FicWad

The night of July 17th, 1918 my family, including my mother and father, were murdered. Not by the secret police as is common belief but by a man named Alexander Petrovich.

Only my brother Alexei and I survived the attack, if you can call our lost and lonely lives surviving. My brother escaped unscathed, I on the other hand did not. You see Mr. Petrovich was not human, in any form of the word.

At first, you see him as a noble high born man, pale and severe like so many men from my country, his dark shag of curls a common trait among the men. His eyes a piercing shade of Green. That being the only odd thing about him at first glance.

He wanted to talk to my father, being the last Czar of Russia, he was still an important man. My father gathered us in the large dining room and introduced us. Alexander bowed to each of us like a true gentleman. Papa began to speak of our winter palace and how Alexander would help us reclaim our rightful place. And as Papa turned to smile at him, me on his knee, Alexander lunged at us. Screaming, I jumped from Papa's lap, turning to see Alexander's jaws latched onto my father's neck. My dear Papa was dead before I knew it.

That is when Alexander turned to the rest of us. My mother, sisters and brother all stood horrified against the far wall of the room. My sister Olga was the first to scream, but my mother was the first to be attacked. I fell into the corner of the room, speechless and paralyzed by terror. Watching my mother die as Alexander closed his hands over the throats of my sisters. The start crack as their dainty necks snapped. My brother was next.

I shook my self from my daze and screamed as Alexander's jaws came down on Alexei's throat. I lunged at him, my hands grasping his shoulders and riping his jaws from my brothers neck, but too late. Alexei dropped to the floor, limp as a dish rag.

I fell onto my backside as Alexander stumbled back, tripping over my fathers dead body. He latched onto my wrist with his hand and steadied himself, before I knew what was happening I felt his sharp teeth penetrate my shoulder. I gasped and gave him a sharp shove.

It seemed like he fell forever. But when he landed, the broken arm of fathers elegant mahogany arm chair, the splintered wood sliced, straight through his chest. Only moments later, I fell back to the ground in pure shock and awe. This horrible man, this daemon that dared to enter my home and slaughter my family, had been killed by my hand. I, being only 17 at the time, remembered that I had been told stories of these creatures that prowled the night. Vampires, we called them. How I despised this animal, the thing that made us what we now are.