Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - VAMPYR

Episode Date: October 20, 2025

A centuries-old Dutch sea captain turned immortal vampire recounts his voyage from a doomed 19th-century expedition to a godlike empire among the stars—only to discover, after enslaving time itself, that true salvation lies in surrendering to the sun. Support the show and get more of what you love — bonus episodes, ad-free listening, and early access: ⁠patreon.com/drnosleep⁠ Fall is here, and so is our new Pumpkin Spice Coffee — a cozy medium roast with cinnamon and nutmeg that tastes like autumn itself. Go to NoSleepCoffee.com and use code NOSLEEP20 for 20% off your first order! * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Vampire. Past, present, future. My name is Johannes von Death. Tis an old very Dutch name, for a very old Dutch man, if indeed the term man still applies to something like me. Many centuries have come and gone since I last tasted bread, or walked in the light of day, or took note of any new wrinkle or white hair upon my personage. But though I have traveled far and experienced much, I would still consider myself a man of faith.

And frankly, to call myself a vampire of faith, well, that just sounds ridiculous. I have encountered many religions in my long travels, those who proudly called themselves Catholics or Protestants, Sunnis or Shiites, Buddhists or Taoists, or worshippers of trees of their ancestors, or distant nebulae, But regardless of any such claims of devotion, I can usually ascertain the actual object of a person's worship. You see, what someone craves and values most in life, that is their true religion. For many it is wealth. For others, it is land or titles, fame or beauty, or even human companionship of some sort or other. The laughter of children in their home, the comfort of a spouse at their side, or a whole, tied up on a bed, ready for desecration.

I practice a different religion. The God I worship is time. Time used to be my master, until I made it my slave. And when one enslaves the very God they worship, it can lead to all sorts of wicked, wild, and unexpected conclusions. It all began with bat-shit. You heard that right. It was in the year of 1853, and I had just received my first commission as captain of a merchant schooner,

leased from one of the private shipping firms in Batavia. Having gotten my start in the slave trade of the Dutch East Indies, serving first as a common deckhand before moving up to petty officer and then first mate, I was eager for the chance to prove my value as ship's master. Moreover, I felt that my homeland had wasted precious time in recent years in allowing those bastard British and French, and even those barbarous Americans, to establish a monopoly on the highly profitable acquisition of guano. On thousands of little islands spread across the oceans of earth, the droppings of seabirds and bats

had, for centuries, been accumulating. Whoever reached and claimed these miniature mountains could carve through their pungent layers of gray-white shit, fill their vessels hull, and fetch a staggering price back in Europe. Farmers had never found such an effective or long-lasting fertilizer as guano, and it had quickly become more valuable than jewels. We sailors referred to it as white gold. So when rumor reached my ear of a newly discovered virgin Addle, south of Samoa, buried in over 50 feet of guano, I made certain we departed with all haste, determined that nothing would stop me from planting the Dutch flag upon its putrid peak. We sailed by the way of the Solomon Isles, and after 31 long days, during which sickness took four of my crew, causing the others to complain endlessly of inadequate provisions,

the ungrateful sons of bitches, we finally neared our destination one misty evening, an hour before dusk. A dense fog cloaked the seas around us, gray green in the dying light, like split pea soup. E gods, what a horrid stench! Wined Lodovike, my first mate. Tis the fragrance of white gold, I answered, drawing my snuff box from a pocket.

We are close. Lodovike led out a wet cough. Dangerously close. We should heave too, Captain, until the dawn light. I seized a pinch of the powder in my snuff box between thumb and forefinger, threw back my head and inhaled it through a nostril, cringing as the flavor of the peppery snuff mingled with the acrid smell of guano in the air. Nonsense, man, I barked, snapping the little box shut.

Each bell we tarry is a chance for some limey bastard to plant a union jack on my island. Nay, we press on. I, sir, but... I suppressed a sneeze with the back of a hand and waved him off. Keep her steady, boys. I use dead reckoning to find the prize before the stars shine out, mark my words. I was proven right. For even as the boat swain clanged the ship's bell four times,

signaling the start of the second dog watch, My own eyes, squinted through the silver fog, spotted the looming edge of a great hillside ahead. Ha, breathe in that stink, eh? I called out from the bow, and planting my boots upon the slippery deck, I leaned forward over the front of the ship, one hand against the bow sprit. I told you we were close. Behind me, the first mate gasped. Too close! By the Lord, Captain!

We'll run aground! Hard to starboard! Even as those words left his lips, the ship's keel struck against the reef. The hull shuddered and groaned, and the vessel lurched. I was thrown forward, bucked off the front of the ship, sent tumbling through salty mist. But I did not splash into the churning sea, nor land upon sharp stones. Rather, I felt my back thud wetly against a slant of festering ooze. The air was knocked for my lungs as my legs and arms sank into squelching sludge.

And when I gasped for breath, the festering odor of my predicament stung my throat in eyes and made me wretch. I tried to sit up, but found myself glued in place, half sunk into the sticky guano that coated this narrow stretch of beach of the adle. Damnation! Looking up, I watched as the schooner tilted widely, masks swaying, the sounds of scraping wood, jangling chains, and shouting men harsh against the oceanic breeze. Through the commotion, I heard Lodovai calling. The captain, von Death? Where did he go? Did anyone see?

I'm down here, you fucking fool. I called out. Throw me a rope already. It was nearly a minute before the ship settled, and my first mate finally appeared at the bow. Heaven, sir. Are you injured? The rope, damn you.

Hold on. Joko cracked his head on the windlass. He's not looking good, sir. To hell with that bloody native. Fetch a line for me and a flag for this wretched beach. With haste man, before you waste another minute. As the fools on the ship got to work, I tried once more to extricate myself,

but that stinking ooze would have none of it. Settling back against the muck, I suppressed the urge to vomit. That was when I heard them. A sort of chittering and fluttering and many tiny squeaks. The noises weren't coming from. from my ship or from the sea, but the island behind me. Bending my neck to press my head deeper into the shit, I looked back and saw, upside down in my vision, the hump of a hill, that which

I had first spotted from the ship. But what I had taken to be a great peak in the distance was actually smaller, and closer, and as I stared up at it, a shift in wind caused the fog to part. The full moon came into view above and cast a ghostly blue light upon the scene. The moonlight twinkled on the mist in the air, on the slick surface of the guano, and on the wet, rocky edges of, what was it exactly? A wide black shape against the gray of the hill. Is that? A cave? It was a cave.

And from its murky depths, the sound of chirping and fluttering grew louder and louder. It's just... A small dark shape flew from the mouth of the cave, swooping in spirals. I watched it disappear into the fog and swallowed nervously. Then from the dark within the cave, a sound rose up, like a distant wind. Then a choir of ten thousand tiny, squabbling, squeaking, chattering notes, and then a great rush of wings. Oh, God! The bat swarmed out, a mighty host of furious motion, blotting out the moon as the countless wicked creature surged forth into the night.

Fresh guano reigned in pellets all around me, and I screamed, though the noise was lost in the storm of their wings, and the tearing of cloth from the sails of my schooner, and the startled shouts of the crew on board. A sharp pain in my right arm made me flinch, and looking over, I saw one of the bats with its claws in my sleeve, snapping its little mouth at my exposed wrist again and again, with its needle-sharp bangs. I tried to free my arms to fight it off, but even as I struggled, another of the critters landed on my face. claws, sticking into my upper lip while it bit down upon my cheek. I grunted and whipped my head from side to side. More bats landed on my chest, on my knees, two in my hair.

I snarled, shuddering madly then. Judding out my jaw, I jerked forward. The battle my face swung downward into my open mouth, where I chomped upon its fragile, furry body, tasting musky skin and metallic blood. Spitting out the wretched remains, I howled through my blood-stained lips. You useless salt lickers!

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Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash DNS. Being lifted up, taken aboard my vessel, or carried down into the stern to be laid within my captain's cabin. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the bed, breathing in ragged gasps, my skin slick with an oily sweat, A diagonal column of sunlight sliced through the dusty air in my blurry vision, blinding bright, painfully bright. The light! I hissed.

My voice a hollow scratch within my burning throat. You're awake, said the voice of Lodovike. Thank the Lord. You had us right worry there, Captain. It's all right, sir. You've slept through five morning watches. We're heading home now, and the hull, it is full. Can't you smell it, Captain?

The stench is nigh unbearable in this heat. We should pray for cloud cover and... From beneath the blanket, my right arm jerked out, lightning fast, and seized the man's collar. He gasped and surprised. The shutters! Oh, all right then. No need to exert yourself, sir.

He slipped from my grasp and moved to cover the windows. My arm remained out and straight, And once that blinding light was extinguished and the glare in my vision faded, I was able to see clearly. I was changed. My bony arm was pale gray, like the guano had been. My fingers were so thin, just skin and bone, and my nails had grown long and thick. Had it really only been five days? It felt much longer, that nightmare, in which I felt myself drifting through a cold, dark night in an endless sky.

Is that better, sir? I collapsed backward with a groan. Lodavike came back to my bedside, and lowering himself into a chair. He set a hand gently on my leg over the sweat-soaked blanket. Seamanjoko succumbed to his wound three days ago, I'm sorry to say. That's five dead since we left port, all for 80 tons of excrement. And still, there's another month to go. Lord, help us.

I hope it's worth it. I stared into his face in the darkness. I could see him so much better now, without the harsh and horrid light. The skin upon his fat and stupid face was flush. It was like I could see every little, little vein and capillary beneath the surface, pulsating wetly. It made my guts grumble. I swallowed the saliva gathering in my mouth. Wait, did you say, 80 tons?

but she could take 90, 95, more, more. All right, sir, calm yourself. You're still unwell, Captain. He set the back of a hand against my forehead. Ye gods, you've gone cold as ice. Let me have the cabin boy fetch more blankets. I felt a growl rising in my throat, like the one in my bowels. I don't need blankets, damn you.

I need. What do I need? I tried to sit up, but he was right. I was still sick, weak, hungry, thirsty. My first mate squinted back at me in the darkness, then turned his head to look toward the door. Well, there's a case of Madeira, he offered. My stomach gave its most violent lurch yet,

as my eyes focused on the man's twisted neck, beneath the skin and fat and muscles, to his arteries and veins, I saw it. The blood, rushing up and down, in and out, like a living tide. I swallowed more saliva and my ears popped, and then I could also hear it. The measured pumping of his heart, the rushing of the crimson rivers within his flesh. My nostrils flared. I could smell it too.

The blood, sweet and tangy and rich, intoxicating. Lodovike turned back to me, then blinked, then staggered, suddenly backwards, Heavens, sir, your teeth! They've gotten all, and your eyes, sir! A savage energy tingled in my flesh. I felt my muscles tensing, felt my dry lips stretch into a wild grin. I lunged, throwing myself from my bed and sinking my fingernails into the man's waistcoat as I tackled him to the floorboards. He opened his mouth to scream, but I plunged my teeth into his neck, hard and fast, not knowing or caring what.

caring what or why I did it, only acting out of animal instinct, out of wild desire. My fangs punctured into his jugular with an audible pop, and locking my mouth over the wound, I sucked with vigor upon the gushing red. So much beautiful blood. I gorged myself upon its warmth, filling my belly with desperate gulp after desperate gulp. Lodovic exhaled weakly, shuddering beneath my grip. I continued to suckle on the severed artery. until the flow of blood grew weak.

I detached, took a moment to catch my breath, then shifted position and chomped again, deep and precise. Squeezing upon the carotid artery, I succeeded in drawing out a second flow. My first mate had gone quite still by then, and when his heart ceased to beat entirely, the taste of the blood soured almost at once.

Pulling away, I staggered backwards off the body and sat, panting slightly, My lips and chin and chest a sopping mess, my belly swollen, like an expectant mother. I closed my eyes and wiped it my mouth with the back of a sleeve. It had been such a rush, such a wild, wild rush. But as the seconds ticked by and my inner fire began to alchemically digest and transform the churning fluid within, my focus shifted to another change within myself, not something physical or emotional, but temporal, and therefore spiritual.

Time! My time. Before, it had always felt like the sand in an hourglass, slipping away with each passing moment, in heartless mockery of my hopes and plans and potential opportunities, a finite resource. But now? Now it was an ocean, endless and stormy,

crimson in color and fathomless in depth. And all I needed to do was, was what I did to dear Lodovite. there on the blood splattered floor. A little bit of bloody siphoning to get the flow started, and that ocean of time would become mine. That was how they found me, bloated like a tick, giggling and nauseous in the corner of my cabin.

They weren't sure what to do, and you can hardly blame them. In the end, two sailors entered that evening, each armed with the cutlass and flintlock pistol. I killed them quickly, Silently, without spilling a drop this time. And when the cabin boy poked his head in a bit later to investigate, he screamed, slammed the door shut, and left me alone in the dark. I spent a lot of time alone in the dark after that.

For once we returned to port, on a sunny afternoon a month later, the surviving crew scurried off and immediately alerted the harbor master, who contacted the colonial police, who fetched the governor-general himself. By the time I set foot on the deck that night, under cover of darkness, a full regiment of the Royal Dutch East Indies army was gathered, along with a good deal of artillery. Now, I was certain by then that my enhanced body would no longer age, that my speed and ferocity were now unparalleled, and that I could take a great deal of damage if it came to battle. But against a thousand muskets and a dozen cannons, not worth the risk. I turned myself in. The trial was rushed and chaotic, coinciding with local unrest and growing fears of rival empires

expanding into the East Indies. In the end, I was placed in heavy shackles and dragged into the dankest, darkest, lowest dungeon cell in the bowels of Castile Batavia, and there, left to rot. At first, I did not mind my predicament. There were rats aplenty in the place, and mice and geckos and the occasional snares. and though the blood of such creatures could never compare to the delicious fulfillment of human blood, it kept me alive, and it let me continue to explore the limits of this new stage of my existence. I had heard of various vampiric legends before, of course, but those always seemed to focus on the

vampire's insatiable lust, hunger, and violence. It seemed to me that these qualities were useless in and of themselves, serving only as tools to aid the true advantage of the very advantage of the advantage of the mystical transformation. Immortality. As the years went by and in my dank cell, I tread water in the ocean of endless time I had discovered. My stoic acceptance of my incarceration turned to bitter rage. I needed out. It was a funny thing. Now that eternity was mine, all my old restlessness and impatience came roaring back, stronger than ever. There was so much more I'm might accomplish now. So much more to acquire, to conquer, to make mine. I was drunk on it,

the possibilities, and every second that passed without any definitive progression toward my goals began to cause me great internal agony. So, in the dark of a night, I snatched the hand of a guard passing my cell, and filling my belly with his blood. I refueled my physical strength, and obliterated the prison door and the bodies of all who tried to get in my way. Back in the light of the moon, I resumed my travels once more, cautious to avoid the sun at all costs. I didn't understand why its light had become as a poison to my being, but that seemed like a measly price to pay for the power I had acquired.

I got back to work, knowing that I had all the time in the world, and yet two. Sacred wellspring of moments uncountable. How thirstily I drank from that fount, how greedily, lustily, restlessly. Yet it always flowed so fast, a year, a decade, a century, whizzing by, like bats in the night. One early morning, some two hours before the cursed dawn, I was returning to my Manhattan residence after a late-night meeting at one of my waterfront warehouses. Twas in the year of 2025, when my driver opened the car door for me. My ears were assaulted by the harsh and inebriated laughter of a young couple,

stumbling by the high-glass doors of my 57th Street skyscraper. I stepped out onto the sidewalk, vexation rattling in my every cell. The young lady had just spewed the contents of her stomach into my azaleas. As I approached the doors, the young man assisting the vomiting woman turned and looked at me through the dilated pupils in his bloodshot eyes. Oh, fuck me! It's really him. He straightened up with a little shudder,

then staggered into my path, leaving his female companion to swoon alone over her stinking puddle. I stopped, one eyebrow raised. I saw the security man just inside the doors move into action, but waved him back. Can I help you, boy? I asked the young man.

You're JV. fucking D. The midnight maverick of Wall Street. The goat! Jonathan Van Death! Oh man, sir, I am deadass your biggest fan! I looked into his flushed face, counting the pulse within his capillaries. 140 beats per minute. And no wonder, the cocktail of substances present in his bloodstream

sullied the smell, though I could tell his blood was A-B-positive, a rare vintage. You are truly an inspiration to me, man. My name's Chase, and holy shit. I mean, the way you've managed to scoop up all those war zone contracts, and then snatch the reconstruction bids too, and all those medical patents you hoarded pre-COVID? Genius!

Not to mention the fact that nobody shorts a currency like JVD. All of it. God-tier alpha moves through and through. Can I ask, sir? He leaned in, swallowing dryly. What's your secret? This brought a smile to my face. My secret?

it? Well, I nodded to his right side. That Rolex upon your wrist. If I am not mistaken, it is a cosmograph Daytona. Pray tell. What did you pay for it? 80,000. Chase smirked. A lot more than that. This baby's got the diamond bevel, see? And are you aware that, over any given 24-hour period, your watch can stray for as much as plus or minus two entire seconds? I don't. Huh? My own timepiece, as you see here, looks at first to be a more humble affair. I held up my right hand for him to see, and after glancing at my lengthy fingernails for a moment, he looked down at the watch. Tis a citizen caliber zero hundred, which I purchased upon its initial release for a very reasonable $7,400 U.S. dollars. This watch

has the precision to stray no more than one second for year. Do you understand? The young man squinted, then nodded slowly, then said, No. I exhaled. The secret is to value both precision and longevity, in all things. Huh, yeah, okay. Is that it then?

I shook my head. No. You must also remember. remember to keep your gaze always upon your ultimate objective. Upon that goal which, when reached, will bring satisfaction at last. Chase grinned. Now you're talking. So what is it for you?

How much are you shooting for? What's your number? I leaned in close, narrowing my eyes. More. He nodded. Hell yeah. Mad respect. Speaking of...

Chase cleared his throat. If you've got a minute, Mr. Van Death. I have a proposition that you might be interested in. I sniffed the night air, savoring the exotic sweetness wafting from his veins. Oh, yeah. See, I'm on the ground floor of this new crypto. We're talking to the moon and beyond.

Gonna make Bitcoin look like but-coin. Like but- I glanced around at the quiet street. Perhaps we might proceed to my penthouse then and discuss this opportunity further. Whoa, really? I mean, fuck yeah, let's fucking go. He jumped up and down, then spun toward the doors.

And what about your friend there? What? Oh, her? She looks fine. The young lady had now passed out, and laid spread eagle in her puddle of vomit, moaning softly. As I walked to the building, and the doors peeled open at my approach. The security man inside whispered as I passed. I flicked a hand in response. Just disposal. There's no need for a procurement with that one. I had already picked up her blood scent on the breeze.

Oh, positive. Just a common bit. An elevator ascended. I turned to look out of the glass walls at the city stretching out below us. Do you know what New York was originally called? I asked. Uh, old York? New Amsterdam. I was born in the original Amsterdam. And do you know what else harkens from that city? He shrugged. Market capitalism and the stock exchange.

The chance to make an empty promise of tomorrow's success turn into wealth today. Hell of a trick that. A method of cheating time to accomplish one's goals. Chase sniffed loudly and shuffled on his feet next to me. Yeah, yeah, for real. Definitely. So the, uh, this crypto? So, the initial funds upon which I built my financial empire, I went on, ignoring him, as we neared the top floor, were first attained in the lucrative transport of slaves between Bali and East Java.

Oh, actually, we say enslaved peoples now. I turned to him. I beg your pardon. Nah, it's just you're not supposed to say slave anymore. It's like insensitive. Is that right? I laid a hand upon his shoulder, fingernails tapping. If my memory serves me well, Chase, twas the chains that they objected to, not the terminology used to describe their plight. The elevator doors opened, and I set off down the gilded hall,

my liquid meal following close behind. That old system of enslaved labor is still in place, of course, I proclaimed, turning into my dim and spacious, corner office. But those of us in charge have gotten smarter about it now. I removed my suit coat and handed it to the steward standing in the shadows behind the door. Ownership of another human was always such a drag. You had to worry about the housing and the feeding and the children and the burials and all of it. Crossing behind the desk, I dropped into my chair inside. Now, we billionaires have ironed out all those pesky wrinkles. We pay our workers.

Yes, and then we send them home to rental properties that we own. And when they go to the store to buy themselves, whatever people are buying these days, well, we own the stores too, and the farms and the land and the politicians that make the laws. So we can do and we can charge whatever we want. And so siphon back every penny we paid them in the first place. It's a perfect loop, and the workers are all too tired and too complacent to risk toppling the system, so?

There we are. I wagged one long finger in the air. Less cruel than the old slavery, but more clever. Do you follow? Sure, said my guest, standing nervously beside the desk. Hey, uh, why aren't you turning on any lights in here? Do you have, like, an eye condition or something? Because I also kind of see a sort of red glint in your eyes?

I stared at him for a few seconds. marveling at the depth of the stupidity in his expression. I am getting bored of it all, I finally said to him. The whole system. It's become automated. A factory farm that suckles at the teat of the working class. And when the game is that rigged, well, what's the point in playing, eh? What's the point in climbing a ladder when you've already reached the top? Chase flashed an unconvincing smile.

There was sweat on his cheeks now, and his heart rate had climbed to 170 beats per minute. Uh, yeah, I don't know, man. Maybe you need to get out more. Work-life balance and all that. Do you have like a family, or? I released a low, mirthless laugh. I had a family when this all began. A wife back at Port, ugly little woman, and a daughter, Johanna Maria, took her. Look after her whore of her mother, that one. Oh, here. I turned and tapped a button on my desk, causing the electric blinds to open on the wall

of windows. As the blinds revolved and let in the sickly glow of the city lights outside, Chase blinked and looked around the office. I watched as his gaze swept to the right, looking into the far corner, and he saw what was back there. His blood changed, rushing from his capillaries and shone. shunting to the heart and brain and other vital organs. I smelled the metallic tang of adrenaline and cortisol dumping into his bloodstream.

Jesus! What the fuck is that? My family, the last of them, and on her way out too, about bloody time. I hopped to my feet and crossed the room to the hospital bed that stood against the wall and leaned over the emaciated, wrinkled body chained atop the mattress. The old hag was naked, her bones sticking up through her saggy gray skin, covered in bed sores and bruises. I stared into her sunken face and her cloudy half-open eyes. I'll be honest. I've always found my descendants to be greedy, loathsome fools, the lot of them.

And I? I don't like to share. Never have. I reached down with my right hand, running my fingernails down her hollow wrinkled cheek. They're not good for anything, are they? They're not even useful as nourishment. I looked up at Chase, who remained next to the desk, his mouth hanging open. Behind him, my steward crept forward from the shadows.

It's the smell, you see, of their blood. I can't stomach it. It is revolting. I believe it is similar to the biological aversion to incestuous mating. Of course, that's not the case with you. Your blood smells so very succulent. Right, muttered Chase. So, is that your wife?

No, she is my great, great, great, great, great, great granddaughter. Oh, ha ha, uh, cool. Um, he dropped his gaze to the carpet and his left foot angled ready to run. I don't want to like, kink shame you or whatever, but I think I'll just go for now. I straightened up and shook my head. No, my boy, you will not. I motioned to the desk where a silver tray held a heavy crystal decanter with a matching tumbler.

It is time for a drink. He looked down, but the bottle's empty and... I crossed the room in a dark flash and cut open his throat with a flick of my hand. His body seized, but only for a moment, before going limp. My steward caught him from behind, and reaching to grab the decanter, held it up to the base of the young man's neck as the blood flowed freely, rich and warm. Chase's final breath leaked out from his severed throat in a bubbly hiss. I exhaled, and moving around the desk, I returned my chair.

After a minute, the steward straightened, panting slightly, and adjusting his bow tie, he set the filled decanter back of the car. on the tray and wiped its neck clean with a handkerchief. Will there be anything else, sir? I waved him away, then leaned to pour myself a glass. Swirling the crimson liquid within the tumbler, I stared out the windows, through the misty light pollution outside, and to the gleaming stars and their ancient constellations.

I took a sip, letting the blood coat my tongue, then swirling it in my mouth. Merciless hell. Must have been quite the party. The natural flavors of his blood were quite pleasant, though it was heavily tainted with alcohol, Adderall, cocaine, ketamine, and just a pinch of psilocybin. Outside, the city groaned on, as it always did. Car horns, air-conditioners, chatter, friendly and unfriendly, and millions of beating hearts.

It was all so very predictable, uninspiring, and slow. Slow to change, to evolution, to respond to my plans. I had mastered that system, acquired so much wealth that it would effortlessly grow and swell with each passing year, and obtained more influence from my place in the shadows than any public figure could hope to ever achieve in the light of day and yet more restless in all my years. But coin, I grumbled to the night. I raised the glass to take another sip, and froze. Hmm.

To the moon! Setting down the tumbler, I tilted my head, gazing up once more into the endless heavens. Didn't they say that time was relative? And that when traveling at very high velocity, near the speed of light, that time itself changed, but was wrong.

Time was time, always. It was the universe around the traveler that changed. Yes, and the traveler could watch. from their God's eye view, and observe and direct the long-term effects of any plan they put in motion. It would be like seeing the universe and fast forward. That's it, of course. Now, at that particular point in history, the technologies necessary to make such a journey possible were still the stuff of fantastical legends.

But then, so was I. And what's more? I had the capital to fund research and how such dreams might be. might be made real at the time to see the project through. Raising my glass to the stars, I grinned. Cheers! The sun would soon rise. I shut the blinds and finished my drink.

Twas in the year of 98,781, by the chronological reckoning of Mother Earth. And I was once again a ship's master, though the vessel now under my command was far grander than that quaint little schooner back. This ship was like a great black fang, slicing through the void between the stars at 99% the speed of light. The vessel was 30 leagues from stern to stern, some hundred miles long,

with a hull of metallic hydrogen, armored in diamonds. Within its vast and layered interior, there nestled a great city, far grander than that upon the quaint little island of Manhattan, where one million my human acolytes lived out their petty lives. That population had been specially bred over the millennium, carefully selected and cultivated for each unique bloodline. And just as their bodies

were selectively bred, so too their minds were selectively indoctrinated, taught to live in absolute devotion and servitude to their master, to me, and convinced that there was a holy purpose in their inevitable slaughter. And really, what had they to complain about? I ensured that they had no predators, no disease, no ambivalence to their life's purpose. And the city I built for them within the vessel was truly magnificent, with a hundred stories of balconies looking down upon a park of green with streets of gold and many pools and fountains.

And though there were no windows to speak of, they did have access to a special observatory room on the ship's bow. which boasted amphitheater seats facing a panoramic window to the stars. And so, we traveled, zipping between the colony worlds within my dominion, my million human livestock and I. During what might be called a midlife crisis, I admit to once devoting a short effort to searching for others with my vampiric gift.

There were almost a hundred, it turned out, who had been exposed to the rare pathogen, either by bats, as I was, or else been pierced by a vampire's fangs, and who had so far avoided sunlight and the wrath of mortals. All were found hiding among the dismal alleys or wild wastes of the earth, and all were disappointments to me. No ambition, no sense of the true potential they possessed.

I killed them with ease, and I never created another vampire for my own blood. What would be the point? I had not enjoyed the company of my own human offspring, so why would vampiric descendants be any different? They would be just another greedy competitor, another distraction, and there was so much work to be done. Where once I had a captain's cabin, and later a corner office in a tower of glass and steel, now I had.

It stood in the heart of the vessel's engine, and it was here I spent most of my time, surrounded by readouts of the myriad projects I oversaw across my celestial sun. sovereignty. My throne's location within the engine was essential, for while the ship was equipped with a spacetime distortion drive, the relativistic warp path this created could ordinarily only allow for velocity of up to 40% the speed of light. To earn the vital additional boost I desired, the acceleration had to be, all chemically enhanced by the elegant addition of my own digestive tract.

By plugging my immortal body into the machine, I had learned how to not only tap into eternity, but also lend some measure of its temporal power to my vessel's interstellar flight. That was thirsty work, and it required many meals per day. I drank, I digested, and I watched as the decades sped by outside my ship, unaware of the new change coming slowly to my spirit, so slowly that I did not sense its wait upon my mind until it was too late. You see, in the back of my mind, I had been gradually growing, disillusioned, about my purpose, my powers, my everything, which brings us to today. The day of my epiphany. It began with a rumble in my stomach. I was thirsty again,

and so the crimson priestess approached my throne, holding the head. hand of my lunch, which was dressed all in white, like a child bride. I licked my lips, and turning briefly from my calculations, I looked at the meal. The girl was small and pretty, with dark hair and bright eyes, and the center for blood was most alluring. T'was a rare type, very difficult to breed for, either-auram positive. Golden blood, rich in quasi-crystal minerals, bitter on the tongue and fiery in the gut. The crimson priestess bowed her hooded head. Present your neck, young one, do the master. She instructed the child. Okay. The girl chirped, and lifting her chin, she turned her head, exposing the long, twisted trunk of her neck to me.

Rather than dip my head to strike and to suck dry, I stared at her. I stared at her. Not at the metallic blood glowing in her veins, but at her young face, calm, curious, innocent. Do you have a name, child? I asked. This caused the priestess to shudder and avert her eyes, for she had never before known me to speak to one of my meals, though she had brought me a dozen each day for the past 50 years. The little girl blinked and turned to look back at me, Of course I have a name, Master. It's Melantrix.

Melanchrix, I repeated. Hmm. Here, come, child, sit on Master's lap before I feed. I shifted myself on the throne, pushing aside the many scarlet tubes screwed into ports along my rib cage. The priestess assisted the girl in climbing up, then bowed and departed. When Melantrix was settled in my lap, she reached up with her small fingers, gently holding onto my face and looked into my reddened eyes. You look, sad, master. Do I?

Yes. Is something wrong? Is my blood not good enough? I shook my head. No, it is very good. Then, what's wrong? I wasn't sure what to say. My mind felt rather foggy, a strange sensation.

Perhaps we can take a walk, I told her. She nodded. As she climbed down from the throne, I detached the tubing. Then, rising with a groan, I closed my robe about myself and stepped to the tiled floor. Belontrix held up in open hand, careful not to scratch her with my feet. fingernails, I accepted the offered hand. Her flesh was very warm, or rather, mine was cold, though she did not seem to mind. Together, we began to walk out from the heart of the engine. Will the ship crash without you in the chair, master? Hmm? Oh, no, of course not. The drive is

fueled, and the autopilot shall take us into port without issue. Do you know our current heading, long tricks? She shook her head. Mother Earth in the home system. Do you know about Mother Earth? She cleared her throat and voted, Tis special, for tis where the master was born. Very good. And do you know the name of the star in the home system? Um, the son? I smiled. Yes. You know, when I was human and small like you are now, I would play in the glare and warmth of the sun. But I have not seen its light in, oh, so long. Why not, master? It was a good question, and one I used to ask myself often.

My gift, I finally told her, as we walked down a dim corridor toward the city. There are aspects of it which remain, even now, wholly mysterious to me. Why, oh why, does the radiation of the sun, of that one particular star, nullify all my powers? Why am I helpless to fight back against it? What makes it special? And I looked up as we entered the open heart of the city. I hadn't visited in a long time. It was as lovely as ever.

Sunlight does not hurt me when it's reflected off of the Earth's moon, though the girl's attention seemed drawn more to twinkling water in the pools we passed. And no other star's light has any negative effect upon my skin. Not the soft red of Proxima, or the dazzling white of Sirius, or the electric incandescence of the orbs suspended in this artificial sky. No. The home star. I like swimming! broken out of my musing, and turned to her.

I beg your pardon? Swimming! She repeated, nodding at the pool beside us. It's my favorite. I like to go swimming. I. Oh. I looked from one side of the modest pool to the other, and at the fountain in its center. But to where do you swim? She giggled.

Nowhere. I play in the water. But to what end? What is the goal? I don't know. Swimming, I guess. And that makes you. Melantrix's little brow furrowed in confusion. I don't know what that means.

So many scents. Blood, water, vegetation, machinery. I don't know. But you're the master. I thought you knew everything. Because you are very powerful and very old. I do not get old, I retorted. Although, no.

No. I think you're right. I am old, aren't I? Very old. Belontrix let go of my hand and lowered herself to the edge of the pool. She sat, slipping her bare feet into the water and fluttering her toes. I looked at my hand, which she had released, at the pink impression of her fingers still present on my pallid skin. I looked into my hand, into my veins, into my blood, only t'was not my blood, was it?

not made in my marrow, not born of my genes. But surely, I had done mighty deeds with these hands. The things I had built, expanded, perfected, dominated. To what end, von Death? I intoned myself, next to the pool and the child. I crouched down beside her, crossed my legs, laid my hands in my lap. You know what I just realized, Melantrix? I have lived for nearly one.

100,000 years. A trillion moments have been mine, and yet, I see now, with a vision that pierces beyond the flesh, beyond the eternal, all the way to the truth. I see that... I watched her feet in the water, moving up and down, birthing ripples on the surface. A wise man would trade it all for but one hour. What must that be like? To look at one's life, one's achievements, one's very self, and to truly believe that, tis, she seemed restless now, eager to dive into that water and just swim. I nodded, yes, it was time. I twisted my right hand, palm facing up, then craned my head forward.

My lips curled back as my mouth opened and wrapped around my wrist. I bit gently, puncturing my cephalic vein with my pathogen-coated fangs. What are you doing, master? asked Melantrix, taking notice as I pulled away again, and a few drops of my blood plopped lightly to the ground. My blood was viscous and reflective, each droplet clinging to its shape like liquid mercury, with iridescent colors swirling on the surface, and it smelled like time itself. Now, child, I lifted my punctured wrist before her face. Her eyes went wide and cautious, and she opened her mouth to speak, but I pressed my wound upon her lips, and reaching my other hand

to cup the back of her head, I held her fast. She struggled, but only for a moment. Then her throat swelled, and her neck rippled as she swallowed. Very good, Melantrix. Receive the gift. Perhaps you will find some better use for it than I in the centuries to come. The heart in her chest began to race, and her pupils dilated. Then her heart stopped altogether, and her eyes rolled in her head. She dropped backward to the ground, her bare feet still floating languidly in the water. I stood, sighing. A few pedestrians were walking nearby, and had stopped to watch, intrigued.

first by the presence of their master here in the city, and then by this strange reversal of my usual feeding process. Now they stared at the girl's body, which had gone white as her garments and very still, though in my vision the blood within her was writhing with microscopic transformation, and I was not surprised to see her suddenly spasm. Her belly swelled, then shrunk fast, and a fountain of golden blood spewed from her open,

and mouth, splashing over her body in the ground around her, and sloshing into the edge of the pool. She jerked, lurched, twisted to her hands and knees, gasping through a bloody smile. Her eyes blazed, red and hungry. I smiled and turning. I began to walk again, heading toward the back of the ship. I heard the air rent as Melantricks lunged, galloping at lightning speed, and when she reached a woman in the grass to my right, the newborn vampire struck with such force, that the mortal's body shattered, and the air was misted in a heavy spray of delicious A-B-B-positive. Belontrix danced and spun on the grass, snapping at the air with her mouth. Then she shot forward again, scurrying up a pillar to a balcony above.

She was so fast, faster than I ever was. Perhaps that was due to her youth, or the qualities in her own mortal blood, or the enhanced powers present in my ancient veins. Screams arose within the city. Here, there, everywhere. How exactly this chaos would play out, I did not know. Whether she would grow tired or kill them all, or create more like her. And what would happen when the autopilot set down the vessel upon its landing pad on earth?

And the bay doors opened. Who knows? Not me. T'wasn't my concern. Not anymore. I reached the stern of the ship, opened the door to the observation room, and stepped inside. The screams died away as the door shut behind. me and I walked into the broad curve of raised seats. The windowed wall was shut. The room was dark.

I moved to the center, chose a chair, and lowered myself into it. There I sat. I sit. My name is Johannes von Death. And here we are at the end of my story. I lay my right hand in my lap, the swollen puncture marks on my wrist stinging. Then flick the nails of my left hand at a switch on the arm on the chair. The great panoramic window responds, the blinds twisting and retracting, exposing a vast field of stars. And there, on the left-hand side, drifting into view as the ship's trajectory veers around it, is my answer. The answer.

There you are. The first God humans ever worshipped? T'was the sun, of course. that sweet and fiery purveyor of time itself. By its rising and setting, our ancestors organized their lives, creating order from the otherwise chaotic nature of the universe. And in the end, those ancients were right. The sun is worthy of praise,

and not because it is bright or gives life or holds the world in orbit, but because it sets. It brings things to a close. And in so doing, it imbues them with meaning. Finality. Sleep. The end. What beauteous things they are.

I close my eyes as the sunlight reaches me and sweeps across my skin. I feel the pathogens within me shrieking and bursting as they die. Each blaze of tortuous light splitting my body apart at a million different seams. I burn, hot and fast and worshipful. Oh yes, oh glorious star, take back your time. Reclaim each plundered eon. Drink it from me. Yes, slurp it out in gasping mouthfuls, down to the last, glistening, droplet of eternity.