When it first started, the desire for blood was unquenchable. I don’t remember how it happened, or even who I was before it. It was as if the thirst overtook everything.

In the beginning I fed on whatever I could: men, women, children, animals, carcasses. As time went on, my abilities improved. I became faster, stronger, my thoughts more clear. Even some desires from my past life returned. I occasionally found myself in bed with beautiful women. Some I let live, others I enjoyed completely.

In the year 1911, I was discovered for my crimes. Pictures of my pasty face were scattered all over the city with the words “WANTED” above it.

I was foolish back then. I embraced the fame, descending from dark alleys and rooftops, undisturbed by the onlooker who watched me feed. I knew they couldn’t stop me. Of course they tried. They'd set traps, thrown rocks, attempted to hit me with bats, shovels, pitchforks. Still, they couldn’t hurt me…

Until fire.

The first torch lit my entire body in flames. The pain was unlike anything I’d felt, living or dead. It burned until every inch of fair skin was gone, leaving only boils and the raw flesh underneath. The next day, the entire city was armed with torches, and my reign was over.

I had no choice but to run. I went into hiding. For years I fed on rodents and people wandering too far from the cities’ edge. My strength weakened, my thoughts became unclear. I became more creature than man, a monster with only instinct and desire.

Slowly my burns healed and my skin grew back. As the years passed, the world changed, but the thirst never went away.

I decided to do things differently. I learned to scope the places where criminals and addicts roamed. These were the sort of people who went missing everyday, and no one cared. To be safe, I made a simple set of rules: no groups, no cameras, no innocents.

That’s when everything changed. Criminals had a taste for drugs, and soon I did too. It was addictive. The heroin in their veins was my favorite. I could taste it, sending waves of pleasure up my fangs. Eventually it became my preference, and I learned to smell it while hunting.

One night I came across the sweetest smell. The hunger took over, and I broke my own rule. I snuck into a warehouse and killed six men to get to the one they were guarding. His scent was overpowering. I took him to my lair and fed for three days. I didn’t even mind the blood going cold. I savored every drop.

Six days later I was walking the streets, face covered by black cap and hoodie, when a group of teenagers began trailing me. Even from fifty feet away, I could hear their whispers.

“It’s him.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Look, same hoodie. Pants. Freaky shoulders. Everything.”

Amused, I turned around and exposed myself to them. To my surprise, they didn’t cower. Usually my copper eyes, lifeless face and sharp bone-structure frightened the bravest of men. Not these. These begged for autographs.

“Told you!”

“Did he cry when you killed him?”

“What did you do with the body?”

“Will you take a picture with us, please?”

I awkwardly ran away. I’d never been so humiliated. For as long as I remembered, I’d been feared. Somehow these boys were smiling and laughing at me. Was I loosing my edge?

For hours I’d wondered what'd changed. I inspected my face and teeth in the mirror, but everything appeared the same.

Then, later that night, I heard it. As I walked a narrow street, brooding and seeking a heroin-laced snack, my ears picked up the sound. The voice of a broadcaster on the other side of a wall pierced me like a stake to the heart.

“He’s being called, ‘the hero of our time', 'zombie man', and 'hooded vigilante'," the telecaster said, a woman with a deep voice. Even with the television on low volume, I heard clearly. "After being caught on camera breaking into the warehouse of drug lord Santos Esteban, this hooded figure was seen fleeing the scene with Esteban’s lifeless body. Since then, federal authority’s have stated they're now looking for this figure, for the body of Esteban, and insisting the vigilante is, in no way affiliated with the FBI.

"Speculation has arisen as to the motive of the vigilante, though many believe he is simply acting on heroism. Videos of him decapitating the six armed guards to get to Esteban have circulated online, but the footage is too graphic to show here. There has been several alleged sightings of this man since the death of Esteban, one week ago, but analysts agree, none are real.

"Well, just today, four teenage boys have come forward and they are certain they have, in fact, spotted the hooded vigilante. Before we show their footage, I urge viewers to view with discretion. The face beneath the hood is… difficult to look at.”

My fangs nearly fell to the floor. For the first time in my life, I was a hero.

PART 2:

Caleb waited for some sort of explosion, beam of light, flick of the genie’s massive fingers. Instead, the genie crossed his arms and said, “nine minutes remain.”

“Did my father find your lamp?”

“Yes.”

“Was I the only one to find it after him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he wish for fortune?”

“I have already answered this,” the genie grumbled.

“Answer again.”

“He did.”

Caleb took a deep breath. The next question was difficult for him, but he needed to know before he made his final wish. “What was his second wish?”

The Genie smirked. His wispy form suddenly began to change, turning pale and fleshy. His purple limbs deflated and his torso tightened. There was a moment of erupting smoke, then from it emerged Caleb’s father. He hadn’t aged a day since Caleb last saw him. Same grey-green eyes, like his own. Same pale skin, caramel hair, lanky figure.

“Dad?” Caleb exclaimed. He reached for him, but the skin he touched turned to smoke. He took a step back.

His father stared past him. “I wish my family was happy and healthy for as long as I live.”

Again, the form began to change. A dark cloud appeared, and the genie returned to his previous self. “This was his wish.”

“I don’t understand… Why wasn’t it answered?”

“He wished for a happy family. A happy family he received. This was partially achieved by erasing his memory of you.”

“You gave him… a different family?”

“Yes.”

“You tricked him,” Caleb exclaimed. “Like you did to me!”

The genie remained silent.

“You twisted his words, didn’t you? You have to answer my question!”

“True,” the genie rumbled. “I must answer, but how long I take is my choice.”

“Then you will never get my final wish.”

“I twist nothing. I interpret. You humans impress me with your lack of understanding. Three wishes, the world at your fingertips, yet so careless with your words.”

“What was my father’s final wish?”

“There was no third wish. With his second, his memory was erased — and I was allowed my rest. Because of you, he died slowly. His family was happy while he lived, thinking they would inherit his fortune upon his death, until his death, when they realized it was left to his real family… you.”

“You’re no genie,” Caleb said slowly. “You’re the devil.”

“Twenty seconds remain.”

“How did my mother die?”

“Your question is too vague. It cannot be answered in time.”

“Try,” Caleb insisted.

“Work broke her body, depression broke her spirit. Your time is up. I have obeyed your wish.”

Caleb felt a tear glide down his cheek. He brushed it away. “I’m ready for my final wish.”

“Go on.”

“For my final wish… I wish to reset time, before my father found your lamp. But this time I wish to live our life the way it was meant to be, in a world where no one would find your lamp again.”

The genie laughed darkly. “Another mistake. By my count, your wish can be interpreted as two, even three wishes. And since I’m now in command of your words, and able to bend as I see fit, I —“

Suddenly the genie paused, as if considering the wish for the first time. “I — no one would find my lamp again?“

“That’s my wish,” Caleb said.

The ground began to rumble. The chains around the genie’s arms rattled until they broke and fell to the floor, disappearing into a purple mist. A look of relief fell over the genie’s face.

“Your wish is granted.”

It was almost midnight when the helicopter landed. A golden light circled the pad, illuminating the two men inside.

The pilot turned to the one beside him. “Sir?”

Caleb hesitated. He was twenty-eight years old and he’d never stepped foot on his father’s mansion. It was unlike anything he’d seen before. Twenty years and he kept it all to himself.

“You okay?” the voice of the pilot entered his headset.

“What if I want to leave? I just call you to pick me up?”

The pilot looked at him as if he were the same kind of crazy as his father. “If the mansion isn’t to your liking sir, there are several others for you to explore. I’m at your service, but first I recommend you check the collection of cars in the underground level. You’re welcome to them, since they’re yours. If you have trouble, wake the butler.”

With a nod, Caleb stepped down and felt the cold air rush against his face. A minute later the chopper was gone and he felt the heavy silence of the night.

He found the elevator and followed it down the floors. He walked along marble hallways, imagining the excitement he might’ve felt as a child. As an adult, he felt nothing.

He explored the mansion solemnly, discovering more living-rooms, kitchens and bedrooms than he could count. At the lowest level he found an underground garage ten times bigger than the apartment studio he’d grown up in. Back then, his mom worked two jobs to pay rent.

“Your father moved on. Now we have each other.” He remembered her words as he distantly counted the cars. It was the last she’d spoken of his father. If she were still alive, he’d have taken her there and watched as she burned it all to the ground. If he’d had her spine, he’d do it himself.

The last car ended his count at twenty-three. As he was about to exit the garage, he noticed something he didn’t see before. Parked in the corner, beneath a dusty cover, was an old car. It wasn’t flashy or expensive like the others, but something about it caught his attention. As he pulled off the cover, he noticed a flickering light emanating from the dash. He opened it and discovered a dusty lamp. He reached for it gingerly. As if spitting, purple light emerged from its spout. There were markings on it, but they were hard to read. He brushed it off and —

BAM!

The garage was blinded with powerful violet light. A genie emerged from the lamp, the force of its awakening so great that several cars were thrown to the side, crumpled and alarms blaring. The genie stretched, turned to the cars and growled, “OFF," at which point the sounds ceased. “You’re right to be frightened,” said the genie in a rumbling tone. “You’ve woken me from a pleasant sleep.”

“Sorry…”

“Too late. Now that I’m stirred, I cannot return until we’re finished.”

“Finished?”

The genie fidgeted impatiently with the chains around his massive wrists. “With your wishes.”

Caleb thought about it. “I have more money than I could ever spend. But I wouldn’t’ve wished for it.”

“If you wish, I could take it away?”

Caleb dared himself to meet the genie’s gaze. “Did my dad wish this?”

“I can’t be commanded to answer questions, unless you wish it so. For six thousand years I’ve learned to enjoy the comfort of my lamp, where I’d like to return. But I’ll indulge you this: just as my lamp grew on me, a new family grew on your father.”

Caleb clenched his fists in frustration.

The genie’s sharp eyes noticed. “I’d let you hit me if you wished. But as you can see, I have no physical body.” He ran a hand through the wall. “I cannot touch you, you cannot touch me.”

“I wouldn’t hit you. I just… I despise this fortune. My father kept it from us and I wish it’d killed him.”

“And so it has,” the genie hummed.

“What do you mean?”

The genie raised his dark eyebrows in amusement, as if he’d set a trap, and Caleb was the mouse sniffing it. “Your wish has already taken place, though you weren’t there to see it.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t there rules for wishes?”

“I create the rules.” Suddenly there was an edge in the genie’s voice. “Forget what you think you know. I have the power to control time in the obedience of a wish.”

Caleb didn’t know how to feel. A sudden weight of guilt fell over him, and his longing for vengeance remained unsatisfied. “I’m the reason he died?”

“Again, I’m not compelled to answer. Unless you wish it so.”

“You won’t even answer a question about a wish?”

“I’m not a prisoner to command, like your servants and butlers. I serve only the wishes. Two more, and I can return.”

Caleb thought about what the genie had done, how he’d been tricked. He looked around at the crumpled cars, deep in thought. Finally he said, as politely as he could, “I don’t want to end up like my father… Tell me, what would you wish for?”

The genie remained silent.

“Tell me,” Caleb insisted, “or I’ll never finish my wishes.”

“I have thousands of years of knowledge. I could trick you again. The first time wasn’t difficult.”

“Then I won’t speak until you answer.”

The massive purple form straightened until half its eyes disappeared into the ceiling, fifteen feet above him. “I’d wish to return to my lamp, and never answer another question.”

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you. I know what to wish for.”

The genie looked more bored than amused. “Yes?”

“No more tricks, and I promise we’ll both get what we want.”

“Wish away.”

Despite the genie’s promise, Caleb knew he needed to be careful. “First, I wish you would answer all my questions, as best you can, for the next ten minutes.”

A low rumbling entered the room, so heavy that it rattled the walls. Through charcoal grey teeth, the genie said, “granted.”

​

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