The sun was hidden by a mass of grey cloud. A normal day in Hyde, then. Dr Adashea Chruscoper Smith looked at the sky and wondered. Why had this fate forsaken him? Why was he imprisoned to days skulking around in the mist and fog? You see, Dr Adashea Chruscoper Smith wasn't a normal person. Some may argue he wasn't a person at all. But he knew what he was and it wasn't normal at all. Dr Adashea Chruscoper Smith was a vampire.
Some critics are going to doubt this and provide hundreds, maybe even thousands of reasons why this is theoretically impossible. Theoretically. Not practically. No one knows how the vampire gene was created or if it was just a flaw, but passed on through a fully-fledged vampire into a merely mortal human being, it was fatal. Not deadly fatal, but life-changingly fatal. The victim would go through a period of extreme pain before becoming immortal. Immortal.
He walked along the dreary tarmac streets, to his practice, where he worked every day, treating ill pensioners and sickly little children. Fully-grown men worried about the amount of hair on their arms and women with slow growing nails. Administering ointments and creams, treatments and cures, whiling away the thousands of years he was destined to walk this wretched Earth.
Adashea was lonely. There were no other vampires in Hyde or Tameside as far as he knew. The loneliness was the worst part of his vampirism. It stung like a thousand daggers. He'd seen a few pretty humans but they were generally ill, as he was a doctor. The most beautiful woman could have walked through those two glass doors but he wouldn't have noticed because she would have had a runny nose or a black eye or some other ailment.
He would spend his sleepless nights running around at speeds only capable of by being a vampire. Another side effect of the vampirism was no need for sleep. He would run along the motorway, the darkness hiding him from view. To drivers he was simply another shadow.
Then in the morning, he went back to his humdrum doctor's life.