"Forgive me," I begged, my knees shaking, my lips quivering. I hated myself for being so afraid.

"Stop whimpering," Leland commanded. "I can't abide weakness. Our kind has always submitted to its own weaknesses, suffered from them, allowed them to dictate its movements. Tonight, Jennifer, we celebrate our strengths."

"I just can't do it," I said. "It hurts so bad."

"Of course!" Leland spat, his chalk-white face livid. "Our existence is an unending banquet of pain. When we hunger, the gnawing emptiness is like a slow death. When we feed, the essence of our prey flows into our veins, and their agony, for a time, becomes ours. And yet when we are in our glory, renewed to youth and vigor, unconstrained by human laws or morals, there comes a perfect clarity in which we realize that we are, in fact, the only beings on this earth who are truly alive."

I'd heard this speech before, and I wasn't feeling particularly inspired by it as I stood on the precipice of a 600-foot drop. Strong winds buffeted the building's rooftop, and vertigo forced me away from the edge.

"Have you no pride?" Leland said. "Concentrate! Visualize the transformation. Our curse carries with it an ancient power. Submit to that power, and allow it to guide you."

Leland suddenly rushed forward and leapt over the edge.

At first he was a sprawling shape silhouetted against the city lights, his arms splayed out, his coat flapping. In the next instant, he was a creature of the night.

But this was not the furry flying mouse you've seen on the nature shows (or occasionally found roosting in the eaves of your attic). The Leland-thing had a wingspan of perhaps four feet, with beady red eyes and the scabby, hairless skin of a diseased dog. The animal swooped over my head, emitting a piercing squeal.

At last Leland resumed his true shape, gliding to his feet on the rooftop like a skydiver coming to earth.

"With practice it becomes as natural as slipping on new clothes," he said. "And how fierce and beautiful you will look — a dark bringer of death riding the moonbeams as you swoop down on your unwitting prey."

I turned and faced the dizzying drop again. My fingers absently found their way to my throat, where they brushed over the waxy skin and the pinprick holes above my carotid artery. I felt the familiar longing, the pangs of regret for the life that might have been — a mortal life, a human life, lived in fresh air and glorious daylight.

"I know what you're thinking," Leland said. "It will pass. I myself once thought as you did, centuries ago, when my blood was still fresh on my master's lips. In time, the unnecessary vestiges of humanity will fade. Indeed, tonight's lesson is a vital step in that process."

I shuffled to the edge, the toes of my shoes hanging over, my arms wobbling slightly as I struggled for balance.

I thought about Starbucks Coffee. I thought about sunny beaches and garlic bread and Christmas mornings and all the other little things that had been part of my previous life. I pondered the cruel prospect of immortality, slaughtering others to prolong a wretched existence. I imagined the lake of fire that surely awaited me in the next world ... and relished the thought of it.

I wished for death. I welcomed damnation.

I stepped over the edge. The wind howled in my ears as the windows whooshed past, the pavement flying up to greet me. I thought I heard Leland shout something inaudible high above me as I hurtled toward oblivion.

And then, during the few moments that it took to fall the final hundred feet to the sidewalk, I felt the ravenous hunger overtake me. It happened instantly, a sudden, agonizing sensation that felt as though I was being devoured from the inside out. Time slowed to a slug's crawl; each second stretched into eternity.

Only living blood would satiate me, sweet blood, rich and red, as delectable as honey. The idea of meeting my demise upon the hard ground without a final meal was suddenly unthinkable.

I unleashed a primal shriek, my lips drawing back from my razor-sharp incisors, my arms flying out as though to slow my descent. The pain was excruciating, but I did not resist, forcing myself to ride the waves of agony as the transformation took hold.

From mere inches above the ground I soared into the air, squealing triumphantly. I did not return to Leland on the roof but instead headed north, toward the city's verdant park, where homeless men and teenage hoodlums lurked in the moonless shadows. My crimson-red eyes traced over the landscape beneath me as I searched for a midnight snack. In the city all around me I could hear the drum of a million beating hearts.

And God help me, I felt so alive.

Army Captain Vince Drake hummed softly to himself as he supervised final preparations for the loading of the bombs. The plant was full of hundreds of personnel--uniformed Army technicians, civilian scientists, even WACs--each one of them standing in front of an empty bomb casing and a pile of circular canisters.

Each bomb would contain twenty-six of the canisters. Each canister had forty compartments, which meant that there were over a thousand compartments per bomb. A B-29 Superfortress would carry a hundred such bombs, and ten bombers would fly on each raid. A million compartments all together, each one of them containing an eighteen-gram incendiary device attached to a free-tailed bat, harvested from a cave in Bandera, Texas.

The plan was simple: The bombs would leave the bomb bay; the canisters would open, and the bats with their incendiary payloads would fly down and find hiding places under Japanese eaves. Hours later, seventeen grams of napalm would be ignited by a time delay fuse, and a million fires would start, spread over four hundred square miles.

The whole scheme was brilliant. Drake thought it could burn the Japanese out of their cities, cripple the industry that the Imperial armed forces depended upon, and eliminate the need for a U.S. invasion. World War II would be over in a matter of months.

Captain Drake signaled the lead technician to open the cooler and begin distributing pallets of bats. The bats had been forced into hibernation by refrigeration, and they offered no resistance as technicians clipped pyrotechnic payloads to their backs and placed them in compartments. Once each canister was full, it was loaded into a bomb casing, and once each bomb was complete, it was returned to the refrigerator. The plan was to load the bombs onto bombers within days.

Drake supervised the entire loading process, save for a few hours of sleep in a corner. He was responsible for the operation; in the best tradition of military command, he fulfilled his duty to complete his mission as ordered.

Besides, he had an ulterior motive.

As the loading operation drew to a close, Drake walked up and down the rows of work benches, dismissing the technicians, giving his personal thanks for a job well done. He stopped for a moment to help a WAC load the last canister into her bomb, and volunteered to help her return it to the cooler. He made small talk as he helped her winch the bomb into its cradle and wheel it down the aisle. No, she wasn't afraid of bats. Yes, she had been widowed in the war; her husband had died in the Battle of the Bulge. She was glad to help win victory in any way she could.

Drake decided that she would get her wish, albeit the victory he sought wasn't the one she was looking for. He had his own plan for the conquest of Japan; it was one of the last places on earth in which the Kingdom had no presence. The war had delayed the Kingdom's expansion, but the war was coming to an end. More importantly, the Japanese Empire was falling, and the Empire's protectors, their ranks severely depleted by the war, could no longer keep the Kingdom at bay.

Japan would be defeated in more ways than one.

Drake's plan was simple: First, he needed to consume the blood of a human. The WAC would do nicely. Then he would inoculate as many of the bats as possible with his blood, while also defusing their incendiary payloads. His bats would survive the bombing raid and the attack, only to begin feeding on the Japanese population. The victims would become soldiers for the cause. Ancient prophesy would be fulfilled; having conquered the East, the Kingdom would rule the Earth.

Drake helped his intended victim secure her bomb in the cooler. She turned toward him, shivering slightly in the cold, and asked if there was anything further he required.

Drake extended his hand as if to shake hers, intending to do something far more sinister. She took his hand and shook it warmly, stepping slightly closer to him, looking into his eyes with wistful longing. Drake smiled slightly and closed the distance further, anticipating the feast. As he took a final step, he realized that her eagerness was not what it seemed. Fire grew in her eyes, but, too late, he realized it was not the fire of passion. It was the passion of a Slayer. She pulled a wooden stake from beneath her blouse and plunged it into his chest. He lay there, dying, powerless to intervene as she set a fire and left.

The plant burned for three days.

“Mom! I'm going up to the cave to kill the vampire bat!”

Ten year old Brian strutted through the kitchen decked out in his finest vampire hunting garb; sneakers and blue jeans accented by an old overcoat, hitched up by safety pins. The ensemble was topped off, literally, with an old fedora his grandpa used to wear.

Anni paused in her dinner preparations long enough to address her youngest son. “Well, don't you look fierce! Don't be gone too long; we'll be eating around 6. We're having your favorite, tacos.”

Two days prior Anni was in the basement doing laundry when a bat gained entry and launched a campaign of terror and intimidation. While bravely guarding the back corner of the room, wedged between a wall and the washing machine, the rest of the family joined the fray and banished the rouge mammal to the outside world.

Brian had declared his mom bitten and that she would succumb to vampirism unless the bat was tracked down and killed. He suspected its lair was in a nearby cave.

Anni called into the living room. “Joe! Go with your brother and keep an eye on him.”

Joe stampeded his way into the kitchen, shoving his little brother aside. “Mom! Don't make me go along with the twerp! I'm right in the middle of...”

The Glare cut further protestations short. You don't argue with a mom.

“All right, come on you little wiener.”

***

The two brothers set out for the nearby hills. Their destination wasn't too far, just one of the advantages of rural living.

“Look, I don't know what you've got planned up there, but let's get it over with and get back, all right; I don't want to be out here all evening.”

“We can't rush this. We have to find the vampire bat that bit mom before she turns into...one of them!”

Joe almost rolled his eyes right out of his head.

Before too long they were at the cave entrance. Brian took the point.

“All right, we need to find the monsters' resting place. I'll look to the right, you check out the other side.”

“Doofus, this "cave" is maybe ten feet deep and almost as wide; I don't think we'll have too much trouble finding...what is that?”

Joe was pointing to a small box on the floor in the middle of the cave. Brian ran to it.

“You found its coffin!"

“You mean we found the box you put here yesterday? Amazing. Well, I'm worn out; let's go back...”

Brian was already kneeling at the box. “Come on, let's open it and see what we're dealing with here.”

Joe heaved a sigh that could blow a ship off course and joined his brother. Together they opened the box and looked inside. Laying among a bed of straw was a rubber novelty bat.

It was wearing a tiny little Dracula cape.

“Oh, for the love of...”

“Quick, Joe; take these! You have to do it! I'll keep a lookout for its minions!”

Brian was holding out a ball peen hammer and half a chopstick.

Joe closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. OK, get it over with quickly and get back home, he thought. He took the tools and lined up the chopstick. With a solid whack he drove the “stake” into the fake bat and a thick red goo squirted out.

He scraped some of the ichor off his hand and sniffed it. “Is this...strawberry jam?”

Brain was jumping up and down with delight. “We did it, we did it! No more vampire bat menace! Quick, let's go tell mom she's safe now!” With that, he took off back home, overcoat flapping in the breeze.

Joe followed close behind, wondering how much more of this tomfoolery he'd have to put up with.

They left behind the devastated remains of the dreaded vampire bat, rendering the unsuspecting community safe once again.

“Baby is alright . . . she doesn’t mind a bit of dirt, she says, horror vampire BAT BITE!”

Arm in arm, Ange and Dora stumbled across the park singing with cracking voices after a night of too much drinking, too much smoking and not enough dancing; their elaborate eye make up, once meticulously applied was now smudging at the corners and their dark lipstick reduced to a forgotten outline from when they had ditched decorum and straws and moved on to tequila slammers.

“Ooooh! There’s another one!” Ange squealed as the dark outline of a fruit bat casually soared above them. “When did the music get so crap? I miss the old days. Now everything sounds like trance with whiny vocals.”

“God, I know!” Dora groaned as the stumbled onwards. “I don’t even know why we bother go out anymore.”

They broke away from the tree line across the clearing that would lead them to their street; neither of them noticed the figure standing in the dark until they nearly bumped straight into him. He had black hair slicked back and the faintest outline of black around his eyes; his black leather pants were tucked into knee-high Doc Martins with a giant bat belt buckle just above his skinny hips mirroring the silver bat pendant hanging from a chain around his neck. In one hand he held a small plastic bag of diced fruit, the other hand, held out and palm skyward, held a slice of apple.

Both girls paused to watch him, but he paid no attention to them, staring resolutely at the sky. “Oi! You gave me a fright, creeping around in the dark like that!” Dora shouted with a combination of Dutch courage and seniority: the boy looked young, barely twenty if that, giving the girls a good ten years on him.

“Shhh! Just stand back quietly and watch!” he whispered fiercely.

Ange laughed, “Watch what?” But the whooshing sound of large wings made both girls jump as the air ruffled their hair. A flying fox landed on the boy’s arm, a tiny dog’s face set in tawny fur and large leathery wings; it crawled awkwardly down his silk shirt sleeve to get to the apple piece on his hand, chattering as it went. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” the boy cooed as they watched the bat nibble the apple and fly off again.

“Oh my God, how did you do that?” Dora gasped but the boy just turned to them and nodded, “I’ve got a way with animals. They just want to hang out and say hello.”

“That’s incredible! Hey, I’ve never seen you around here before, I’m Ange . . .”

“Angelique!” Dora laughed.

“Shut up! Nobody calls me that . . .” Ange blushed under flawlessly pale foundation.

“Your Mum calls you that.”

“Exactly. Nobody calls me that.” Ange turned back to the boy. “Anyway, you are . . . ?”

“Bram,” replied the boy with the slightest of Mona Lisa smiles.

“Oh come on,” snorted Dora, “you don’t expect us to believe that! What’s your real name?”

“Well, you won’t believe me if I tell you my real name.”

“Try me.”

The boy flashed that elusive smile again. “Vlad. My family’s from Romania.”

“You’re right,” scoffed Dora. “I don’t believe that. Alright then, Vlad, show us some ID. Driver’s licence or something. I want proof you’re not one of those delusional roleplayer types.”

“I don’t have any ID on me.”

“So you are making it up . . .”

“Oh, give it a rest, Dora! What do you care anyway?” snapped Ange before turning back to the bat-boy. “Hey, we’re going home to put a dent in a bottle of red wine, you’re welcome to join us if you want?”

“Thanks, but wine’s not my sort of drink,” he declined and the girls shrugged.

“Never mind,” said Ange. “Our place is the old weatherboard place on Grant Street. You can’t miss it - it’s got a big picture of Godzilla in the front window. Drop by sometime if you want.”

“You know, I might just have to take you up on your offer, since you’ve so kindly invited me into your home,” the boy said graciously. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye!” As the two girls walked away, they pressed their heads close and giggled. “Oh my God, you were so trying to pick him up!” laughed Dora, whispering.

“Well, he was cute, if a little weird. Plus, how cool was that bat!” Their conversation was cut short by a gust of wind whipping around them, threatening to topple them over. They spun around but the bat-boy was gone: in his place, hundreds of bats – true bats, with dark tiny bodies and squashed, fanged faces – fluttered around them in a whirlwind of claws and wings, tugging their hair and scratching their faces before swirling in a black mass into the moonlit night . . .

------------------

* - Lyrics courtesy of 'Release the Bats' by The Birthday Party

“Do you Sandra Jane....aaaaaaagh, it's a bat!”

At the minister's words the entire wedding party ducked and covered. The creature seemed to be particularly attracted to the bride. Perhaps her perfume smelled like mosquito. The congregation squealed and huddled in their pews.

Sandra Jane Fitzgeorge was a bride who knew her own mind. Unfortunately she stopped there. It was as if having taken all the effort to shape a thought, her mind was too exhausted to deal with other people's thoughts. Being a pragmatic sort, she just ignored all input from other people. People who pushed too hard to make her listen were summarily dealt with. I could imagine her as a queen in medieval castle beheading her courtiers left and right.

Just in case you think that I am being too harsh on the girl, let me tell you about the rehearsal.

“Welcome to St. Francis” Rev. Jim beamed, “This evening we will go over the service and make sure you all know what you need to do.”

“Get on with it then,” interrupted the bride, “The rehearsal dinner is in an hour.”

He could have pointed out that if she had been on time, that wouldn't be a problem. Instead he just smiled faintly and started organizing the wedding party. When he finally had them in their places. He started running through the service.

“We begin by welcoming people to the worship....” I normally enjoy the rehearsals more than the wedding itself, but the bride found something to change in every part of the service, and while she wasted time she complained that her rehearsal dinner was going to get cold. Then we got to the choreography; I played too softly on the recessional so I pulled out all the stops and made the windows rattle. Then she told me that I played Largo too slowly. I looked at the bridesmaid who had been told that there were other people who would fit in her dress. The poor girl was still sniffling and hiccuping. That was a terrible thing to say to her younger sister. With apologies to Handel I turned his stately march into something resembling a jig. I was thankful that the church policy was that we all got paid the night of the rehearsal, in cash. I wouldn't put it past this bride to stop payment on a check.

Now a flying mouse had the temerity to disturb the perfect ceremony that Sandra Jane had worked, fought and shed (other people's) tears for. I was a good thing that I had my back to the congregation or they would have seen my delighted grin. I got my face under control and reached for the fishnet under my seat.

There is a knack to catching bats. The trick is get the net in front of them quickly enough that the space in the middle looks safe. For some reason the netting doesn't register well on their sonar. It took only a couple of tries to snag the poor beast. I winked at the young bridesmaid as I carried the net and bat out of the church. She smiled tremulously back, then snapped to attention as she saw the bride regain her feet. Rev. Jim continued with the service looking nervously around the church. He has a deathly fear of the harmless animals. It probably comes from watching too many late night movies.

I must say that he is a consummate professional. He had the service back on track with a quiet joke to set the congregation at ease. Sandra Jane's jaw was so clenched I expected her face to explode. Her groom on the other hand kept rubbing his neck. I doubt he even noticed that he had said “Oh, sure.” instead of “I do.”

They got through the remainder of the service with out a hitch. Sandra Jane allowed the groom a brief peck to mark the exchange of their vows. The soloist finished just as the witnesses finished signing. She wasn't getting paid, poor girl, and had been threatened with the seventh circle of Hades if her timing was off. I was very impressed. I didn't think any one could sing while they were shaking that hard. I pulled the stops out and go ready for the thunderous recessional.

At the first chord, the other five bats that I had put into the organ pipes flew out and dive bombed the congregation. The brides gathered her skirts and ran screaming out of the church, followed closely by the bridesmaids and the rest of the people.

I played until the last person had left then dissolved into laughter at my keyboard.

Thousands of bats native to Romania fly overhead each night singing songs of complex syllables -- but at frequencies too high for humans to hear.

It was about 9 o’clock in the evening. Dr Rykeir was still working in his lab. He knew that he had to finish his work till it gets dark. The sunset would begin at 22.37, so he had enough time; it is very dangerous to lead the experiment during the night hours.
Dr Rykeir didn’t expect for his ray to work today. Suddenly, he realized that a few more screws there and there and success! Another genius creation from Dr Rykeir! He was hesitating: should he wait till tomorrow, when there would be plenty of time for testing, or should he risk by switching it on tonight? The temptation was too big. He took one of the lab bats, put it under the ray and switched it on. The bat started to sing. Special dynamics defined the frequency and began the process. Dr Rykeir got more and more excited. Soon, he would become the first human ever to hear a bat’s song. It would be an evolution in the world of music! A new era was opening before him!
But, shortly after he heard the first sounds, he was very perplexed. He turned the dynamics a little louder. He couldn’t believe his ears - the bat wasn’t singing, it was talking!

« So, hey there, professor! I see you’ve finally fixed the volume, so you can now hear me properly. Surprised I can talk? Well, I am not the least animal in the world, you know, and in the end, I am the only mammal whom God himself gave a capability to fly. Of course, there are flying squirrels, and flying possums, and colugos but they can only glide for limited distances, so that doesn’t count. By the way, you did a great job, professor! Congratulations! I hope your ego will be satisfied for some time with another successful invention. You, humans, are so easy to please. And you’re such cowards! I mean, why do you have to run away every time you see a bat? Well, at least it prevents you from liking us; otherwise you would start keeping us as pets, which would be much worse. So selfish! Eeeek! You are totally convinced you are the only ones who have right for life, for love. But others have feelings too. I have a family, you know, and a newborn baby. By the way, how dare you, scientists, define our babies as pups? That is so wrong! However, I am now happy that you are so irresponsible. You made a big mistake, professor, by not waiting till tomorrow. You forgot about the time and in a few seconds the sun will not be seen on the horizon. Oh, it’s a pity you don’t see your
face now, you look so confused. Well, there’s no more time to wait. It’s payback time! »

Bat’s teeth started to grow. Then the bat hit the glass; one hit, then another - the glass cracked, on the third time the bat broke the glass. It flew to Dr Rykeir and bit him in the neck. He fainted. The bat sat on his body.

« I hope he’ll learn a lesson. I gave him the worst punishment I could for killing half of the bats in the country for the experiments no one needed. Oh, surely it’s a worthy punishment. It is worse that simple death. Now, he will not be alive though, but still, it will be very hard for him to die. He will have a miserable life, if a life of a vampire can be called a life. It seems more like an existence to me. Such a pity I have to die because of such nobody. I wish God would have made us less alike to bees in this case. »