Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

2

       His past still haunted him, and the memory of that day stayed hidden in the back of his mind. Whenever it came out of hiding, Lincoln could practically smell the blood again. It was always in his head somewhere, waiting to spring out and remind him of that single tragedy that changed his life. He could dwell on it, but most of the time, he tried to push it away with scorn. It's been five years since that day, and ever since then he'd made a vow: He would kill every vampire that was in his line of sight, to avenge his siblings and his parents. Those cruel vampires that had broken in and turned his family into monsters were likely to still be out there in the world; possibly still residing in Royal Woods. Looking back on it, how could he dismiss that dream he had that morning? The nightmare that he'd had the morning of his family's misfortune, couldn't have been a dream at all! It was so obvious now, but back then, when he'd not even known vampires existed, the absurdity of that break-in was passed off by him as a dream. He almost felt guilty. In fact, he did feel guilty. A very visceral, sickening feeling of guilt, that came with the scent of his own family's blood. He could still see his mom's arm flop out from the group of those beasts while they were drinking her blood. Remembering it made him ball his fist. Hell, he wanted to kill a vampire that second.

       The streets are just as black at night. As the twilight shined and the sun began to disappear, the sky was beginning to darken into a sea of stars. Beautiful, but not to be considered by Lincoln. His mind was somewhere else. His eyes were darting around in search of a dastardly creature; one that he could overpower. The light was scarce, but incredible white highlights reflected the light of the moon. Through all this tenebrous space, he looked around with his eyes on high alert. When he looked down a row of suburban houses, one of them caught his attention. Upon its roof, its highest point, atop a ridge, sat an obscured figure. A small shape. Strangely, as soon as Lincoln noticed it, it made a swift dash through nearby trees, moving akin to a fleeing bird. It made a wide turn and headed towards Lincoln. He readied his hands, gripping a short dagger, and lifting it to prepare for a slash. The shape flew before him, halting itself, and then slowly flapping as it landed on the ground. It was a bat, Lincoln could tell. Its beady eyes were void of any life. They were like small black buttons on a plush doll. Then a transformation took place. The bat changed before him, with its entire body reshaping to appropriate a new form. It grew from a small furry bat to a large, seven-foot vampire.

       "Wandering the streets alone, are we? Is it because you love the night as much as I?" the vampire hissed. "You're not the only vampire I've seen," said Lincoln. "I've killed tens before you—no, maybe hundreds. You might as well give up now and surrender yourself. Either way, I'm going to kill you with this dagger." The vampire bellowed a pompous laugh. "So you've come out here expecting a fight? Isn't that improper of a lad as young as you?" he said. "I'm 19," Lincoln said. "Yes, well I'm 306. You seem like an infant to me." Lincoln had enough of this banter, and so he took his dagger and drove it forward like a lance. Right when the blade was an inch from the vampire's stomach, the vampire disintegrated into a dark ash that blew away in the wind. He hadn't killed him, and he knew he was simply relocating. He swiveled, unsure of where to aim, but knowing that from any position the vampire may reveal himself. So, he closed his eyes. Lincoln had an uncanny ability that he often used when hunting these creatures. It was an ability so strange, he himself knew not the origin, nor the science of it. However, when he closed his eyes, his ears were able to hear a whisper from a hundred feet away. Closing them now, he heard a ghastly utterance. It was inhuman; something only describable of satanic incantations, fighting their way through the wind, barreling right towards Lincoln with incredible speed from... the east. He pointed his dagger eastward, and quicker than the flash of a camera, the vampire dashed right into the dagger. The blade and all its four inches of iron pierced right through. The vampire gasped for his last breath but could not find the strength to breathe at all. Lincoln twisted the dagger, grinding it once more inside of him, and with that, the vampire burst into black dust, which shot in all directions. This was now his daily life. Not because he had to kill vampires out of self-defense, but because he wanted to.