My Life Beyond the Grave: The Untold Story of Vlad Dracula

Excerpt: Deals With the Devil

DEALS WITH THE DEVIL

 

The theory that most people seem to have is that I had sold my soul to the Devil in exchange for my immortality.

I don't remember doing such, and I certainly made no contract that forfeit my soul to anyone. The contract that we made in the prison was that he would let me out, release me from my captivity and give me one more chance at the throne of Wallachia in exchange for my eternal companionship. I was also forced to give up the throne when he came to collect me, and I would not be allowed to know the time or date of my demise.

I find it insane and offensive that the general populace considers that there is no way that you can become a vampire like me without making a deal with the Devil. I don't understand this idea. I don't know where it came from, and it's quite irritating.

I am not a devil, and I am not a demon. I am a vampire. Perhaps the powers that I have been given come from some place of darkness, but I am still just a man, well, I was a man, now I am more. I do not have to make a deal or take your soul to turn you. I take your life, and your blood and give you some of mine to pass on the powers of my kind. I think that, if I am anything, I am a plague. I am a disease for which the only cure is death. I am a customized man-made sickness that does not prey on the weak, or the compromised. I am the kind of plague that will infect and kill without discrimination. I am the most efficient kind of predator. I have no morals left, and while I don't just make other vampires anymore, I certainly don't abstain from sustaining myself with the blood of anyone who happens to get in my way.

Does this make a devil? Perhaps, but it isn't the kind of devil that you think.

Most people don't seem to understand that I am a Christian man, that I serve my country and my church in the name of God Almighty. For me to make a deal with the forces of Satan would be against everything that I believe in, against everything that I stood for in my life, and in the wars I fought in.

The creature who came to me didn't give his name, and he never gave it to me, no matter how many times I asked, but he was dressed as a Boyar, in rich clothing and jewelry. He spoke my native language and he was amiable and well-educated. I thought that he had perhaps come to take my statement, that he was a lawyer of some kind. He spoke at length of getting me out of the prison in exchange for services to him. I remember that I was feverish and that I demanded something to do with reclaiming my throne.

He was beautiful to behold. His skin seemed to glow from within, and at first I thought he was a spirit, born of my fever and my hunger. He never once touched me, and I felt colder in his presence, like he sucked all the warmth from the room. He frightened me, and yet when he was near I felt calmer than I had in the months preceding his visit. His hair was fine, and lighter than mine, but not blonde. His skin was chalky, but not white. He seemed sickly and yet more full of life and vitality than anyone whom I had ever met in my life. He looked like he could have been Hungarian, or possibly German. He certainly did not look like any Boyar I had ever met (or killed) in my time in Wallachia and Romania, and he certainly didn't look like he had come from the Ottoman ranks. He spoke in clipped sentences, like he had no time to waste with poetry or useless words. He sat completely still on the edge of my cot. Perched in a way that defied logic, like a cat.

Every time I tried to speak to him, he brushed my questions aside in a brusque manner, waving his hand and dismissing the thoughts, explaining that whatever mortal questions I had were unimportant at the time, and would eventually be answered. He always referred to me as 'the mortal' and never by my name, except for when he first roused me from my slumber when he arrived. He always arrived after I had been asleep for a time.