My First Rest

The weight of my ‌chest crushes my lungs. I can’t breathe in. I am completely still, stiff and paralysed. An eternity has passed with me trapped in this tight space, incapacitated, speechless. A piece of me is missing while the rest of me is distant. There is a void in my torso, an endless dark, an absence of life that an existential dread has replaced.

Recollection of my existence hits a blind spot. I climbed into the coffin for the day and Mister joined me for his slumber. Unlike the last few weeks of being packed like sardines in the coffin, sleepless and bored, this time I have been unconscious.

I know I’m still lying in Mister’s coffin, but his rigid and cold body isn’t here. Usually I’d be relieved not to be squished next to the undead man-thing, but now ‌I feel fear. How many years have passed since I have been… absent? Dead? In a coma?

The lid shifts and above me stands Mister, his pale skin glowing even without a drop of light in the room.

“Welcome back, young Anthony. Years have not passed. Mere moments, truly.”

My mouth doesn’t open to respond.

“Hm… it seems your soul has not yet returned to your vessel.”

A soulless vampire seems as normal as a cat with fur. My soul died or flew away or expired a few weeks ago when my heart stopped beating - the cons of being a godless monster, right? Mister shook his head slowly while dipping into an apologetic bow.

“I have failed you, young Anthony. As a vampire, you will only fall into rest occasionally. It has been three weeks since your last human sleep, and now your vessel rests while your soul stretches.”

This soulless experience is a new ‌hell, a plague of desolation and despair set deep into my bones. It disturbs me way more than the dismembered body of my roommate in our apartment. I’ll definitely be a damned creature if this becomes a regular thing.

How much longer? Years have flown by with me reduced to a lifeless corpse trapped within my mind. Vampirism is a curse. A soulless creature has no purpose in suffering on this planet. Put me out of my misery already! Why would my sire doom me to this hell, knowing the torture ahead of me?!

“Mere moments, not years. Attune with your present self. Count the seconds as they pass and remain connected to reality. One,” his deep voice snaps my attention to him.

“Two.” The word hangs heavily in the air.

“Three.” My focus sharpens.

“Four.” I am mesmerised.

“Five.” His eyes are small black orbs holding my stare calmly.

“Six.” Mister’s lips curl, revealing his fangs.

“Seven.” I find safety in his gaze.

“Eight.” He leans forward intently, bracing his icy hands on the edge of the coffin.

“Nine, ten, eleven,” he counts.

The rhythmic words are a lifeline. With the reliable tether to the passing of time, I’m so grounded. Is this what my sister got from yoga and meditation? I never understood it in my human life, but without Mister’s voice, I would fall into a soulless, hopeless, endless insanity.

When Mister says seven-hundred-fifty-one, electricity shoots through my body and I suck air into my mouth in a panic. Within a split second, I launch out of the wooden box and stumble toward the door. A burning sensation floods into my muscles and I cough uncontrollably, lungs strained like they were after football in highschool. The sound of my choking echoes throughout the dark warehouse.

“Remain calm. Hold your breath, you do not need the air.”

Fire, fire! My body is on fire! I run as fast as I can, the world a blur as I throw the warehouse doors open.

“Steel yourself,” Mister commands, appearing before me from thin air.

I squeeze one hand into a fist, the hard fingernails slicing my toughened skin while the other hand pinches my nose and I hold my breath. The strain on my chest subsides. Where I should have a thumping heart, I instead have a beatless panic attack. My muscles are spring loaded and I feel like a cocked gun. With the strength of a fresh vampire, I drive my fist into the concrete, my bones cracking at the same time as the pavement. The pain is overwhelming; it is just enough to squash the panic and focus my energy into something that isn’t a massacre.

I can hear the distant heart beats of the humans on night shift in the nearby warehouses. I can smell the metallic sweat of the industrial workers. Overpowering my instincts to flee, Mister’s shadowy presence weighs heavily upon me. His judgement is thick, and I know I am under analysis. I grit my teeth together so hard my fangs rip into my bottom lip. The sting sharpens my attention.

“How often will I rest like this? Without my soul, I mean.” My voice is strained.

Mister’s footsteps are barely audible as he circles me. “As I am your sire, I suspect you may find your experience similar to my own. In my first decade, I rested once a month. Beyond that, I didn’t need to rest as often. Now, I only rest once a year.”

“How old are you now, though?” I peer at him from the corner of my eyes as I stand, brushing down my clothes.

As usual, he avoids my question. “You have a potent soul and a strong connection to yourself. Your soul returned not long after nightfall.”

That’s all? It felt like forever.

“I ‌know someone whose soul has not yet returned. They began their rest three decades ago, and have been stuck in a soulless stupor since.” Mister’s voice takes a deep and sorrowful tone.

“Don’t you think that…” I hesitate.

Mister doesn’t need to look at me to know the thoughts running through my head. I expect his intrusiveness at this point.

“No, we do not kill them to end their misery. One needs to earn their immortal life. I said you are not worthy of vampirism if you cannot craft your own coffin. If you are not connected to your new existence and sense of self, and do not accept your vampirism, then at your first rest your soul may not return and, therefore, you are not worthy of this existence.”

“But if you leave them like that, conscious yet soulless, they will live forever in that state. If they aren’t worthy, we should kill them,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Who are we to know if the soul is yet to return? One person was soulless for five years before the soul reunited with the vessel. It is taboo to take away the chance for kindred to redeem themselves and find their soul again, no matter how many years they are separated.”

The conversation helps settle my shitshow. Self-control was never a strong suit of mine, so I wonder if Mister used his Persuasion to calm me down and I was just in so much confusion I didn’t notice.

“Give yourself some credit, young Anthony. You have picked up your new existence nicely so far, with your soul returning after your rest rather quickly, and your ability to regain your sense and reason despite the strain is impressive. Well done.”

The rare compliment disarms me. Did I finally do something right? I narrow my eyes at Mister’s back as he strides down the street, unsure if I am being manipulated; wouldn’t be the first time.

I follow the broad-shouldered, silent-footed figure, catching glimpses of his grey skin and faded blood-red tie under the street lamps.

I am sure there is much more for me to learn, but I can’t deny I am a little apprehensive. Out there somewhere is a vampire in a coffin, trapped in a soulless hell with no rescue in sight. What other trials and expectations am I yet to pass, and which of them may leave me as screwed as that guy?

As we pass under the yellow glow of the next street lamp, I see a small, grim smile hold Mister’s expression, and it doesn’t bode well.