Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

first through the door. He jumped on the second horse, dug his heels in, and gave chase before I could even mount the third. It was an old-fashioned horse race now, and Speed rode reckless, standing on his stirrups and beating his foot against the animal’s belly. The vampire saw him gaining and did the same, but his horse was a good ten years slower. Speed pulled up alongside without so much as a pocketknife to stab him with or a pebble to throw.
Speed pulled his feet from the stirrups one at a time, held the horn of his saddle with two hands, and stood. With both horses in a full gallop, he jumped, grabbing the vampire and dragging him to the ground. Both men tumbled in the dirt as their horses sped on. Speed struggled to his feet, dizzy—the sun blinding. Before he’d had time to shake the dust from his ears, a fist knocked him ten yards through the air and onto his back. He gasped for breath and brought a hand to his face, where a gash had been opened on his left cheek. The sun was suddenly eclipsed by the shape of a vampire standing over him. “You ungrateful little cur,” he said. Speed felt his innards rattle as the vampire delivered a kick to his gut.
“Who do you suppose paid for all this land?”
Another kick. Another. Speed saw flashes of color with the pain; felt his mouth fill with a strange taste. He couldn’t help but be sick.
The vampire grabbed him by the collar. “Your father would be ashamed,” he said.
“I… c-certainly hope s-so… ,” muttered Speed.
The vampire raised a clawed hand and prepared to bring it down on Speed’s throat.
Fortunately the head of an ax burst through his chest before he had the chance.
As the vampire fell to his knees, grabbing helplessly at the blade, blood pouring from his mouth, Abe pulled up on his reins and dismounted. Quickly placing two hands on the handle and one foot on the vampire’s back, he freed the ax, then delivered a fatal blow to the creature’s skull.
“Speed,” he said, rushing to his friend’s side. “My God…”
“Well,” said Speed, “I believe that’s enough atonement for one day.”
Abe found Springfield “lonesome and lifeless” upon his return. His time at Farmington had done wonders for his melancholy, “but with no friend to share my lonely hours, what difference if I be in the happiest or worst of moods?”
I care not that [Mary’s father] is a scoundrel, only that I love his daughter unconditionally. Speed is right—what is there in the world but our own small happiness? I have given the matter my serious consideration. Let Henry protest. Let the consequences come. I have resolved to pledge myself anew if she will have me.
“And why should I marry the man who left me to suffer alone?” asked Mary as Abe stood in the doorway of her cousin’s house. “The man who left me without so much as an explanation!”
Abe looked down at the hat in his hands. “I do not—”
“Who made a mockery of my name in this city!”
“My dearest Mary, I have only my humble—”
“Pray, what sort of husband would such a man make? A man who, at any moment, might suffer a change of heart and leave me to suffer anew? Tell me, Mr. Lincoln, what enticement have I to pledge myself to such a man?”
Abe looked up from his hat. “Mary,” he said, “if it is my faults you wish to address, then we shall find ourselves standing here a week’s time. I do not come to torment you further. I come to merely lay myself at your feet; to beg your forgiveness. I come with a pledge to spend my life reconciling whatever grief I have caused you these long months. If my offer is insufficient—if the sight of me brings you anything other than happiness—then you may close that door knowing that my face shall never trouble you again.”
Mary stood in silence. Abe took a small step back, expecting the door to be slammed in his face at any moment.
“Oh, Abraham, I love you still!” she cried, and leapt into his arms.
Their engagement resumed, Abe wasted no time. He bought two gold wedding rings (on credit, of course) at Chatteron’s in Springfield. He and Mary settled on a simple engraving to grace the inside of both.
Love is Eternal
Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd were married on a rainy Friday evening on November 4th, 1842, in the home of Elizabeth Edwards, Mary’s cousin. In all, there were fewer than thirty guests looking on as they exchanged vows.
After the ceremony, Mary and I stole away to the parlor while dinner was served, so that we