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I remember the darkness and the cold more than anything else. I remember them because I have never seen darkness nor felt cold again since that night. It was the thick, heavy kind of darkness that forces your mind to invent phantasm shapes and movements for the sheer purpose of stimulating your starving eyes as you stare into it. It was the subtle, cunning kind of cold that will never make you shiver but will soak in to your bones like water in a sponge and torment you until you find some glorious way to drive it out. The only thing I didn't expect to find in the cold darkness was the sound of it all. Did you know that cold has a sound? I am not referring to the sound of things becoming cold, such as the crackle of ice crystals forming, the howl of a cold wind or the rattle of shivering bodies; I am talking about a sound you've probably never heard before, not unless you're damned like me.
Now the truly discomforting part is how comfortable I felt there in the dark and cold, like my body and my subconscious knew that whatever was waiting for me on the other side of the night was far, far worse. I suppose in some ways it has its benefits … if you're willing to part with your sense of good, honest, Christian faith. I wondered, often in those days, why God, in all his infinite wisdom, never warned his children about beings like me. Oh sure He talked about demons and minions of hell, the seven headed beast of the book of Revelations and the four horsemen of the apocalypse. But nowhere, in The Good Book, will you find a single instance of the word given to my kind …
Vampire.
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