Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

A place where it was common for families to have five, or eight, or a dozen children. They loved its lawlessness. Its vastness. They loved its remote villages and its ports brimming with the newly arrived. But more than anything, Lincoln, they loved its slaves. For here, unlike any other country fit for civilized men—here was a place they could feed on the intoxicating blood of man without fear of reprisal!
“When the English came to our shores, charged with bringing us back under the control of the Old World, America’s vampires took up the fight. They were there at Lexington and Concord. They were there at Ticonderoga and Moore’s Creek. Some returned to their native France, where they persuaded King Louis to lend us his navy. They are as American as you or I, Lincoln. True patriots—for America’s survival is their survival.”
“I have heard them discussed in the Capitol,” Abe whispered. “Even there, one sees their influence.”
“It is everywhere, Lincoln! And it shall only deepen, as it did for so many centuries in Europe. How long can it endure? How many vampires can cross our shores before the common man takes note of them? And what then? Do you think the good people of Boston or New York would be content to live with vampires for their neighbors? Do you believe that all vampires possess the same agreeable disposition as your Henry or my Reynolds?
“Imagine, Lincoln. Imagine what might have happened in Europe had there been no America for vampires to flee to. How long would the lions have allowed the sheep to hunt them? How long before they began to behave like lions again?”
Abe didn’t like the picture forming in his mind.
“I tell you,” said Poe, “some great calamity awaits us.”
For Poe, at least, it proved an ominous prediction.
On October 3rd, 1849, less than eight months after his reunion with Abe, Poe was discovered wandering the streets of Baltimore, half dead, confused, and wearing clothes that weren’t his own. He was hurried to the Washington College Hospital, where doctors tried to diagnose his worsening illness.
Patient suffers from high fever and delusions. Calls out for a “Reynolds” when he is conscious. Symptoms similar to typhoid, though the rapid progression suggests some other underlying cause. His case is hopeless.
On Sunday, October 7th, at five o’clock in the morning, Poe woke with a start. He uttered the words “Lord help my poor soul” and passed away.
FIG. 7-C - EDGAR ALLAN POE POSES WITH ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN MATHEW BRADY’S WASHINGTON, D.C. STUDIO - FEBRUARY 4TH, 1849.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
IV
March 5th, 1849, brought an end to Abe’s brief, unmemorable congressional career. He’d chosen not to run for a second term.
Being elected to Congress… has not pleased me as much as I expected. I have neglected my dear wife and rascals terribly these two years, and there is nothing in Washington to tempt me from returning to Illinois.
He returned to Springfield and dove headfirst into his law practice, apprenticed by a thirty-year-old lawyer named William H. Herndon (who would go on to write a comprehensive, controversial biography of Lincoln after his assassination). Abe took great care to keep the truth of his dark past away from his young partner.
He wrote letters of recommendation for friends seeking appointments. He argued cases across Illinois. He wrestled with his boys and took long walks with his wife.
He lived.
No more talk of men with fangs,
Or lives that never cease.
I only long for simple things,
I only long for peace.
He wouldn’t get it.
Eddy Lincoln was three years, ten months, and eighteen days old when he died.
From an entry dated February 1st, 1850, only hours after his son’s passing:
I lost my little boy… I miss him very much.
There is no joy in this life….
There’s no reason to suspect that Eddy’s death had anything to do with vampires. He’d been sick since December (probably with tuberculosis) and wasted away gradually, his mother keeping a vigil by his bed, rubbing balm on his little chest to no avail.
Mary could not bear to let Eddy die in his bed alone. She held his unconscious body to her own, cradling our little boy against her chest, rocking him through the night… until he was gone.
Mary would never be the same. Though she would bury two more sons, nothing would ever match the grief of losing her beloved “Angel Boy.” Three days after his death, she hadn’t eaten, or slept, or stopped crying.
[Mary] is