They made me a vampire.
I know what you're thinking. Where is the Byronic sneer? The crushed velvet? The frills? And why am I not humming The Sisters of Mercy? I did all these once you know...
(Maudlin)
so long ago...well, not really so long ago, hardly long ago at all in fact - I'm still quite green. No, as undead as I may be, I am not putrefying. I'm just a mere baby in the undead scale of things, being a vampire only for the last fifteen years or so. Which is very embarrassing in bloodsucking circles, I can tell you. Whereas youth is the currency of the living today, old age is worth its weight in blood to the undead. There is nothing a vampire likes better to do than go on about their age. And you should hear some of them: "I remember meeting Mary Shelley"; or "I'm the woman who killed Jack the Ripper"; "I was at the Crucifixion"; "I sucked the blood at Paschendale"...and all I can manage is "Millennium Dome?"
Slight pause.
I know what else you're thinking. What's it like? Did it hurt? How do you become a vampire? You don't become a vampire overnight, it all takes time. And no one really does it through choice. Who would choose being alone? Being an outcast? Being cold and having no heart. Having all your previous life, loves and friendships suddenly barred to you. Not being welcome any more. Ignored and forgotten. Would anyone really want to choose all this? Because that is what being a vampire is really all about, fuck all your metaphors about sex, this is what it means: forced to go out only at night, forced to live off the suffering you inflict on others, forced to be hated and despised by the rest of society...of course, they never mentioned any of this in the ad, when I applied for that DSS job.
Pause.
Well, even a vampire has to work. Even the undead have utility bills to pay. And jumpers to take to Sketchleys. And smalls to the launderette. I can live...die with that. And the Department of Social Security have a very good pension scheme. Though I don't think they realise how long they'll have to pay me out for. That's the trouble with pensions, sensible as they may be, they don't really cater for the immortal.
Slight pause.
Actually, now that I come to think about it, maybe it still does. Well, would you wear one? Look at Jon Pertwee. I rest my case. Anyway, where was I? Yes, the image. You dress up like that now and all you get is "are you a Goth?" But that's a small irritation. No, the worst thing about vampirism is that it really is nothing more than the biggest and scariest extended family in the whole bloody history of everything. All inbred.
When you become a vampire, the only other bloodsucker you know is the one who made you. Your “sire" I think is the popular term now. They are meant to show you the ropes and the do's and don'ts. Like, never suck on an alcoholic. And never suck a flower child, hippy or general pot-head. You end up spending hours just looking at your hands. And never, ever, ever try to suck the blood of a Tony Hancock - he just keeps going on about it being "very nearly an armful!"
At that time, the time when you've just become a vampire, it's all still quite fun. You have this wonderful sense of freedom, and you and your maker have a whale of a time. But then you have to go and meet "the family". You have to go and "meet their mother" as it were. Which can be quite daunting. You know what they say "All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, that's his." Okay, it's someone else's quote, but I'm a vampire for Christ's sake, I feed off others - if I can't plagiarise...Anyway, my "sire" was a gorgeous strawberry blonde called Joanne.
(sighs)
She used to have the smell of freshly baked bread about her hair. Never could work that one out...and d'you know what her chat-up line was? "You'll have to meet my mum, she's in the cemetery". I thought she meant she was an orphan. Or, "mum in cemetery" was a metaphor for "don't speak to parents any more". Then I realised she was being literal. Anyway, before any of all that happened - she was the one who sucked me...and very nice it was as well.
So, I had to meet the mother, I don't know if she was some kind of Queen Vampire of the Damned, the first of the undead...! hope not, because that'd've been such a grotesque perversion of the earth mother even for vampirism. And thank goodness vampires don't age, because the thought of vamps all becoming like their mother...I had to go and meet mother, and mother was huge. I had to meet mother, and mother was grotesque. I had to meet mother, and mother was called Matrimonia Shamley.
If you can imagine the Jabba the Hut of vampires. She had a lot of red hair and foundation, dressed permanently in a regency ball gown. D'you remember, when very young, having to visit granny, and granny insisting on a kiss? D'you remember rubbing your face afterwards, reaching for the Dettol? And God, did Matrimonia love to slobber. She actually thought she was some kind of sex bomb! Imagine that, a Barbara Cartland look alike vampire thinking she was sexy. (Looking around, sheepish) She even tried to bed me.
Slight pause.
I know what you're thinking: thank you. That's an image that'll stay with us for a very long time - Barbara Cartland and sexual intercourse. Telling people what they should do, that was another of her vices. Giving a little parental "advice" is how she termed it. She had erroneously assumed that because she had lived so long, hundreds of years, she knew all there was to know about death, sex and vampires. She thought she was the fountain of all knowledge: "I have been through it all" she used to screech. And I believed her. Told her everything, placed myself entirely in her trust, even Joanne warned me not to be so open. Then I realised that Matrimonia knew absolutely nothing at all.
We actually got on very well to begin with, me and the walking mother-in-law joke. Even the family seemed okay. You should have seen them: a pick'n'mix assortment of the most bizarre characters possible. And oh so original: an Uncle Fester, a Grimly Fiendish, a Kenneth Williams....God knows where that one came from...and then I met and made my first vampire. That's where it all started going wrong.
Apparently, you're meant to be very careful about who you "sire". God, I hate that term, makes it sound like you've fathered babies: "I sired x-amount of vamps". Apparently, you have to consider carefully what sort of person they are. How mature, could they cope with the kill, that sort of thing. But when you're in love, you know what it's like, your brain is the last thing you rely on. Second favourite organ sort of thing. It's all instinctual. And I went and made undead and fell in love with a divorcee called Eve.
Nothing seemed at all wrong to begin with. We laughed so much and had great fun. We made a point of sucking the blood of celebrities, and you wouldn't believe how different their blood tasted. You eventually develop quite a palate, as far as blood goes. Unless, of course, you're an alcoholic bloodsucker, Rats’ blood probably tastes just as good to you then. (It's the undead equivalent of Windolene). Anyway, it is all a little like wine. I know, I know, I'm not meant to "drink... vine". (Slight pause) ; Bram Stoker is another with a lot to answer for. I've been a part of the biggest vampire family and I have never, ever actually met someone who goes around saying “The children of the night, what beautiful music they mike." Vampires actually do that as a drunken party piece because it's so damned embarrassing. Ah, stereotypes, what a wonderful thing. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the blood of the stars. (stops) "The Blood of the Stars". God, that sounds like a nice title for a poem. Blimey, don't tell me I've actually thought of something original. The blood of the stars…Anyway, the best blood I've ever actually had was that of Eddie Izzard. It was so sweet. Bit of an unusual after-taste though. However, the trouble with bloodsucking is, it all has an effect... and you go around mimicking your victim’s behaviour for a few days. Yes, I did the make-up, and the mime, and "I left my aura there". You actually do that as a vampire, leave your aura around the place. I used to leave mine everywhere - best way to hog the best coffins: "Sorry, but that's my aura". Never mind. It was really just a phase. You should have seen who Eve sucked though: only Diana Rigg. Her blood apparently had quite a kick to it. And the effect on Eve just had to be seen: it was kinky boots and leather for days on end. That's the secret of good impressionist - they're really only vampires.
And then it all went wrong. Spectacularly. Remember the do's and don'ts I told you about? The biggest don't in vampirism is two vampires sucking off each other. No, no, sorry, I'll rephrase that. Two vampires drinking each other's blood. It's the undead equivalent of marrying your under-age cousin I imagine. Me and Eve did it. God, that must've made us the undead version of Jerry Lee Lewis, (slight pause) It was odd. We didn't plan it, it just happened. There was no guilt, nothing like that. Eve's blood tasted like cider. And it made me sick. Violently. I sucked the blood of a vampire, and the toilet bowl became my friend. Now, that sounds good. Maybe I should sing the Blues. And then...nothing. I don't know if we were expecting some terrible retribution, but no thunderbolt came, (slight pause) Slowly though, I began to notice. Eve was changing. Which was scary, because vampires never change. They never evolve. But something was changing her. God, it was horrible, like an infection. When I realised what was going on, it was frightening. Poor Eve...she started changing... into me. She started dressing like me. Talking like me, being me. After the blessing of being non-reflective, the wonderful personality , that I’d met was swapped for a mirror with all my sickening faults emblazoned across it.
Slight pause.
I detested what I'd done. God, I wanted to stake her. I wanted to just grab the first sharp object I could find and ram it into her chest. Maybe I should have done. I lost my temper once and threw some holy water over her. It burnt. The smell of holy water in the morning. I should've done worse. Killed her. Would've made it easier. Maybe I should've done that to myself, vampire suicide. The other big no-no. My final choice of action was far worse. I told Matrimonia. Everything. You've all seen Interview with a Vampire. I thought they'd bury me alive, deprive me of blood or cut my head off. You know what families are like. To my surprise, she seemed very supportive. She took Eve under her wing. Hell, it seemed, had lots more furies than a vampire scorned.
Slight pause.
Little did I know that Matrimonia and her brood were preparing a little surprise for me. Eve, by now, had become very close to Matrimonia. And changed again. Yes, I have wondered about that. She became one of the most vicious and powerful vampires I have ever known. The sort the films are made about. The family were glad to have a bloodsucker with what they saw as "panache". The flaccid little anaemics that they were. What I failed to realise, when I confided in Matrimonia, was that she had centuries of confusion, regret, anger and loneliness raging within her head. Telling her was the worse thing I could've done, for she took charge. And that's when they made me a vampire. Again.
The stories came first. I'd become a selfish, evil being, who threw Eve into the sunlight to watch her bum. I was also meant to have tortured her with crucifixes and garlic sausages?! And then they punished me, in that wonderfully subtle, civilised manner, by exclusion. The one thing worse than being talked about..." An outcast among the outcasts. But everyone still smiled. And no doubt had a song in their heart. A few took pity, but I felt like the sheriff in Blazing Saddles, given apple pies by dear sweet old ladies, with the qualification 'You'll have the decency not to tell anyone". God, it screwed me up. The amount of rat's blood I went through. So, I threw myself into work, taking it out on all the claimants, calling them parasites. Funny that. Got the sack as well. As for the Family, I wished I could put the whole stinking lot of them into a school gymnasium and torch the place. That'd be nice, becoming a vampire vampire slayer. And you wouldn't believe the amount of anger, rage and general petty jealousy coming from Matrimonia. For someone who was nearly 200 years old, she behaved like an adolescent. She loved sending poison pen letters written in holy water. And garlic breads. Became an open season then - the emotional states of all involved must've resembled a Great War battlefield.
That was all some time ago now. It's funny the way things worked out. Matrimonia changed her name and became a best-selling writer of self-help books. They go down very well in
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