My grandmother is from Slovenia. She carried a lot of stories from her homeland, though they’re not all strictly Slovenian. Her family is from all over, and her stories go back generations, to times long before borders or nation-states. Most of them are about blood feuds between families that don’t exist anymore or obscure customs that she’s held onto over the years. A lot of them are about vampires. Our family has something of a history with them.
Before you ask: yes, they were vampire hunters. No, I am not. But I’ve learned a lot about their history from my grandmother, partially out of tradition and partially out of necessity. Because even though we’re in the States now, far from where our family’s legacy was born, it still haunts us. It’s why I’ve always hated vampire stories. Not the old ones my grandmother passed down to me; I mean the newer ones, with their dark, handsome strangers and suave aristocrats. They present vampires with a charming charisma that I, as someone who has had run-ins with the beasts, find bafflingly ignorant. I’m sure the literary scholars out there will contest me on this (yes, I am aware of Carmilla and The Vampyre, thank you very much), but I swear no single human being has wreaked as much havoc on the image of the vampire as Bram Stoker.
Needless to say, they don’t behave like they do in the movies. They aren’t alluring or enchanting, and thinking of them in that way, forgetting what they really are, is dangerous. I’m going to tell you a story. And if there’s one thing you take from that story, let it be this: vampires are not human. They never were human. They are monsters, and telling yourself otherwise is a quick way to get yourself killed.
I live in New England. Nowhere in particular; we have to move every few months, so we go wherever we can find a place to stay. It’s not the perfect life, but we make do. This story happened a few years ago while I was living in Rhode Island and working as a bartender at a dive bar. That was probably one of the nicer gigs I’ve gotten. I worked the late night weekday shift that nobody else wanted. Yes, I’m willing to work at night. I may have a healthy fear of vampires, but I can handle myself. If you’re wondering if it’s safe for you, the answer is generally yes. They’re quite rare. I’m telling this story on the off chance you encounter one, but honestly, you’re unlikely to cross paths with even a single vampire in your entire life. I’m just an unfortunate exception.
The bar closed at one, so I started to clean up around half past midnight. Everywhere else was closed that time of night, but this one had been around a long time, so it had regulars to cater to. Most of them were retired older men that just wanted a place to drink and chat and reminisce about “the good old days.” Most of them grossed me out, but a decent number of them tipped well, so I couldn’t complain.
That night, most of the patrons had trickled out an hour ago, leaving me with one very drunk man in his late fifties to early sixties. He was my least favorite of the bunch. He was rude and messy, but that’s normal for a place like this. What I disliked was that he made a habit of harassing the women who came in. Never on my shifts, but my coworkers talked. He also didn’t tip. I’m glad my grandmother wasn’t the type to go out for food or drinks. One visit with this guy in the room and she would’ve fed him the peanut bowl. The actual bowl. I settled for dirty looks.
He was finishing up some story about a girl he dated in high school. At least, I think they dated; he was slurring his speech and I was only half listening. He went on and on about the summer they met, from the late night trysts in his dad’s pickup to skinny dipping in her family’s pool while her parents were away. It might’ve been romantic if he weren’t so… descriptive. He talked about the things she let him do and the things that he wished they’d done. He talked about how perky, adventurous, and pliable she was. His words, not mine; I’ll let you interpret those adjectives. He lamented that she was older now, which was ironic since they had to have been around the same age. She was no longer married, but she had some kids. They’d grown up and flown the coop ages ago, but apparently the fact that she’d had any was enough to turn him off. He desperately wished he could have her now the way she was then.
I didn’t say anything. I had been cleaning the same spot on the countertop for the last fifteen minutes, trying very hard not to gag. You may be wondering why I hadn’t thrown the creep out by then. Trust me, I wanted to. Unfortunately, the guy was friends with the owner. The last person who did it got fired. I didn’t like it, but given the life I live, I couldn’t afford to be picky with work. My grandma works when she can, but she can’t support us both. I have to take what I can get.
I tuned back in to hear him starting a new story about his last hunting trip, and promptly tuned back out. Just as I did, he was blessedly interrupted by the bell chimes that meant the front door was opening. Looked like I’d be closing late, but at least I had an excuse to ignore the creep. I turned my attention to the woman in the green summer dress who had just walked in. She was young, maybe my age. For context, I was 19 at the time. She was by herself, which was odd that late at night, but this bar was open later than most. Sometimes we had local college kids showing up late for drinks, since they weren’t technically allowed on campus. Then I noticed she didn’t have a purse. She probably lost it and couldn’t find her friends, so came in here hoping to call them.
Before I could ask her if she was alright, the creep let out a low whistle and said something that would’ve been tasteless in the fifties, let alone today. I’ll spare you the details. I gave him a glare and he winked at me. Winked. If tonight wasn’t the night I threw him out I don’t know when I would. The woman started walking over to the bar. She hadn’t said anything yet. She had an odd, bouncy gait; even, but awkward, like she was tiptoeing. I was worried for a moment that maybe she was hurt. I looked at her legs, but they were concealed by the near floor-length dress. No dirt, tears, or blood. Maybe she was just drunk? As she got closer, I saw the look on her face. Half-closed eyes and a cheesy smirk. Yep, she was drunk. At least that’s what I thought back then. In hindsight, everything about her sudden appearance was a red flag.
When she reached the bar, she did something I wasn’t expecting. She sat at a bar stool right next to the creep. Even he looked surprised. Who would’ve guessed that his typical dating strategies weren’t usually successful? Once the initial shock wore off, a smug smile settled onto his face.
“Aren’t you something,” he had said. “Have I seen you before?”
I decided to interject before he had a chance to say another awful pickup line. I asked if she needed a phone. I noticed she hadn’t come in with one and we were closing soon. Or I could call a taxi. She didn’t answer either question. She didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were fixed on the creep.
“I just want to dance.” She said it in a playful tone, before giggling.
This wasn’t the first time I’d had someone come in this drunk, barely able to ask questions and not taking me seriously. I admit, I got annoyed. It clouded my judgment. I should’ve been more suspicious, but instead I just told her, again, that we were closing, so there wouldn’t be any dancing.
The creep jumped in at this point. “Now come on, buddy, don’t be like that. The girl just wants to have some fun. I’ll even buy another drink for her.”
‘Buddy.’ That’s what pushed me over the edge.
“Sure,” I said, not trying to hide my bitterness, “just as soon as I see your ID, ma’am.” It was petty, I know. She clearly wasn’t carrying one. But I didn’t intend to give out any more drinks. They were both too drunk already. I just felt like being difficult. He gave me a scowl in response. I’m sure I’d hear from my boss about this tomorrow. Hopefully the creep would be too hungover to remember to tell him. It was then that the woman finally looked at me. The expression on her face was… odd. Her smile hadn’t quite faded, but her eyes had shifted. Looking back on it, it was almost like she was trying to scowl like the creep was, but her face wasn’t cooperating. That was red flag number two.
The creep noticed the irritation in her eyes but if he saw the rest of her face he didn’t speak on it. Maybe he didn’t want to insult her or maybe he was just oblivious. Your guess is as good as mine.
“Forget him, honey,” he said. “If you wanna dance I know a place.” Her eyes snapped back to him in an instant, her face morphing to the same expression she came in with.
“I’d like that,” she said dreamily as she put a hand on his arm. The creep clearly wasn’t talking about dancing, and I was starting to think she wasn’t either. He looked impressed with himself.
“Buddy, will you call us a cab?” He asked me. “I left my phone at home.” Of course he did. Fine by me, if it gets them out of here quicker. At least he didn’t intend to drive. Wordlessly, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts. Pro tip for any new bartenders out there: save the local cab company’s number. Yes, a lot of people have rideshare apps, but trust me, you’ll want it handy for those that don’t. Or for idiots who leave their phones at home.
The two of them got friendly while I made the reservation. You might question why I’d let a drunk girl go home with a catcaller. I had thought about whether that was the right choice. I’ll start by saying that while he’s been known to make unwanted advances on women, he never got physical. He wasn’t violent or dangerous. A weirdo, sure, but that was about it. Secondly, he wasn’t sober himself. If he were I would’ve stopped him in an instant, friends with the owner or no. As it stood, I’d say they were on even footing. Lastly, she was clearly into him. Why? I don’t know. Not my place to judge. But she was an adult. If she wanted to go home with him I wasn’t about to tell her otherwise.
They were whispering and giggling while I made the call, though he did most of the talking. She kept trying to pull him up out of his seat “to dance”, but he kept her sitting. Honestly, I’m thankful for that. I didn’t need her to fall and hurt herself. It wasn’t a very big town, so the cab company said the driver would be there in 10 minutes. I thanked them and hung up, then let the lovebirds know.
“Alrighty, just enough time for a leak and a dump,” the creep responded. Charming. He got up out of his seat, shakily, and she stood with him. “You stay here, sweet thing. I’m gonna go to the john, then I’ll be right back.” I swear, everything out of this guy’s mouth was like a bad retro cop movie. He walked to the back hall where the bathrooms were and disappeared around the corner. Well, he hobbled. The woman didn’t sit. She stood where he’d told her to wait and stared longingly at the hallway. With just the two of us alone, I decided now was my opportunity to make sure neither of us were making a mistake tonight. I’d already made many, though I hadn’t realized it yet.
“Look,” I started, “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but that guy’s always chasing after girls. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless, but if you want to back out, I can lie for you. You can go in the back and I’ll tell him you left. I can even call another cab.” I said it slowly and deliberately to make sure she understood what I was trying to say. She was pretty drunk after all.
Instead of answering she turned her head and looked at me again. She didn’t stop smiling, but her eyes had gone cold. Another bizarre half-expression. It was disturbing, like she was seeing through me. Then she spoke to me in a practiced tone.
“I’m gonna go to the john, then I’ll be right back.” She turned her towards the hallway, walked over, and made her way around the corner. That was the third red flag. That should’ve been enough. But I was younger then. Less experienced. I know better now.
I watched her in confusion as she strode away. I thought she had made her choice. Like I had said, who was I to judge? But I felt uneasy as I waited for them to get back. My head filled with doubts. Was I really going to let them go? Could I honestly say she was in a sound state of mind to make this kind of decision? I’m not sure if I could spin this to the creep in a way that didn’t get him pissed. He had never put hands on anyone, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t. I really didn’t want to get the cops involved. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang from the bathrooms. It sounded like a stall door slamming, though much louder. I thought one of them might’ve fallen, so I decided to go check.
I went into the men’s stalls first. I wasn’t about to go into the women’s stalls if she wasn’t decent. I’d check him first, and if he was fine then I’d check her. I opened the door to the men’s bathroom and was greeted by the glare and buzz of fluorescent lights. Most of the bar used standard bulbs, so the bathroom lights were always jarring for me. Well, that and the smell. I stepped inside and right away I could see the ends of the woman’s green dress sticking out from under one of the stall doors, which hung open slightly. It was the stall at the end, nearest the wall. The wall that now had a handle-shaped hole in it. Guess that was what caused the bang. Had she gone into the wrong bathroom? The way the dress’s ends were spread out over the floor didn’t look like she was sitting. It made it look like she was facing the toilet and bending down. Or kneeling. Then I heard… slurping. Guess they were in a rush. I started marching over.
“Okay, you cannot do that in here!” I was ready to toss them onto the curb myself at this point. I reached the stall and threw the door open.
Blood was splattered against the stall walls, like someone had haphazardly swung around a paintbrush. It was stark against the yellowish-white laminate surface. The creep was slumped on the toilet, eyes staring blankly at the floor and mouth wide open, like a suffocating fish. His throat was gone. Torn out. His head struggled to balance on what was left of his neck. The tattered remains of his t-shirt hung from his shoulders, soaked and dripping with red. The woman was hunched over the corpse, lapping up the blood almost as fast as it was leaking from his wounds. Almost. A pool had started to form on the floor around the toilet.
She whirled around to look at me. Her hands were stained crimson. Blood ran down her face, dribbling along her lips and cheeks and chin like a child sticking their face in birthday cake. She was still smiling. That same forced smile. But her eyes went wide with rage. Behind her now- turned head, I could see the rest of the creep’s body. There was a single uneven cut from his chest down to his gut, like he’d been badly dissected. With her attention on me and away from eating, blood started pouring out of the cavity. I stood there in shock, unable to move. And then she screamed; a normal woman’s scream, but this wasn’t a normal woman. And then she lunged at me.
She leapt onto my chest and I fell backwards against the sinks opposite the stalls. My back slammed into the countertop while my head hit the mirror. I’m surprised it didn’t shatter. The bathroom began to spin as my vision swam, but the feeling of her nails cutting into my arms and shoulders kept me centered. She was basically on top of me at this point when she bared her teeth– human teeth, not fangs– and swung her head downwards to my throat. It reminded me of how a big cat kills their prey, with one powerful bite to the neck, like what had happened to the creep.
I was barely able to put my hands up and grab her by the face, pushing up to keep her from reaching her target. She screamed as she bit wildly at the air like an animal, trying to get at my fingers, still smiling the whole time. I did my best to push her off entirely, but it was no use. She was smaller than me by quite a bit, but these things are predators. They’re stronger and faster than humans. I think if I were a normal person, that first bite would’ve killed me. I’d say I’m lucky that I’m not, but if I were, I wouldn’t have to deal with these sorts of things in the first place.
My initial panic passed and I started using my head. My grandmother always said our minds were our greatest weapons against vampires. They were feral things that worked off of patterns and instinct, but humans could think, adapt. I lifted my left leg as best I could and kicked where I thought her knee was. It connected weakly, glancing off, so I kicked again. And again. The third time was solid and she let out another scream, buckling slightly and loosening her grip. I pushed her off, just enough to put some space between us, using the counter as leverage. Just as she lunged, I lifted myself up, brought both of my legs back, and kicked forward with both at once as hard as I could. She flew back through the air, landing against the wall of the last stall, and fell in a crumpled heap on top of the creep’s body, the weight of both of them shattering part of the toilet and causing her to hit the floor before his corpse fell on top of her. Yeah, I’m not normal.
She screamed again as she tossed his body like a sack, struggling a bit with the dead weight. Her dress was now soaked in blood, and it clung awkwardly in places so that I could partially see under it. Her strange walk made sense now. She didn’t have human legs. Instead, she had lithe, furred legs, the thin hair a tannish-brown color. The thighs ended in a digitigrade stance, the backwards knee a lot of animals have, and her feet were hooves like a deer’s. One of my grandmother’s more obscure tales came to me. I finally realized what I was dealing with.
With her still on the floor, I bolted. I swung the bathroom door open and made my way through just in time to hear her hitting it bodily, screaming the entire time. She was right behind me. I knew I wouldn’t have time to grab what I needed. I had to buy myself a couple of seconds somehow. Then, as I sprinted across the bar, the tapping of her hooves just behind me, I saw the peanut bowl. There’s a common myth about vampires that if you throw a sack of rice or grain in their path, they’d be compelled to stop and count each one. That had never happened in stories about this particular kind of vampire, but like I said, these things followed patterns. Besides, it was this or die. As I ran by the bar top, I grabbed the cheap ceramic bowl, turned, and tossed it onto the ground. It shattered and bits of bowl spun about and bounced off of the wood floor, while what little remained of the peanuts scattered.
The creature stopped dead in her tracks. It seemed at first she just feared the sharp pieces of clay, but then she dropped to all fours and started picking up peanuts. She was grabbing them in a fury, glancing at each one before tossing it over her shoulders, all while smiling and yelling frantically in frustration. I didn’t waste the opportunity. I vaulted over the bar top, my momentum sending me shoulder-first into the taps, beer spilling onto my clothes and the counters. I dropped to my knees, beer still spilling onto my back, and pried open the box of tools we had on hand in case of emergencies. I grabbed the one I needed and stood just in time to see the woman stepping up and over the bar, ready to pounce on top of me. I swung the wrench in my hand upwards with as much force as I could and clocked her right in the chin.
There was a pop and a crack, like bones breaking and joints dislocating. She didn’t make a sound as she fell backwards off of the bar top and landed flat on her back against the floor, landing in a pile of broken shards and peanut husks. If I’d tried that with any other kind of wrench, it wouldn’t have worked. This one was cast iron. I circled around the bar, wielding the wrench in both hands, expecting her to get back up. She laid motionless, her neck craned back unnaturally far, bruises already forming where the iron had touched her skin. It was a lot more effective than I thought it would be. I wear a few cast iron rings now when I go out, just in case.
I stepped over to her body and swung the wrench down into her head with a yell. I wasn’t taking chances. There was another pop and a crunch as her skull caved in, and then her body started to fall apart. Starting at her head and moving across her skin, she crumbled into ashes. Even her dress started to disappear. Then the ashes became dust, and the dust became mist, until she was gone without a trace.
I dropped the wrench and landed on my ass, catching my breath. That had been way too close. Not the closest I’d come to dying to one of these things, but the closest in a while. I let my breathing settle as the adrenaline wore off and I started to shake. I was startled when my phone started buzzing. I yanked it out of my pocket. It was the cab company.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Turns out the driver had been waiting outside. I apologized, said the two drunks had found another way home but I didn’t have a chance to call back because the bar got robbed. Said I was calling the cops. That usually gets people to go away pretty quick. Lo and behold, they said they’d let the driver know, wished me luck, and hung up. I was going to call the cops. I couldn’t just leave a body in the bathroom during my shift. But I called my grandmother first.
While I waited for the police, I had time to think about what had attacked me. I’m almost certain it was a baobhan sith. That’s pronounced “baa’vaan see.” You might have heard of them. They’re Scottish Highlands fairies, which is why the iron wrench worked so well. They appear as beautiful women with the legs of deer and devour the blood of men who wish for female companionship. Some of you might question if I can really call them vampires when they’re technically fairies, and that’s fair, but I think you’ll find the categories aren’t as cut and dry as you might think. Besides, these things don’t care what we call them. They’ll eat us anyway.
The baobhan sith usually show up in groups, but the number of women that appear seems dependent on the number of men who wish for one. And I certainly hadn’t been the one longing for my high school sweetheart that night. I almost felt bad for the creep. Was he a gross weirdo? Yes. Did he deserve to get torn apart like that? I wouldn’t say so. Perhaps I just felt guilty. If I’d paid better attention to the signs, I might’ve been able to save him. Something he had said when he first saw her has stuck with me all these years. “Have I seen you before?” I can’t say for sure, because I don’t know what his high school sweetheart looked like, but to this day I’m not quite sure that was just a pickup line.
When the cops finally arrived, ambulance in tow, they tended to my wounds, then asked me a bunch of questions. I told them some stranger had been in the bar with me and the creep, that he followed the regular into the bathroom, and when I found him over the body he attacked me with a knife. I fought him off with the wrench and he ran away. That’s when I called them. I’m amazed they believed me. I’m guessing it was all the wounds I had. I was pretty banged up and I guess they figured I couldn’t have done that to myself. I worried maybe they’d thought the creep had done it in self-defense, but he was almost three times my age, and there wasn’t a murder weapon. Plus, I didn’t have nearly enough blood on me.
A few hours later, they let me go, but they requested my address and number in case they needed to talk to me again. I gave them both, along with my grandma’s number too. I wanted them to know I would cooperate. And for those wondering, no, the bar didn’t have cameras. Of course it didn’t, not that it mattered. Many of these things don’t show up on tape, and if it had I’d have a hard time explaining how her corpse magically vanished. They might’ve thought I doctored the footage somehow. Better that there was none.
By the time I got home the sky was starting to light up. I unlocked the door to the apartment, and my grandmother was waiting for me at the small kitchen table. She was a night owl, despite her age. Guess it runs in the family. All of our belongings were already packed and ready to go. This is how it went. We’d stay somewhere a few months, something would come for us, and then we’d move. We laid shallow roots.
I slumped down at the table across from her and she took my hands in hers. Her face was usually stern, but I could see the worry in her eyes. I told her we wouldn’t be able to leave for a few weeks, not without them suspecting me of murder. She let out a frustrated sigh, but agreed it was best. We’d had this argument before, and it took a while, but I finally got her to understand how small the world is now, how technology made it so you can’t run from these sorts of things. It was different when I was young. No one would blame an old woman or a child for a mysterious death. But I was a man now. I couldn’t just leave without looking suspicious, not when death follows so close on my heels.
She asked if I wanted any medicine before I went to sleep. The traditional kind. I told her it was fine, they’d already given me painkillers and I likely wouldn’t hurt in the morning anyway. I was right, of course. When I woke up late in the afternoon I was a little sore in my back but the cuts were nothing but scars now. In the next few days they’d be gone entirely. Yes, I am human. Just not the same way you are. It’s a long story, and this one has gone on long enough.
I hope you understood the point of all this. The creep never would’ve seen the signs because he didn’t know any better. But I do. And now you do too. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Vampires put on a convincing show of being people, but they’re not. The more you pay attention, the easier it is to see that. They wear our faces like masks, but those masks are flimsy, betrayed by their behavior. They aren’t sexy or romantic. They aren’t sympathetic or misunderstood. And most importantly: they are not human. They never were human. They are monsters, and telling yourself otherwise is a quick way to get yourself killed. Or worse, you’ll get someone else killed instead.