I have a recurring nightmare where I’m being consumed by vampires. You know, the old Boogie Man scenario. I’m usually taken in by someone who appears to be one thing and then turns out to be something else, in this case, a vampire. I often wake from this horror and pull the covers over my head like a little child and pray God to let me go back to sleep without the damn vampires glistening teeth and glowing eyes. It’s so real it scares the living shit out of me. I’ve always believed that this vampire dream is possibly some Jungian symbolism or perhaps a curse left behind from some former jilted lover. Some fear of others taking my life from me in some symbolic way. I always figured it was the vampires out to get me. But today I had another thought. What if I am the vampire?

I’m beginning to think that my recurring vampire dreams are a horror of my own actions. As someone who dabbles in words I have become the thief of others lives. Since my own experiences will only pale in comparison to the host of stories and lives that surround me, I’ve become, unconsciously at first, and now consciously aware of others around me and dreaming of their stories and lives. I listen to the words of others, not because I give a damn or have any empathy or concern, but because I know that at any moment I could harvest a word or emotion from their lips. I listen and sometimes look into their eyes, but like the un-dead, I take the heart of their lives and the sum of their soul, the blood of their very existence. Is the horror of my dreams my own judgment against myself for the theft of their personality, a sin that may be more vial than the spilling of blood? The theft of their very heart and soul and the substance that makes them who they are has become my crime.

I have become the gatherer of tears. The dream-stalker.