Under Electric Candle Light

It isn't true that Vampires only live in the dark. Yes, we are obligate nocturnal, but we've always been surrounded by artificial light. In fact, we thrive on the pinpricks of illumination that pierce the night. The long shadows of a fire are our hunting grounds, flickering candles our playthings, a gas lamp was like a disco-ball.

Oh! I remember discos! Random flashes of lights in a variety of ridiculous colours! We look our best when we're only half seen. All those sweaty little rooms filled up with your scent, the dark corners where we could prowl and pinch, there was always a girl crying on the stairs to distract you. Personally, I was less keen on raves. The lasers were a delightful invention, as was the fetish-wear, but the taste of certain chemicals is anathema to us. Who wants to feel relentlessly happy?

Isn't it funny how all creatures attempt to intoxicate themselves? Elephants will eat fruit which is so rotted it has begun to ferment. Have you ever seen a bull elephant drunk as a skunk? It is messy! Cats go mental for the nip and will stone themselves to the detriment of nearly everything. Certain deer seek out magic mushrooms and have what we can only assume are incredible trips. You know, of course, about the many and varied ways humans try to chemically alter their brains.

Vampires, famously, do not drink wine. Oh, a sip of brandy or something similarly strong is pleasant, but it doesn't turn us on the way it does humans. We live in a world of smoke and don't need to inhale - no matter the flavour. Our biochemistry is sufficiently different that most drugs barely make a dent. No, when a vampire wants to get utterly sozzled, they use the Moon.

Oh! Sweet Lady Luna! Temptress of our hearts and burner of our souls!

We cannot stand the sun. This much you probably already know. It flays our skin and purifies us from existence. As the saying goes, it takes a long time to die and it hurts all the while. The sun is torture, poison, pain, death, despair, disinfectant, a curse and a promise. Just as we are shunned from polite society, so we shun the sun.

But the Moon!

The Moon has no light of its own. The Moon's irradiance is a dim reflection of the sun's magnificence. Something happens to the photons which have bounced off the lunar surface. Whereas normally they would tear at our flesh and permanently scar us, a Moonbeam tickles. Perhaps there is some dark malevolence buried deep within its surface which alters the destiny of light as it reflects? Perhaps Moondust is magic? Short of NASA sending up a midnight mission of Vampires, we'll never know.

What we do know is that the Moon feels incredible. The night of the Full Moon is a celebration for all Vampires. We fly to the tops of buildings, or clamber up onto standing stones, or find ourselves flying into the sky like a moth to the flame. We cavort naked and let the Moonbeams infuse us with their dreams. Humans cannot imagine a feeling like this. It is as though we have taken just enough poison to corrupt ourselves, and yet our body keeps repelling it and repairing us. It isn't drunkenness or delirium we feel; it is power. Pure Moon power. It is the one thing we crave more than blood.

Look at me talking in the present tense. A slip of the tongue. We are all but extinct and our better nights are long gone. We were powerful. They chased men for sport. I used to feast.

I doubt I am the last vampire, but there can't be many of us left. In theory I can convert any willing victim to our occult practices. But who wants to bring up a child in a world that sets you on fire?

Our world began to end over a hundred years ago. It was the early 1900s and my clan had descended on New York City with a view to experiencing all the vices on offer. While the good men and women of the USA officially decried slavery, humans were for sale on every street corner. Some we rented by the hour, others we bought and sold. The children traded between great families like precious jewels.

It wasn't just the guttersnipes we preyed upon. Our mere presence at a party or ball provided an injection of money and urbane sophistication. All we asked for in return was for an unwanted third daughter or a disappointing wayward nephew. A fair trade, no?

The summer of 1909 was a bore. The days were long so our hunting time was short. The easy pickings in the slums were pickled and foul tasting. We were after refined company and gentle flavours. A nouveau riche family were desperate to throw a successful party. She needed social standing now that her husband had become unexpectedly wealthy, and he needed a steady stream of investors to help his coffers swell. She was on the board of a prestigious orphanage and offered us first choice when it came to "adoptions".

So we found ourselves at the Cove residence. A monument to quick money, bad taste, and the eventual death of all vampires.

Molly, my eldest daughter, felt it first. Like all truculent children she'd been in a mood since we announced our plans. The party would be deathly dull, she wouldn't know anyone, she'd rather go flying with her friends. We foolishly ignored her premonitions and dragged her along.

Within moments of entering the Cove's, Molly complained of feeling faint. The lady of the house took her upstairs to lie down in a spare bedroom. My wife, Tessa, made the social rounds while I went off to promote George Cove to the small army of financiers I had corrupted.

Barely five minutes into my schmoozing, I also began to feel faint. My head felt like it was swelling and about to explode. My teeth were itching and the inside of my mouth began to prickle. My senses became a blur, my balance degraded and I slumped ungainly into a chair. The ultra-modern glass light bulbs were burning through my closed eyes. Hot needles being thrown directly into my skin.

George lent over me, temporarily providing respite in the shade of his massive frame. I pointed weakly at the bulbs and muttered "The lights!"

George beamed at me and began describing, at needless and insistent length, the exciting scientific principles behind "photovoltaics". The madman had captured sunlight! Against all the laws of nature, he'd trapped sunshine in a battery of lead acid and could release it on a whim. The sun's rays now snaked through a jumble of wires and leached into bulbs where they spat poisonous fury at our kind.

With the last of my strength, I pulled myself up from the chair and grabbed Tessa. I could see she was suffering badly, so I insisted one of the other ladies take her outside for some restorative air.

I struggled up the stairs - so many stairs - in a desperate attempt to find my Molly. One room contained nothing but coats, another held cavorting couples in flagrant breach of social norms, the final held Molly. What remained of Molly. The lady of the house had laid my treasured daughter on a luxurious bed, with sheets of the finest silk, positioned under a chandelier dripping with incandescent bulbs. The memory of my child lingered in the room even as her corporeal form slowly wasted into dust.

I threw myself out of the window in grief and flew back to our hidden roost.

It took a month for us to recuperate. Vampires don't have friends, but a clutch will never let another starve. We were precious few even then and every member of the tribe knew their obligations. Tessa and I feasted on the scraps left on our doorstep until we were fully recovered. All the while, we plotted our revenge.

Cove, we reasoned, was the only man who knew the blasphemous trick of trapping the sun's rays. If he could be eliminated, perhaps the secret would die with him. So we did the only rational thing available to us. One moonless October evening, we kidnapped George Cove.

Our initial plan was to spend the next few weeks torturing him. Vampires excel at prolonged exsanguination - some claim to have kept a victim alive as feedstock for years. Most of us get bored after a month and give in to our unnatural urges. Thin blood makes for a poor feast. I had specifically sharpened my fangs in preparation, but old George surprised us. I began to explain to him, in excruciating detail, just why we were preparing his body as a sacrifice. I didn't want him to reach the afterlife thinking this was a random attack; he needed to know his transgressions and how the loss of a daughter pained me.

"There is another way."

All condemned men plead. It is as boring as listening to the wind pass through the autumn leaves. A dull crackle of imminent death.

"Others will follow in my footsteps."

Now this was something we hadn't considered. Over the centuries we'd watched the arrival of the train, the dawning of mechanisation, and a hundred other improvements to the mortal world. But this was the first time we had encountered technology.

George explained that he held patents on all the solar technology. If he went missing, it would bring media attention - another cursed invention of the 20th century - which would encourage more people to investigate solar power. If he were to die, people would steal his work and introduce newer, stronger, more powerful solar collectors.

If he were to live, George reasoned with us, he could make solar fail.

In return for his life, George Cove agreed to show the world that solar electricity was little more than a fad. An inconvenient and costly product with no practical use. The investments would be so poor, he promised us, that it would kill the very notion of harnessing the sun's rays for a hundred years. The complete collapse of the solar project would allow our kind to live in peace, lit by non-harmful lighting.

Normally we would not suffer a mortal to live. Especially not one with such power over us. But Cove convinced us with his impeccable logic. Solar must be extinguished.

And so it was.

George Cove's "failures" managed to keep the solar project dead for nearly a hundred years. My wealth was mostly tied up in diamonds and other precious gems. Over the next few decades I liquidated it all and invested in a future which would secure our vampiric legacy.

Oil.

Those beautiful chains of hydrocarbons! Gushing geysers of black gold. An energy density which rivalled no other source on the planet. My family poured our tattered souls into promoting oil as the fuel of the future. Every time a scientist announced a breakthrough in solar technology, we redoubled our lobbying efforts. Once in a while a space-craft would launch and the humans would coo over the marvels of solar panels. But it was no concern to us - there are no vampires in space outside of schlocky B-Movies. Every time a politician put solar panels on their office, we'd dedicate our resources to booting them out of office. The oil-men were happy to take our money and do our dastardly bidding.

Every vampire across the world knew the dangers of sunlight and would stop at nothing to prevent its progress. If an oil well was found, you could be assured that a vampire was whispering in the ears of politicians. The petrostates became our playground. Now they are our only refuge.

We hadn't anticipated mankind's relentless pursuit of progress. Every decade saw the influx of bigger and more efficient panels. Cheap electricity for the humans, but lightweight harbingers of death for us. The oil lobbies were no longer powerful, our attempts to cultivate nuclear power had come to nothing, and wind power didn't seem particularly demonic. The world changed around us. Every street lamp had a little solar panel, or was fed by a nearby battery. Going out after dark became close to impossible. So we retreated.

All my family are dead. Tessa burned away when she couldn't escape a night-train which had been adapted to run on electricity. My children variously extinguished by solar powered TVs pumping out advertising, children with solar powered torches, and music festivals who wanted to prove their eco-credentials.

So it was just me.

There are now only a handful of states which have rejected the gospel of the sun. They burn coal, gas, and oil to power their worlds. Perhaps there are a few more vampires who managed to escape the blaze of solar-powered lamps. If so, they are a tiny coven in a hostile world. My financial resources have been spent, so all I can do is plead and threaten the rulers of these havens - but they rarely listen. Down in the dark caves, where the only light is fire, and the sun is a distant memory, I wait for the end.

Thanks for reading

I'd love your feedback on this story. Did you like the style of writing? Was the plot interesting? Did you guess the twist? Please stick a note in the comments to motivate me 😃

Hungry for more? You can read:

• 2024's "Revenge Of The Mutant Algorithms"
• 2023's "Tales of the Algorithm"