He asked me, “Can you take my soul?”

He asked me, “Can you take my soul?”

I told him that I could take it but I could not keep it. I am not a keeper of souls. I only keep my own, which cannot be taken by anyone.

He often asks those questions when we are alone, in those quiet times that are ours.

Once he asked how his blood tasted. “Different for me than it would for you,” I told him.

He continued to ask me about souls and evil.

I could still taste his blood on my tongue. I kissed his neck one last time then sat down beside him and held his warm hand in my cold fingers.

“Humans are gladly forfeiting their souls everyday in exchange for true evil that will consume them like thick fire. They do it all the time without a second thought or remorse. They want to be led into the fires. They want the warmth. They want the ignorance to engulf them. They want to give up free will and the ability to think and reason on their own. Evil is easy because the evil ones carry no burden of guilt or the hardships of love or the fear of failure or the sorrow of hope.

It is not my place to take your soul.

I can change you into a creature of the shadows. I cannot make you evil, unless you choose to throw away your soul and die before your body is ready to leave this earth. My involvement in such matters is far to complex to explain this afternoon and I am tired of speaking of it. You don’t need to know because I will never turn you my dear, into a Vampire.

I can drink your blood. I can make you feel alive. I can kill you. I can bring you back from the dead… I can turn you into a Vampire. But, I will not be part of the evil that is part of human nature, real human nature.

Of course there are bad things in the shadows, very bad things, but nothing that compares to the humans we walk the earth with. Nothing compares.

Do not hate what you do not understand. Fight the hate with all you have and drive out the evil and ignorance with every bit of your precious soul.

Did I answer your question?”

He said yes and kissed my cheek and then brushed his lips against mine. There will be more questions next week. There will be more next year. There will always be questions.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

The Presence of Evil

Halloween is coming up but the real world is filled with horrors that can rival any horror story or ghostly activity.

My friend and neighbor Kelly told me a story the other day that still sits in the pit of my stomach.

From Kelly:

With all of the news about child abuse I thought about a woman I knew who beat her child.

She joyfully told anyone who would listen, and she was the type who demanded an audience, that she had books on the subject.

Let me go back a bit…

She had never intended to have children but found herself pregnant. She was a triple A type personality, aggressive and always the center of attention. She was an expert at all things.

So into her life came a daughter. Unlike her aggressive mother, the child was quiet and meek.

That did not please the woman one bit. She couldn’t bond with this wonderful little child because the child did not live up to her expectations.

So she started to read books, because of course one MUST read parenting books to be an expert. She started to read books by people who advocated beating children. This was all based, she said, on what the Bible said. There was a culture of child beating, to beat the will out of children who did not live up to the expectations of their parents.

I grew up in a world where the Bible of Jesus was about love, not pain or control. Maybe my beliefs aren’t so mainstream.

This mother spoke in a gleeful voice of buying paddles. There were entire catalogs of paddles and other torture devices to be used on children. She attended seminars so she and her husband could learn how to properly beat a child and how to make them obey and force them to bend to the will of the parent.

A quiet meek and willful child has no chance against such monsters. Maybe the act of being willful was really the act of self preservation and fear.

She spoke of locking her child in a dark room. She spoke of missed meals. She spoke of forced activities. By that time a son had come along. The son was perfect and like his mother – he wasn’t quiet or meek. He didn’t need to be beaten. He was loved.

My daughter was about 8 months old at the time, so that would make the poor daughter of the woman I knew about 18 now. I wonder if she hates her mother. I wonder if she has run as far away from home if she can. Does she cut herself? Does she take drugs to numb her pain? Does she sleep with countless boys to feel loved? I wonder if anyone called CPS or if the father cared at all.

I should have said something. I should have done something. I should have told her that she was an evil bitch but the words failed me.

Of course this woman was like any “popular” girl at parties and well, it was all so vile and twisted that I never wanted to see her or speak to her again.

So that is it. I don’t even remember her last name. I remember her first name. I remember her face. I remember that I was in the presence of evil.

______________________________

I know this wasn’t a pretty story and we don’t have any answers. It was a story that needed to be told. I used my own words… next time I’ll record it or write it down exactly but I hope there will be no next time for a story like this one.

I will have happier things for you later. I promise.

And remember to talk to your child, listen, love, learn, hug, accept and cover your babies with kisses and accept them for who they are.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman