The Vampyre



I’m not superstitious, but there is something evil, malevolent, lurking close to the cathedral. Sucking blood, draining the lifeforce of those caught in its grip, replacing the life-giving properties of human blood with cheap coffee and orange Club biscuits.

I have been attacked many times. Even the consumption of my own bodyweight in garlic is not enough to stave off the undead, but it does wonders with work colleagues.

I’m not sure how much longer one can keep going, before one turns in to the vampyre, the human form of Henry Kelly, going, going, for gold.

The supernatural, the unknown, brings a certain thrill. If you are in the vicinity of the cathedral it’s worth standing quietly; listen, for the silent footsteps creeping up on you, buttock clenching. You never know, you may enjoy getting attacked.

Even the undead deserve to live, and you may even save a life.

Go on, give blood. But don’t go on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, it’s rammed.


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