I am not a Vampire, by Robert Rusk

It is sunset when I get the call about the body. First day of full sleep in a week, and it’s interrupted by some jerk getting killed in some weird way. I reach over to the nightstand and grab my cellphone to answer it.

“Thrill me.”

“Hey, Sheriff.”

“Sorry, bub, wrong number. This is Smokey the Bear.”

“I just wake you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. I swear to all that is holy if it is the Red Dwarf again.”

“It’s definitely not him. He does not kill people.”

“Homicide?”

“Yep.”

“Why can’t you handle it?”

“Vic a vamp.”

“Naw.”

“Yeah, so get down here before V-Nation Security does.”

“On my way.”

All I can think to myself as I get out of bed is how much I miss New York and how much I hate Detroit.

A vampire. Why does it have to be a vampire? Give me a werewolf, goblin, or a friggin’ bigfoot.  I can deal with that, but a vamp? This case is going to be a headache sent straight from God or whatever higher power wants to ruin my week.

I’m dressed by the time the coffee maker is done making a cup. Add in a little blood-flavored creamer to it. It’s doing things like adding blood to coffee that make people think that I am a vamp. I am not. I am something a whole lot worse. I am a Wendigo.

Wendigos are local to this country. Don’t ask me how I became one. Got shot one day and woke up in my grave the next. Some people describe us like vampires. Heck, some people believe that Wendigos are a breed of vampire. But let me ask this: Have you ever seen a vampire grow antlers when it feeds or grow twelve feet tall when it’s angry? No? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Anyway, where was I? Got dressed, grabbed my coffee, and headed down to Lucy. When I took on this role, it came with a few things. First was my home. Used to be a boarding house; now it’s my home and a police station of sorts. One room houses an impressive collection of dust-covered guns. Never use the darned things. Only one I do use is Harley, a modified revolver. Usually, most of the problems I deal with can be handled with my mitts. The room across from the armory serves as a forensics lab, or did. A while back I lost my temper while trying to learn how to run the machines, took a baseball bat to them. Got some holding cells around here somewhere.  A massive reference library and three meat coolers. Wendigos eat a lot of red meat. 

The other thing this job came with was Lucy, a jet black Mustang. At least I think she is one. No labels on her. Completely runs on electricity. Swear to God I knock out power to half the block every time I charge her. She is made out of something that makes titanium look like tin foil. Rammed a train engine with her once. Not a scratch on her. The train, on the other hand, looked like it hit a wall. Vampire engineering puts German engineering to shame.

So I hop in Lucy and head to the crime scene. Now, I bet you are wondering how I know where the body is if the deputy never told me where it was. My sense of smell is second to none. A dead vamp has a unique smell. It smells like something that has died twice. I take in a breath of fresh air. West, I have to go west. Five minutes later, I am at the scene.