All mistakes are unintentional and of course I don't own Being Human.

1/1/2013

To whoever is reading this,

My name is Michael and I'd like to tell you my story.

Today is New Years day and I wish I could be worrying about making resolutions I can't keep, like not being late for anything but I can't.

Because 9 months ago, everything changed. It's ironic really all those jokes we used to make about how the world was going to end in 2012 and from someone who lived through it, it very nearly did.

The rumours began in March, bodies found drained of blood, a trail of corpses left in Wales and Bristol. We thought it was just some stunt for a new film, all these newspaper articles and radio messages about vampires being real then BOOM 'New Dracula film smash hit at the box office' But no, it wasn't a stunt it wasn't a promotion, it was real. These weren't actors and extras; they were people with families who'd had their throats ripped out because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The killings spread; Edinburgh, Glasgow, Manchester, Liverpool and Birmingham. We still didn't believe it; people were sceptical, 'a virus' they said- some new unheard of foreign disease originating in Bolivia. Who'd ever heard of a virus that left puncture wounds? 'A crazed cult' was another of the excuses, alongside suicide pacts and serial killers. Of course people believe what they want to believe, when the truth seemed so ridiculous no matter how much evidence there was; people would rather accept lies.

12th April 2012 is a day that no one who was alive then will ever forget, the day the Prime Minister was slaughtered like an animal. It started like any other day; people weren't going out as much as usual because they'd heard about the virus or the cult or whatever else the cover-up crew had come up with. Then at 11.00am everything stopped, every television every radio in the country was tuned in to the footage of the press-conference that had begun 30 minutes before. He was already dead at that point, the filming of that was on the internet not long after. What we could all see on our screens was bizarre; he was on the floor blood pouring from his neck, people shrieking in the background- which was swiftly shut off after squelches and gurgling sounds and a voice coming from thin air. The voice was so calm and serene and well bored it was terrifying. As if nothing odd had happened, it was like he was reading the train times over a tannoy, so distant so unaffected. The words he spoke were strange and menacing, I realise now they seemed so strange because he was 3000 years old. I'll never forget those words. "Greetings, it is regretful that it's come to this but you wouldn't open your eyes to what was happening around you. My name is Mr Snow and I've come to take the world."

There was another voice as well, a clipped posh English accent he introduced him as Hal Yorke. That's a name now known by everyone, the downfall of the country would not have come so fast without him and his camps, but I'll get to that later.

The days, in fact weeks that followed were pure chaos, there's no other word for it. After 'The Big Reveal' (that's what they called it- the murder of the government, like it was a magician showing the cards up his sleeve), normality ceased. People stopped going to work; some even barricaded themselves in their homes. My family joined the millions that rushed out to bulk buy bread, milk, tin upon tin of baked beans and every other supposedly essential item.

There were riots, far worse than the ones of August 2011; people took to every high street across the country, looting food and supplies and the less intelligent ones took clothes. The news crews were out in the middle of it filming everything that happened. The selfishness of humanity got many of the looters killed, opportunistic vampires praying on those laden with useless items. Half of the police force turned out to be bloodsuckers; many had been recruited in the days leading up the reveal and many just afterwards, so none of them did anything to stop humanity fighting with itself.

They never attacked the journalists, at least not for those first few weeks, so every night we'd gather in front of the telly and see what had been destroyed that day. Once I remember watching a man on the news dragging along this great big 3D TV, then seeing him stop still, dropping the box and his neck being exposed by an invisible force.

There were the vampire messages as well of course, aired 6.00PM every night and repeated every hour on the hour, the screens would show the symbol we've come to despise and one of them would read out their stupid propaganda, telling us we must obey.

The UK hobbled along, just surviving until the end of May, by then people were too scared to venture out onto the streets. People had tried to run and they'd all died terrible deaths, some had been trampled to death, suffocated in the crowds, others were taken from behind and drained whilst their backs were turned. The resulting stampede sent people hurtling off the edge of the harbour like buffalo off a cliff; they drowned while the lucky few survivors watched from their boats.

After that the news stopped coming, a rumour spread that the whole of South Wales had been wiped out. It was only home to ghosts now, ghosts and memories.

That's another thing; there are not only vampires but ghosts and werewolves too. They come into my story later, so I'll tell you about them then. I've got to try and keep some chronological order here. You know I'll share something with you, I can't remember the last time I wrote something, there's little time and few resources now to do anything for pleasure.

When we heard what had happened to Wales because of those monsters, we decided to act, we went door to door and organised a meeting. It was hard to get people to answer their doors, some had set up camera traps and some had mirrors positioned just right to see if there visitor had fangs. We made them listen; we rallied them up to help fight back. People began collecting wood and anything religious, stocking up for the inevitable fight that was about to come.

By mid June the rioting had ceased and the vampires had more control in government, well they were the government; that's when I noticed them. The people I grew up with, who went to the same Primary school, the cool kids that everyone wanted to go out with during GCSEs; now they were vampires too. They'd been and got themselves recruited like it was some new fad, like a style of clothes or getting a tattoo. Dead was the new denim. There was no mistaking them: Jack, Mark, Sarah and Georgina, walking down the road wearing other people's blood. It made me physically wretch, they'd thrown away their entire lives because they wanted to be in the in crowd. When we were older I was always too geeky for them to bother with me but when we were little Jack was my best friend; now he was on his way back from a double date where the menu was murder. They weren't people anymore, they were monsters too.

We continued meeting, our little neighbourhood vigilante group. We trained hard and put a plan into action. Someone had brought a cross-trainer and some weights from their house so everyone took it in turns to exercise; it became a game to see who could run the fastest, the longest and who could lift the most. It was fun, to see everyone working together. Before it happened we hardly spoke to the neighbours, just an occasional nod. Now we were good friends. One unexpected but very useful thing was; that the old man who lived in a bungalow down the road had fought in WWII. He still had a working radio, and taught some of us how to send messages.

Our group continued like this, sneaking around under their watchful eyes, we thought we'd outsmarted them, until late August. That was when they came for us.

We'd called everyone for a meeting; I can't remember what we wanted to talk about that day, something trivial probably, about 30 minutes in we were interrupted.

They came from every side, more than I'd ever seen in one place before. The vampire march through the town had been made up of maybe 50 of them, there surrounding us that evening was around 200.

The plan was to make an example of our group, to show the rest of Britain what would happen to those who tried to conspire against the vampires. He led them himself, Hal Yorke the commander of the UK. He strode in like he owned the place, smiled a cruel mocking smile and congratulated us on our handiwork.

"Quite the little operation you've got going on here, who do I give credit to for all of this?"

That was the moment my dad stepped forward. "Ah, it's always nice to meet the man responsible." The vampire strode towards him.

I'm afraid to admit, I was a coward. I shut my eyes but could still hear the sounds.

I opened my eyes as they charged in and started to attack everyone else.

We took a few of them out, but they captured us all, keeping as many of us alive as they could. At the time I couldn't imagine why.

After that we were taken to their camps. Over the following weeks friends were ceremoniously slaughtered while they forced us to watch, they didn't feed from them, just killing them for effect. They broadcasted live to the nation, as each night one by one they were hung for treason.

I was lucky. During those bleak autumn days, where the sky never once brightened, stuck in that camp where the stench of death was ever present, we were saved.

I'll never know how they managed it; we'd all given up hope by then. We sat there, waiting for death to come, be it by vampires or disease. It was almost Halloween when they came, the werewolves.

They'd braved the fences, staked the guards and brought bolt cutters to break the chains. 6 of them there were, they came for us and their own.

They called themselves The Resistance.

When they freed us, some people left to go their own way, trying to find what was left of their families. I was one of those who went with them.

That's where I've been ever since, trying to help in any way I can. There is word that the ghost and werewolf who protect the war child are coming soon. I hope so, we need the moral boost. Even the weather seems to reflect what has happened to the world, it's always dark and raining. This has been the worst year in history, we can only hope the New Year brings a fresh start and that things will get better.

We are going to war soon, and that is why I'm writing this. This is to document the darkest days and it may also be my memoir. I pray that with the war child, on our side. WE WILL WIN.