Death is Only the Beginning: A Guide to Vampirism

Sixteen: Confronting My Killer

Rue the day you met me

My hatred strong and pure

Everything will change

Never more to be secure

Everything will change

God will not save you now

Everything will end

Before my fury you shall bow

I never claimed to be a smart person.

Sure, I pass my classes, mostly A's and occasionally getting a B, but that doesn't make me smart. It meant I can keep information in my head long enough to regurgitate it for a test. I love logic puzzles and math games and can do most equations without needing my calculator. But it doesn't make me smart. Running off to a vampire's house in the middle of the night without so much as a wooden stake or a drop of holy water... I'm thinking that pretty much qualifies me as dumb.

It probably isn't my brightest idea ever. 'Stupid' would probably be a much better description, actually.

But stupid idea or not, here I am. The rage that fueled me to get here has diminished slightly, but not enough to make me turn back. After I woke up from crying myself to sleep over Ham... over her death, I knew what I had to do. I had to make him pay for what he did to me and my family. I didn't have a plan when I bolted from the house earlier, but I figured it would come to me as I went along. My best plans were always made by the seat of my pants. Of course, here I am and still no plan. But at least this time, I was smart enough to find out where he lives and find it on a map.

All the way over here, I had been chanting in my head. Find him. Kill him. Make him pay. Over and over again.

Find him.

Kill him.

Make.

Him.

Pay.

So here I am. The 'finding him' part wasn't too hard. But the 'killing and making him pay' part I'm going to have to kind of make up on the fly. I do well on pop quizzes; I don't cave under pressure. Of course, failing a pop quiz probably isn't the same thing as revenge.

Knock. Knock.

The sound is hollow, reminding me very much of some of those creepy movies I'd sometimes stay up late at night watching. Part of my brain, probably the smart part, tells me to turn tail and run. The other part keeps replaying the images of my mother rocking back and forth on the bed, holding pictures to her chest, sobbing, and blaming herself for what I had become. Images of the tiny graveyard. It's those images that keep my feet from carrying me back to the safety of my home.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heavy footsteps get louder as someone trudges their way to the door. My chest is tight and my hands are sweaty as fear pours about a gallon of adrenaline straight into my system, making me EXTREMELY jittery.

Creeeeeak. The door opens. And there he is.

"Bunny?"

Ow!

"By dose! Oo bwoke by dose!"

Ow! Ow ow ow ow! To heck with his nose! I think I broke my fingers! The punch had been a reflex, which is interesting considering I've never really punched anyone before. Not really. Playful punches on the arm don't count. Guess watching all those violent movies paid off. Though none of them said it would hurt ME.