Her Loving Husband's Curse

by Meredith Allard

Ned Zuckerman.

  Rachael Morgan.

  There it was. His black-word name on the white-paper list released by who-knows-who, someone with access to the yellow legal pads in Hempel’s closet. The reports did state that Hempel had no plans to go forth with these names. For whatever reason, Hempel was less convinced about these individuals than the ones he made public. When James saw the look on Sarah’s face as she scanned the newspaper and saw his name, he realized he didn’t know what to say to soothe her. He had been so careful for those long three centuries, moving on whenever he had an inkling anyone found him odd. He had become mistrustful after he was turned, taking great pains to hide his preternatural truth from nearly everyone. But now wherever he went he felt eyes on him, that neon arrow he imagined hovering a foot above his head, pointing him out in flashing lights. Bloodsucker. Monster. Villain. Evil.

  Vampire.

  When word started getting around the university, others stepped around the topic. They didn’t believe it the way they didn’t believe the accusations against anyone else, and James realized they felt sorry for him.

  “But Professor Wentworth is a nice family man,” neighbors said to inquisitive reporters. “He’s married to a lovely young woman, a librarian, and they have a new baby. He’s been at the college about two years now. I hear he’s well respected there.”

  One neighbor, a retired man, went on the local news standing in front of the wooden gabled house. “I used to think this place was haunted because it’s so old,” the neighbor said, “but now I know Mr. Wentworth is just a regular guy with a family and a job at the college.”

  On campus, James made a conscious effort to remove the bulls-eye he felt nailed to his forehead. He had to put the flashing neon sign aside. If a student on campus yelled, “Hey Doctor Wentworth, someone called you a vampire. Isn’t that crazy?” he’d nod and agree. If another professor said, “Look out, Professor Wentworth’s going to bite your neck!” he’d laugh.

  But as the nights passed he felt the shift. When he walked the corridors of Meier Hall, he’d hear students whisper, “They say Professor Wentworth is a vampire.” When they saw him they’d stop talking.

  Two weeks after his name was printed in the paper his Shakespeare seminar was half-empty. He brushed it off as midterm blues and taught as usual. As he walked back to the library, he looked at the students, many rushing past to their next class, deep in their conversations or solitary and absorbed in the music blasting from their earbuds. He thought they wouldn’t look him in the eye, but he dismissed that too. Not everything is about you, James, he thought. They’re too busy living their lives to worry about you. In the library he passed a few professors, and where normally they’d exchange pleasantries, the usual ‘How are you? I’m fine. How are you? I’m struggling along, you know,’ that night they hurried past, their eyes focused on the other end of the hall.

  The night after his Shakespeare seminar James let himself into his office, and he relaxed when he smelled strawberries and cream wafting down the hall. Sarah peeked around his open door, her eyes ringed red from tears.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Sarah walked into the office, looked down the hall, and closed the door behind her. “I think I’m becoming paranoid,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  “I think Miss Nancy is suspicious of us.”

  “Miss Nancy?”

  “I’m sure she gave me a strange look when I dropped Grace off tonight. She sounded all right, but there was something odd in her manner. Then she took Grace and walked into the classroom like she always does and everything seemed fine. Am I going crazy? Miss Nancy has never been anything but wonderful to us.”

  “We’re both hypersensitive to this accusation thing.”

  “I know, but I made a decision tonight. I want to quit the library, James. I want to stay home with Grace.”

  “Whatever you want, Sarah.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Mind? I think it’s the best decision for us right now.”

  Sarah smiled. Her shoulders lowered from her ears and she breathed easier. She threw her arms around James’s neck and kissed him. “I knew I had the best husband in the world.” She kissed him again. “I’ll give Jennifer my two-week notice when I get downstairs.” She kissed him again. “I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  Sarah nearly skipped away, she looked so happy. James sat at his desk looking out at the wet night. The spring was new, yet even under the damp sky in the streams of moonlight he could hear the whispers of budding grass. He left for his vampire literature class, wondering if it would be any fuller than his Shakespeare seminar.

  He walked into a full class and exhaled loudly, not for show but with relief. He heard two girls sitting by the window laughing at what idiots people could be.

  “How can anyone believe Doctor Wentworth of all people is a vampire?” said the girl with short blonde hair.

  “How can anyone believe vampires really exist?” said the girl with long blonde hair. When they saw James walk to the instructor’s desk everyone stopped talking. James thought they looked at him the way Kenneth Hempel had, waiting for the one reaction that would prove once and for all the professor was of the paranormal persuasion. He scanned the faces and didn’t see Timothy. That’s probably for the best, he thought.

  “Hey, Doctor Wentworth,” Levon called. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

  “I have no reason not to come. I have a responsibility to do my job, and my job is teaching this class.”

  “Can you believe how gullible some people are?” said the bearded young man. “Now everyone is looking for vampires.”

  “I know too well how gullible people can be,” James said. “Where did we leave off last time?”

  “We were talking about the Eastern European vampire legends and how they contributed to Bram Stoker’s writing Dracula,” Brent said. He was no longer white-looking. He wore a long gray t-shirt under a sky-blue t-shirt instead of black on black. His hair was no longer dyed jet black but a natural chestnut hue.

  “You look different,” James said.

  “I decided it’s not much fun being a vampire now. Isn’t it true, Doctor Wentworth? It’s not much fun being a vampire now?”

  James looked at Brent, his face hard, unwilling to let the young man see the fear he sparked. The others held themselves still like curious statues, afraid to breathe lest they miss the professor’s response.

  “Brent,” James said, “you know there’s no such thing as vampires. That’s what this class is about, studying the literature that’s come from the mythology.”

  “You have pale bluish skin like the cadaver we dissected in science lab. Black eyes. No one sees you during the day. Every other professor I have comes into class with their coffee cups.”

  “Are you saying I’m not human because I’m pale and have dark eyes? Because I don’t like coffee?”

  “You were on that list for a reason. No smoke without fire.”

  “You’re so wrong about that,” James said.

  “He wears glasses,” said Levon. “How many vampires do you know who need glasses?”

  “Anyone can put on a pair of glasses,” said Brent.

  “Someone needs to knock some sense into that fool,” said Levon. “This dude is seriously nuts.” Levon stood, his athletic frame strong and powerful, and he pointed at Brent. “Haven’t you seen Doctor Wentworth’s wife and daughter? He’s a college professor. How many vampires do you know who teach for a living?”

  James put his hand on Levon’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said. “Let him be.”

  Another student, a young lady wearing a blue hoodie with SSU in orange letters on the front, raised her hand.

  “Yes, Rachel?”

  “I was reading about some of the earlier vampire legends and I saw something about the Lilu but I couldn’t find much information about them. Were the Lilu vampires?”

  James could have kissed
the girl for changing the subject. “Stories about the Lilu date from Babylonian times,” he said. “The Lilu were believed to be female demons who killed pregnant women and newborns. One demon, Lilitu, was adapted into Hebrew demonology, and she’s called the mother of all vampires.”

  “I’m doing my presentation on Ancient Egyptian vampires,” said Levon. “Sekhmet was an Ancient Egyptian vampire who slaughtered humans for their blood. That’s where the idea that vampires could be killed by a stake through the heart came from.”

  “Can a vampire be killed by a state through the heart?” Brent asked.

  “That’s what the legends say,” James said.

  “The name of this class is ‘The Curse of the Vampire.’ Do you believe vampires are cursed?”

  James wouldn’t back down. He had walked through the fire, barefoot to the other side, when he braved the sunlight to beat back one vampire hunter. He wouldn’t be swayed by the petulant boy in his classroom.

  “Every vampire legend is based on the idea that the undead are touched by evil,” James said. “That’s how the legends explain the vampire’s strength, agility, ability to live after they die.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you, Doctor James Wentworth, believe vampires are cursed?”

  “If vampires were real, then yes, I believe the only way they could live as they do would be if they were cursed.”

  “Are they cursed by Satan?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  “Cursed by evil?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So vampires aren’t evil? What’s the curse then?”

  “Wait…” Levon held up his cell phone. “I just looked up the word ‘curse.’ It means to swear an oath or wish evil on someone. It also means an evil prayer, an invocation of evil or misfortune, or a formula or charm intended to cause harm.”

  “Girls used to call their periods The Curse,” Rachel said.

  The class laughed.

  James scanned the young faces, some of whom would never believe the truth about vampires—it was too impossible, they’d say—but others would believe too readily. He wanted Brent, the list with his name, this whole mess to go away. He wanted to shout, “I have a wife, the light of my life, whom I love, whom I have loved every night for over three hundred years! You cannot imagine how I love her. And I have a daughter, also my daughter for over three hundred years, and she is our family’s glue. I would never hurt you!”

  But James saw the problems that would come from such a confession. He saw compassion in some faces, understanding in others, but he also saw concern, perhaps even distrust or fear in a few. Could they see the confusion Brent’s prodding had brought on?

  James didn’t notice the student filming him on her cell phone. Even with his pinpoint instincts he didn’t see the camera pointed at him or the flashing red light. The next day Jennifer e-mailed him the clip she noticed over a student’s shoulder as she watched it on YouTube in the library. The caption said ‘Vampire Teaching at Salem State University.’ The video itself was not particularly incriminating. He was teaching, that was all, but there he was, his pale-as-death complexion, glaring white against his hunter green button-down shirt, his eyes too dark even under his wire-frame glasses, and there, for all the world to see, is the clear concern everywhere in his face from Brent’s persistent questions.

  I am a vampire, James thought. And now all the world knows it.

  * * * * *

  He was a nice-looking young man, sandy-blond hair, pleasant smile. He was also a dead-looking young man with an ice-blue tone to his ghost-white complexion, and his death-black eyes looked wrong against his boyish features. He sat straight in his chair, his broad shoulders firm, looking the interviewer in the eye as he spoke. He had a calm, earnest voice with the hint of authority that comes with living a long time. He wore a brown jacket over a white button-down shirt. He was fresh-faced and handsome, like a young Hollywood actor come to promote his newest film. He explained how he was turned into a vampire when he was twenty-eight years old.

  “You’re trying to tell me you’re one hundred and twenty-two years old?” the interviewer asked. The interviewer had been around awhile and looked past the century mark himself.

  “I am,” the young-looking man said.

  “And how were you made into…into…?”

  “A vampire?” The young-looking man laughed. “I was turned in 1918 when I was returning home from serving in World War I. I was staying with friends in Massachusetts until I returned to my family in Kansas. I was outside smoking a cigarette when suddenly I was attacked.”

  “How were you attacked?”

  “That part of the legend is true, I’m afraid. He bit my neck and fed from my blood.”

  “So you were attacked, and then what happened?”

  “Then I fell unconscious. When I woke up I was as I am now.”

  “And the family you were returning to…”

  “My wife and three young sons.”

  “And you never saw them again?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t think I should impose myself on them, being as I am. I didn’t want my boys to suffer because their father was so changed.”

  “Were you afraid you were going to hurt them?”

  “No, sir. They were my family. Contrary to popular belief, we don’t have to hurt anyone, especially our own families. But things were different then.”

  “How so?”

  “People were…not as accepting of differences as they are now. I was afraid bad things would happen to my family if they harbored someone like me.”

  The interviewer pressed his square-shaped glasses against his nose and shuffled the papers in front of him. “So you, Martin Helms, a man who appears to be in his late twenties, wants me to believe he’s a vampire who’s one hundred and twenty-two years old who didn’t return to his family because he was afraid of what would happen to them if people found a vampire in their home?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “If you’re really as old as you say you are, I ought to be calling you sir, not the other way around. So why are you going public now? What’s changed?”

  “People are learning the truth about my kind. They’re afraid and they don’t need to be. Everywhere I look these days I see people debating the pros and cons of vampires, the truth and consequences, some still wondering if we’re real or not. I want people to understand they don’t need to fear us. We’re contributing members of society. We’re doctors, lawyers, writers, dentists, teachers, bankers, actors, police officers, professors. We own homes. We pay taxes. We’re law-abiding citizens. Many have families, and some have even intermarried with humans. Most of what people know about vampires is fiction and should be treated that way.”

  “Do you really believe people are more accepting now than they were then?”

  The vampire thought before he answered. “I hope so.”

  “How have you and others like you managed to stay secret all this time?”

  “We haven’t been all that secret. Many of the legends sprang from some kernel of truth that’s been twisted and turned over the years. For whatever reason, God has decided that now is the time for everyone to learn the truth.”

  “God or Kenneth Hempel, the murdered reporter.”

  “God. Kenneth Hempel was simply His instrument.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “I do.”

  “How could you? Don’t vampires work for the Devil?”

  “I hope not, sir, because I’ve never met any devil, though I’ve met enough devilish humans to last all my lifetimes. But I feel God in my life every day.”

  “You’re telling me vampires aren’t Satan’s spawns?”

  “I’m no one’s spawn, sir. I’m only me, Martin Helms, and I am what I am, and that’s a vampire. I’m here with you tonight because I want people to know I mean them no harm. I come in peace and love, to bring understanding between our peoples.”

  The interviewer crossed his
arms in front of his chest, looking at Martin a long moment before he spoke. The tension spilled across the studio, through the cameras, into the eyes of the millions watching.

  “Have you ever killed anyone, Mr. Helms?”

  “I’d prefer to not answer that question.”

  “It’s a simple yes or no answer.”

  “I’d prefer to not answer that question.”

  “By refusing to answer you’re implying that you have killed people.”

  “I do not recollect killing anyone.”

  “Then how do you find blood to live? Is that another myth about vampires, that they need blood to live?”

  “No, that is another myth with basis in truth. We do need blood to live. However, it doesn’t have to be human blood. And many vampires find humane ways to feed.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as donated blood.”

  “From the hospital?”

  “That’s one place a vampire can find donated blood.”

  “Where else?”

  “It’s hard for me to say. It’s different for each vampire.”

  “You must have a place where you get blood.”

  “I assure you I feed myself without hurting anyone in the process.”

  “Can vampires hypnotize people into giving their blood?”

  “No, sir. That’s on television.”

  “You said many vampires find humane ways to feed. Does that mean other vampires don’t find humane ways to feed?”

  “I can’t speak for all vampires in the world because I don’t know every vampire. Just as you can’t speak for the humanity of every person in the world. I can only speak for the vampires I know, and I can say unequivocally they harm no one to feed themselves.”

  “Do some vampires murder humans for their blood?”

  Martin Helms paused. “That’s not for me to say,” he said.

  “So there are some vampires we should fear?”

  “Sir, I was a sergeant overseas during World War I. You wouldn’t believe the horrific sights I saw. Trench warfare is ugly. Read Wilfred Owen’s poem ‘Dulce et Decorum Est’ if you don’t believe me. If you look at human history and see man’s inhumanity to man, I think a few rogue vampires…”