This post begins: I love vampires. I hate Anne Rice.
Not the person Anne Rice. I don’t know her. But the institution of Anne Rice. To be perfectly accurate: I hate Anne Rice vampires. I’ve always been of the Weird Tales/Kolchak the Nightstalker vampire variety. They’re bad. You stake’em, holy water’em, burn’em with crosses. You’d never want to be one. An undead thing that sucks the living blood from helpless victims. No different than a shark or a vampire bat. A dangerous beast that would kill your friends and family.
If you’d like to read the rest, please check out Monster: From the Pages of Dark Worlds Quarterly.