I don't know how many of you have ever been on television, but there's a lot of fanfare happening before you even start. There's literally an army of assistants and producers and people who move you from one room to another, like you're some kind of prop. They get you all prepped and primed, primped and proper for your appearance-physically, mentally and emotionally-and by the time they're done you feel like well-groomed Pekinese entering a dog show.
Of course, in this instance, it wasn't exactly a supportive kind of mental and emotional preparation.
"So, you really believe this shit about vampires?" some stagehand asked me as I waited in the last room-the "green" room, they called it, even though it was blue-before my entry.
"Yes. Yes, I do, because I've seen them."
He laughed. "Oh, really," and he laughed again.
"They're real, my friend, and you'd be surprised how many there are, and how many different kinds inhabit the United States alone."
I could tell from his grin he didn't believe me.
"It's true," I commanded like a little kid, (though a voice inside me regretted-for the thousandth time in my life-falling into defense of myself against an idiot).
"And so, like, did you ever kill a vampire by putting a stake in his heart?" he tittered more, the fool.
"I've killed vampires, yes, but only in self-defense, or to keep someone else from harm. I'm a naturalist. I don't believe in killing any kind of life form if I don't have to. Vampires have as much right to live as any of us, provided they don't present a danger to the population."
"It's time!" a slender, hyper woman with a clipboard interrupted us. "You're on. Come on."
She led me out to the edge of a brightly lit stage, where the host-Chet Collins-was seated at a big desk, about to introduce me.
"Geez," that stupid stagehand said, following me to the edge. "You're gonna be great. Just tell 'em some of those stories about killing vampires and you'll bring down the house."
And so I did ... And continue to do so ...
The very first time I saw a vampire was in New Mexico.
I'd gone there on a long weekend to study desert iguana. I was still at Princeton University at the time, working on my master's in evolutionary biology. But this was more of a naturalist's vacation than official study work. Even then, I'd begun to see the limits of traditional academic research, as opposed to extensive study in the field.
I flew into Tucson and met my friend Paul, who lived there. We drove out on the I-10 toward Las Cruces. Paul, who worked as a counselor in a drug rehab, wasn't that interested in animal behavior, but he liked to camp and we were looking forward to a couple of beautiful nights in the high desert.
The first night was uneventful, save some great photos I got of a coyote crossing near our camp. Late that second night, however-about 3 a.m., early Sunday morning actually-I saw something I just could not explain.
I probably wouldn't have been looking in that direction, except the snorting of a javelina-a desert boar-caught my ear.
"Hear that?" I whispered. "Javelina, I think."
"Wild pig," Paul reiterated, trying to seem more interested than he was, especially at 3 a.m.
I had my night vision binoculars mounted low on a tripod nearby. I crawled over and trained them toward the scrub, where I figured the javelina was rooting around, perhaps looking for some of the prickly pear cactus they like to eat ...
And there he was-a young boar, or collared peccary, as they're known-a short, stout swine about three feet long, sticking his snout into the scrub, maybe 50 feet away from us.
"Look at that," I whispered, forgetting Paul had no real view in the dark.
"Cool," he said after a long pause that told me he was nodding off.
"Look at him foraging." I spoke softly, knowing I was talking to myself now. "That's a teenager, I'd say, judging by the size, and a male, of course, judging by that dangling participle."
I didn't hear anything else making any sounds, and let me tell you, it was quiet.
The javelina apparently didn't hear anything either. It didn't even flinch before, suddenly, that creature was upon it.
I watched the whole thing. It was a small vampire, of the variety I'd later identify as a "bat" because of those extremely wide shoulders and kind of wing-like arms.
At the time, however, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what it was. At first I thought it might have been a small puma, in part because the bulging muscles on its back and shoulders were formidable. But I'd really never seen anything like it.
I'd been studying animals for many years already at that point-since I was a kid, in fact-but I just couldn't comfortably wrap my head around what this could be.
Lithe and sinewy, it just seemed to drop out of the sky and simply wrap itself around that poor, unsuspecting pig.
The javelina barely gave a snort before the vamp had its teeth stuck deep in its neck. It bucked and jumped and tried to run, but it didn't get very far.
The vampire clung to it with no effort. The javelina quivered and quickly went down.
I still had them in my sight. And what a sight it was.
"Paul!" I whispered urgently. "Paul, get up."
He didn't hear me.
I couldn't really tell what color it was in the dark, but I almost reckoned it to be a dull, damp greenish-grey. It had no fur, or no hair. Instead it was covered with a taught, grey, ugly skin.
The oddest thing was, as I watched it, I came to see it was basically humanoid in form-about four-feet tall, apparently bipedal, with two strong legs and those two wing-like arms with the knobby elbows.
It remained mounded on the downed javelina, sucking its blood with little excess movement. I couldn't see its face as it gorged itself with such concentration, but from the back I saw it had a large head.
Most of all I was struck by how muscular it looked, like a shaved panther, with enormous strong shoulders that kept its wing-like arms glued down upon that poor pig's shoulders and back.
It all happened very fast. I took it all in in just a few fast seconds. But before it was finished, that creature made a sound that stays with me to this day-a short, shrilled shriek combined with a kind of gurgling moan. At the time I couldn't decide if it indicated the pleasure of feasting or the rush of a conquest. Short and quick, it shocked across the night.
"Paul!" I urged. "Get up. Hurry up. Get up."
Paul stirred then. "What's up?" he whispered stupidly.
"Look at this! Hurry up."
And that's when it heard me, because it looked up, right at me. I'll never forget its eyes, glowing like gold in the dark. It was almost a man's face in that moment, though the features were feral-the nose flat and wide, the mouth that of a ravaging predator with a hint of sharp canines protruding from its panting mouth. I saw then how its head tapered down toward a short snout, almost appearing like a bald bear, or perhaps like an enormous bat.
It surveyed me for just an instant. Somehow I knew it could see me clearer than I could ever see it in this black night. Its expression was so flat, while its eyes glowed with a fire like hell.
It licked at its lips with a very quick, long tongue-very bat-like. There was no light to speak of, but somehow I was able to discern the shine of the glistening blood smeared around its mouth. It sparkled wet and grim.
It stayed absolutely frozen, surveying me for what felt like the longest moment, but was probably just seconds.
The times I've known real terror were all alive in that moment. As comfortable as I'd grown in my research of the animal kingdom, even at night, as often as I'd encountered strange and savage animals of all varieties, and sometimes even found myself in hazardous conditions and potentially dangerous situations where wild animals were concerned ... never, never, had I ever felt the gut-shaking fear and mystifying shock of meeting that creature's eyes that night on the desert. Like legend, it seemed to look into my soul. I was entranced and naked, standing helpless in that still, black night. My legs and body began to tremble from a fear so deep within, I felt I might die in that very instant.
This is the power a vampire can wield. Though I didn't recognize it at the time, it was the first clue that these mysterious creatures defy ordinary classification within the biological world.
Then, as suddenly as it had dropped upon the now-dead animal, this small, primordial vampire simply bounded off and disappeared out of sight. It moved so quickly, I could not even tell you which direction it took, though I was watching it the whole time.
And as suddenly as it had disappeared, of its own accord, my terror subsided, as if a light had been turned on and all the imaginary things of darkness were instantaneously obliterated.
"What is it?" I heard Paul say from right beside me.
He leaned into the binoculars as I dumbly leaned away, still steadying my body from those intense moments before.
"Whoa! Look at that," he said.
"Is it there?" I barked, as a sweep of terror returned, thinking he meant this vampire had come back.
"Yeah, but is it dead?"
"What? What? The-" I pushed him aside and looked again, but all I saw was the wild boar lying still on the ground.
"What happened? Did it die? Did you see what happened?" he asked.
For many seconds all I could do was shake my head. I didn't know what I had seen, or what it was that had made me feel so terrible, so absolutely frightened.
It would be a long time before I even began to understand what it was I had experienced.
But this was my first encounter with a real live vampire.
end.