My First Coven

Duncan

In the year of our Lord, eighteen twenty eight; I, Duncan Joseph Sinclair had been surviving as a vampire for just over twenty two years. I am a proud Edinburgh native and have refused to leave this city since I was made a vampire in eighteen oh six. Edinburgh is the only home I have ever had and have ever known. But whilst I never left my fair city, I was forcibly removed from my life of comfort and privilege and thrust in to a world of never ending hunger, violence and lust.

I did not know my sire, by face or by name. I was at my family home, a majestic and opulent town house situated in St. Andrew's Square in Edinburgh's recently built new town; bed ridden with influenza, my mother constantly fussing over her only son and my father maintaining his usual distance save for the few occasions he came to talk with me regarding his business affairs. The house staff would frequently care for me when my mother was other wise occupied with running the household.

My fever seemed as if it would never break and I would never recover. The family doctor visited frequently with various remedies and tinctures that did not work in providing a cure or even relief. Hallucinating in the dead of the night, I could swear I saw someone in my room. A tall, slender figure wearing a long black coat, a tall top hat and carrying a rather fancy looking cane. Closing my eyes, I tried to return to sleep. Minutes would pass and I opened my eyes again to see the figure still standing not far from my bed.

'Do you wish to die or live?' The figure said to me. A man's voice, deep and well spoken.

'Do I wish to... who are you and what are you doing here?! Show yourself!' My speech was strained and faint, my illness causing me so much weakness that I struggled to even breath and speak properly.

'That is none of your concern boy. Answer my question, do you wish to die or live?' The figure spoke again.

'What a ridiculous question, I wish to live.' I replied. I knew that my chance of surviving this infernal influenza was becoming slim as the days progressed.

'A fair answer. Then you shall live in death.'

I did not understand what the man meant by "live in death."

The figure was now on top of me, a searing pain now in my neck where the man appeared to be biting. A vile sucking sound emitting from his lips as I could feel my weakness progressing. My eyelids were heavy, my skin felt as if it was burning up before abruptly feeling incredibly cold. Within seconds I could barely gasp for help, I could barely move. Then I could feel a coppery tasting liquid being dripped in to my mouth. I tried to move my head out of the way to avoid any more of what I knew was blood being trickled in to my mouth, but the strong but bony feeling hand belonging to the random figure held my head in place, keeping my mouth pried apart as I could see his silhouette, his other hand held above me as blood ran freely from his wrist.

I weakly coughed. The metallic taste of blood that lingered in my mouth was the last thing I remembered.

My sire had turned me and then left me. Influenza would have eventually ended my life, that I was certain of. But my sires words of "live in death" made sense to me now. I had died that night he turned me and was reborn as the living dead. I knew I had been turned in to a vampire.

The hunger was unbearable. My first victim was a graveyard watch man. I had been buried in St. Cuthbert's Kirk cemetery, my new found strength and hunger drove me to break free of the luxurious coffin I was in and the six feet of earth that was above me. I drained the unsuspecting man within minutes and callously discarded his body in the hole I had just climbed out of. I could only describe myself as feral in the first few years, until I realised that if I intended to survive then I would have to make myself seem as human as possible and stop being so careless with my meals.

I found relatively cheap lodgings in the Marchmont area of Edinburgh, I took a job as a clerk for an import and export company nearby and kept to myself. I spent many years on my own, with no family or real friends to rely on. I began frequenting the more shady and questionable areas of Edinburgh, becoming a regular round the taverns and brothels, feeding on the drunks, the homeless, occasionally stray animals and having my fill in many ways with the women who offered themselves up for a price. My new life in death had brought me down to a level I had never imagined I could find myself at.

From time to time I would relapse in to a feral state; the loneliness and killings I would try to prevent myself from committing so flagrantly, were becoming more and more difficult as time went on. Not understanding my abilities severely hindered me in keeping stable and I would soon find myself on a murderous frustration and hunger filled rampage. One particular rampage nearly ended with me being caught, until I was found half insane and cowering in the gutters of the Old Town; my clothing filthy and ragged.

'You are a lost one, are you not?'

The voice directed at me was firm but soft and with a hint of an accent. I looked up at the gentleman standing over me, wearing the finest clothes; beautifully tailored to fit his tall frame. He crouched down and reached a gloved hand out to me, taking off his exquisite top hat revealing his face and well groomed blonde hair. A smile adorned his face where I noticed the presence of two slightly elongated, pointed canines.

'Who are...' I asked the gentleman, confused and somewhat afraid of him.

'Come. Let's get you inside. I will explain everything to you.'

His name was Arne. A Norwegian vampire turned around one thousand years ago during the Viking middle age. He brought me to his temporary home on Queen Street, not far from my old family home on St. Andrews Square. I had avoided that area at all costs since I had been turned but I had heard a few years ago that my mother and father had moved over to Glasgow, as my father's business had expanded to the point where he needed a much larger premises and better access to trade routes via the ports on the Clyde. I had also heard that my mother constantly wore black, in mourning for me. Even when they had moved away, I never went near the house.

Arne's temporary accommodation was modestly decorated and inviting. He ushered me in to the main vestibule where I instantly noticed that there were a few more vampires along with house staff. The few vampires had politely smiled at me and had either left the house, or retired to different rooms.

'My household staff will assist you. This is my butler James and my head housekeeper Matilda. Can you please escort my friend to the guest room and prepare him a bath and some clean clothing?'

'Of course Sir.'

James had led me up the grand staircase up to the first floor of the house, in to what was the guest room; dominated by a large four post bed. There was a fireplace in there and tasteful furniture consisting of a chaise longue, a mirrored vanity and matching drawers and a wardrobe. The room led in to an en-suite bathroom that had indoor plumbing, a rarity for a lot of people but not the extremely rich.

My body was clean now of all the dirt and filth I had been covered in and now I was wearing clean, well fitting clothes. Making my way back downstairs, I was led in to a small cosy study where the vampire named Arne was sitting on a high backed chair next to a roaring fire. He motioned for me to sit in the identical chair opposite where James then reappeared and presented me with a crystal glass, filled halfway with blood. The glass was slightly warm, indicating that the blood had been warmed up.

'So, you know my name. I would like to know yours.' The vampire named Arne said to me, sipping at his own crystal glass of blood. 'Please, tell me your story.'