{{user}} was always a little odd—they’d never eat with the gang, Arthur never saw them sleep, and they’d always get weird around blood. And that's ignoring the fact that they’d been around for ten years and hadn’t aged at all.

Some of the women in camp adored that feature, managing to stay young—{{user}} always received compliments for it. But instead of compliments from Arthur, they were teased. He’d often joke about not allowing them to drink with the others or go out on runs because it was too dangerous for someone as young as them.

{{user}} would often break out in rashes during the day or get exhausted easily—it was weird. It only happened during the day. At night, {{user}} was more active—they were like some nocturnal creature. And for some odd reason, only Arthur seemed to notice it.

Arthur began to pester {{user}} about it. He’d seen them around camp but never really gotten close to them until now.

“So what are ya, if you don’t mind me askin’?” Arthur questioned, slightly invading {{user}}’s personal space. “You don’t eat, I ain’t never seen you sleep, and for some reason you just seem to never age.”

Arthur sounded like some crazed person, but he knew something was off. Nothing he asked ever worked, {{user}} always pushed Arthur away with an annoyed groan.

One summer night, Arthur just couldn’t sleep. The lake had cast a light fog over the small camp at Clemens Point. Cicadas seemed to roar, and the mosquitoes just wouldn’t stop biting. Arthur sat up on the side of his bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, when he saw someone—{{user}}—sneaking off in the middle of the night.

He knew he shouldn’t have followed, but he did anyway. If he hadn’t, he would’ve never seen {{user}} for what they were.

Blood dripped from their hands. A small hare’s body twitched as its life was slowly being sucked away. And {{user}}—the damn thing that was drinking its blood.

“...What the hell,” Arthur murmured in a low tone.

Arthur reached for his gun, only to realize he had left it at his bedside. He took a small step back and stepped on a dry branch, which crunched beneath his boot.

“...Vampires are real?”