"He met my eyes with his penetrating gaze. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. The temperature in the room spiked into the tropical range. My heart pounded in my chest like a ritual drum, and my knees threatened to buckle. I'd never seen such a gorgeous male. My logical mind engaged in a futile attempt to regain my attention...

In San Francisco in 1998, Joshua Rudiger, 22, claimed to be a 2,000-year-old vampire and went about the city slashing the necks of vulnerable homeless people with a knife. He hurt three men and killed a woman sleeping in a doorway, and when one victim's identification led to his arrest, he claimed that he needed to drink human blood. The woman indeed died from a lack of blood.

A kind of stupefaction came over Henry Bannerworth, and he sat for about a quarter of an hour scarcely conscious of where he was, and almost incapable of anything in the shape of rational thought. It was his brother, George, who roused him by saying, as he laid his hand upon his shoulder, --

"Henry, are you asleep?"

As a Horror writer I've been often and pointedly been asked why I write this stuff. It's not ever said directly, but it's always there: Is there something wrong with you? In my own defense, quite a few people enjoy reading this same stuff and even more get a thrill out of watching it on the big screen. Just to hazard a guess, I'd say most people have in their life read a horror book or seen a horror movie. The question then becomes: What's wrong with us?

Are you a fallen angel?
Did you commit a deadly sin?
Did you eat away a child's dreams
and rot the heart within?
Were you ever called an angel?
Did you reign from high above?
Were you ever called an angel?
Were you made of dreams and love?

Raevynn
October 21, 2001