A few weeks later I fought my first vampire.
It was a still winter night. My breath formed clouds of mist in the icy air, as I shivered in scanty clothes, wishing for my warm bed in a centrally heated house. I was camped in an abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere. A lonely place it was, far removed from society. With floorboards that creaked and a leaky roof. Dark rooms filled with cobwebs. No running water. No electricity.
A house that seemed to hold a million ghosts. In the world of my imagination every shadow held a different demon, each one new and terrifying. I couldn't sleep at night, and when I did, my dreams where haunted by a shapeless evil.
I'm lucky I was so fearful. A less wary girl would've died there, in a forgotten corner of the world. Killed in my sleep. Not preventing an apocalypse, not in a brave and noble move, not even trying to save my own sorry life.
I was woken in the night, all at once, rigid with fear. My sanctuary had been broken; something was moving about downstairs. It would've been so easy to dispel me fears, say it was just paranoia. But another, louder noise confirmed my suspicions. A soft clunk that echoed through the house.
I froze in terror, unable to think, my breath racing. I lay still, not daring to move. It was all I could think of, to lie still and hope it would go away. Maybe it's a dream. I'll wake up and…I'll still be here. Nothing will have changed; I'm waiting to be killed off. This is my life, and it'll stay this way forever. I pressed my face into the rough cover of my blanket to muffle my tears. Crying. Again. I did want to be brave, but it was too hard. I was in a strange place far from home, without all the little things; cooked food, spare clothes, a flush toilet, people. Even people that hated me would be better than this.
In a way those thoughts comforted me. I had to learn about my powers, or I'd be stuck like this. It was worth a risk, to get my life back. There was nothing to fear in death; and besides, I was powerful. I hadn't come here to cower in the dark, whimpering like a child. I'd come here because I was too powerful to be controlled; because I'd become dangerous. Whatever was out there should be scared of me.
Resolutely, I threw the blankets off of me with a hand that shook, hauling myself into a standing position. I reached for my torch and flicked it on, sending a wobbly beam of light across the room. It was enough to light the way, but not enough to drive away the fears of the night, and I longed for proper electric lighting that could cast brilliant light over a whole room.
Furtively, I pulled out the few pieces of demon-hunting equipment I'd put together. A scrappy homemade crucifix, a small rather blunt knife, and a highly sharpened pencil I hoped would do for a stake. Looking them over I sighed despairingly; if this was a demon, I was very dead. Probably it was a stray cat and long gone, but I wasn't going to back out now I'd psyched myself up for a fight.
Silent as a night breeze I drifted down the stairs. Each door I came to I pushed the cross through first, then followed, copying my moves from TV shows. I sighed with relief at every empty room, but felt myself tense further in anticipation. Careful, I intoned wordlessly. Watch and listen and wait. Stay wary, fool. You relax, even for a single second, and you're dead.
My silence was wasted under the circumstances; vampires don't listen for their prey, they smell for their prey. After weeks without being able to wash, I must've been a vampire beacon.
So, unsurprisingly the vampire was ready and waiting for me, stepping out of a shadowy doorway to punch me hard in the temple. It was a ruthless blow that knocked me backwards, but my Karate instructor had long ago kicked into me one, very simple rule. Never, ever, under any circumstances, drop your guard. I grumbled about the bruises at the time, but it sure worked. A little thing like my head hurting didn't stop me, not even for an instant. In fact hurting is a real understatement. My right temple felt like it was on fire, the pain seeping steadily into the center of my skull, melting my brain. I could scarcely see, let alone think, through it. It was my whole world for a couple of endless seconds before it receded. But my body knew what to do, even when I didn't.
I responded instinctively, pivoting neatly then kicking him in the back of the knee. Still not knowing my own strength, I almost brought myself down with him. Blood was dripping down my cheek, warm and damp, my head was swimming, and my legs felt like jelly beneath me. But adrenalin was pumping through my body, adding to my stamina, and I forced myself on. We fought for almost an hour, until my clothes were soaked with sweat, and I felt every bruise and scrape.
It took me a long time to remember the pencil, tucked safely in my trouser pocket. You're probably wondering how hard it can be to remember the obvious. I certainly used to; let me tell you, it's damn near impossible. All I could think of at first was not getting hit by each strike as it came. I wasn't planning; I had no time to plan.
Pulling it out I felt its shape in my hand. Learning its weight, its length. It felt hard smooth against my skin, somehow different from how it used to when it was just an innocent drawing tool. I gripped it tight in my hand, squeezing till my hand throbbed with pain. Using the last of my strength I threw him up against a wall, driving the pencil in as hard as I could.
A shoot of joy rushed through me. It was the proudest moment of my life. I was a hero, using my super-powers to fight blood-sucking fiends. I'd been given a chance to do something real, to make a difference.
I turned away, laughing, only to be grabbed viciously from behind and thrown across the room. I crashed into the wall head first, then slid dazed to the floor. Detachedly, as if I was watching a character on TV, or from a book, I thought to myself The vampire's not dead. Why isn't the vampire dead?
Gasping, winded, I struggled to my feet. Dark spots covered my vision, like I was about to faint. Any minute now, he'd see my weakness and take me down. I knew I was going to die.
But I couldn't end my last fight flinching, backed up against a wall, terror showing on my face. I wasn't a hero after all, just a victim, but I could die with the only thing I had left. With pride. Swallowing hard, I tried and failed to calm myself. Still weak at the knees, my hands still shaking, bleeding and in pain, I forced myself to through up a final guard.