UnBooks:Memoirs of a Vampire-Werewolf-Philosopher
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The following text is taken from the writings of Alfgar Melvin, a prominent vampire-werewolf philosopher who lived from (circa) A.D. 900 to 1522. While some text is unreadable due to years of exposure to air, the rest is, unfortunately, quite legible.
On Day and Night
...But does it not seem the at all strange that such a simple thing as sunlight would snuff out the likes of me? Something as unextraordinary as the sun's moving around our dear Mother Earth could cause me to be incinerated in seconds, were in in the wrong place at the wrong time! O! It is the bane of my kind! But were there no Sun, would my life be any better? Surely, though I would never have to worry about a death in the flames, the world would be much chillier. And, irony of all ironies, I would then long for the heat of a fire! Such an existence is much to think about. But, I suppose it was never meant to be easy as a vampire-werewolf. Or is it werewolf-vampire?... What soul decided that the bloodsucker should come before the wolfman? But I digress.
Tonight was a rather typical night. I suppose it would not be considered quite so by my readers (as vampire-werewolves are in short supply as of late), but to me, it is rather unexciting at best. I came down from my manor to wander the city streets in search of my dinner... tastes rather like... (Explicit text, censored in the best interests of our readers)While crossing Fielder's Street, I came upon a man. He was dreadfully dull, dressed in a brown overcoat and leather shoes with curly dark locks around a shiny bald spot. Boring, but a vampire-werewolf has to eat. And eat I did. After taking him by the hem of his coat and biting him before he could make a sound (I take pride in my stealthiness), I took him up on my shoulder and carried his leaking body back to my abode. Looking for some way to amuse myself, I caught some of his dripping fluids and mixed it with some lovely slices of lemon. It wasn't very tasteful, but it was exciting, and that was quite enough for me.
My family was not particularly sane, to say the least. My father was a womanizing Norwegian vampire who had a nasty drinking habit, and my mother was an elderly English woman who turned into a growing predator at the slightest mention of a "full moon". Needless to say, they were not together for quite so long as a season. A mere week after I was born, my father left my mother for a Dutch prostitute named Ferona. My mother cared for me until I was the tender age of nine, when she died of heart worms. Living on the streets, I learned to fend for myself (as few people would want to help a vampire-werewolf, even one that is only nine years old). I had to stay buried in the darkness of the alleyways during the daytime, lest I burst into flames. I was forced to appease my growing thirst for human blood, and, oddly enough, it was quite easy at first. After all, what insane man would suspect such a small creature to be a deadly threat? But a deadly threat I was, as they would soon find out. Eventually, though, the law put out a warning against me, and the townspeople grew wise to my tactics. Thus, I decided search outside of that town for shelter, which I soon found in the castle of some nobleman. Although I should have been quite worried that he would find me, I was not. He was too fat and lazy to even get out of his chair, and his guards were quite the same. So I took up a quiet spot in the basements, and I waited out the sunlight.