A Day in the Life of a Ghoul

"Um, Mr. Wachira, what, exactly, is a Ghoul?" says my psychotherapist, Dr. Kadra Mohamed, and I looked at the tall, curvy and dark-skinned, alluring Somali-Canadian Muslim therapist in the neatly pressed white coat and sighed, wishing that she were a little more informed. I've been in the institution for a while now, and like the rest of my former doctors, this lady seems to think that I'm criminally insane. I'm most definitely not...

"A Ghoul is a creature like me, Doc, pay attention," I reply, sighing deeply and forcing myself to be calm for the thousandth time. One day I'll escape from this place, I told myself. I've been here for a long time, a very long time. More than thirty years. I look the same way I did when I came in, and like the dumb asses that they are, ordinary mortals find ways to explain away my agelessness.

I am virtually immortal, and haven't aged a day since I was brought to this place. Doesn't that surprise or amaze anyone? Mortals amaze me with their obtuse mindsets, I swear. They're experts at seeing only what they want to see. Humanity totally sucks, man. What a bunch of bozos, seriously. Small wonder there are entire species of non-humans living in their midst, preying upon them night after night, and they're blissfully unaware of it.

"I see, your delusions persist in spite of your medication," Dr. Kadra Mohamed said, and she flashed me that condescending smile that people reserve for the mentally retarded, or the very young. I knew where this was going. The doctor would be dismissive, and remind me of our upcoming meeting next week, and then exit. If I made any fuss, a group of orderlies would come by and give me a shot. I hate shots. I really do. They suck balls, man.

"See you next week, Doc," I reply as politely as I can, and Dr. Kadra Mohamed exits the meeting room. In a few seconds a group of orderlies will escort me to my cell. I so much as look at them wrong and I get a needle and will wake up hours later, stiff and drooling, and wishing that I were dead. Unfortunately, I cannot die since, well, I'm not alive to begin with.

In case all of this is confusing, and you're shaking your head because you're reading the writings of a mental patient, I'll try my best to clarify matters a bit. My name is Abdul-Halim Wachira. My surname means Servant of the Patient One in Arabic. I was born in 1917 to a Kenyan Muslim father and a Somali immigrant mother in the City of Eldoret, western Kenya. In the summer of 1939, while the rest of the world readied itself for the next Great War, an Arabian Vampire named Fahd Abdulaziz came to our town, and preyed upon my family.

"You will make a fine Ghoul," Fahd said, smiling and the tall, dark-haired and bronze-skinned, dark-clad monster stood there, flashing me his fangs as he held me by the throat. On that fateful night, I'd come home from tending to the goat herds in the hills of Gishu, and found a bloodbath. It was the night my world ended, and in more ways than one, I would never be the same.

The Vampire Fahd had slain my father, mother and sister, and upon seeing him gorged with their blood, I attacked him with my spear and succeeded in wounding him in the gut. I still thought him a mere mortal when I struck him, that was my mistake. I didn't know that the only way to kill a Vampire was to pierce his or her heart or to behead them. Had I known this, I would have dispatched the fiend with haste...

"See you in hell, monster," I cried out defiantly as the Vampire Fahd sank his fangs into my neck. A Vampire's bite is lethal to humans, because their fangs secretes a venom ten times more lethal than a cobra's venomous bite. I should have either died or become a Vampire as a result of said bite, but instead, something unusual happened to me. I arose, three days later, neither human nor Vampire, but something in between. I had become a Ghoul...

"Rise, my new servant, you will make a magnificent Ghoul-slave," the Vampire Fahd said, the night I rose. Thus began my new existence as the servant of Fahd Abdulaziz, a fearsome monster who was feared throughout East Africa and the Arab lands. Fahd claimed to have walked the earth since 1100 A.D. Preying on humans for their blood and robbing the wealthy, Fahd liked to live like a king among the mortals. That was his only weakness as far as I could tell, the fool craved wealth and power...

A Vampire master has complete control over the mind of his or her Ghoul thanks to the blood link. I could no more disobey Fahd's orders than my own right hand or left hand could disobey me. For decades the Vampire roamed the world, and I dutifully followed him, watching as he wreaked havoc on the human populaces of various nations. And then one night, during the summer of 1977, the Trackers came...

The Trackers, a global organization that hunts down and kills non-humans, ranging from werewolves and Vampires to rarer and more exotic monsters that go about in human form. The Trackers did what they did best, tracking down monsters. Fahd and I were living in a rented villa in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. They came in droves, well-armed men and women driven by a single goal, the elimination of non-humans. I watched as they slaughtered Fahd Abdulaziz, thus ending the Vampire overlord's hold over me...

"Now you are free," said the Tracker who delivered the death blow, beheading Fahd and ending the ancient Vampire's reign. I looked at the tall, attractive African-American woman in the paramilitary garb, and smiled in relief. I was still smiling when her acolytes grabbed and put shackles on me. They knew that I wasn't a Vampire since I didn't fear the light of day, but they also didn't know what to make of me, since I wasn't a Vampire, or a werewolf, or any of the non-human breeds they were used to dealing with.

Little is known of us Ghouls. In the movies and poorly written stories, we are the half-dead, docile servants of the Vampires. Let me tell you a few things about us. First of all, we are extremely rare. Few Vampires know how to make Ghouls, and even then it's hit or miss at best. We look like human beings, but we lack a pulse. We do not age, nor can we get sick. Sounds cool, right?

I must say, in most respects, being a Ghoul isn't so bad. We are no stronger or faster than your average human. We sustain ourselves by eating raw meat. We can only die if our brains are destroyed. While the Vampire that made us still lives, we are bound to his or her will. Once they die, however, we are free. No, we are not bound to other Vampires. Oh, and we cannot make other Ghouls by biting humans. I'm afraid that it doesn't work that way.

"I am not your enemy, ma'am, I am a friend to mankind," I said to my savior, whose name was Roslyn Jones, as I later learned. The lovely African-American gal watched as her cohorts hauled me away, to be kept in a top-secret underground complex. Along with the more exotic monsters that they encountered and didn't quite know how to classify...

As luck would have it, one day I escaped from the complex, during an uprising where werewolves and Vampires, natural enemies, cooperated against their human captors, if you can believe that. After escaping, I began making my way around the world, tracking down my sworn enemies, the Vampires. I despise the bloodsuckers and I am happy to say that I've killed a lot of them. And I enjoyed.

"You traitor," shouted my last Vampire victim, a blue-eyed, blonde-haired beauty who went by the name of Sydney Wainwright. In the age of web cam models, Sydney made a fortune while operating in Los Angeles, California, luring men to her lair for highly-paid encounters, and then discarding them after draining their blood...and bank accounts.

The thing about Vampires is that they have this bullshit belief in their own invincibility. Sydney Wainwright was overconfident and careless, like much of the undead. Tracking her down was quite easy, given how careless she was when it comes to her web transactions. A simple hack led me right to her place by using her credit card purchases, and there, I surprised the hell out of Sydney Wainwright, a 200-year-old Vampire originally from Berkshire, England.

"See you in hell, blood sucker," I said as I poured gasoline on the Vampire formerly known as Sydney Wainwright, and lit her up like a torch. I stood there and watched her burn, and stuck around longer than I should have. That's how I got caught by the police. There was a trial, and a big media mess, and then I got sent to an institution for the criminally insane. I've been there for several decades. How do I survive? I do certain favors for the in-facility kitchen crew, and they send me raw meat...

To the world, Abdul-Halim Wachira is synonymous with murder and serial killing. That's right, I was the African Muslim dude whose name they feared from sea to shining sea long before it became fashionable. I've been interviewed ( or, you know, interrogated ) by everyone from FBI agents to RCMP, CSIS, Mossad, Interpol and CIA types. To them, I'm one of the most prolific serial killers ever...and the first one to be both Muslim and black. How about that?

Quite frankly, folks, I'm tickled pink to have received so much attention, but I've never actually killed a human being. All of my victims have been Vampires. I'm not a serial killer. Serial killers kill other people. I kill monsters...there's a difference. A lot of people throw the term monster around loosely these days. Monster paycheck. Monster raise. Monster rewards. Monster deals. Me? When I use the term monster, I actually mean it...

"See you next time, psycho," shouts my favorite orderly, a burly brute with red hair and alabaster skin named Bob. After Dr. Kadra Mohamed left, five of these large uniformed gentlemen came into the meeting room, shackled me and marched me to my cell. Once there, they removed the shackles, left me there and closed the door. I stretched and yawned, not bothering to reply to Bob's taunt. I'd grown bored with this routine ages ago...

"Now, where were we?" I said to myself as I lay on my cot. At times like these, I let my mind wander. I think of the old days, of my old life in Eldoret, Kenya. Where would I be if Fahd the Vampire hadn't slain my family and changed me? I would have led a normal life in Kenya, and married my old sweetheart, a lovely young woman named Khadija Kaparo. A smile comes to my face as I think of Khadija and remember her loveliness...

"Abdul, we're going to get caught," Khadija whispered to me as I showered her with kisses. We were in the garden behind her father Imam Yousef Kaparo's house in the east end of Eldoret. It was a few days before Fahd the Vampire came calling, and with my lady love's dear old dad away on business, Khadija and I had the house to ourselves. I didn't waste any time, if you know what I mean...

"Nonsense, my love," I replied, and I drew Khadija to me and kissed her deeply. At the same time, I caressed her lovely, curvy body. Only nineteen years old, Khadija had curves that older women would envy. Tall and curvy, with rapturous midnight skin, this Kenyan beauty mesmerized me, and I couldn't get enough of her. Loosening up her Hijab, Khadija unbuttoned her blouse, while I hiked up her skirt. Smiling shyly, Khadija eyed me lustfully...

"Alright, then, stop talking," Khadija whispered, and I slid my hand under her skirt, and grinned upon noticing that she wasn't wearing any underwear. In the old days, like today, Muslim ladies like to pretend they invented piety and chastity. An old adage goes that the wildest gal in the village is often the preacher's wife, and this was certainly true among the Kenyan Muslims of my day.

"Let me taste you," I said, sliding my tongue down Khadija's throat, while fondling her breasts with one hand. My other hand slipped under her skirt, and my sleek fingers went into her wet pussy. Khadija gasped as I began fingering her. I kissed a path from the lovely lady's lips to her throat, and then fastened my lips to her nipples, which I sucked greedily. Later, I laid Khadija on the soft grass, and went to work on her...

"Oh, Abdul, what are you doing to me?" Khadija whispered, even as I spread her thick dark thighs and inhaled her scent. I like the way she smells and tastes. I kissed Khadija's sex, and then began eating her pussy. Khadija arched her back, shuddering violently as I teased her by flicking my tongue on her clit, all the while fingering her pussy. This wasn't our first time getting down and I knew what she liked. Imam's daughter or not, Khadija was putty in my hands...

"Relax," I cooed softly, willing Khadija to be calm as I pleasured her. Soon I had the gorgeous Kenyan Muslim gal moaning in pleasure. Afterwards, we slipped out of what remained of our clothes, and I took care of Khadija, good and proper. I put her on all fours and ate that big round booty of hers, then I fucked her. Hard and fast I thrust into Khadija's pussy, fucking her vigorously while smacking that big round ass. I was twenty years old and as energetic as any man who's ever lived, and Khadija and I had an awesome time...

"I wish we could be like this, happy together, forever," Khadija Kaparo said to me as we lay on the soft grass, away from prying eyes, with late afternoon sunlight caressing our bodies. I held her in my arms and smiled. There aren't a lot of perfect moments in this life or any other but for Khadija and I, this was one of them. I thought I had life all figured out. I was going to ask the Imam for his daughter's hand in marriage, and Khadija and I would have a nice life at my old family estate. One night later, my world ended...

Lying on my cot in the dark, away from the world, I sigh happily. Khadija and the City of Eldoret, Kenya, are thousands of kilometers and numerous decades ago. I often wonder what became of Khadija Kaparo, the first woman I ever loved. My sweetheart from the good old days. My old world is gone, and I'm stuck here, though I'm not even one hundred percent sure where 'here' is. Somewhere in the Continental U.S. I guess. Will I ever escape from this hell hole? I can't stay here forever. Trapped in this Sanitorium, in a tiny cell behind a Titanium door. Can't spend the rest of my immortality here. I won't. So, um, any ideas on how I can get out of here?