Serial killer John George Haigh knew the power of the monstrous image to incite horror into people's minds, and even today he is cited as a murderer who drank a cup of blood from his victims before getting rid of their bodies. He's found on nearly every list of "modern vampires," which attests to his own insight in just how far his legend would carry. However, there's no evidence that he had such a fetish and plenty of reason to believe that he was malingering a mental illness that would get him sent to a mental institution.

I miss you, dark angel,
In ways I never thought
I would;
As A cup-companion,
A partner in adventures,
Confidant & co-conspirator,
Fellow-lover of pseudo-life:
We hunted together
In the shadows, the cloak of the night.
Even though Another wooed me towards the Light,
Seduced me for time into the Day.
But it did not last,
The sun set.
You remind of the patient Darkness
In my own soul;
The windows which, drawn, could be curtained
Or withdrawn to show a glimmer of shuttered light.

August 22, 2007 (Boston Herald / Laurel J. Sweet) -- A Jamaica Plain "vampire" who drank the blood of his wheelchair-bound grandmother after shooting her to death is trying to sell his amateurish art online to bankroll "a new start" if he’s freed.

The empty weariness settle over me.
I am tired and alone.
You have left me now and forever.

Sweet city in the sky or the eternal inferno within.
I cannot decide where it is you've gone, where it is I'll follow to.

Surely it must be hell for the life you inflicted on me.
Yet surely it must be heaven for the ecstasy you envoked in me.

Was it you that said, one never walks the path to heaven but is carried there on the wings on righteousness.

Yet one must walk the pathes to hell to know what living is.

*Deep within the caverns he calls his home, Deadend broods. Long has he remained enclosed in his halls, awaiting the day he felt the desire to return to the surface. As he sits in front of his fireplace he reads the journal he has kept these many long months since the Black Raven Inn closed it's doors. His thoughts turn to those he once called family. Something pulls at his consciousness, however...something very familiar. Slowly, he closes the journal and rises. He is ready...it is time. He grabs his favorite smoking jacket and walks to the entrance to his caverns.