My Daze as a Vampire Hunter: A Samuel the Vampire Novel

My Daze as a Vampire Hunter: A Samuel the Vampire Novel

by James T Carpenter

ASIN: B071V95HZ4

Publisher CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Published in Mystery & Thrillers/Thrillers & Suspense, Science Fiction & Fantasy/Fantasy, Literature & Fiction/Horror, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description


When a group of hunters is killing vampires far too efficiently, his boss says that's humanly impossible and an alien disguised as a human must be among them. After all, in the natural order of things, the superior race is always the predator, not the prey. The only race smarter and faster than vampires are the aliens in human disguise on earth. Special Agent Samuel Johnson infiltrates these hunters to stop them before they murder him and his friends.

Sample Chapter

The Return

Okay, before I can even begin this tale, I have to admit that the title of this work is a terrible pun. However, the pun is relevant, and I’m certain my vampire readers have already recognized the subtlety and irony of it. You stupid human readers probably not. By the end, all will make sense even to the dimmest of you.

In a few of my works, some readers have commented that I seem to obsess on room arrangements and the clothing of the various people filling my narratives. I engage in such descriptions to allow even the most stupid of people—humans, I’m talking to you—to be able to picture the scene.

A circle of light illuminated a pile of ash next to a metal folding chair on a linoleum floor. Off-camera, a voice said, “Here’s one.”

The circle of light moved along the floor to another pile of ash. “Here’s another.”

Back near the chairs, the light surrounded another pile of ash. “And another.” The voice sighed as the light expanded to take in the rows of chairs, many knocked over, an upright folding table covered with carafes, shot glasses with stains of blood, a few empty styrofoam cups, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Among the chairs, both those standing and those fallen, and beyond, sat the occasional pile of ash. Along a wall lay a human body, bloodied but still holding a sword.

“This was a regular VATE chapter meeting,” said the voice belonging to the vampire surveying the damage. “They were meeting…well, to do what you do at a chapter meeting. The vampire hunters found them and killed them. And suffered only one casualty.”

I turned off the video on my cell phone. That’s not supposed to happen. We’re vampires, and they’re hunters. Either brute force or mind control should have solved this situation. Neither did. And the VATE chapter of Peoria, Illinois is no more.

My name is Samuel Johnson and I’m a vampire.

I was sitting in my car in a church parking lot in Des Moines, Iowa. Recently, I’d returned from the Aspen Retreat Center in Colorado. That wasn’t supposed to happen either. Because in the past, when I’d known VATE agents to go to Colorado, they hadn’t returned. My fellow VATE agents and I believed those going to Colorado had ended up as dead as those at the chapter meeting I’d just seen the aftermath of.

By the way, VATE stands for Vampires Against The Evil. We fight ferals, vampires who are subhuman and who, similarly to animals, feed on and kill humans; Evil Ones, vampires who live among humans like average citizens but also feed on and kill humans; and aliens who morph into human form and attempt to corrupt and destroy human organizations. “Supposedly bungling” a VATE assignment got me sent to Colorado for “rehabilitation,” but my time there was so much more than that. As I write this narrative, I’ll reveal as much as I deem wise.

My readers may be asking why I’m writing about another one of my cases, the first after my experience in Colorado. Due to the nature of the case, which will be revealed in the upcoming pages, both my advisors in Colorado and my boss and higher-ups in VATE thought explaining the following events might be a good exercise for me. Yeah, right. Well, I’m writing it. And to make matters worse, I have to spell everything out in a simplistic way that even humans could understand if humans were ever to be my audience. More on the stupidity of humans later.

I exited my car and stepped into the parking lot of St. Bartholomew’s Church. The parking lot extended in back of the church and around behind an apartment complex. A long drive ran along the side of the church from the parking lot to the nearby street. In the parking lot, I recognized Beryl’s black van in which he kept the blood he doled out at every chapter meeting, the Orloff brothers’ red pickup, the Sudanese couple’s small Toyota Yaris (a bit ironic since they were some of the tallest of our members but had one of the smallest vehicles among us), Sharon’s blue Lexus sedan, Bald Guy’s Cadillac sedan, and two other vehicles I didn’t recognize. Of course, the chapter probably has added new members since I was last here.

I entered the church through the back door that was unlocked for our meeting tonight. At the entrance, two halls branched away: one to the west and the other to the north. The lights were off in the hall to the west, and since we never went that way anyway, I didn’t care what lay in the direction. I took the hall north, a hall that had a coat rack, currently with many hangers but not any coats, on its west side.

The hall opened to a large open area with a sitting room equipped with couches, chairs, and tables to the west, the double doors to the sanctuary to the east and to the north to a staircase. The staircase to my right descended to a landing and to a double set of doors leading out of the church, toward the street on which this church sat, or so I thought, and acted as a landing before another staircase that went down to the basement. The staircase to my left led up to a landing and to another staircase to the second floor. In front of the lower staircase was a sign on a folding easel that read “Society of the Creatively Challenged Upstairs.” An arrow on the sign pointed up.

And so I went. By the way, the “Society of the Creatively Challenged” is the alias for our group. Beryl couldn’t really tell the church that a group of vampires wanted to rent their large room on the second floor once every month, so at some point in his time as chapter leader, he’d devised this name.

Supposedly, we meet to participate in activities to encourage our creativity such as brainstorming, drawing, writing poems, telling tales, and doing a variety of acting exercises not the least of which was improvising in given bizarre situations. Our website professes as much. The pastor and a few church members took an interest in these activities and wanted to join. Beryl had to do a fair amount of mind control to keep that from happening.

In any case, up the stairs I went. To the first landing. To the second floor where a second sign on an easel read “Society of the Creatively Challenged Inside.” A light was on in the room beyond the double doors.

I entered.


Excerpted from "My Daze as a Vampire Hunter: A Samuel the Vampire Novel" by James T Carpenter. Copyright © 2017 by James T Carpenter. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

James T Carpenter

James T Carpenter

James T. Carpenter is a senior procedure analyst at a property-casualty insurance company. He earned a bachelor’s degree in Russian area studies from Knox College in 1984. His previous book, Hanged for the Few, is a theological fantasy published in 2011.

View full Profile of James T Carpenter

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