The Vampires of Hargeisa

"Yasmin, you're going to be our guinea pig," Dr. Stephanie Sloan said to me, a maniacal gleam in her eyes as she stood in front of my mirrored cell door, a notepad and pen in her hands. The chubby middle-aged African American scientist looked pretty smug standing behind the safety glass, licking her lips like a cocky bitch would. If only I had the strength to smash it and grab the bozo by the neck and squeeze the life out of that bitch. No can do at the moment, but it's nice to have goals, isn't it?

"Fuck you bitch, when I get out of here, you're dead meat," I replied vehemently, and Dr. Sloan winked at me, and then walked away, reeking of smugness and cheap perfume. Even here, several hundred meters below ground, I could feel the power of the sun as it rose in the sky. What manner of creature in this universe doesn't know its bane? I read somewhere that in Asia and parts of Africa, snakes and mongooses seek each other out across great distances, for the same reason. As a Vampire, I am attuned to the rise and fall of the light, my eternal enemy.

The Hunters captured me and brought me to this place, a secret underground lab of sorts. I'm not the only Vampire there. I've seen lots of others, some of whom I've seen around in the Vampire underworld, others are complete strangers to me. They're doing experiments on us. Last night they drew my blood, and then forced me to drink silver-tainted blood. I nearly died. I hate those fuckers more than I hate the sun, which is saying something.

It was daytime when the Hunters came and found me, deep in the basement of the Ottawa townhouse I'd called home for so long. A bright Sunday morning in early September, and I was sleeping in my basement, resting after a fairly eventful night. I'd gone to one of the Canadian capital's nicest bars, The Honest Lawyer, and found myself a cutie to play with. A lovely Ethiopian gal named Mariam Dilalesa, whom I seduced, bedded, and killed, as is my custom.

I crave sex and I crave blood, and I don't apologize for it. Any of it. In fact, how I became a Vampire involved those very same cravings. The year was 1977, and I was a newcomer to New York City by way of my hometown of Hargeisa, Somalia. I was born in Somalia in 1957 and first set foot in the United States of America at the age of twenty. It wasn't easy for me in those days, as a young, Hijab-wearing Muslim woman from the heart of East Africa. Still, I came to the U.S. for a fresh start, and got it.

I missed Hargeisa sorely, and lamented the fact that I had to leave behind my father, Aden Yousef and my mother, Halima, and my younger brother Warsama. Conflict had come to Somalia as clan clashed against clan, and the Somali government, led by a tyrannical strongman, sought to keep the peace. As the eldest daughter, I was sent out to America in the manner of a scout. Unfortunately, I never made it home, and my family never made it to America. I was unprepared for how much America would change me as I began my studies in organic chemistry at NYU.

One night, I went out clubbing with my girlfriends, and met a handsome young man named Ramon. A six-foot-tall, bronze-skinned and dark-eyed, athletic young Lothario who seduced me and brought me home for a night of fun. Yes, pious Somali girls can and do have casual fun with handsome lads. We're only human. As Ramon and I fucked over every inch of his tiny Brooklyn apartment, I thought to myself that he was the most amazingly passionate man I'd ever met. If I only knew...

"You amaze me, Ramon," I said breathlessly as I lay in his arms, after hours of passionate sexing. Ramon grinned and caressed my face, and when I looked into his eyes, I swear they changed color, going from light brown to a bright red. Almost neon red, in fact. His face handsome face contorted, becoming bestial, and his teeth grew longer, until they became curving fangs. Eyes wide with shock, I could only stare as Ramon smiled devilishly at me.

"Thanks, sweetie, my dearest Yasmin, you amaze me too, that's why I'm doing this," Ramon roared, and then he grabbed me and sank his fangs into my neck. I cried out and tried to resist, but to no avail. Ramon was monstrously strong, whatever he is. At some point, I lost consciousness, and when I came to, I was...changed. Thus, Ramon Carvalho, a handsome young Portuguese soldier who followed Christopher Columbus to the New World before he became one of the Undead, brought me into a whole new world.

"This is exhilarating," I shouted at the top of my lungs as Ramon and I went hunting in the streets of Queens, NY, three nights after I became one of the Undead. I followed a Skinhead around after watching him attack a Puerto Rican pizza delivery guy, and then killed him. The Skinhead, a bald-headed, blue-eyed white male with tattoos all over his lean, lanky body, put up quite a fight.

"What are you? You're not a normal woman," Mr. Skinhead cried out as I hurled him against the alley's brick wall, and then I surged at him, and tore him to pieces. I sank my fangs into his neck and drank his blood, and just like that, I drained his life away. When you kill a person, and drink their blood, it's psychological and spiritual nourishment, not just physical. The Skinhead had lived a life of danger, and he was filled with hate for those different from himself. I savored his blood, and all of his delusions and prejudices made him taste spicier on my tongue.

"I'm glad you enjoyed your first kill, my dearest Yasmin, you will have eternity to learn from a true master of the night like myself," Ramon said, and the handsome Portuguese Vampire looked at me and smiled patronizingly, like an expert sharing wisdom with some amateur or newbie. I smiled and kissed Ramon, embracing him passionately. In my mind, though, I came to one resolution. A rather inevitable one, as you can imagine...

Eternity is far too long a span of time to spend under the thumb of a bully, and that's exactly what Ramon was. At first, he was my hero and my lover. Later, as time went by, he became more controlling. I learned from other Vampires that he had a nasty pattern of creating fledgling Vampires and turning them into his slaves, killing them if they fled from his thrall.

Bad relationships are toxic for the soul, this holds true for humans as well as Vampires, even though I'm not convinced that I still possess a soul any longer. Nevertheless, I knew what I had to do. A rather daunting task, to be sure. I needed to kill my so-called Vampire Master in order to be free. So I got rid of Ramon, by exposing him to sunlight as he slept. I emancipated myself, thus beginning my age-old pattern of seduction, manipulation and murder...

As the decades rolled on, I gloried in the lifestyle of the Vampire, even as I fell into my routine. I roamed all over North America, and made myself at home in places like New Orleans, Boston, Tijuana, and even Montreal and Toronto. As the 2010s rolled on, I settled in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I wanted a change of pace, and this seemingly idyllic little town with its government-worker culture, its passive-aggressive residents and its boring, benign façade appealed to me immensely.

After a night of fun, I disposed of the lovely Mariam Dilalesa, burying her remains in a shallow grave, in a place where humans may never find her. I love the City of Ottawa, Ontario, for its odd and wonderful mixture of wilderness and urbanization. It's so different from, say, New York City, where unless you're in Central Park, you're surrounded by a concrete jungle at all times. Prior to burying Mariam, I broke her neck, to make sure that she wouldn't come back. There's a method to my madness folks. You see, there is only room for so many Vampires on this planet.

What do I mean by that? I need to kill a human being every week or so, and drain their blood, in order to survive. That's fifty two kills a year. Multiply that by two if there's another Vampire in town, and so on and so on. Keep in mind that most Vampires aren't as conscientious as I am. Many of them are quite careless about their business, hence why they fall into the Hunters radar. They come and eliminate those who cannot control themselves, or can't abide by the rules. I just never thought they'd come after me...

The Hunters came for me, but they didn't kill me, which, although I'm thankful for it, doesn't make any sense. For centuries they've been around, men and women financed by the Church, and armed and trained to hunt down and eliminate the supernatural. They're in every country, every land where Vampires roam. In the past, there've been wars between Vampires and the Hunters. We agreed on a truce, ages ago. Only those Vampires whose actions threaten the Vampire community with exposure or threaten humanity as a whole would be fair game for the Hunters. So, um, what in hell am I doing here?

Lying on a cot in my cell, I thought long and hard about all the twists and turns that my life has taken. In mortal life, I was considered quite beautiful. I stood five feet eleven inches tall, curvy and sexy, with medium brown skin, light brown eyes and long black hair. My mother Halima was a Bantu, and my father Aden Yousef was half Somali and half Yemeni Arab. As the result of such a union, I've been told more times than I count how exotic I look. Doesn't faze me anymore, I guess.

I have always been a seductress, of both women and men. I kill to feed, and also to protect myself. I am what I am and make no apology for it. I am not cruel or evil. I don't kill for fun. In fact, I am no more evil than a fox pouncing on a rabbit in the fields. Vampires like myself have to kill in order to feed. Humans kill for fun, and also out of hatred, or jealousy, or anger. Over the centuries, they've racked up a body count that amazed even my supernatural species. You tell me, my kind and yours, which one is the more evil breed?

I thought of all the people I'd killed, and their faces blurred and shifted, for I didn't bother to remember them all any more than the average human being can remember every meal he or she has ever had. I've killed killers, murderers, rapists and sociopaths. Bet you liked reading about that. Perhaps you're trying to convince yourself that I'm a good Vampire, killing only bad people. Let me ask you something, dear reader. The chickens, fishes, goats, turkeys, sheep and cows that end up on your plate, are they evil representatives of their various species?

Yeah, that's what I thought. I've killed mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, the old and the young, the pretty and the ugly, the atheist and the pious, and also the rich and the poor. While the blood of wicked people is extra spicy on my tongue, I don't really make a difference when I'm starving. Any port in a storm, right? Any open vein in a time of hunger, I say...

"Rise and shine, vile beast," comes a feminine voice, snatching me out of my reverie. It is now sundown, I can feel it. I look up, and find Dr. Stephanie Sloan standing at my cell door, flanked by a quartet of beefy, uniformed men armed with guns. I recognize the Hunters, and I know that their guns fire silver bullets, designed specifically to kill my kind. I look at the quintet of mortals, and smile. I can hear the blood flowing in their veins, like water running through a faucet. Inside of me, my thirst rises...

"Well, hello again, doctor bitch," I reply, and Dr. Sloan flashes me a wicked smile, the kind I've seen on serpents faces before they swallow their prey head-first. Nonchalantly I rise, and stretch. I'm still wearing the stupid hospital gown that they tossed at me on my first night here. I've been in this shit hole for months, and sincerely hope that I won't be in here forever. My nature is such that I cannot commit suicide. Humans kill themselves, animals and Vampires can't. Yet another mysterious law of the universe...

"Yasmin, you're in fine spirits tonight, good, you will need your strength, we are going to conduct ultra violet ray experiments and I nominate you," Dr. Sloan says with a wink, and in spite of myself, I shudder with dread. Dr. Sloan has that dangerous light of madness in her eyes. Say, remember when I told you that I don't discriminate in whom I kill? That wasn't quite true. I avoid feeding on madmen and madwomen. The blood of the insane has been known to give my species indigestion...

"Go to hell, bitch," I reply, and Dr. Sloan nods at her henchmen, and when my cell door swings open, I launch myself at them. A hundred thousand volts of electricity hit me, and I collapse on the cell floor. The henchmen beat me into submission, and shoot me with silver bullets, though not in the face or the chest. Silver hurts like hell, but I know I will live. What is to become of me?

I struggle mightily, but to no avail. I am brought into another cell, and I almost puke, for I see the remains of Vampires. They've been burned by Dr. Sloan's new weapons, ultra-violet weapons that burn Vampires skin, even though it's night time. I am strapped to a chair, and then bound. Dr. Sloan smiles at her henchmen, and nods. One by one they file out of the room, and the good doctor fixes that merciless gaze on me. I am in for pure hell, and I know it...

"Now it's just the two of us, Yasmin, and you will pay for killing my lover," Dr. Sloan says, and I stare at her, stone-faced. What the fuck is this psycho bitch in a lab coat talking about? As I continue to stare, Dr. Sloan pulls out a picture of someone that looks familiar. I almost gasp in surprise as I recognize Mariam Dilalesa, the young Ethiopian lesbian whom I seduced and killed ages ago. What the fuck is going on here?

"Get the fuck out of here, Doc, if I knew this bitch was yours I would have made her suffer more," I blurt out, and Dr. Sloan brandishes the photograph inches from my face. I look at her and try to make the connection. Dr. Stephanie Sloan is over forty, overweight, and ugly, a perfect exemplar of the chubby, brilliant and talented black female nerd that succeeded professionally but not romantically. I don't feel empathy, remember? I am a predator. And I won't fake having a soul to save my skin...

"You shouldn't have said that, bitch, I was going to kill you quickly after the experiments but now, I think I am going to make you suffer, for a long time," Dr. Sloan says, and she pulls out a bone saw, and I can smell the pure silver emanating from it. I smile, in spite of myself. I should feel scared, but I don't. if I'm going out, I'm going out in style. And I'll give Dr. Sloan something to remember me by...

"Bring it on bitch," I reply, and Dr. Sloan's eyes bulge with anger, and she comes at me. The bitch accidentally trips on the tiled floor, and that's when I see my opportunity and seize it. With a superhuman effort, I rip through my bonds, silvery though they may be. The look of pure surprise and abject terror on the good doctor's face is almost amusing. I'm hungry, and I despise this bitch, so I take my sweet time as I drain her, then toss her decapitated head at the door.

I can hear the doctor's henchmen coming, and they're going to kill me for sure. I don't feel worried or scared. I'm not human, nor am I an animal. I know what has to happen and I accept it. As a Vampire, I am an avatar of death, and no one has a better understanding or acceptance of death than one who doles it out as often as I do. The door swings open, and twenty five men and women armed with silver bullet-laden guns come for me. I smile like the Devil himself as I race to meet them. If I've got to go out, might as well go out with a bang, eh?