a story called Myth

All myths have a beginning.

Some inklings of the truth within the tales. The lock ness monster may just have been a mythic entity, yet someone had to have seen something to start the tale. Bigfoot may have just been the imaginings of a drugged up individual, or perhaps it may indeed exist. Aliens, the ramblings of a poor hapless soul, or could there be additional living creatures in space that are just waiting to make contact with their superior technology?

Fact is myths have some common ground with the anomalies in life. And when one believes in one of the many things that go bump in the night, they start to believe in more then just the tale.

Where does one differentiate between what is the fiction and what is the fact? First hand experience of course is always the preferred way to know the real deals from the act of story telling. But as humans with great advances in medicine and technology over just the last hundred years, facts within the legends somehow elude even the most superior of minds.

As cultures world round rise and fall, grow to near destruction and revive its self out of nothing but whims, so to have the boldness of this worlds inhabitants. From the hushed tones of serfs behind holly branches and darting frightened eyes, to now doing a simple search on the internet, humans have become more brazen. And if you will more curious. Click a search on UFO’s for instance. You have a million possibilities open before you. Some real….some as fake as the tellers’ smiles. The trick is weeding out who is telling the truth from who has embellished upon the myth.

Yet what is harder to process is a humans ability to comprehend the truth when it is staring them in the face. The human race is notorious for its myth busters, the ones that claim to want to see the fact, yet run screaming when what they seek stands before them in all its horrific glory.

So one has to wonder; is the human race, as you know it today, ready to accept the inconsistencies the world has to offer? Or will you go screaming to the first door you find and lock the bolt. All the while trying to convince yourself that your not crazy.

Now I come to the point in this rambling where I ask you the question that no one can seem to answer. Are you a poser in the search, or are you ready to embrace the impossible?

Are you ready for the greatest myth of all in human culture?

Vampires.






CHAPTER ONE

Jazlynn Imari sat back in her computer chair, a wane smile twitching at the edge of her full mouth. The letter she had been reading was now tossed carelessly upon her cluttered desk. She had found it propped against the nameplate above her buzzer in a simple envelope an hour ago. The letter held no signature, no parting sincerely tag. She drummed her fingers upon the only bare spot of cherry wood, her brows furrowed in thought. She reached for the envelope. Plain, simple and devoid of any sender information, the only lettering was her name in a style that screamed a computer print out. She turned it over and then peeked inside, certain she had missed something. When her search yielded no promising leads she tossed it on top of the letter and grabbed her coffee.

Standing, she crossed the small span from her chair to the lone window in the room that served as her professional office, leaning against its sill, cradling her cup. Outside she could see the small town come to life. People were now leaving their apartment buildings to go about their daily lives. Some headed to work or taking a jog in the crisp autumn air. Others had a doggy bag and a scoop at the ready while they walked their dogs. Jaz sighed as she watched them, wishing she could be so carefree at the moment.

Ok, so picking up pet feces isn’t at all exactly carefree, she chided herself. Turning away from the window she sat back down to the mountain of papers on her desk waiting to be filed and processed.

At least none of the current poop scoop members had to worry about yet another prank letter. Since she had relocated her offices into the hubbub of Maplewood, Minnesota, she had been plagued by threats and hate mail. An ache within her heart made her tighten her hold of her coffee cup.

Originally, Jazzy Investigators Inc., had made its home in the thick of scandal USA. Wonderful sunny, southern California. Everyday new clients poured in to have a cheating spouse tagged, or to find a teen that stopped going to school, finding them instead turning tricks at corner five blocks from their house. Her snap-to-it operation had become a house hold name. Then it had went to hell in a hand basket after several cases in a row had turned into a bloody nightmare. She lost several of her employees, and even a few targets. The media of course had no problems picking over the scraps as they tore her business to shreds. Before any real investigations could be conducted, another blow came from within the foundation of the company.

Without any revenue coming in, it was plainly, and painfully, documented that her accountant had been using the operation as a front to fund millions of dollars in embezzlement every year. What made the knowledge even ore unbearable was the fact that her fiancé was her accountant. After a long and grueling process, she was finally cleared as accomplice. Of course she would be audited for the rest of her life, but hey, it beat jail.

So tail between her legs and shoulders hanging in shame, she moved her company back to her hometown to restart her life. Thinking back to investigating politicians and celebrities, the lost pet list she was working on was menial in comparison. They barely brought in enough to house her, let alone put food on her table. She had had hopes of getting a nice office space in the hub of ST. Paul, but being a now financial risk, just about every bank had turned her down. So she swallowed her pride and made do with what she had.   

Eyes flickering over the paper work in front over her, she sighed. Her only draw back was turning the extra room into an office, so that her prospective clients had to see her dirty laundry and the pile of dishes in the sink. People tended to think less of your operation when you had a weeks worth of pizza boxes and take out from various establishments piled around your kitchen. They wanted neat and pristine, not someone who couldn’t even keep up with her house work. Thus the intense longing for a chunk of a prime grade A real-estate office space in a more prominent area to draw a bigger cliental. At least then maybe she wouldn’t have been plagued by the prank letters. They came every week, regular as clock work. Yet this last one wasn’t one of them, she was sure. The others were folded up paper with block letters taken from magazines, all stating that she and her company were bad for the neighborhood.

Oh, yes I’m so bad for all those little lost pets out there, I’m sure. Rover beware! I’ll know where you hid that bone! she thought to herself as she tapped her finger against her cup.

Suddenly the little hairs on the back of her neck rose up, and Jaz gasped in for air at the sudden feeling of being watched, her cup clattering against the mock wood flooring. Her training kicked in as her eyes flickered around the room, taking in every corner and shadow. The shivers continued to coarse down her spine as she slowly turned, making an assessment of all windows and crevices.

It was a full five minutes before she understood that she was not actually being watched, it had been her faculty of clairvoyance. Ever since she was a girl she could see things others couldn’t. Sometimes they manifested in colors, akin to how a night vision scope would work. Other times all she had do was touch something and she would get the vision that showed her events or other people. It proved to help her in her career, but was something she never told anyone about. Yet this was different. This had been a feeling, not a vision or colors. It made her feel violated and dirty inside, much as if someone had rubbed against her brain.

God you have yourself all worked up over that letter, girl. You need some fresh air! She chided herself. With a nervous laugh and a look around her apartment again after she changed into sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt she headed to the door, tugging on her jogging shoes. Filing could wait till she got back, she needed to get out and take a break before she went loony with cabin fever.  

As she came down from the second floor she could see that outside the buildings entrance sat the lightly weathered Mrs. Miriam Boart, reading and taking in all the passer-bys. In her forties Miriam was the building super that had a nose for gossip and an eye for match making. Jaz could count the number of times the lady had tried to hook her up with someone she knew on both hands. Groaning inwardly, Jaz descended the stairs and exited the apartments.

“Well there you are dear,” Miriam greeted her over glasses that looked a throw back from a librarian.

“Hey Mrs. Boart, what are you reading today?” she didn’t really care but rent was coming due in a week so it was always best to stay on the good side of the landlord.

“Ah, just another tabloid sheet. You wouldn’t believe how many people are claiming to have seen Elvis nowadays,” Jaz rolled her eyes as she bent down to fix the cuff of her sweats, “going jogging dear?”

The term here’s your sign wanted to pop out of her mouth, but Jaz bit her lip as she nodded. Looking over her shoulder she checked her mail box at the foyer. All looked in order. Then a thought occurred to her.

“Mrs. Boart--”

“Miriam, please.”

“-- Miriam, did you happen to see who delivered an envelope this morning? It was plain except for my name.”

Miriam’s’ brows knitted together in confusion as she stared off in concentration, “No one that I know of, Hun. And the door was locked when I came down. Too early for the mail to have gone, of course, poor Harold--you know, the mail carrier, well he never comes round till about three. Maybe you had a gentleman caller last night that you have failed to mention to me, hmmm?” the glint of hope popped into her eyes as she stared up to Jaz.

“No, I never have anyone over in that sense anyway,” Jaz shook her head, stealing her self for the next phase of Miriam Boart’s’ crusade to see her with a guy.

“Shame that my dear. A thriving, young, attractive woman such as yourself with no callers. You know, I should call this nice gentleman I know of. He is very handsome,” she patted Jazs’ hand as she winked. Jaz wanted to gag, but steeled herself to smile instead. Shaking her head, Jaz removed herself from the woman’s touch by stepping out on to the sidewalk and into the light breeze.

“Thank you anyway. I’m just not interested in anything Mrs. Boart, ok?”

“Ok, and its Miriam. Next time you call me Mrs. Boart I’ll kick you out for making me feel older then I am,” she gave Jaz a glare, then returned to the magazine she had been reading.

Chuckling inwardly, Jaz started out down Lark Avenue, and worked her way down a side road that bordered Sherwood Park.

She didn’t count how many times she had circled the block, she just kept running till her mind was clear. Near two hours later she puffed to a stop and collapsed on a park bench. Wiping at her brow and resting her arms on her knees, she tried to get her breathing under control. Her t-shirt clung to her with perspiration and her black hair was trying to break free of the pony tail she had tugged it back in earlier. Leaning back against the stone, propping an arm along the smooth top finish on either side of her, tilting her head back and closing her eyes to the glare of the afternoon sun, she willed her heart beat to slow.

With a shudder and a prickle at the nape of her neck, she jumped up and brought her arms up protectively around her. Looking around with climbing alarm, her skin now clammy, goose bumps running along her flesh sending shivers down her spine. The over powering feeling that she was watched strong within her. Studying the area, peering into the long afternoon shadows stretching from the sturdy oaks around her, the dark recesses in the stone tombs across the street.

Stomping down on the uneasiness threatening to take hold of sane rational, Jaz uncurled her arms and slowly breathed out as she walked away. Her years of detective work telling her that if there had been someone watching then they would either follow her or lose interest. If they followed then she could worry and plan her next move. As she moved lazily down the road the feeling dissipated then left al together leaving her with a sigh of relief. Confident now that it was just a blurb in her over worked nerves she jogged the rest of the way back to her apartment, eager to study facts and clues for the various small time jobs sitting on her desk.


Some where behind her a shadow flitted from one darkened corner to another. Nothing more than a wisp of movement to be seen, no more then a breath of smoke in substance. To the edge of the cemetery grounds it went, following. Watching.