Chronicles of a Dhampir

"Listen, bozo, I like some girls and certain guys, yeah, I am bisexual, but I don't want anything to do with a creepy bozo like you," I said to my stalker, Geoffrey Paddock, and the skinny, Dashiki-wearing, decidedly effeminate Jamaican bozo looked at me with wide eyes, looking a bit frightened by my response. Without bothering to wait for the creep's response, I walked away, fuming after being driven to my wits end by this bozo.

"Can I at least respond?" Geoffrey replied in a mewling voice, and I shook my head and headed for the elevators. Other people sitting inside the Carleton University library looked at me, but I didn't give anything close to a damn. Geoffrey has made a habit of following me around town, and at school. Dude followed me to Hurdman Station when I went to visit a buddy one night, and accosted me there, even though I knew it wasn't on his route.

"Save it," I said to Geoffrey as I stepped into the elevator. A plump white chick who was already inside shot me a look. I looked at her and shrugged, then made sure that Geoffrey wasn't following me. I have my reasons for behaving this way. This creep followed me all the way to Barrhaven one night, running past my friend Matt and I, screaming like a crazy person as we walked home from Marketplace Station. Geoffrey is a creepy like bozo who looks a bit like Steve Urkel from that old television show Family Matters.

While Steve Urkel the nerd was nice and friendly, Geoffrey is super creepy, flamboyantly gay, with a thousand female friends, and he's obsessed with me. I like both sexes but effeminate gay guys appeal to me as much as watching wet paint dry. When I like a female, I go for a big-booty gal like Tennis legend Serena Williams or Coco, rapper Ice-T's curvaceous blonde wife. When I like a man, I prefer a manly-looking, manly-sounding and manly-acting guy, thank you very much. Sorry, just being honest.

I'm not into guys who look or act like Geoffrey Paddock. I tried to be nice about it and let him down easy, but Geoffrey simply wouldn't take no for an answer, forcing me to be more direct. He is annoying as fuck, passive-aggressive, snide, and gets on my last damn nerve. No, I can't just kick his ass. I'm not trying to get kicked out of school. I have enough problems as it is.

The City of Ottawa, Ontario, is full of passive-aggressive folks who smile to your face, and stab you in the back. I'm not anything like them. On the island of Haiti, where I was born and raised, we're more honest. I'm usually pretty chill, but if you irk me, I let you know in no uncertain terms. I was absent when diplomacy was invented, and I don't think I've missed out. I go my own way. Cheers. If you don't like it, you can kiss my fine Haitian ass.

"Stephen, my man, did you have to lay into him like that?" asked Matt, a good buddy of mine from my days at Walmart. Tall and blond, with icy blue eyes and a friendly, Clark Kent kind of vibe, Matt Sykes and I have been friends for ages. He's originally from Toronto, and came to Ottawa for university studies. The number of universities and colleges in the G.T.A. made that choice dubious, but what do I know? Dude's got a cushy job working for Stats Canada and he's not even done with his accounting studies yet. Nice, eh?

"Matt, you know I'm usually chill, but that dude Geoffrey Paddock has been stalking me, I told Campus Safety, and the Equity Office, and they didn't do shit about it," I replied, and Matt smiled and nodded sympathetically. We headed for the crowded cafeteria inside the University Center Building, and grabbed some Thai food. Just two old buddies sitting down for a quick meal.

"Hmm, this is nice," Matt said as he wolfed down his shrimp-fried rice, and I smiled politely and sipped my Pepsi. Matt inquired about why I wasn't eating, and I informed him I didn't have much of an appetite. I simply couldn't tell him the truth, not without endangering us both. Ladies and gentlemen, I sincerely do hope you're sitting down because I have a major secret to share with you.

"I'm full, but these icy drinks are nice," I replied to Matt, who continued to devour his food. The smell of his food was nauseating to me, because, well, I am different. No, I don't just mean because I'm a big and tall young Black man, or, you know, a switch-hitter. I didn't eat because I've lost the ability to process solid food. I am a Dhampir. What is that, you may ask? A creature that's the result of a human/Vampire mating.

You see, when I was growing up in the City of Jacmel, Haiti, my mother, Helene Augustin, had me believing that my father Antoine Augustin was dead, thanks to his ill-fated opposition to the Duvalier Regime in the 1980s. What mommy dearest neglected to tell me was my dear Papa was a Vampire. When the Duvalier Storm-Troopers, locally known as the Tonton Macoutes, came for my father, it had more to do with the fact that he was a Vampire, than his political views.

I was born on January 30, 1989, and lived most of my life as a regular guy. My mother Helene Augustin and I moved to Ottawa, Ontario, in 2010, following the deadly earthquake which devastated the island of Haiti and completely destroyed our Capital of Port-Au-Prince. For a time, we stayed with my mother's brother, my uncle Wilson Augustin. Fast forward seven years, and I was doing alright. I recently acquired my Canadian citizenship and I'm in the Sprott MBA program at Carleton University. Everything was looking good for me, and then I ran into a dying Vampire...

"You must help me," said the old Arab man, as he all but collapsed in my arms one night, as Matt and I walked out of my favorite pub, the Honest Lawyer Bar, located in the By Ward Market area of Ottawa. The By Ward Market is a fairly nice area but it also attracts unsavory types. I thought the well-dressed old Arab dude had been mugged or something, and promptly called him an ambulance.

"Don't try to talk, sir, you are hurt, badly, but don't worry, help is on the way," Matt said, and I nodded at him as I held onto the old Arab man. Passers-by gathered around us, and some people were offering help while others were taking pictures with their cell phones. The old man's blood got on me, but I didn't worry about it at the time. When the ambulance came to take him away, the old Arab dude looked at me.

"You're one of us, warn the others, they're here for all of us," the old Arab dude said, and for some reason, his eyes turned red, but only for an instant. At the time, I thought it had to do with internal bleeding. It's amazing how much our minds can try to rationalize away the things which we cannot understand or accept. Must be some kind of ancient survival instinct, or something.

"Dude, what was that? Dude looked like he knew you," Matt asked, and I shrugged. When I went home that night, I had no idea that I had just encountered one of the world's oldest Vampires, an ancient one known as Abu Gabal, who once roamed the lands of Arabia in the time of the First Crusade. Abu Gabal had been grievously wounded by the Hunters, a group of men and women dedicated to tracking down and eliminating all Vampires. Oh, and his blood mingling with my own had a curious effect on me, it awakened by previously dormant Vampire side. Before Abu Gabal died from his injuries and his corpse mysteriously disappeared from Ottawa's Civic Hospital, he changed my life...

I, Stephen Augustin, am a Dhampir. Contrarily to what you might have seen in the movies or read in horror and science fiction novels, a human being cannot become a Vampire anymore than a person can turn into a donkey. In real-life, Vampires are a distinct species, just like humans are a species, and horses and butterflies are distinct species. Vampires evolved from the genus of Homo, just like Homo Sapiens and its predecessors Homo Habilis and Homo Erectus did.

All of these things I've learned recently. Alright, being a Dhampir doesn't suck one hundred percent. Sometimes, just sometimes, it can be pretty cool. Mere days after Abu Gabal's blood seeped through me, I found myself becoming stronger and faster. Now, I'm six-foot-two and kind of chubby, but I've never been the gym bunny/athletic type. So you can imagine how surprised I was when, one evening, while walking out of the parking lot of Tim Horton's in Barrhaven, a car came at me and I grabbed its front and shoved it aside like it weighed nothing...

Becoming a Dhampir has increased my physical strength tenfold, and my senses have also sharpened. I used to wear reading glasses but now I don't seem to need them anymore. My night vision has sharpened, as have my senses of smell and hearing. Other changes have occurred too. I'm a foodie, or was, and I used to crave sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches, but now, they taste like cardboard to me.

I can still drink whatever I want, from coffee and tea to Pepsis and even wines and beers. I can't process solid foods anymore, and I crave one liquid most of all. That which flows through your veins. Sorry if that creeps you out. Hey, how do you think I feel? I crave blood. The other day, I went into Walmart to get some coffee, and was almost hypnotized when I smelled a rather delicious odor.

It almost drove me into a frenzy. The smell of blood, in minute traces, emanating from a tall, attractive young Black woman working the counter at McDonald's...only she happened to be on her period. Yeah, it completely weirded me out too. My craving for her blood, I mean. I ran out of there like a bat out of hell, for the young woman, whose name tag read Joan, suddenly smelled like food to me, rather than smelling like a normal person. How do I satisfy my cravings, you may ask? Well, let's say that I spend a significant portion of my nights, roaming the woods, preying on squirrels, rabbits, and whatever else I can get my hands on.

Now, I can still go out during the day, although the sun pains me somewhat. It doesn't cause my skin to burn, or burst into flames like some Vampire in a low-budget horror flick on the Space Channel. The light of the sun stings my skin and my eyes, much more than it does anyone except perhaps an albino, so I have taken to wearing sunglasses and tons of sunblock. It's a concern for me, but since I spend most of my time at school, taking to the extensive tunnel system linking all of Carleton University to avoid direct sunlight has become my habit.

"Stephen Augustin, quit daydreaming, bro," Matt said, his voice snatching me out of my little trip down memory lane, as he waved his slender fingers a few inches from my face, a gesture which I found supremely annoying. I batted Matt's hand away and he laughed. Leaning back in his stool, his back to the window, Matt mercifully shielded me from most of the glaring daylight streaming into the cafeteria.

"I got a lot on my mind, mon ami," I replied, and Matt nodded, and then pulled out his cell phone. From the way he smiled, I had a fair idea who might be calling him. There's this Vietnamese chick named Raquel Nguyen whom Matt has been crushing on for ages. After getting relentlessly teased by me, Matt finally manned up and asked her out, a couple of months ago. They'd been going out ever since.

"Yeah, babe, we're still on to watch Stephen King's It," Matt said into the phone, and I smiled at him while draining my second Pepsi. Today is Tuesday, also known as movie day for broke students like ourselves. Matt excused himself, and grabbed his backpack, intent on meeting his lady love at the Scotiabank movie theater, formerly known as the Silver City Theatre.

"Have fun, Matt, and give Raquel my best," I said to my buddy. Matt nodded, and we exchanged dap, and then he walked away. I smiled at Matt as I watched him walk away. If I were into white guys, Matt Sykes would be the kind I'd go after. He has an Obama T-shirt that he wears every other day, and is a proud supporter of Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. I'm apolitical for the most part, but I like my good buddy's progressive views on race and society, especially given how insane things are in America nowadays. Oh, and Matt has a nice ass too. Relax, I don't hit on my friends. I just notice things, that's all.

When it started to get dark, I returned to the campus library, heading to the fourth floor to avoid my stalker Geoffrey Paddock and his band of annoying female friends. The dude is like Jack McFarland from Will & Grace, only minus the charm and the underlying goodness lurking behind Jack's smile and flamboyant demeanor. Speaking of Will & Grace, I remember the show fondly from my younger days and I'm excited that it's making a comeback. Sitting at a computer, I finally relaxed a bit, and did my Marketing homework, while sipping my third Pepsi of the day.

"Well hello there, newbie," came a loud feminine voice, and I whirled around, and found myself facing a vision of beauty. Before me stood a tall, attractive woman with light brown skin, long black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. Clad in a stylish dark gray pantsuit and white blouse, the lady looked both lovely and professional. I sniffed the air, and something clicked in my brain. This dame is definitely not human, I thought, with matter-of-fact certainty.

"I'm Pooja," the lovely South Asian woman said, and she raked her tongue over teeth that, for a few seconds, looked longer, whiter and sharper than normal teeth had any business being. I nodded, and felt a bit nervous. This lady is a Vampire, this much I knew for sure. What does she want with me? When Abu Gabal's blood mingled with my own, it didn't just awaken my inner Dhampir. I also inherited many of the ancient one's memories. Enough to make me wary of Vampires...

"Good to meet you, Pooja, I'm Stephen, what can I do for you?" I asked, and I held out my hand, and after a brief hesitation, she shook it. Pooja's hand felt cold against mine, cold as ice, actually. Vampires don't breathe. Their hearts don't beat. Their skin feels cold to the touch. The only time a Vampire's skin feels warm is right after he or she has drunk the blood of a living creature. I'm a Dhampir. Not-quite-human, but very much alive. I got a pulse, thank you very much.

"Hmm, you were very easy to track, Stephen, be glad I got to you before our enemies did," Pooja remarked, and I looked at her and felt uncomfortable. I didn't like this, her standing there, bantering me as though we were old buddies. From what I know of Vampires, they're moody as hell, hold grudges for centuries, and are constantly in conflict with their own kind. What does this beautiful but lethal blood sucker want with me?

"Well, I don't have anything to hide, Pooja," I replied, matter-of-factly, and Pooja looked me up and down, a wicked smile on her lovely face. Pooja didn't look a day over thirty, but I knew that she had to be a lot older than that. Vampires age slower than humans. From Abu Gabal's memories, I knew that the Old One had been roaming the world since 1095 A.D. having become one of the Undead a few years before the First Crusade.

"Well, Stephen, I've got bad news, the Hunters are after you, well, they're after all of us, but you're a priority target for them, we need to talk," Pooja said, and she licked her full, sensuous lips. The lady smiled at me the way a shark might smile on a dolphin before pouncing on it. There was absolutely no mirth in that smile. I took a deep breath, wondering what I had to do to get this fanged broad to go away. As if sensing my thoughts, Pooja adopted a more defiant stance...

"Tell me more," I heard myself say to Pooja, and the Vampire gal smiled, and then linked her arm with mine. We walked out of the campus library like a pair of lovers, even though I had mixed feelings about her, and the whole deal. First, I'm a regular guy in most respects, and a beautiful woman being sensually aggressive and bold affects me the way it affects most guys. Second, Pooja is a Vampire and her skin's coldness bothered me quite a bit.

"Well, Stephen, there's a war between us Vampires, and the Hunters," Pooja said, and I tried not to roll my eyes. We walked through the quad, and stepped through the tunnels, among throngs upon throngs of students. I wasn't quite sure where we were going, until Pooja led me to a bench in the middle of a garden path near the Admin Building. Fanged gal knows campus a bit too well, I thought to myself.

"Doesn't have anything to do with me, I'm not a Vampire," I said to Pooja, seriously wishing I were elsewhere. My good friend Matt Sykes is at the movies with his girlfriend Raquel, and I'm here, engaging in unwanted banter with a Vampire chick who seems hell-bent on dragging me into some shit I definitely don't want to be part of. Pooja looked at me, her dark eyes reflecting irritation, and I turned to leave. It turned out to be a mistake...

"You're a Dhampir, a rare human/Vampire hybrid, and you will own up to what you are," Pooja hissed, and then she grabbed me, spun me around, and lifted me by the neck like I weighed nothing. I dangled there, with my feet off the ground, suffocating in Pooja's icy, superhumanly strong grasp. Scoffing in disgust, Pooja tossed me aside, and I crashed on the grass, ten meters away...

"No filter, eh?" I managed to croak, as Pooja stood over me, fangs bared, eyes bright crimson now, hands on her hips. I looked up at her, and my penchant for being defiant in the face of opposition bubbled to the surface. Pooja shot me a look of disgust and then took off, moving like that silver-haired dude in X-Men Apocalypse. I mean, I blinked and then she was gone in a blur of speed. Creepy, weird, but totally cool, you know?

A few minutes later, I got on the O-Train Station, and headed to Bayview Station, catching the 95 bus bound for downtown Barrhaven. As I sat in the swivel chair on the bus, and listened to Linkin Park's classic song What I've Done, now more melancholy to my ears since the death of the band's legendary lead singer. The bus was around Lincoln Fields Station when a rather unusual trio got on. Two guys and a woman, all in their late twenties, dressed like they were going to the opera. What gives?

I didn't much of the overdressed trio until the bus emptied at Marketplace Station, and they kept staring at me. I headed to the nearby Pizza shop to grab a drink while waiting for the last local bus going to my neighborhood, and they followed me there. I paid for my Pepsi and exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Sultan, the Pakistani dude working behind the counter, and the creeps kind of hovered nearby. Feeling a bit annoyed, I turned to address them.

"So, going to the opera?" I asked casually, and a tall, square-jawed guy with blond hair and blue eyes, who appeared to be the well-dressed trio's leader pulled a long knife out of his pocket and lunged at me. I was as shocked as anyone when the bozo came at me with his blade, but I reacted with a Dhampir's strength and speed, caught the dude's arm and twisted it.

"Die, half-breed," Square Jaws replied, his face contorted in pain as I broke his hand, causing him to drop his blade. His buddies came for me, armed with similar blades, and that's when Sultan screamed. I didn't hear what he was saying, I was too busy trying to avoid getting stabbed by three of the most well-dressed bozos I'd ever seen. I mean, I don't remember pissing off Mormons, but since I run my mouth day in and day out, you never know...

"Dude, that almost sounds racist," I replied, kicking Square Jaws in the face after shoving his female acolyte, a plump redhead, out of my way. I dodged the third assailant, a slender Asian man, as he came for me, and made a beeline for the door. I took off as fast as I could, and although my enemies gave chase, I got out of there moving with a Dhampir's speed, and they couldn't keep up. Once I was a couple of miles away, in front of a sports complex located near a fire station, I stopped. What the fuck did I get myself into?