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Nope, he did not die; he is in Bulacan now.

It was the first time since a century or so that I had a semi-nightmare. Semi, because I did not wake up screaming nor sweating profusely nor sitting up immediately. Besides, it was not really horrific. Hence my reaction.

I was in in a long slumber, an attempt to subdue my unwanted hunger for human blood. It was good while it lasted – I’m not sure how long it lasted, undisturbed in this decrepit mausoleum in a private cemetery. Awake because of a dream that brought back tears to my still sleepy eyes.

The dream reminded me of times past, centuries ago. The dream reminded me that I had parents and siblings.

—

I am in a cavernous complex with two huge doors. The one on the right is calm, subdued; on the left is fiery and violent. Between the two is clearly a receptionist’s desk; a young lady sitting behind the desk, entertaining visitors. It is a long line, actually. She directs the people on either doors.

I do not know what I am doing here. My brother is with me, which surprises my till now. After all, I have not seen him since – I can’t remember. Maybe centuries ago.

So we line up, like the rest, and wait for our turn. The people have the same look – sad, gloom. Even my brother looks that way, even if I know he is glad to see me.

Coming closer, people who are directed to the left door usually turns violent, clearly not wanting to go there. Two men in clearly police uniform force the recalcitrant to enter the left door. What’s in that door?

After a long while, it is our turn to be entertained by the lady. She is around her early 30s, simple in manner and dress, not a stunning beauty but pleasant. In front of her is a monitor.

***

The next few lines were a blur. I was asked to enter the door at the right, and my brother tried to follow, but he was stopped. He was told to enter at the left.

***

I still can’t believe what a benevolent young man had just told me. That I am in Heaven, and my brother is in Hell. I cried when he told me that my brother is in Hell. We are not different from each other, I told him, so why am I here and he there?

The difference, he told me, was in the manner of death. He did not explain further, but he told me I can learn for myself. Now, I am just awaiting approval for my request. I am returning to earth, to find out the truth.

***

Our house looks the same since the day I left it. However, the spirit of gloom is so palpable; I immediately felt sad when I stepped foot on the stairs. We are poor ever since, and I almost cried at the sign of deep poverty that pervades the air.

The windows are dilapidated, some are torn out. Most of them are dark, uninhabited. Only one room looks to be occupied. Soft sounds of sobbing emanates from this room.

Entering the house, I immediately understood the spirit. The light is muted, almost dark. The smell of death is in the air. Sobs of grief are clearly audible. I cried.

At the center of the room, in a makeshift box, lies a body. I am hesistant to look; I already know who’s lying in that decrepit box. I know I am prepared for whatever is in there.

I am wrong.

Seated beside the box, my mom and dad are crying silently, trying to console each other, and failing. Falling into the warm embrace of my brothers somehow alleviated the sadness, but not enough. There is still the box, a dark foreboding of why I am here.

Taking a look at the box, I almost fainted in shock and anger. Inside the box is my brother’s body, mutilated, violated. His limbs, arms, and head are cut off. There is a hole in the chest, near the area where the human heart is.

Now I understand why my brother is in hell. He is seeking justice. And I am the one who has to render it.

***

The people had wrongly thought that my brother was a vampire. How foolish of them. If they only knew that the one facing them is a real vampire.

I just came from the cemetery after the cremation. In the town plaza, a party is clearly going on; the sound of glee is in the air, the smell of alcohol is obvious. It seems that everyone is here, celebrating.

I will allow them this short period of glee. After I get what I want, the festivities are over.

***

And after all seeing the flood of human blood coursing through the lifeless street, I know that justice is served. I know now that my brother is in Heaven, and for that I am happy. I know he will take care of our parents and brothers. I am content.

And I am in Hell, in his place.

—

Wiping away the tears, I went out of the mausoleum, gazing into the stars deep in the cold night. I hate to be reminded that I have a past, a happy past, a sad past. I do not believe in dwelling in what had gone before; what’s done’s been done. Afterall, all the past brings to you – to me – is unending sadness. A longing for a family. A love that never was.