4.07 - Body Exhibit


I came into this shed to cut grass. The body was already there. I didn’t touch anything. My fingerprints aren’t on that body, my DNA isn’t anywhere beyond the door. No, I touched the body. I turned it over to see if it was real. Does that make me an accessory to murder? Did Kareem murder this person? I’m living with a serial killer. Why is she all pale like that? How long has she been here? Did he tell me to cut the grass, so I’d find her body? Does he want to be caught? Where is he right now? I’ve been staring at this body since before the sun went down and I don’t have any answers.

Lord, please help me. Guide me through this. Deliver me from Evil, protect me and bathe me in your righteous light. Protect me from evil Lord, drive those forces that would harm me from this place and give me the strength to move forward.

“You do that killer?”

“What the fuck,” I jump away in a panic but Kareem is gripping my hand so I can’t go far.

“Real jumpy for a killer.”

“I’m not a killer, you did this.”

“Did you see my do it?”

“Who else could have done it,” I can’t pull away, he’s much stronger than he looks.

“We should go inside and talk.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“If you’re smart, you will.”

“Help,” I scream at the top of my lungs.

Before I can scream again Kareem has contorted our bodies. Now he’s standing behind me with and arm around my throat, and my own arm pinned behind my back. He pushes me through the back door and into the house. His grip is too strong, I’ve been held like this before, but I can’t get any air no matter how hard I fight back. He’s not even breaking a sweat as I jam my feet in the ground and fight back. I’m bigger than him, I should be stronger too, but this is effortless on his part. I slam the back of my head into his face as hard as possible hoping to catch him off guard, and he just laughs as he tosses me to the ground in the living room. I try to crawl away but he just steps on my ankle and stares down at me.

“Can you stop running? I’m not going to hurt you,” Kareem just seems annoyed with this.

“There’s a body in the garage.”

“I killed her.”

I try to stand and run as he takes his foot off my ankle; I don’t see him move but he’s in front of me now. I throw a punch at his face and he doesn’t budge, another and nothing. Punch after punch and he’s unfazed. My hands are pounding but he’s still nothing more than annoyed with me. I try to push past him, and he only pushes me to the ground again. Before I can move his knee is digging into my chest and he’s staring emotionlessly into my eyes. I’m fighting for my life, and he’s got the same cold look he’s had ever since I met him. Lord, why did you lead me here?

“I can do whatever I want to you, and you can’t do anything about it. But I don’t want to hurt you. Please, stop fighting, and listen, before I change my mind.”

“What do you want,” I asked, surprised by the terror in my own voice.

“To order pizza and watch Sorry to Bother You. Instead, I’m stuck holding you down because you keep trying to run away when I just want to talk.”

“If I talk, will you let me go?”

“Yeah, and then you can run off to the cops or whatever you want.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll let you ask the first question,” he removes his knee from my chest.

Kareem takes a seat on the couch, legs spread and hands on his knees just staring down at me. His lack of facial expression is what bothers me. He’s just staring, not making any motions, if it wasn’t for his subtle breaths, I might think he was a sculpture. The eyes are the window to the soul, and I can never see into his, they’re always empty. He doesn’t have a soul, he’s a monster. That’s how he could kill so easily and act as if this was a normal thing. I do have questions; I know he’ll just lie, but if playing his game keeps me alive, I have to play. Lord, bless my tongue.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“I mean, are you a serial killer? Why did you kill her?”

“Oh,” Kareem pauses and furls his eyebrows in the first sign of emotion I’ve seen from him. “I guess I am a serial killer. I never thought of it like that, I just thought of it as survival.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he’s just making me more confused.

“Hey, I’m a vampire.”

“What?”

“Vampire. I drink blood.”

“What?”

“I’m a vampire.”

“What”

“If you say what again, I’ll rip your arm off because I know that you know what a vampire is.”

“Wh- How?”

“Dad was a vampire. The same way human babies are born.”

“Vampires aren’t real.”

“You believe in God right? You’re always going on and on.”

“God has nothing to do with this.”

“God has everything to do with this. You can’t believe in vampires because you’ve never seen one before, but you can believe in God? You pray to God three or four times a day. I’ve heard you. But never once, has God answered you. Meanwhile, a whole ass vampire is looking you in the eyes.”

“Stop.”

“What do I need to do to prove it? You want me to bite you? You want to see me drink blood? Is it the violence that excites you? Is that why you didn’t call the police right away?”

“You’re an abomination, an afront to God.”

“I hate that word, abomination. I used to be called that all the time. Might be the biggest word I know. Doesn’t your Bible say you’re an abomination? You do all kinds of things your God tells you not to. You know when you masturbate, I can hear it right? You shouldn’t be watching porn, sometimes, it’s even gay porn and I know that’s a big no no. Don’t deny it either, I can smell it too, every time you finish. Heightened senses and all that. I suppose we’re both abominations according to that book of yours.”

“You’re sick.”

“Vampirism is indeed an illness.”

“You’re insane.”

“I wish I was insane, then, this wouldn’t be my life.”  

I can’t tell if he’s lying or not. I don’t know if all this is a joke. He’s doing nothing to help remedy the situation. Everything he says can be sarcasm or the truth and he just stares at me. How can he expect me to be calm and rational when there’s a dead body in the shed? He’s sitting there like a sociopath, unmoved by the entire situation. My God would not forsake me, even if I don’t know what to say he’ll guide my words, my actions. This is indeed the Valley of The Shadow of Death, and I am walking through. I know God will protect me, but the fear has overwhelmed me. My spirit is unbreakable, but at the end of the day I am just a man made of flesh and this body can be broken.

“You know what? You should go to the cops. There’s a dead body, right where we left it. There’re bite marks on the thigh that will match my teeth. A murder has been committed, and I left evidence,” Kareem gets off the couch and crouches down so close I can feel his breath on my lips as he speaks. “There are people to take care of the body for a small fee and they’ll get it done before the cops arrive. Even if the cops do come, it doesn’t take much for me to pack up and just start a new life somewhere else. I don’t have any friends, or family that will miss me. I can watch movies, wherever I want. But you, a new life won’t be so easy. Not a lot of people are dying to live with a chronic masturbator who reads The Bible out loud and can barely afford to pay anthing on the rent. You look sticky and broke right now. You should pray about that. But don’t worry, you’ll always have me. I’ll always find you, wherever you go, and I will punish you. The way that book tells you Satan is waiting below to torture you for your sins in death, I’ll be waiting around every corner in life,” Kareem pauses and squeezes my face with a painful grip. “The other option is you can mind your business and go on with your life as if nothing happened. I don’t really care as long as you leave me alone.”

I just keep sitting on the floor long after he leaves. I’m expecting him to rush back and kill me, but he never comes. The sun has already set when I get off the floor. He doesn’t stop me when I walk out the back door. The body is already gone, and I never heard him leave the house. There must have been some truth to what he was saying. No, this is a lie, this is all nonsense. 

4.06 - Ganja nad Hess


Professor Tiana Hicks, divorced, no children. Drives a 2015 Impala and lives alone. She’s been teaching here for seven years; teaches remedial algebra, introductory theater and film study. I started coming to this class because I was stalking her. She was going to be a victim; back when I was breaking in homes instead of just luring women to me with sex. She was saved because I found her film class really interesting. I stopped following her and started coming to class instead. She brought in so many different films to watch from all over the world. Films with so many different places I could never go, languages I could never learn, people I could never be and tragic stories that weren’t my own life for once. That’s where my love of movies came from; I’m forever grateful of her because of that.  

I’ll never tell her, but I’ll always show up to class and even participate when discussion is quiet. I’m not a student here, but she doesn’t check attendance. All of the homework and tests are online, so I don’t have to turn those in either. In a class of 128 people I’m free to just drift in and out as I please without anyone bothering me. Some people have TV shows they never miss, I have this class. Before coming here, I had never realized that people could have such different ideas on the meaning or even endings of film. I know people are all different, but I didn’t know, don’t know, a lot of other people. The people I do know don’t discuss personal hobbies or interests. My conversations are no different than paying for gas or buying groceries. I have the syllabus, I could just see what movies she picked out for the semester, but I come, I take notes. I re-watch the films at home if someone says something that catches my attention. I didn’t even get to finish grade school and now I’m happy to go to a college class twice a week for two hours at a time.

Tonight, we’re watching and discussing Spike Lee’s Da Sweet Blood of Jesus. I’ve already seen it, and I don’t hate it. The film is a remake of Ganja & Hess, one of my favorite films of all time. I really hope we watch the original version, the Bill Gunn cut, not any of the theatrical versions they put out. Hess is turned into a vampire and survives by murdering prostitutes for their blood. The first time I saw the film, I hated it, but that’s where I got the idea to go after prostitutes and women at clubs. By the time anyone asked questions, it would be too late. Ganja comes to find her husband, and he’s dead, stuffed in the freezer. She still falls in love with Hess, kind of. Then she becomes a vampire too. He teaches her how to survive and then things go wrong as they tend to.  

Everyone understands that the film is about addiction. Every interview and review has repeated the thought over and over again. But, I’m a vampire, a Black vampire, I just view the film differently. I understand the alienation Hess faces from the very start. He’s rich, smart and at the top of his career. Still, his white coworkers hate him and he can’t seem to find anything in common with them during the party he throws. No matter what he does, he can never find a place to really be accepted.

It’s funny really; people always pick up on the addiction but not the way they become addicted. Hess is stabbed, forced into addiction by someone who dies right after. It’s like, an addict forces you to partake and then they overdose. He’s addicted, lost in the world, no guidance, no way to get free. The church kills his addiction, but at the cost of himself.  

Then there’s Ganja, she jumped right at the addiction. She had so many chances to run, but she kept chasing it. She could have, should have ran when she found her husband dead. Instead she became obsessed with it. She seemed like she cared about Hess, but she never did. She cared about the lifestyle first. He was rich, had the life her husband promised her. She didn’t care that he was out hunting or left her alone in the mansion. It was what she wanted. She didn’t care that he worked for all of that, she only saw the addiction. If he could be successful with the addiction, it would make her successful as well. Hess even tried to warn her at one point, she didn’t care. His warnings meant nothing. It was like watching Joe Clark tell Sams to jump and kill himself, but instead of promising to stay clean, he jumped. She didn’t just jump, she dove in head first, throwing away her past life for a chance at this. She killed her past, the same as Hess did; she just never cared to get it back. That’s what addiction does to people; they lose parts of themselves or willingly throw them away.  

The same can be said for vampirism, I guess. You either turn, and have to change everything you know or you willingly throw it all away to turn. But it isn't always that simple. I never had a life to throw away or be taken away. I was born like this, always an addict with no way to cure myself. Always dependent on blood, fresh blood. There’s no other way for me to live and I was never given the option. Am I a bad person if Ganja pisses me off?

She never noticed that Hess was in pain. She never noticed that he was a social outcast, looking for connections but could never seem to find them. She never missed her husband, but he never had a wife to miss. Then when she did marry Hess, she still didn’t care about what he was going through. He was struggling trying to remove his ties to the church. Hess knew the church would kill what he had become, but there was nothing to go back to. He was visibly struggling with his own existence and she brushed it off for some new clothes and a big house. The life she loved so much, that she chose, wasn’t chosen for him. He sat there dying and she seemed emotionless, almost as if she felt he was stupid. She didn’t even mourn his death. He was suffering through trauma placed on his shoulders. He wasn’t suffering in silence, but everybody ignored his screams. He kept calling out for help and nobody ever came.

I was the same way. I used to scream until my throat burned and my chest hurt. Nobody would ever come to help me. I’d be punished instead, more pain. I didn’t even know the words to explain what I was dealing with and I was being punished. I just wanted to live and I couldn’t even figure out how. Sometimes I wonder if Hess had the right idea when he just decided to kill himself. There was no way for him to help himself and nobody was willing to help him. It makes sense, to end the pain when there’s no solution in sight.

It’s a film about addiction, but also about if you can accept yourself. Hess couldn’t accept himself, he went from being a top archeologist to hiring prostitutes to murder them. Ganja accepted herself, and even if I don’t like the way she did it, I made the same choice. When I got a chance to be free, I didn’t look back. I don’t live the rich and fancy life that Ganja did at the end of the film.

“Vampires, they aren’t real,” Professor Hicks begins to wrap up the class. “Still, vampires find themselves in our cultures over and over again. Not just Dracula or Nosferatu, but legends dating back to ancient Greece or Mesopotamia. Yes, these stories are used to produce fear and enjoyment. But, I believe vampirism can be used as a stand in for the ills of our society. In this film, addiction is the issue being tackled. But, who is to say that the next modern vampire masterpiece won’t use vampirism as a stand in for capitalism and our need to constantly consume the latest and greatest product? Next week we’ll be watching a version of Death of a Salesman. I want you to think about what success means to you over the weekend. I’ll see you Tuesday and remember, watch for vampires. Not just the real, but the metaphorical in your life,” I love the way she speaks. I could listen to her for hours every day. Just the two of us, for all eternity watching films. 

Author's Note: I actually made a video about the star of Ganja and Hess as one of my first YouTube videos.

4.05 - Nightstalker


Prostitution is the world’s oldest career. We’ve put men on the moon, built a space station, got phones that are basically small computers and technology still finds a way to move forward way quicker than anything else. We've got automated car washes, grocery stores, fast food and even surgeries. But through it all, you can’t replace a prostitute.  

Sure, there’s plenty of people willing to have sex with anyone, but you have to put in work. Plan a date, get to know the other person, but a prostitute, not so much. You play by their rules and you’ll have a good time. It might not be the best sex you ever have, and it might be a little dirty, but you’ll get off, and that’s what you’re after. Then again, there’s different levels. I’m sure a $40 prostitute on a street corner is a lot different than $1000 at some brothel. They’re judged for being sex workers, but they provide a valuable service to the communities they serve. The people that hire prostitutes are lonely, they aren’t all looking for sex. I once saw a documentary about a woman who gets paid just to cuddle or hold hands with people, and another about a man who just has dinner with others. Loneliness probably kills more people than anything else, the silent killer. They should do a study on that. Sex is just a way for some people to feel as if they aren’t lonely. My real first time was with a prostitute. I did a job, and for the first time ever I had some money in my pocket, but I didn't have anyone to spend it with. She offered me a good time; I didn’t know she meant sex. We got dinner; she took me to a tattoo shop and then we had sex. Sex for the first time wasn’t as great as Hollywood makes it look, but I was just so glad to have someone to talk to. Her name was Jackie, but she pronounced it the same way they did on 227. I wonder what happened to her, I hope she’s doing well.

Tonight, I’m not lonely, I’m hungry. One of these women is going to be my dinner, but I don’t know which one. I hate feeding on prostitutes. Most of them have lives beyond prostitution. I’ve learned that some people do it because they love it, some do it for the money and others do it because they don’t see any other choices. I think that’s messed up. I don’t think sex work is bad or disgraceful, but the world does. It takes a lot to beat someone down so bad they see a job they hate and look down on as the only option. I think it’s wrong for anyone to feel that way, and those are still the people I prey on. They don’t question me and are willing to go along with whatever I want them to do. I’m sick, I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I don’t have a choice.  

I’m a Dhampir, only a half vampire. I don’t get to make thralls that just come feed me like Primeval vamps. I can’t fly like Talamaur, or heal near as fast as Nachzeher, and I don’t have the true immortality of Adze. Those are the big four and they’ve all got their little special features. I still get sunny days like today was, I don’t have to feed nearly as often and if I ever decide I want kids, it’s as simple as insert rod into slot.

“Yo,” I say quietly out my car window to draw the attention of a blonde woman.

I can smell her; she doesn’t clean between customers. Her extensions are somewhat ragged, but she doesn’t look to be abused by a pimp or anyone else. The smell of alcohol the scent of burning plastic and chemicals tells me she’s an alcholic and crack user. She does the abusing. She’s got all the signs of the kind of person I’m looking for.  

“Hey honey what’s going on.”

“Just seeing what you’re trying to get into.”

“You’re a little young aren’t you,” she smiles, missing some teeth, no stranger to drugs.

“I just look young, you want to see some ID?”

“I’ll take your word for it handsome.”

“So you trying to get out of here.”

“Where to?”

“Warehouse, right off the avenue.”

“Where the old factory used to be?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know the spot.”

“Cool.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“A little this, and a little that.”

“You got any cash.”

“I got money,” I flash a bankroll of cash.

“I’ll meet you over there,” she says.

I park under an awning where semi-trucks would have unloaded. Nobody can really see the car but she finds it right away. I suppose I’m not the first person to bring her around here. She gets in the car and asks what’s the plan. I press the button to lean my seat back, and unbutton my pants. She’s not rookie, she knows what I want.

Her mouth is dry, and her tongue is rough like a cats, but her technique is good. Tracing the outlines with her tongue, paying special attention to all the right spots. Slow, but steady, building a pattern. It doesn’t take long for my blood to flow south. She takes her head as far down as she can go. I stroke her hair as she continues to work. Part of me is ashamed of what I’m going to do to her after this. That’s the human part of me, killing is wrong unless it’s in self-defense. I know that. The vampire part of me thinks different, killing is part of survival. It’s just like killing and eating a deer. It feels different because the deer has a face like my own. It’s the vampire part of me indulging in this, the human part wants to just kill her and get it over with quickly. She works harder, adding hands to the equation. Fondling, some gentle tugging at the fruits. My lack of response makes her think I want something rougher. She yanks, causing a grunt from me. She seems satisfied with herself. My attention comes back to her, and the current moment. I always have a problem keeping it up when I know what comes next. I’ve never been able to finish in these situations. I’m not a serial killer who gets off on the kill. She’s annoyed, some women have really pulled out all the tricks.

“Hey,” I put my hand under her chin and lift her head until we’re eye to eye, “It’s cool, don’t worry about it.”

“You a queer? Just testing the waters? You’re too young to be struggling to keep it hard. Should be solid like a steel beam.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she uses a napkin from above the visor to clean me up. Wiping away her lipstick like a real professional “Hey, how much do I owe you?”

“$40 and we’ll call it even.”

“Here’s $60,” I hand her three twenties.

“Thanks, you mind giving me a ride back.”  

“Nah, it’s not a problem. I’m sure you got family to get back too.”

“It’s just me and my dog,” that’s the green light I needed.

I move my seat back to normal and start the car before fiddling with the radio station to stall for time. This is the part I always feel bad about. I mumble an apology under my breath which leaves her confused. Before she can ask what I said I’ve already covered her mouth and snapped her neck. At least it was quick, and she didn’t see it coming. I wouldn’t have to kill them if I knew didn’t have the urge to drink until they were empty. Other vampires don’t have to do it this way. I don’t have time to mourn before the blood goes bad. I take off my shirt and pants, tossing them in the back seat. I’ve always been a sloppy drinker, just something I don’t have control of. My mouth could never form that vacuum like seal other vampires do. Another sign that I’m defective. I don’t always undress, but I have somewhere to be after this. I rip her leggings and bite into her thigh. The femoral artery is my favorite place to feed from, the blood is always the warmest. The smell of semen, fills my nose as I feed and I remember she wasn’t the cleanest of prostitutes. A neck probably would have been better in this case, but I was just eager for the whole thing to be over with.

The world around me slowly becomes quieter, the smells aren’t as strong and the moon isn’t as bright. My senses aren’t dulled by taking in blood, but they’re fine-tuned. I can still hear, smell, see and senseverything I could before, but now I have control. I’ve finally had my fill, and her body is turning pale from the blood loss.  

Usually, I’d get rid of the body, but I don’t have time. For now, I’ll put her in the trunk and then drop her off in my shed for storage. Not the best idea to store murder victims in your house, but it won’t be for long. I drop her onto the sheets in my trunk and wrap her up tight before cleaning the spilled blood from my passenger seat. Finally, I put my clothes back on and leave as if nothing happened. I don’t have a name for her; I didn’t want one. I just have a face for her, and now it’ll be forever burned into my memory like so many before her.