Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

in the parlor of Petersen’s Boarding House all night, weeping. Robert and Tad arrived sometime after midnight and took their place at Abe’s bedside, just as Abe had knelt at his dying mother’s side almost fifty years earlier. They were joined by Gideon Welles, Edwin Stanton, and an endless parade of Washington’s best doctors, all of whom came to offer their advice. But nothing could be done. Dr. Robert King Stone, the Lincolns’ family physician, examined the president during the night and concluded that his case was “hopeless.”
It was only a matter of time.
By sunrise, a large crowd had gathered outside. The president’s breathing had become increasingly faint through the night, his heartbeat erratic. He was cool to the touch. Many of the doctors remarked that a wound of this type would have killed most men in two hours; maybe less. Abe had lasted nine. But then, Abe Lincoln had always been different. Abe Lincoln had always lived.
The infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant’s affection who proved;
The husband that mother and infant who blessed,
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. *
Abraham Lincoln died at 7:22 in the morning, on the Ides of April 1865.
The men at his bedside lowered their heads in prayer. When they were finished, Edwin Stanton declared, “Now he belongs to the ages.” With that, he returned to his telegrams. John Wilkes Booth was on the run, and Stanton meant to catch him.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
VIII
Booth and Herold had managed to elude the Union Army for eleven days, escaping first to Maryland, then to Virginia. They’d hidden in swamps for days on end; slept on beds of cold earth. Booth had expected to be embraced as a hero, the Savior of the South. Instead, he’d been cast out into the cold. “Ya gone too far,” they’d said. “The Yanks’ll burn every farm from Baltimore to Birmingham lookin’ fer ya.”
The second of the gypsy’s predictions had come true. Booth had amassed a “thundering crowd of enemies.”
On April 26th, Booth woke to shouting, and knew at once.
Goddamned double-crossing son of a bitch…
Richard Garrett had been one of the few Virginians who hadn’t turned them away. He’d given them food to eat and a warm tobacco barn to sleep in. Judging by the Union soldiers outside, he’d sold them out for the reward money, too.
Herold was nowhere to be found. The coward gave himself up. It didn’t matter. He would be faster on his own, anyway. Night had fallen, and the night belonged to Booth’s kind. Let them wait, he thought. Let them wait and see what I am. His leg had long since healed, and even though he was weak with hunger, they would be no match for him. Not in the dark.
“Give yerself up, Booth! We ain’t gonna warn ya again!”
Booth stayed put. True to their word, the Union soldiers issued no further warnings. They simply set fire to the barn. Boards were set alight; torches thrown onto the roof. The dry old barn was engulfed in a matter of seconds. The blinding flames made the barn’s dark corners seem deeper. Booth put his dark glasses on as ancient beams began to creak overhead, and fingers of gray smoke crawled up the walls. He stood center stage and tugged on the bottom of his coat—an old actor’s habit. He wanted to look his best for this. He wanted the Yankee devils to see exactly who it was before they…
Someone is in here with me… someone who means me harm….
Booth turned in circles, ready for an attack that might come from any direction, at any moment. His fangs descended; his pupils swelled until his eyes were nothing more than black marbles. He was ready for anything….
But there was nothing. Nothing but smoke, and flame, and shadow.
What sort of trickery is this? Why could I not sense him until…
“Because you are weak…”
Booth spun in the direction of the man’s voice.
Henry Sturges stepped out of the darkest corner of the barn. “… and you think too much.”
He means to destroy me….
Somehow, Booth understood everything. Perhaps this stranger wanted him to understand—forced him to understand.
“You would destroy me over a living man?” Booth backed up as Henry advanced.
“OVER A LIVING MAN?”
Henry said nothing. There was a time and a place for words. His fangs descended; his eyes turned.
These are the last seconds of my life.
Booth couldn’t help but smile.
The old gypsy was right….
John Wilkes Booth was about to make a bad end.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire