A World of Vampires: Volume 2 Page 13

  I would never wish this on another person, and I commanded the peuchen to never take over another soul. There had originally been twelve of us and now we are down to three. I feared that soon, I would meet my own destruction, and there were times I hoped that it would be the case, but the need to survive kept me going, kept me fighting. I would not go down easily, that is a warning for anyone that travels into the remote areas of Chile. That if you come here, hoping for some kind of power, for some kind of eternal life, you will only be met with death. Do not search for such dark things, we are dangerous, and we will lie to get what we want. The ends don’t always justify the means, that is something I have learned the hard way in my lifetime.

  Have you ever looked up to someone, wanted to be just like them, or at least wanted them to be proud of you in some way? You do everything in a certain way just so that they will notice you somehow and you hope then that their recognition of you as unique being will make your life complete? It would be a lie to say that I never felt that way about someone, and I ignored all the warning signs telling me I shouldn’t trust that person. But I ignored them until it was too late. I turned my head away from the fact that his demeanor was surrounded by an evil essence known as the aufhocker.

  I always wondered if I could have ever been deterred from following in his footsteps, have been able to turn down his request and then allow my family to suffer in poverty. No, even if I had known the truth, I probably would have still gone with him. I looked up to him, ever since I could remember. And he knew that, which is exactly why I stood no chance against him. It was fate for me to become this creature, and I couldn’t go against fate, now could I?

  Some say that I’m lucky, at least compared with others who are in the same sort of position as I am—as I have found that there were quite a few scattered across the world. I tend to disagree with those individuals, as being cursed to live out my life like this is not very ‘lucky ‘in any sense of the word, but I can see what they are getting at. They too face some of the same troubles as I do, not being able to live a real life along with our emotional sanity being completely destroyed. In fact, many of them thought they were alone until I stumbled across them searching for my maker. They were as surprised as I and begged for me to stay with them and protect them, as creatures of our kind feared death more than humans ever could have. It’s strange that once our morality has been taken and we taste immortality for just a second; we somehow fear death more than ever.

  Though, I can understand why they want me to stay around. Out of all the monsters of the night, not many are as powerful or even as formidable as the aufhocker. Because unlike most creatures, I can shape-shift. I can be whoever I want to be, or whatever I want to be—though there are a few others that can do the same.

  That being said, I guess I am fortunate, but I would give it all away to lead a more normal life, to not crave the flesh of a human being any longer. To not yearn for their blood. I have killed so many over the years that I have even lost count as to the cumulative number I’ve killed. I don’t want to live this way anymore, but there is nothing I can do.

  I can’t die.

  Or, at least, my instinct at this point in my extended life is not to die. I haven’t tried everything, but I have tried a lot—or at least other people and monsters have tried a lot of different methods to kill me. It usually ended in their deaths and a lot of hassle for me. I’ve been stabbed, shot, sliced, cut, hung, set on fire, held underwater, thrown out of a building, and countless other things I’d rather not repeat. But nothing really does the trick, to my enemies’ great dismay, they always step over to my body, laughing as if they thought they had won. Then I get up and rip their heads from their bodies. So I guess they don’t get enough time for it really to sink in that I had survived, maybe next time I should wait a few more seconds. I get pretty angry when someone tries to kill me that I always seem to act rash and not savor the moment. Whatever, I’ve even had my head cut off, but in the end, my body simply grabbed it by pure survival instinct and put it back on. By the way, that was all within the last half-a-century.

  So I can’t die. And that’s that.

  It was probably the main reason other vampires wanted me to stay with them, as a few had seen it firsthand. One even tried to rip my heart out for kissing her, and then she muttered how unfair it was that she lost her love in that way but couldn’t even make me flinch. I thought about asking her what happened, but then she ran off to further her search for happiness. We both knew what it was like to lose people important to us, which was why I thought I could kiss her and start a relationship. I was dead wrong, no pun intended.

  I guess I should stop dreaming about the day when someone will do me in, and instead, actually start a thorough search for the man who forced me to accept this curse all those years ago. It was in the year 1965, when the wall between East and West Berlin became a little harder to jump over. It was no longer just a wire fence as it had been for a few years that one could eventually find a weak spot in, but rather an actual concrete wall that made it near impossible to get across.

  ‘Near’ was the key word there.

  I had found a way through, eventually. It took a few beatings by the officials who guarded the wall; I even suffered a bullet in the arm just to get across once. Luckily, I knew a doctor who could stitch me up, no questions or payment needed. I would just have a few errands to run for him in exchange, it was no big deal, although if my mentor knew, I could have been in big trouble at the time, as the doctor didn’t have the greatest of reputations.

  He may or may not have had connections to the underground, providing assistance to criminals and the like. Though I couldn’t really say I was innocent myself, illegally crossing between borders was a great crime back in the day. But those in charge didn’t understand what it was like to tear a country into two. They didn’t know what it was like to have one’s family ripped away from them, to not be able to see the ones you loved just because outside forces couldn’t agree on anything.

  I prayed every night for them to come to an understanding, or just to leave our country alone. Little did I know that my prayer wouldn’t be heard for some time and that it personally wouldn’t matter any longer, though I am getting ahead of myself.

  Some people would ask me if it was worth it, risking my life to climb up that god-forsaken wall. The answer was always yes. Yes it was. My family lived on the other side of that wall, in East Germany, where the Soviets were in control. They could barely survive without my help, so I did everything I could to make sure they could put bread on the table. It wasn’t like my father was in the picture anymore and I would be damned if I would let another man I didn’t know near my mother, not that I really could protect her from the other side of the wall. It killed me to think that she could go out with some of those men, though it had been a year since I heard her speak of anyone specific. Last one was a border guard um Gottes willen!

  I was nineteen at the time, and I had been jumping over the border for four years, when the initial fence went up. At the age of fourteen, I had been separated from my family when I was living with Herr Schmidt, who took me on as an apprentice for tailoring. It didn’t sound like much, but I was getting paid more than what I would if I were doing the same occupation, and was a master at it, in East Berlin. Herr Schmidt just had to sign paperwork, making it so I could live there with him on the West side. He was great like that, always looking out for me. I couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in my life. Any time he wasn’t visiting, I would wish he would come over so that we could go to the park, play ball, or some kind of games. Sometimes he even brought presents, even when it wasn’t my birthday or Christmas. Usually, they were just small things, like a top or book of some sort, but it didn’t matter. It was meaningful, and I treasured everything he brought. He was like an uncle to me; he cared for me, taught me everything I needed to know about how to excel in my position and more. He practically took me in when my mother couldn’t provide for me any long
er.

  That’s why his betrayal hurt the most.

  I guess it all started one night in the fall of 1965. I was working on a suit for a gentleman in his late fifties. It was a nice suit, made of the finest material we had. Sometimes when these men came in, I would feel a bit jealous of the way many of them could spend so much on clothes like this while the rest of us could barely make enough to eat. It just didn’t seem fair. But that was a Wessi for you. They didn’t know what it was like to live under Soviet rule on the other side. They just pretended we didn’t exist.

  Running my fingers through my thick, curly hair, I measured the height of the rather tall man, while noting Herr Schmidt watching me closely, and had his hand placed over his mouth as he stared at me with those brown eyes through his dark rimmed glasses. I hated when he did that, scrutinize me as if he was looking for something to criticize me about. It always made me fear that I would mess up and make a suit that didn’t fit the customer perfectly, then get scolded for wasting such expensive fabric.

  The man had ordered suits here before, for he knew exactly how to adjust himself accordingly, once a part of his body had been properly measured. Not only that, but he was the type of person I would never forget—one that even in random conversation with another, he was constantly putting down the people on the East side. I didn’t say anything, fearful that my Ossi accent would be noticeable and he would throw a fit. These Wessis didn’t care for us coming over here and ‘taking their jobs’. So, for the most part, I kept my mouth shut and let Herr Schmidt do the talking.

  “You are growing up to be a strong man, aren’t you Aussie?” Herr Mueller treated me like a child just as he usually did. He wasn’t a skinny man, nor was he that large, but you could definitely tell he ate well, probably wasting food every night and simply throwing it out without a care in the world. His light brown hair was speckled with white and the wrinkles on his face told me that he was starting to age more than he wanted to. He wouldn’t survive two days in my shoes and yet he treated me like some naive child. I hated it.

  “My name is Ade, sir,” I said as clear as I could without an accent.

  He let out a laugh. “I am terribly sorry for my mistake. Good thing it is, too. Aussie sounds way too close to Ossi, and you don’t want to be associated with those folk. Bunch of criminals, they are.”

  Schmidt didn’t say a word but just gave me a look, letting me know to not let it bother me.

  “I mean,” Mueller went on. “Those who do manage to get over the border, illegally or not, are all in some kind of gang, one way or another. Then they steal the jobs of the hard working people that make up West Berlin. It is devastating, really, that our government can let such a thing happen. They all have been under Soviet rule long enough to be practically Russians. A bunch of communist pigs, if you ask me.”

  “We didn’t ask you,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Excuse me, what did you say?” Mueller gave me a funny look.

  I straightened up. “I said, the sizing is done. Thank you sir, for being so patient.”

  He smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

  Schmidt eyed me, warning me not to say anything like that again, and then turned to Mueller. “Your suit should be ready in eight weeks, Herr Mueller.”

  Mueller stared at Schmidt incredulously. “Eight weeks? Last time I came here, it was only five!”

  “We have a lot of orders in line, you just have to wait your turn.”

  Herr Mueller got a snarky look on his face and pulled out a wad of cash. “Oh, I see. You want money, don’t you? What about a hundred marks? How fast would it be then?”

  Schmidt kept a stern look on his face as he took the money. “I guess, with that... incentive, it would be more along the lines of four weeks. What do you say to that?”

  “I say, that sounds splendid. See you in two fortnights.” With that, Herr Mueller left us without even courteously thanking me for my assistance with taking his measurements. Typical of him, though, not once had he ever thanked me. Though, at least this time he didn’t hear my remark under my breath. He was such a stereotypical Wessi that it was hard not to make fun of him. But he also was one of our biggest customers, so I had to bite my tongue. Herr Schmidt always said that if I wanted to stay here, I needed to be more polite and get rid of my accent. I was trying my hardest, but sometimes it was near impossible to mask it.

  I turned to Schmidt after Mueller was out the door. He was smiling ear to ear, which I always found a little scary when he did so, as he was very calculative in things that he did. Sometimes it frightened me enough to look away. He pressed his glasses up and scratched at the back of his graying hair.

  “I thought we were only four weeks out right now for custom suits, it has been pretty slow in the shop,” I asked.

  “Exactly, Ade, it’s been slow and we need more cash coming in,” he handed me half of the stack. “Here, take this to your mother. You are going to her house tonight, are you not?”

  I felt my cheeks turn red. “Am I that predictable?”

  He laughed and put his hand on my back. “My dear boy, I’ve known you all your life. I can tell when you are planning to run off somewhere—especially since you got all your chores done early in the day.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” I should have realized he could tell when it was one of those days where I would jump the wall, to see my mother and sister. He was a smart guy, which was why I looked up to him so much. He seemed wise beyond his years, though he was in his late fifties. I could ask him anything, it felt like, and he would know the answer. More important, he would be willing to patiently tell me the answer to all my many questions.

  “I’m sorry,” I began. “I have been going behind your back and jumping over the wall, but I just can’t trust the post to deliver money. You know how they are, none of it would reach my mother.”

  Herr Schmidt just smiled. “I don’t mind you going there, Ade, I just worry for your safety. You are my best apprentice, after all.”

  “I’m your only apprentice,” I said, laughing.

  “Exactly, so if something happens to you, I am out of luck. But I know if you have been doing it for this long, that you know a thing or two about sneaking over. Just be careful, I do worry about you.”

  “I will, Herr Schmidt. You can count on me.”

  He looked at me for a few more seconds, as if he was going to say something else, but then simply laughed. “You are quite the character. I am glad you have come here to stay. If you were in East Berlin, I don’t think you would ever see your full potential.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “As a tailor?”

  “As anything you want to be, it can happen. You just have to want it bad enough.”

  Shrugging, I said. “Well, right now, I just want to make sure both my mother and sister are fine. I can’t go off doing something that won’t provide for them as well. Maybe someday, but not any time soon.”

  “Is that so?” he whispered more to himself than me. His eyes turned dark for a moment, but went back to his cheery self. “You are much more responsible than your father ever was. Well, then, you better hurry off with this week’s paycheck then. Can’t keep your mother waiting,” he handed me a few more marks that included everything I had made that week.

  “Thank you, Herr Schmidt, I will finish up cleaning and getting these measurements ready to start cutting fabric tomorrow.”

  “Good boy, and don’t forget to lock up when you leave.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Herr Schmidt left me there alone, as I finished cleaning up the shop. His and my home were located just above the shop. His apartment took up the entire second floor, while I had the pleasure, as he put it, of staying in the attic. The attic that is freezing in the winter, and boiling hot in the summer. There was no happy medium, with respects to the temperature in the attic. On tough nights, when the temperature reaches either extreme, I usually snuck back down to the shop and slept on the hard wooden bench. At least it was warmer, or co
oler, depending on the season.

  I gathered all my things I needed to jump the fence. Mostly, it consisted of me stuffing the money I earned for the whole week into my socks, and having a couple marks ready to pay off any officer if I get caught, which I hoped wouldn’t happen.

  Then I was on my way.

  It was a crisp autumn night. The sharp coolness hit me as I stepped out the door in my dark jacket and pants that were picked out specifically for getting through the night without being seen. Some people didn’t think about what they wore as they tried to get over the wall, causing them to get captured quite easily. I’d seen it a few times, and I definitely didn’t want to be them.

  The city was quiet, not many people wanting to go near the wall in fear of the strong, sturdy officers that manned it. German officers weren’t known for being the nicest fellows to talk with, or get near. It didn’t help that the wounds of the war were still imprinted on everyone’s minds.

  My father had served in the war, under the banner of the Third Reich of course. He was just doing his duty as a citizen, but never climbed any of the ranks since he didn’t join until near the end. He never spoke about the war, I only knew as much as I did from my mother. He stayed around for a while, until my sister was born. Then he got really drunk and ran off. It was the last any of us ever saw of him. He wouldn’t talk about how we were stuck on the Soviet side of the country, or what had happened to him during the war. He would just drink all the thoughts away until he passed out on the couch each day.

  But that was years ago, before I started my apprenticeship with Herr Schmidt. Strangely, I can’t seem to remember just how I got to know Herr Schmidt. I recalled asking my mother, but she would always shrug and say he was an old friend of my father’s from his boyhood. I still don’t quite believe that, as my father always acted anxious when Herr Schmidt came over, or at least more anxious than he normally was. I never understood why, seeing as how Herr Schmidt was the nicest man I knew. Maybe my father just couldn’t stand being around someone more pleasant than him, someone who actually cared for our family and could teach me things that would be beneficial to my life. Herr Schmidt was a better father than he ever could be, not that I saw him as a father, but more as a mentor. The word ‘father’ had bad connotations in my mind and I could never call him something so vile. I think, deep down, my father knew that and that was why he left us. Herr Schmidt was quick to come around after it happened to help pick up the pieces, as we were almost about to lose our home. Then I started working for him and have been ever since. I worried that he just hired me out of pity for my family, but I knew deep down that Herr Schmidt cared about me, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to help me.