Unscripted

The following piece is from my years on “The Freak Beat,” a period of time when it seemed I wrote a lot of stories about the strange, bizarre and unexpected. But then again, I did live in Savannah at the time, a city full of ghosts, zombies and, of course, vampires. No, not role-players. Real vampires. It’s true. Just ask them.

Vampires’ Night Out
Even Savannah’s “undead” and their friends like to paint the town red every now and then.

The moon looks like a blood-red orange cut in half as dread passes over me. The sensation is momentary, but justifiable. I am, after all, standing at the threshold of a vampire sanctuary.

And not just any vampire sanctuary. This one is occupied by the director of Black Oaks Savannah, a local organization that serves the city’s vampires, witches, druids and pagans.

When Black Oaks sent a notice to the Savannah Morning News announcing an early August meet-and-greet social to be held at Elysium, a downtown wine bar, I was intrigued.

What do vampires talk about at a wine bar, I wondered.

So I made contact and asked for an interview.

The vampire said to meet him before the gathering at his sanctuary to discuss some of the broader points of vampirism.

I learned the sanctuary is at the corner of Drayton and 39th streets, behind a specialty shop called Familiar Pathways. The business is new to me, but the building it resides in is not. A good friend of mine used to live in the upstairs apartment.

That’s when I realized a mere three degrees separates me from a vampire.

“A TOUCHY SUBJECT”
He calls himself Alistair, but that’s not the name his mama gave him. Nor did she give him his full rank and title: Lord Alistair Dark, Patriarch of House Dark Haven. His “house” is one of a growing number of “families” of vampires in the region.

His mom did give him a good Christian name. But what it is, I have promised not to say.

The reason is that Alistair is old school, which means he drinks blood.

Not just any blood, of course. A sanguine vampire is vulnerable to disease if he or she just goes around town “grazing.” And besides, “grazing” is so Hollywood, Alistair says. What sensible vampire would go about sticking his teeth into any old neck? Who knows where it’s been?

Instead, Alistair calls on his “concubines” to feed his need, and for this reason, he doesn’t want his real name used. He says he is a member of the community in good standing. He sits on the committee of a prominent neighborhood association. He calls the mayor a good friend. The last thing he needs is people brandishing wooden stakes or flinging holy water in his face.

“It’s a touchy subject,” Alistair says.

“A SALTY STEAK”
When I enter the sanctuary, the first thing I notice is red - the walls, rug and curtains. A red light bulb blazes under the ceiling fan. Swords stand in corners, knives and daggers rest on tables. Lit candles cast shadows across a menagerie of bric-a-brac: a gong, incense holders, masks. Above the mantel hang the letters “HDH” in brass: House Dark Haven.

Inside, Alistair’s face is veiled in shadow and I can’t distinguish his features until he shakes my hand. Then I see his blood-red contact lenses and very real-looking fangs, both unnerving.

Later on, we talk about one of the masks.

“It belonged to a concubine of mine,” Alistair says. “She was murdered.”

Alistair sits with another vampire named Cryptic. Outside the sanctuary, about a dozen vampires get ready for the evening’s “dress-to-impress” gathering. I hear a woman giggle when Cryptic uses one of many terms unique to vampire groups.

“Fluffy bunnies,” he says.

He means role-playing vampires. In contrast, Alistair and Cryptic are for real. They are dedicated heads of “families.” Both have undergone an “awakening,” an experience best described as a born-again conversion for vampires. Each lives by a book of vampire code called “The Black Veil.”

Protection of the family is paramount. To demonstrate, they tell me that I have been tested several times during the interview. They don’t say how, leaving me to wonder if not bolting out the door or laughing makes for a passing grade.

Perhaps they thought I’d scram when Cryptic said he could feed off me at will. He’s a new-school vampire, after all, able to suck people’s psychic energy.

Human blood, one would assume then, is an acquired taste.

“It has lots of minerals,” Alistair says.

“Like a salty steak,” Cryptic adds.

“YOU ARE NOT ALONE”
At one point, I ask what being a “real vampire” means. Really.

Real vampires, they say, don’t turn into bats, burst into flames in sunlight or fear crucifixes.

“If you shot me, I’d die,” Cryptic says.

Real vampirism is more subtle. They don’t believe they have supernatural powers, but do believe in allowing themselves to feel desires they naturally have. All people have the ability to experience the light and dark sides of their nature, if only they’d admit it, the group believes.

Since I passed their tests, they think I have potential to be a vampire, too.

“A vampire is a person who knows he needs something more out of the mundane world,” Cryptic says.

Thanks, anyway, I think. But I’m all good.

Vampirism resembles a religion when you strip away its taboos (drinking blood, etc.). Like other faiths, it seems to seek the truth about one’s absolute nature. It provides laws for governing social structure and it upholds a value system guided by an authoritative book.

“Most vampires grew up in a Christian home and believe in God,” Alistair says.

Taboos, however, are what make vampirism an outsider’s religion. It’s appealing to those who already feel, for whatever reason, like pariahs. For this reason, I thought perhaps a vampire’s “awakening” might be more than a celebration of the macabre. Maybe “awakening” is just another name for the feeling of being utterly alone turning into the feeling of being validated and accepted.

Sure, it’s creepy companionship, but at least it’s companionship.

“(We) have created this group,” said the announcement for the get-together at Elysium, “to help with the awakening … and to let all others know you are not alone.”

Alistair’s blood-red eyes seem less unnerving now. They look lonely, even sad.

LIKE TRENT REZNOR?
Here’s what I talked about with vampires and their friends at Elysium.

I chatted with a 300-pound druid about life insurance.

I gabbed with a blonde witch about her fabulous white ball gown.

I bantered with a vampire about the essential differences between sweet tea brewed in Texas and Georgia.

A female vampire winked at me before asking about the beer I was drinking.

Another vampire reminded me of the primacy of sexual intercourse.

An apprentice witch wanted to know what “secular” meant during our brief chat about religion.

When I spoke to Alistair again, he looked far less shadowy than before. He sat at a table beneath a street lamp, where I could see that his black wig was a little too big for his head. It called to mind the image of a small boy trying on his dad’s shoes.

He told me about his custom furniture business and about making a special coffin for Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails. Reznor is also a vampire, Alistair said, and used the coffin in one of his videos.

At some point, I told Alistair how my friend used to live in the building that houses his sanctuary. I wanted to know what a vampire thinks about the randomness of human connection. I was hoping he’d say something witty about the three degrees of separation tying us together.

He didn’t. Instead, he said the connection was meant to be.

“We can tell who is awakened and who is not,” Alistair said. “God wants people to realize they are here for a reason.”

Savannah Morning News
August 30, 2005