Receiving the Vampire Seal of Approval

¥ They say truth is stranger than fiction and I must admit I never suspected how true this was. In my wildest dreams I could not have imagined how strange real life could be. But I found out.

I've always been a writer. Research was second nature for me. I was also a lover of all things vampire related. Movies, books, art, even television series video collections; I had it or wanted it. Then I stumbled across something that changed all that. Suddenly all things vampire related became a bane to my very existence.

But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was researching a story on vampires for a local Sunday magazine to coincide with the release of the "biggest vampire movie of the year," according to media sources. A couple of items in my vampire collection had references to vampire origin that I intended to use.

As I was reviewing one of my multitudes of movies for the god-knows-how-many-eth time, something in the background caught my attention. It was just a faint symbol in the shadows, early in the movie. The opening credits were still rolling. But something about it was familiar. I sketched it out quickly, laid it aside and all but forgot about it.

I finished my article and turned it in to my editor who, as always, received it with open arms. He was headed for lunch, so he asked me to catch him later that afternoon for a quick review.

I caught him back at his office around three that day and sat across from him while he read over my piece. As always, he read peering over the edge of his glasses, cigarette forgotten in his ashtray and one hand scribbling furiously on a legal pad. His eyes never left my story.

"OK, so we have several different versions of vampire origin," he began. "Which one is correct?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Well, partly, yes," he admitted. "But you've laid out all the information and led to no specific conclusions."

"What are you getting at, Burt?"

"Well," he said, leaning back in his chair and lighting another cigarette. "Any piece I print, as you know, needs to read like a news story or an expose. The only thing missing here is a conclusion."

"I can't draw a conclusion on vampire origin, Burt. Come on, man, it's fictional. All of the legends are wrong."

"What makes you so sure they're wrong," he leaned forward. He was baiting me. He had to be.

"Because it's all bullshit! Bram Stoker said Vlad Drakul in Trannsylvania, Anne Rice said demons possessed a pharaoh in Egypt, John Carpenter said some psychotic priest in Europe, Clive Barker said Judas Iscariot. Other references are even more farfetched. The bottom line is there is no true origin. It all falls within the realm of creative license."

I sat back, slightly perturbed and opened my hands in resignation. "What do you need me to do to the story?"

"Just give me a stronger summary and closing and I'll take it, Jason. Just like always."

As I was gathering up my notes, Burt noticed the little sketch that I had almost totally forgotten about. I would have expected a mild reaction of curiosity, like "What's that?" or "That's an odd drawing." I was not prepared for what Burt did say.

"Where did you get that?"

At first it didn't register what he was talking about. "Get what?"

"That." He inclined his head slightly to indicate the scrap of paper.

"I drew it," I said, a little confused. "I saw it in the shadows during the opening sequence of one of my movies. It looked familiar, so I sketched it. Do you know what it is?"

"Not a clue," he said, perhaps a little too quickly. "No idea what it was there for?"

"No."

Burt leaned back again and studied his cigarette. "Can you have a rewrite for me by tomorrow morning?"

"Sure, man. No problem," I said. "On your desk by nine, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said. Burt seemed a little distracted. "See you later, Jason."

As I left his office, I couldn't help wondering what Burt's problem was. Something about that little symbol I had drawn really seemed to wig him out. Whatever it was had begun to make me feel creepy as well. I felt sure I was imagining things, but it felt like everyone I passed on my way out of the building was watching me.

Back at home, I took fifteen minutes to rework the end of my article, reprinted it, then popped in another movie. I have to admit I probably would have forgotten about the symbol if Burt hadn't gotten all weird on me. Three minutes into the movie, a different movie, I saw the symbol again. This time, instead of curiosity, I felt a cold grip of dread close around me. This was not the movie I had originally seen the symbol in. But there, on the screen, in the shadows, in almost exactly the same place, I saw it again. Less than five minutes into the movie and the credits were still rolling.

I paused it, cued backward until I had the symbol on the screen and double-checked it against the sketch I had made.

Exactly the same.

My first wrong conclusion was that this was some silly little thing the movie company liked to do to trademark their work. But Movie One had been a Paramount release, while Movie Two was Universal.

My next guess was special effects. Wrong again. Not a single connection existed between the movies. Two entirely different FX houses were responsible for the two movies.

What was the connection?

I spent the rest of the day perusing my video collection, both screen and television. I quickly discarded the television side of my collection in order to concentrate on the movies. I discovered that fully two thirds of my collection had that symbol. I separated them into two piles. When I had sorted them completely, something obvious jumped out at me. In one stack, the larger one, I had every major screen release for the last thirty years. Every title had been very successful at the box office. The other stack held only sleepers and "B" movies. Theories began to form.

Only the successful movies had that mark. But the studios had no way of knowing which movies would be big hits and which wouldn't. Did they? Maybe it was a secret message.

Okay, Jason, let's not get all cloak and dagger here, I thought to myself. The studios had included that symbol on purpose, I was sure of it, and the movie had been a big hit in its own time. But other movies by the same studios were not hits, nor were they marked.

But how could the great film works of Hollywood know ahead of time which movies were going to be hits? What was I overlooking?

Was the mark there because the studios knew they were going to be hits, or were they hits because the mark was there?

Because the mark was there? But how would that be possible? Who would see the mark until they had actually bought their ticket and... Wait a just a damn minute.

I dug through both stacks of movies, looking for ones that had previews for coming attractions: trailers. Several of my sleepers had trailers for movies that had proven to be big hits, which I thought odd. But it was a starting point.

I popped one in and watched through the trailers for various and sundry thrillers, hopelessly lame horror flicks and one blockbuster vampire movie soon to come. I watched carefully for the symbol, but the scenes cut too fast from one to the next. I rewound and started over.

This time I paused at the very beginning of the trailer and advanced one frame at a time. Each trailer is anywhere from one minute to three minutes long and, at thirty frames per second, I was looking at 1800 to 5400 frames, one at a time, just for one trailer.

Fortunately, I didn't have to work for very long. Approximately ten seconds into the trailer I saw it. Same place, same scene from the movie, it was all there. I grabbed a legal pad and started making notes. Out of twenty-five movies, spanning almost thirty years, I catalogued fifteen movies with the symbol, ten without. I checked all the trailers I could find and they all correlated with the movies themselves. Each marked movie had a mark in the trailer.

Same place, same scene. Every time.

So the symbol was some kind of message to come see that particular movie as opposed to others that didn't have the mark. But watching the trailers at normal speed, a person would have to have amazing mental abilities to pick up that mark. Most of the time, in the trailers, it was only visible for three or four frames. That's like a tenth of a second. No human could pick that up.

No human?

Suddenly I figured it out. The mark wasn't meant to be seen by humans. It was there for the vampires. This was some sort of "Seal of Approval" for vampires. I pondered this for the better part of an hour before the actual realization hit me.

Vampires existed.

Vampires existed and I could prove it. Well, I thought I could prove it. This was going to require a little more research. I powered up the PC and got online. A brief search told me that the symbol was Mesopotamian but there was no translation. I only found one site that even showed it. What was interesting was that the site had several links to other URL's about immortality, vampirism, occult and the undead. Several stood out for one reason only. They had another familiar symbol - two S's, linked top to bottom - but this one I had no idea what it meant.

I checked the sites carefully and found nothing of value, though they were all splendidly done websites. They all contained the most ridiculous tripe and misinformation imaginable. On a hunch, I checked the sites that weren't marked. Most contained what I believed was accurate information and, in some cases, the information was accurate to the point of discomfort. One featured photographs and drawings of actual vampires, or so they claimed.

Then my system crashed.

Actually, I'm not sure it crashed, but it started acting - well, insane. I lost my Internet connection, my browser did a file dump and my antivirus software told me I had picked up a new type of virus but it wouldn't bother explaining because it knew I wouldn't understand.

No shit, that's exactly what it told me.

Then my phone rang. The display said "Caller ID Blocked." Against my better judgment, I answered it.

"We know what you're looking for," the voice said. It was a deliciously female voice, low and melodic with the faintest hint of accent. It painted a vivid mental picture of honey running across warm skin.

"What am I looking for?" I asked, completely bewitched by her voice.

"Let's not play this cat-and-mouse bullshit, Jason," she said. She sounded like she was already bored with the conversation. "We're sending someone around to pick you up. Please come along quietly."

"And if I don't, I'll never see another day, right?"

"Precisely."

"Who are you?"

"Let's just say I represent some private interests that are very curious about some of your more recent er, pursuits."

"And why do you want to see me at two in the morning?"

Her laugh was deep, sultry. "Because I'm not an unreasonable person. My superiors wanted you killed outright. I'm willing to give you some options."

"Such as?" Any option over death, as far as I was concerned.

"We should really discuss that later, Jason," she purred. "Face to face."

Then the line went dead. I had enough time to register that she had hung up when my doorbell rang.

The two males waiting at my door made no attempt to hide the fact that they were vampires. They were also passive to the point of being disconcerting. They smiled politely, led me to a sporty black sedan, allowed me to sit alone in the back seat and watch the whole ride to a posh estate on the outskirts of town.

They escorted me into a stately brick home and up a wide staircase to a richly appointed study. Sitting behind a large marble topped desk was the face that I hoped would match the voice on the phone. She was tall and slender with deep russet curls that hung well below her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing green and, when she smiled, she showed a set of fangs that were small and delicate - almost sensual.

She rose as I entered, extending a slender hand.

"Welcome, Jason," she said.

"You have me at a disadvantage, miss," I said, taking the seat she offered.

"Call me Lilith," she said.

"Isn't that a bit sacrilegious?" I asked. "I thought Lilith was the mother of all vampires."

"She was," she replied, almost absently. "You must understand, Jason, we have kept extremely accurate records since the very beginning of our kind in Mesopotamia some five thousand years ago."

"Mesopotamia," I mused. "The origin of the symbol I saw."

"Yes," she smiled again. "Lilith was my given name. I chose to keep it. Many choose a new name when they are turned." She turned slowly in her chair to look out the big bay window behind her. I wondered how well she could see into the night's blackness. "In my case, I kept the name as a form of homage."

"You are to be commended," she continued. "No human has ever discovered the secret of our marks. You have an innate skill for details that few mortals possess. Your affinity for all things vampire related is why you've attracted our attention."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"That depends on how you look at it." She turned back to me, her demeanor more serious. "In your years as a lover of the vampire ways, did you ever wonder what it was like? Did you ever want to be one?"

"Never grow old," I countered, "Never die. But you must feed." I stood and crossed to the hearth. "Sure, I've considered it, especially when I turned thirty. I guess aging made me wish for eternal youth. But there was always the issue of having to see my family and friends die or having to disappear and never see them again. But now, my parents are gone, my ex-wife never wants to see me, I have no children and the closest friend I have lives back East. I hear from him every couple of months."

I wandered over to the bar, examined the fare. "There's nothing keeping me here anymore," I said. "My writing is about all I care about now."

"Then perhaps we should discuss your options," Lilith said. "You may pour yourself a drink if you like."

As it might be the last drink I would ever have, I poured a tall glass of Louis XIV - about a thousand dollars' worth of cognac - and returned to my seat.

"Not yet," I said after a manly swig. "I want the whole story on the marks first."

Lilith spread her hands in acceptance. "Very well. In short, what you stumbled across is the vampires' endorsement. Anything that perpetuates the myths and draws attention away from the truth makes it easier for us to exist in secret. Therefore, we encourage vampires to see those movies, watch those television shows or read those books, hence increasing their popularity."

"So the Mesopotamian mark is just one."

"Right."

"And the one for printed materials must be the double-S I saw online."

"Right again." She leaned forward, fixing me with a meaningful gaze. "Anne Rice's books needed no endorsement from us - they were popular enough in their own right. Thoroughly fictitious and sufficiently misleading for our purposes, but an endorsement was unnecessary."

"So there was no Lestat du Lioncourt."

"Oh, there was," she smiled. "We're not sure where Anne stumbled upon that little tidbit of fact. But the Marquis du Lioncourt has been gone for some time now. His exploits drew unnecessary attention in the 1700's and he was destroyed."

"So you've been endorsing the movies that were the least factual and ignoring the ones that held the most damning information."

"Oh, we don't allow movies that contain too many facts," she replied. "We merely encourage the more misleading." She stared off thoughtfully. "You know, I've always been a fan of John Carpenter and found his movie particularly enjoyable - " her eyes returned to me " - but why else would we have endorsed that ridiculous portrayal of the Frost incident?" She made a scoffing sound. "Garlic and silver, Please!"

"So am I to infer that my options are somewhat similar?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," she said. "Death or life as you've never known it."

"Well, either way, I'd like to finish my drink." I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, considering it with reverence. "Do you know how precious this stuff is? The empty bottles sell on eBay for three hundred dollars. Baccarat crystal."

"Fascinating," she said flatly.

"Well, seeing as my options are a bit limited," I said, "And I've never considered death an option, I would be happy to join you."

"Good choice," she said as she rose and moved gracefully around the desk.

"Just one more question," I said.

"Okay." She perched on the edge of the desk, the epitome of patience.

"Burt alerted you to my discovery, right?"

"Right."

"But he can't be a vampire, can he?"

"On the contrary," she laughed. "Burt is very much a vampire."

"Daywalker?"

"Not exactly. You see, Jason, that is the one thing that Bram Stoker got right. Some of us can move about during the day, but their powers are weakened."

"So sunlight won't kill vampires?"

"Within seconds if you're not of that bloodline or extremely old."

"You learn much more if you accept my offer," she said. "Our historian has decided to move on."

"Time for a career change, eh?"

"We say 'move on' when one of our kind grows tired of immortality."

"Ah," I said, nodding understanding. "So you need someone to replace the historian that recently committed suicide."

"Right again," she said brightly. "You're getting good at this."

Then she turned me. It was no brutal act filled with screams and struggling, as many might believe. It was gentle and sensual. She took me to an adjacent bedroom and held me as I endured the transformation. I spent a week with her in the mansion, taking what amounts to an indoctrination course. Afterward, I was free to go my own way.

Lilith cautioned me against turning anyone for a few years until I had a handle on things, and invited me to return whenever I liked. She also gave me the names and numbers of several other fledglings in the area - sort of a new vampire support group. She recommended that I think seriously about the historian's job she had offered, but she was in no hurry for my answer. Apparently vampires aren't particularly concerned with mortal time.

Returning home, I put my affairs in order as quickly as possible and, approximately one month after my rebirth, I sat down to write this story. I'll be submitting it to the top five publishers and the networks. Someone's got to believe me. Once that's done, I'm going to move on. Death wasn't an option until I tried the alternative. I'm almost certain I'll prefer death.

Whoever gets this, you must believe me. They do exist and I proved it.

I'm off to watch my last sunrise. ¥