Chapter One

“It bloody feels like shit down here.  I don’t know how I let that damn fool Jan convince me to come to America in a boat. Plus I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since I left London; I can’t very well eat the crew, they’re manning the boat plus someone will know if one of them is missing. I can’t have them poking around down here if you know what I mean. Me being the stowaway, the unwanted Vampire, they’ll deliberately let in sunlight, and believe me, I don’t sparkle.” I gazed down at my tiny companion, “and I can’t eat you; you’re a rat for Christ’s sake.”

That poor pitiful brown rodent, he did look pretty appetizing from my point of view, except for the fur, and the dirt and the fleas. I don’t fancy sucking down blood from furry, dirty, mangy animals. You end up spending hours picking fur off of your tongue, brushing your teeth to get rid of the taste of garbage and picking fleas out of your body hair; it’s definitely not worth the hassle.

It’s been almost 10 days since I’ve been stuck on this bloody boat, staring at the four walls in the cellar. It’s so dark and dingy and I’m surrounded by empty cargo boxes and itchy brown rope; it’s not something a former Lord of England is used to seeing on a daily basis. I have to sit on the uncomfortable floor, feeling my bottom ricocheting painfully from one cheek to the other with this stupid rat as my only companion. In a desperate attempt to keep my sanity I befriended him for I was never one who did well with isolation. I named him Boris, aptly so for he looks like a Boris, beady eyed, big fat nose, shabby hair and he’s as daft as a houseplant, bringing me crumbs and cheese when all I fancied was a vial of blood.

The sailors were making an awful lot of noise, dropping cargo boxes onto the deck running around with their big heavy boots, their footsteps echoing above me stomp, stomp, stomp, crash, crash, crash. I hope that means we’re bloody close to land. I’d hate to be here one more day running on empty. I sure as hell cannot steer this oversized dinghy on my own, and with the hunger that burns inside me that’s precisely what I’d be doing if I ate every member of the crew, which I would. Oh sweet, salty, rusty blood, how I long for thee.

“Land in sight captain, shall I drop anchor,” said one of the sailors.

Ah sweet land of the brave and free. Finally I’ll be rid of this stinking boat and daft Boris. I checked my watch, 7:00 am. Excellent. Seeing as I was still running on British time I changed my watch to the appropriate time in New York: 2am. Plenty of time for me to feast before the sun comes up, plus the ship’s a half hour early, which means I can get in a snack before Jan hits the docs. 

I feel the ship pull into the docs and hear the undeniable sound of wood planks and metal chains being hoisted onto the deck.  I quickly gather up my travelling bag and cloak and pick myself up off the floor. No point in delaying my escape, the sooner I’m off this vessel the better. I walk towards the door, walking on a boat that is docked is just as difficult as walking on a boat that is at sea. I can feel the waves beneath the soles of my shoes.

I made my way through the doors and into the dimly lit hallway that casted an eerie dark shadow on every turn I made, which was extremely difficult seeing as the hallway is so bloody narrow. There is barely enough room for my body and my carrying bag, it starts to dawn on me why no one ever wandered around here, with the body mass these sailors carry around with them, they'll all get bloody stuck. Oh thinking about their body mass and the delicious blood that pumps within them... no I must keep focused; I have to get off of this damned boat as fast as possible.

I walk as quietly as I can towards the staircase on the starboard side. No need to take the front exit when I intend to escape unseen. I carefully place my feet upon the floorboards in front of me trying not to make a sound, which I know is ridiculous what with the ruckus the sailors are making overhead I can very well guarantee they won’t be able to hear me at all, however one cannot be cautious enough in these situations.

Suddenly I hear a noise behind me: scratch, scratch, scratch. I awkwardly turn half of my body port side to see what the source of the scratching is when I noticed a pair of bright green glowing marbles staring right up at me.

“Boris,” I whisper, “bugger off you damn fool.”

The rodent twitched his whiskers. Lifting himself on his hind legs he sniffed the air. In a matter of seconds the rodent pinned his ears back, twitched his whiskers again and in a panic lowered himself on all fours and ran swiftly into the shadows. As I awkwardly turn my body back to its normal position a pair of red-haired legs start to make its way down the starboard staircase.

“And make sure there’s plenty o’ rum left in me bunker when I get back. I intend on drinkin’ meself in a stupor tonight,” the pair of legs said as it made its way down the narrow staircase.

The legs moved quickly down the stairs, first revealing an unattractive pair of beige coloured cargo shorts, an equally unattractive blue stripped polo t-shirt all belonging to a six foot six inch lanky giant with ginger red hair, bloodshot blue eyes and the largest nose I’ve ever seen on any human in my entire undead life.

“Oy, wha chu doin’ down here mate? Cap’in’s been lookin’ all over for you. Don’t chu know we’ve got a ship to unload?” The Scottish giant asked me.

“The captain’s looking for me?” I asked.

“Aye, been sayin’ he was sure there were for’y men on this boat and for the past week he’s been only countin’ thir’y –nine. ‘Ow long were you hiding down here then?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” I lied; “I was sick with, with...” shit my mind went blank. What diseases did men get on ships these days anyway? And who the bloody hell travels on ships? I thought we rid ourselves of these ancient vessels with the dawn of the airplane. I was so bloody thirsty I couldn’t think and here was a large chunk of blood-retaining meat standing in front of me; his red cheeks mocking my thirst, perfection within white skin. Maybe if I just took a bite, a little smidgen...

“Oy! Chu alrigh’?” He asked while looking at me like I was going to either pass out or kill him at any second, which actually should be the right expression seeing as I was about to pass out and his blood was so appetising I could kill him right here and have my full.

Damn it, I have to escape this boat. Think, what bloody diseases are there?

“Looks like chu still ‘ave the scurvy,” the red giant said. Scurvy! Of course, how daft can one get?

“Yes I had the scurvy; I’m still recovering from it actually.” I lied

“It’s alrigh’ mate. Oy, would chu mind goin’ into the cellar and grabbing one of them crates then, seeing as I won’ be able to get around chu?”

Fuck! I’ll never be able to leave now. As I tried to turn around without getting stuck between my carrying bag and the hallway I contemplated turning back around and taking a big juicy bite out of that big red oaf but thought better of it. I pitied the world that would have this boorish brute walking around for all eternity. No sir, I pick my victims much better than that.

I walked back into the cellar cursing my bad luck for finding me in this situation and hoisted one of the crates. The cargo boxes which I assumed were empty were actually quite heavy. Had it not been for vampiric strength I doubt I would ever be able to lift one of them. Back in my alive days I could barely lift my frock over my head; of course mother always said anybody who had to dress themselves wasn’t worth the breath they breathe. Mother herself never lifted a finger. In fact I don’t remember her ever taking a bath. Damn the 1700s were a disgusting time indeed.

The red oaf entered the cellar just as I placed the crate against my hip. He looked at me, and then the crate, then back at me. It must have looked quite awkward that someone as lanky and skinny as me lifted such a heavy cargo box, especially someone who supposedly had scurvy.

He obviously was on the same brainwave as me for he asked, “Oy, should chu be carryin’ that load by yourself? Them crates is awful heavy. Me thinks you’d be needin’ a hand seeing as you’re ill an’ all.”

I looked at the dirt under his fingernails and shuddered. There was no possible way I was going to let those near my buffed manicured undead nails. “No thanks, I’ll manage.”

The oaf shrugged his shoulders and bent next to a cargo box about a foot away and attempted to lift it by gathering the two sides in a bear hug and picking it inch by inch off the floor while I amusedly watched his face turn red, the jugular vein popping out, pumping blood at an alarming rate. After hauling his crate off the floor he gave me and my crate, which was still attached to the side of my hip, a quizzical look.

I shrugged, “well you didn’t expect me to hoist the heaviest box did you? I’m bloody sick.”

He nodded and walked as quickly as he could into the hallway and up the stairs, obviously in too much pain to address me or to find out whether I was behind him or not. Tossing my carrying bag around my neck to hang from the back and placing the crate in front of me mimicking the red oaf’s bear hug I followed him into the hallway, up the stairs and onto the deck.

The fresh air was the first thing I noticed as I ascended the stairs. The cool sea breeze hit my face and I breathed in deeply, feeling my dead lungs expand, taking in oxygen that was essentially useless to me. After being cooped up in that dingy cellar with nothing but stale dry air for over a week, the fresh moist air was wholesomely nourishing. I greedily took in another breath.