I don't write about vampires, although I love reading about them. Anne Rice and Lestat. Nothing else need be said.

I write about things people have never seen before, like the concept of Antitheus Vitrum and the winged predators from beyond in Devil Glass. Like the violent reincarnating nonhuman spirit in The Bookseller.

But if I did write about a vampire his profile would look like this:

He has been with humanity from the beginning. He consumes the blood of his victims, leaving no trace of his presence. He does not create other vampires and he is not invisible to a mirror. He has no aversion to garlic or crucifixes. These are all legends he started to help hide his presence among the living.

He sleeps in a coffin at night and is allergic to the sun.

He also falls in love. Deep passionate love that could last for years, but only makes it a few weeks when the bloodlust overpowers the love. It always ends with death by loss of blood.

His days in the coffin are tormented by the vivid memory of each love, each death, each utter heartbreak. So much heartbreak. He cries tears of blood during the day and walks the streets at night, sometimes feeding, sometimes falling in love.

That nightmare from ScaryBob to you.

Maybe I should write about a vampire.
Nah…

ScaryBob