Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

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Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
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I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”
—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
August 28th, 1963

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
I
Abraham Lincoln had a dream.
He watched his prey move among the men below; watched how confidently it circled them. Choosing. Glaring at them like a god. Mocking them; reveling in their helplessness. But you, he thought. You’re the helpless one tonight.
Just a moment now. Just another moment and it would begin. A series of rehearsed movements. A performance refined with each passing night. Perfected. Just a moment, and then the force and commotion and speed. He would stare into the blackness of its eyes and watch the life leave them forever. And then it would be over. For tonight.
He was twenty-five again, and strong. He was so strong. All of the sorrows in his life—all of the doubts and deaths and disappointments—all of them had been for this. They were the fires that burned in his chest. They were his strength. They were her. There was a prayer that came to mind in these moments. Before the screaming. Before the bargaining and the blood. He wasn’t much for prayers, but he liked this one:
If my enemies be quick, grant me speed. If they be strong, Lord, then grant me the strength to see them defeated. For mine has always been the side of righteousness. The side of justice. The side of light.
His ax blade had been sharpened and resharpened. If I swung it hard enough, I could make the air bleed. Over the years, the handle had been worn into the perfect companion for his massive hands. Each furrow a welcoming friend. It was hard to know where he ended and the ax began. Impossible to know how much…
Now.
He leapt from the barn roof and soared over his prey. The creature looked up. Its eyes went black from lid to lid. Its fangs descended, hollow and hungry. He swung the ax with all of that strength and felt the handle leave his hands, his body still high above the earth. As he fell, he caught one of their faces in the corner of his eye. The face of a helpless man, frightened and bewildered. Not yet aware that his life had just been saved. I’m not doing this for you, he thought. I’m doing it for her. He watched his old friend somersault through the air… wood metal wood metal wood metal. He knew. From the moment he let it go, he knew the blade would find its target. Knew the sound it would make when it broke through the skull of that false god, splitting its confident smile in two… tearing through its brain… denying it everlasting life. He knew because this was his purpose.
It had always been his purpose….
Abe woke in his White House office.
He dressed and sat at a small desk by one of the windows overlooking the South Lawn. It was a perfect late August morning.
It’s good to be in Washington. It feels strange to write those words, but then—I suppose I’ve been swept up in the excitement of the day. It promises to be a historic one. I only pray that it’s remembered for the right reasons, and not for the violence that some have predicted (and others hoped for). It’s not yet eight o’clock, but I can already see the crowds marching across the Ellipse toward the Monument. How many will there be? Who will speak, and how will their speeches be received? We will know in a few short hours. I only wish they had chosen a different venue. I admit that it causes me no small discomfort to be near that thing. I was surprised, however, at what little discomfort I felt sleeping in my office. It is fitting, I suppose. For it was here, in this very room, that I signed my name to the ancestor of this day. I must remember to send President Kennedy a note of thanks for having me as his guest.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
II
On the morning of April 21st, 1865, Abraham Lincoln’s funeral train left Washington and began the journey home to Springfield.
Thousands lined the tracks as the “Lincoln Special” pulled away from the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Depot at five minutes past eight o’clock, its nine cars draped in black garlands, a framed portrait of the late president hanging over the steam engine’s cowcatcher. Tearful men stood with their hats in their hands; ladies with their heads bowed. Soldiers, some of whom had left their beds at St. Elizabeths Hospital to see the train off, stood up arrow