boy for hurting myself and telling lies about the nice boys down the street. I would then be sent to my room. My mother was worried more about her reputation in the community then the condition of her son.
After being shunned by my fellow classmates for all my life and now having my dreams shot down by my parents, I was a wreck. More and more of my time was spent in my room, writing on notebook after notebook like there was no tomorrow. I went through pencils fast because I would always be sharpening them, but everything I wrote didn’t seem right to me. I ended up throwing more away than I kept.
Finally, after months of finding no outlet for the anger and betrayal I felt at my parents trying to turn me into something I wasn’t, I thought about only one solution. I had to find a way to escape from this vice that was squeezing around me, tighter and tighter.
One night I had found myself atop a tall building, looking at the dark street below me. I then looked up to the black sky above me and slowly let out a breath. I was just about to jump off when I heard a voice behind me.
“Jonathon, you don’t want to do this,” said the voice.
I slowly turned around and looked behind me. Standing before me was a beautiful women, in fact I would have sworn she was an angel of some sort. She was dressed in a long black dress, her skin was pale as the moon, and her hair was black as the night and fell down to her waist. Her lips were a crimson red and her eyes were a haunting, emerald green. They almost seemed to glow in the night as she looked at me.
If she was an angel, and at that point I was sure she was, then she was a dark angel. There was something about her that stole my voice away. I opened my mouth to speak several times, but instead ended up closing it. Finally, after numerous tries, I found my voice.
“How…how…how,” I stumbled.
“How did I know your name?” said the woman, finishing my sentence.
I nodded my head in agreement. I may have found my voice, but I was still taken back by her beauty.
“I have been following you for a while, Jonathon. You have caught my interest and when I saw what you were going to do, I had to intervene. I can’t let such a talent go to waste,” said the dark angel with a small smile, “What if I told you I could give the gift of immortality so that you may write for ages upon ages? That you could chronicle whatever you wanted for eternity?”
“I would…I would say ‘Please tell me more’.” I answered, still in awe at her beauty.
“Good, then please come with me and we’ll discuss it over a cup of coffee,” said the woman as she turned towards the staircase to get off the rooftop.
I followed her without a second thought, why should I have cared anyway. Here was someone, a woman, who cared about me and didn’t want me to throw myself off a building. She was someone who thought I had talent.
Once we got off the building we went to a 24-hour diner/truck stop and we both ordered a cup of coffee. Under the glow of the fluorescent lights she looked even more angelic than before, her skin seemed to be as white as paper and her black hair shone in an almost heavenly way.
“How rude of me,” she said with a start, “I know your name Jonathon, but I have not told you mine. My name is Angela, Angela Ravensclaw.”
She extended her small, white hand towards me. I took it carefully, somewhat afraid that I might hurt her. When she gripped my hand I found that she was stronger than she looked.
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Ravensclaw,” I said with a smile.
“Please, call me Angela, and the pleasures all mine,” said the woman.
She let go of my hand and I fought the urge to rub my hand. I looked up to her and my eyes made contact with hers. They were amazing; her eyes were almost like those of a cat. They seemed to stare right into my soul and bare it for all to see. I looked away and down to her hands.
“Jonathon, earlier I told you I could give you the gift of immortality. You want to be able to live for eternity, do you not?” asked Angela.
“Yes, Angela, I want to be able to have life eternal. Please, tell me how I can receive this gift?” I pleaded to her.
“Jonathon, I have followed you around and I know that when I tell you this that you won’t think me crazy,” said Angela, “I am a vampire and I can make you one as well.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. I had never met a vampire, had never even thought them to be real. Then a though suddenly entered my mind.
“Prove it,” I said, “show me proof that you’re a vampire.”
She nodded in approval and then opened her mouth. At first I couldn’t notice anything out of the norm, but then I saw her canines slowly grow to a point. I couldn’t believe it, she was a vampire.
“That…that is amazing,” I said, “I never really thought vampires existed outside of literature.”
“Well, Jonathon, they do. I never really liked the term immortal, though. Immortality is defined as the state of living eternally. As a vampire you don’t really live because you’re neither living nor dead. Undead is the best description as to what we are,” said Angela matter-of-factly.
“Please, Angela, please turn me into a vampire. I don’t have anything to live for. My parents don’t accept my choice in life and I have no friends that would miss me,” I said pleadingly, looking into her haunting green eyes.
“Jonathon,” said my dark angel, “you have willingly asked for immortality, whether it be gift or curse, and I will give it to you. You must first now the rules. After you become one of the undead you can’t go back to your old life. You must shed it like an old skin. You can’t enter sunlight, which I’m sure you already knew, and you must drink blood once a night to sustain yourself. I will show you the art of the hunt either this night or the next.”
“I can easily shed my old life, Angela, because there is nothing here for me to hold onto. When will you turn me? I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I want to be brought into a new life by you,” I said, again looking into those green eyes of hers.
She looked at me calmly and then looked down to her hands. Her dark hair fell over her face, but she didn’t seem to notice it. It seemed as if she was deep in thought.
“Come, follow me, Jonathon,” she said from beneath her curtain of hair.
Angela stood up and walked out of the diner, almost floating across the floor. I followed her quickly outside and into the dark night. She rounded a corner of the building and I followed suite. She turned to face me, her emerald eyes glowing brightly in the dark shadow of the diner.
I pulled back the collar of my jacket and offered the dark angel my neck.
She stared at it hungrily, her red tongue licking her crimson lips. In the night she looked like some kind of cat, having caught her prey and now getting ready to feast. She put her hands on my shoulders and whispered in my ears.
“It will only hurt for a minute, Jonathon,” she said, “I will then have to drain you to the point of death.”
I nodded, a little fearful, at what she said. I closed my eyes as I felt her soft lips on my skin. I then felt her two fangs bite into the soft flesh of my neck. Breathing in sharply, I closed my eyes tighter at the quick pain that came with the entry of the incisors.
I felt my blood being drawn out from my body as Angela began feasting on my life force. I stood as long as I could, but I soon began to weaken and Angela had to hold me to continue feeding on me. The small points of the stars in the sky began to fade until I was wrapped in complete and total darkness.
“This is it,” I thought, “she tricked me just so she could feed upon me.”
I then felt her wrist up against my lips and a warm liquid flowing out and over my mouth.
“Quick, Jonathon, drink from me. If you do not then you will simply perish,” I heard Angela say.
I wrapped my lips around her open wound and let the warm blood flow into me. It was so succulent, like some red wine that has aged for years. I had the feeling that I didn’t drink it then I just couldn’t survive. I continued to feed upon the crimson liquid, I felt it flow out of the corners of my mouth, I could feel it going down my throat and into my system, and I couldn’t get enough. I then felt Angela’s strong but delicate hands on my forehead.
“Enough my child,” she said, “you are hungry, but I can’t provide what you need. You must have mortal blood.”
“Yes, mother,” I replied.
The darkness of the night has brightened, I could hear the sounds of the people inside the diner, I could feel the breeze of twilight against my skin, and I could still taste Angela’s blood in my mouth. All my senses had been augmented by my transformation.
Angela walked past me and into the night. I followed behind her like a child. In some respect, I was her child. I was her blood child, her dark son and she was my dark mother and my dark angel. We disappeared into the night like wraiths.
I had shed my old life and would not look back. Why would I when an exciting new one was waiting for me. I was a vampire, I was immortal, and I finally was loved and accepted by another. I was loved and accepted by my creator, my master, my dark angel Angela.
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