《March of the Infernal Undead》 Yeh-wol-ye-hi-he-a-din: We Know of No Fear Context: I try to make these little (super short ones oh my) stories go against the general view of what a vampire is. I know the job I''m doing isn''t too great. These are rough drafts, I plan to redo this later after all of them are done. This story is from the Navajo POV. Since there is no real "vampire" here, I used the skinwalker. Here is the little cultural background. (Source: http://www.native-languages.org/native-vampires.htm) Skin-Walker: Skin-walkers are fearsome shapeshifting monsters of Navajo legend. They are created when humans use forbidden evil magic and/or commit terrible crimes such as killing their own parents. Perhaps they resemble European legends of werewolves somewhat more than vampires, since skinwalkers are best known for assuming the form of animals at night to prey upon humans, then returning to human form during the daylight hours. But they also have some behaviors reminiscent of vampires, chiefly an avoidance of sunlight, immunity to normal weapons, mind-reading ability, and the ability to hypnotize and exert control over people who look them in the eyes. The best way to kill a skinwalker is to determine his secret identity, which then leaves him vulnerable to defeat during the daytime. In some stories, medicine men can also prepare sacred weapons that can be used to kill a skinwalker. So that''s it, onto the actual story. In Navajo, we do not say goodbye, we sayY''t''h (Yah-at-eh). That means see you later.. My clan was so proud of my enlistment. It took days to get to a plane from where I lived farming sheep and goats. Our livelihood. I had to get from my home to our college to the nearest airport hours away. Finally reaching this foreign city I cannot spell, somewhere else in the country I guess, I enlisted as, what the United States Marine Corps would call us, the Navajo Code Talkers. I live in the United States, it is my country, despite what they had done to my brothers and sisters in the past. Despite what they are still doing. I want to serve my country and show that though the United States people, who call themselves "Americans", who call us "Native Americans", that we can still fight for our country, the one in which we were born. The one in which we live. Our main job was to create a code for the United states to use in their battles in Japan. The Navajo language is much different from any language that they thought this would be good. It was weird to be with many of the United States men. They did not really know how to talk to us. If we knew English, that is. My English was the best of my people there, though it was not very good then. It still is not. Our first mission against the Japanese people, one of the code talkers was captured. He, knowing that the enemy would try to get the code out of him, used a grenade and committed suicide. That night, my people and I held a ceremony for him. The United States men did not help. I do not think they understood. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Still, no one knew my secret. Our battles were hard fought. We lost a lot of men, and also lost Pacific Islands, which I guess was bad. I had figured the United States had taken enough of people''s land, that they didn''t need any in the Pacific Ocean. The ocean was more pretty than I had ever imagined. Blue and also green and gray and white and purple. I could not describe it if I tried. In some ways, the ocean is more pretty than the Grand Canyon, or Canyon De Chelle. Neither are ours. We just live here, we do not own the land we live on. That is where the rest of the United States people do not understand. You try to own the land. You do not. The blankets our clans gave us for our trip were too warm for the weather. I guess winters are not as cold here. Another thing. Many volcanoes, as the United States people told us, are here. They have not blown up, so I guess the land thinks our missions are good. Or maybe it thinks the Japanese are good. Either way, we do not worry about volcanoes. You would think, after being around me for so long, my brothers would figure out my secret. When we won the war after the bombings of the Japanese cities which I can''t spell, I think that is when my brothers figured it out, on our way home .They did not seem afraid, my brothers. Maybe they trusted me after all our time together. Maybe they knew I would not kill them. Maybe they just did not know of the crime I was created by. My other brothers and sisters did not agree. Even after fighting for our country, and seeing many of my brothers die, they did not trust me. They just knew I had to die. I suppose I deserve it. Skinwalkers never live that long. Someone always figures it out. I lasted many years, though. Here I am now, with the medicine man. He made a weapon he say should kill me. They already knew of my identity. I told them . The crime that was committed to create me was patricide. A young man poisoned his father, and he died from sickness. And I was made. In Navajo, we do not say goodbye, we sayY''t''h. That means see you later. Y''t''h. Thank you for reading my story. Hopefully, you do not think of me as a monster. I did not kill. I used my powers to help my people, even if they did not consider me a person in the end. Hopefully you think of me as a hero. That''s all I ask. Y''t''h. Nothing Left To Do (US) Nothing Left To Do In 1942, I joined the Allied forces in what they would call World War II. In 2016, I returned to the site of my hardest battle I ever fought, the beaches of Normandy France to commemorate the brave men that fought with and against me in that awful battle, I, still only looking 19 years old. I was 200 years old. When I signed up for the draft, this was my first war. I had never seen the glory in war before this, it seemed futile, and not to my intense liking. However, the reasons over World War 2s beginnings seemed more interesting isnt the right word. I would have to say the reasons over this particular seemed more noble to me. A man should never have that much power, that much sway over the human race. As a forever-young vampire (how I despise that word), I feel that I have those same qualities, so I fought against a human that I knew could never live forever, that I could defeat, so no one would bear that same immortality that I was forced to live. How wrong I was, Adolf Hitler lives on in a more permanent immortality, if that makes sense. I will not be remembered, but he will. The soldiers in wars seldom live on forever, but the ones who led it all, they do, which is the immortality I think is more permanent. I always liked the US. The country was founded on freedom, and I can relate to that. Freedom is a wonderful thing, and a good battle to fight. I could never die by their weapons, so I figured I could join up and fight for the country I had lived in for centuries, be a part of something nobler than killing people for their blood and running around trying to stay hidden so I was never found out. Immediately after the draft, after I had been proven in yet another state as being indeed old enough to draft (oh if they only knew), I was sent off to the European front lines, right to Italy, where I would spend two years, until the Normandy attacks. I wont go into the explicit detail of each meeting with an enemy because I cant remember what happened, to be honest. Too much blood around me leaves me foggy in the brain. However, in each little village or town or city, we came upon, desolated by war, we would find families holding on to the rubble of their once-homes, their once-lives. I, not needing the rations the country provided for us, would create lies about surplus goods and give mine to families who needed them. Sitting in makeshift camps even a month into my service, seeing the too-young 18-year-old boys exclaiming Im gonna be a hero, by God. Ill get home and ask my girl to marry me, a hero!! The other men, fresh and worn down alike all looked to me as if expecting a similar response. I shrugged and made up some lie about not having anyone to go home to. They asked, well, whore you fighting for then, kid? In my sad, twisted smile, I softly responded every time with no one, but myself. They would all fall silent and look at the fresh young faces sadly, knowing that the boy they came into this war as would die. Maybe not literally, but even if he lived, the boy he was, would die as brutally as enemies and friends alike. In 1944, the Battle of Normandy was harder to fight, only because of two things: the bullet wounds never killed me, and my fellow soldiers were incredulous and suspicious. The other difficult part was that my best friend, the only one I told my little vampiric secret to, was killed in battle. I begged him, sobbing, to let me turn him, so he wouldnt die, he couldnt, not yet, not with his wife at home, and his just-born daughter. Not with me all alone without him. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.Please..let me do this please, if not for me, for your family Emily Margaret. Shes too young to not have a father. No, you know I cant. Id rather both of them know Im a dead hero than a live I knew he meant monster. He died exactly thirteen minutes and 17 seconds later. December 25th, 17:32., 1944. When we began liberating the Concentration Camps, I tried telling my troops to not feed the emaciated prisoners their rations, as good as their intentions were. I could smell that their blood was too thin and that their bodies wouldnt take well to the rich food. They seldom listened to me. I watched prisoners die from food, what an awfully nice way to go, though, if you think about it. To die by the food you hadnt tasted in perhaps years, to die knowing that finally, these damn Yankees were finally showing kindness and goodwill toward them. After the war, I returned to my small town in Montana. I thought that if my whole troop and all the rest of my men could drink away their problems, then I could, too. No bar would serve someone who looked 19, no matter how hard I tried telling them I was 21. No one would believe me, even the more sympathetic bartenders wouldnt let me get drunk to forget all I had seen. Fast-forward (a term I just learned) to now. I stand at the Normandy Beach Memorial. I see my old friends tombstone: Joshua Potter, who died far too soon for a war far too long. His daughter and grandchildren and great-grandchildren know of my predicament. How could they not, Joshua was awful at keeping secrets from family. They didnt seem to care, seeing as how this whole vampire-mania situation has taken hold of popular culture. One of his great-granddaughters has taken a special liking to me, and I to her, I futilely try to distance myself from her, but she looks so much like Joshua, that I cant help but love her. But she will die one day, and there''s only so many years of a seeming age difference that seems acceptable. But this isnt a love story, so Ill stop right there. Im standing in front of my Lieutenant''s tombstone. His, who I can only assume is his widowed wife, in her nineties, stares at me. I saw pictures of your grandfather from Andrews pictures. Alexander Saint was a good man. You look just like your grandfather, you know. I smile the same sad, twisted smile I did years ago, listening to kids talk about their grand dreams of heroism. Yeah, I get that a lot. Would you like to go to lunch with me? Id like to hear about you husband. She says yes. And for the first time since the war, I hear stories about myself, Lieutenant Andrew, and my war. face 袙械谢懈泻邪褟 胁芯泄薪邪 [Velikaya Voyna (The Great War)] ֧ݧڧܧѧ ӧۧߧ [Velikaya Voyna (The Great War)] The Battle of Stalingrad tested my loyalties to Comrade Stalin. We were being starved and people were eating one another, and I was one of the cannibals. I have an excuse, before you go and report me to the Comrade General. This secret must be kept very classified, do not tell anyone, for this will surely send hunters out to kill me with the only weapons that will affect me. I am a vampire, and the Slavic people do not take too kindly to vampires, especially right now. It is somewhat easier to, as they say, blend in when cannibalism is rampant. I just have to kill a person, take their blood, and blame it on starvation later or even suicide, if I think of it. I just slit their wrists, and say later oh poor thing couldnt take it anymore, just killed himself. See? Easy. Before blood-lust sidetracked me, this so-called Battle of Stalingrad really tested my loyalties. This very thought could get me sent off to gulags if this got off. This may be more damning than the vampirism. No one goes against Comrade Stalin, Our Great and Powerful Leader. The gulags are rumored to be worse than these camps Adolf Hitler has created. I hope to experience neither. The blood is already awful in this emaciated city. What it would be like in one of those camps? When our capital of Stalingrad was invaded by the Nazis, with whom we were once-almost allies in a non-aggression pact (look how well that turned out), we were sent little aid by our Gracious Leader Comrade Stalin. We, the innocent bystanders of Stalingrad, were barricaded into our city with little food and supplies. Dying began soon after. With no resources and food, mothers began eating their children, just for food. I had to sit by and watch my once-friends and comrades eat each other. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.Then, in a miraculous turn of events, a man whom I had never seen approached me and told me of this magic that would sate hunger, thirst, and want, forever. This, in my starving mind, sounded promising. I was turned. I awoke from the unconsciousness I was in, and quickly began my plan of murdering the humans who were already close to death. Their deaths blended into the rest. When food would scarcely come upon our barricaded city, I would give my small amount to a child who needed it. What would I need food for? This of course raised suspicion, and my fellow comrades became convinced that I was hoarding food. To keep my secret safe, they had to be killed. Keeping my secret caused more bloodshed than I ever wanted. I was a monster. I often wonder about whether or not making Comrade Stalin (who never really was our comrade, instead he was a paranoid ruler that we never saw) into a vampire. I wonder the same about Mr. Adolf Hitler. If I had turned them, would they have made different choices? Would they have fled like I did after Stalingrad was won? Or would they have killed more people to sate that hunger that constantly aches within? I wonder this, and then have deep philosophical thoughts about the definition of vampires. Most consider vampires to suck the life force out of the victim. Life force does not always mean blood... Maybe I never had to turn Comrade Stalin and the Great Fuhrer. Maybe I never had to. Maybe they already were. This Was Our War, Too This Was Our War, Too All we were trying to do really was prepare for the Raid on Normandy. Really. But now I am a POW in Nazi France. It is rather hard to explain why I joined the Air Force in the RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force). Maybe for the adventure. Maybe for the change of scenery. Maybe for the fact that I can never die, so weapons mean nothing to me. Vampirism has few perks, but (tentative) immunity to weapons is a nice one. Before our failed raid, the youngest boy there, just 18, and looking for heroism to show his dad he is nothing like him, told us of his dreams of coming back home to his friends and family with honors and medals alike. We looked at him, years showing on our faces (me only looking about 20), and remained silent. This boys ideas of grandeur earned him honors alright, and also a proper soldier funeral. The POW camp is not, well, it isnt the Ritz-Carlton. I must say, the thing I miss most is film. I saw the birth of it, and I want to live long enough to see a colorized one. Those arent terribly common. The hardest part of being a POW (I dont think I mentioned what that stood for. Prisoner of War) is not the grueling, all consuming boredom. In fact, it is the fact that food is not needed, and I cannot eat it. I suppose it would be because this food is mostly vegetables and fruit, and well theres no blood in produce. I know we need to get out of here before anyone realized what I am. I know one day my fellow prisoners will die, and I will not. Then our jailers will find out, and kill me. Its not like its a secret of how to kill my kind. I have a plan, however. Its stupid and awful and risky and slightly risque. Im going to kill the jailers to get my prisoners out. And I have to gain trust of the Nazis wife, by, well, you know. It all started off well, until Ilona died. I had to kill her, you see. Thats what I tell myself. I tried to control the blood lust, but you can imagine. Blood during sex smells better. I gained her trust early. She wasnt very faithful to her husband. But, to be fair, her husband is about 23 years older than she. Once she died, I had to escape fast, before anyone noticed. I only gained her trust for keys to the prison. I was escorted back to my cell by a security man. No one suspected anything yet, Everyone knew of this tryst I had with Ilona. They knew not to disrupt her for at least two hours after I left. Please, listen to me. I am not lying, please! They stared at me. Vampire? Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.Yes! I am. Why else would I not eat anything?! But a vampire? Hell no, you must have gotten shot in the head back in the raid. NO! Please, if you dont believe me, just let me get you out of here. I have keys. They looked at each other. Okay. We went slowly. Hey! Why are you...AAH! I bit him, and took his blood quickly. He had to die. Oh my god. Youre a monster.. I.. we...I need to go back. I stared at him, blood dripping down my chin. He stayed. We continued on until the doors were in sight. At least fifty guards were there, and they all ran at us. I had gotten my men guns, and we attacked. In no more than 10 minutes we had decimated them, and I had my blood. They ran away right as we got out, firing guns as needed. They never looked back to me. They never made it past the French border. They never said thanks. They never said goodbye. I received a letter from one of my men very recently. About a month ago, after everything calmed down. He thanked me for saving him. He was home, with his family. He had kids, and a wife. He had a life. I didnt. He told me in a very short letter that he was grateful for me saving them. He gave me an address and a phone number. His. I was given an invitation to come by for Christmas dinner. I could have steak as rare as I want it to be. I went by once. Only once. His funeral. I could never leave an impression on his family. I could never allow myself that happiness. I could never allow myself that human experience. I am a monster.