Vlad1897:  boo

Cypherdreams666: its you?

Vlad1897: feeling thirsty?

Cypherdreams666: yes 

Vlad1897:  it will have that affect

Cypherdreams666: will you help me?

Vlad1897: i might

Cypherdreams666: did you kill my brother?

Vlad1897: no.  do you believe that?

Cypherdreams666: no

Vlad1897: doesn't change anything.  without my help you'll die.

Cypherdreams666: do you know what happened?  to luke?

Vlad1897: he killed himself

Cypherdreams666: why?

Vlad1897: he had regrets.  he wanted his death to be his own.

Cypherdreams666: what do you mean?

Vlad1897: luke was too alive to begin with... undeath was something of a shock.  he didn't like what he was becoming.  you don't have this problem.  meet me at lukes grave tomorrow at 2 am.  i can help you then.   

Cypherdreams666:  i don't know if i trust you

Vlad1897:  then don't come

Cypherdreams666:  are you going to kill me?

Vlad1897: i haven't even met you.  

Vlad1897 has signed off.

          I haven't eaten in five days.  My life blurs at the corners.  I've been seeing visions in red.  Nightmares like massacres all in time with my pulse. 

              I've refilled the vial with water and sipped the murky residue.  I've spent days sucking on the cork until it disappeared.  I've sent over twenty emails to un@dead.la and each has returned undeliverable. 

               I need more blood.   All my fingernails are chewed back to the red.  It's not the same.  I'm weak and cold.  What's next? 


 

         I wake up standing.   Where am I? 

         The ground crunches under my sneakers.  It had rained for nearly a week.  Slow, half-frozen.  Yesterday it snapped frosty, creating brittle seas of mud. 

              I'm in the churchyard, staring at Luke's stone.  A black granite cross, already streaked with mud and rain.  Is this a dream?

             There had been concern about possible cult-related vandalism, so the location of burial was never publically disclosed.  The ceremony had been small and private.  Dad had gotten out of bed, polished his shoes and stood, tall and blank throughout the brief sermon.  He went back to work the same day.

           The blood peeled a layer off the world.  I feel alive, quickened, infinite.  I'm not sure if my memory is slipping or if it's simply dimming in importance.  How I got where I am is immaterial.  The present is sharp and waiting.

             There is folded paper weighted with a rock on top of the stone.  The note is heavy in my hand.   Inside is a small charcoal pencil and thick black letters:

                               "Do you want to know?"
                                                               -V

             I write, "Yes." and replace the vellum sheet under the rock.