My tattoo is costing me my life

I was a history student and I was assigned to write a term paper on the Minoan civilisation. The Minoans were a Bronze Age civilizations from Crete and neighbouring islands. While I was researching for my term paper I came across a picture of what is thought to be a Minoan temple. There I've noticed a remarkably well preserved inscription. It was in Linear-A script. In the middle it had the Linear-A symbol which resembles a cross, or a lower case "t" and around it, in a spiral pattern other Minoan "letters". It looked like snail made of incredibly ancient symbols. Linear-A is the writing system used to write the Minoan language. We currently know next to nothing about either. No Linear-A text has ever been deciphered.

I took a picture of the inscription and continued my research, forgetting all about it.

A few months later, I decided to get a tattoo. While looking for inspiration on the internet, I remembered the inscription form that Minoan ruin and the picture I took. I looked for it on my phone and decided this is going to be my next tattoo.

A few months passed after I got the tattoo. It was a very hot summer. I went for a run in the evening. Even though it was after dark, it was still exceptionally hot. I had to take off my shirt. After a while, I noticed, I kind of got lost and ended up in a poorly lit alley. I continued jogging, while looking for a way back to my usual route. There wasn't anybody on this particular alley. Completely deserted. All of a sudden, I saw an older gentleman. He didn't look very well, kind of sick even. He was staring at me. I passed him by. As soon as he was behind me, I heard a loud hiss followed by a thud. I looked back and the guy was lying on the pavement. I went to see if he was okay.

"Are you okay, sir?"

No response.

I took his hand, to see if he had a pulse. No pulse. Cold as ice.

Oh, God. This guy just died on me. I've got to call the ambulance.

I'd taken out my phone to call 112, when I noticed his face. It was very pale. His eyes, half closed, were completely red, with dark circles around them. And his mouth … I shuttered. He had two enormous fangs.

A vampire?

I didn't want to call 112 any more. I put a considerable amount of distance between him an me. I stopped for a moment to think what to do. Finally, I decided to run away.

He's already dead. He's not gonna go anywhere. I don't wanna stay and give explanations to the police. Somebody will find him eventually.

While considering my options, a cooler night breeze started to blow. I put my T-shirt back on. Suddenly, the hissing from the corpse resumed. He tried to get up, but was too weak. With a great deal of effort, he crawled into some bushes nearby. Seeing the corpse move, I was paralysed with fear. I wanted to run away, but my legs wouldn't obey me. I continued watching in stupor, as he finally got up and limped as far away from me as possible.

How? He was clearly dead. Didn't move, didn't breathe, no pulse, skin as pale and dry as wax.

I ran as fast as I could home. Having wrecked my brains the whole week, I couldn't find any other explanation, besides my first instincts: that thing was a bloody vampire and the tattoo on my chest, the one with the Minoan symbols somehow affected him.

I must tell somebody. But how? They wouldn't believe me, they must think I'm crazy. Or for that matter, if they do, THEY must be crazy. I wouldn't believe it myself, had I not seen it with my own eyes.

Suddenly, I started to doubt, what I had seen.

But, what DID I see with my own eyes? Was he REALLY dead? I need more proof. I need to find just one more vampire, before I can tell anybody.

Ever since, I've looked for any excuse to take off my shirt as soon as the sun went down. I had to pretend to be that vain guy, who was so fond of his six-pack he couldn't possibly keep his shirt on. But first, I had to get my six-pack, so I went daily to the gym, always after dark, making sure to take my shirt off from time to time. I frequented saunas and swimming pools. Nothing happened for quite some time. Life went on.

Meanwhile, I started reading up on vampirism. I began with early modern reports, before people started to treat vampirism as a joke, then medieval, and finally ancient. Every culture had stories of vampires. I even wrote my master's thesis on vampirism in the ancient Mediterranean basin.

Lately, I've decided to change careers. Being a historian is fun, but it doesn't pay very well. I found a well-paying job with an insurance firm. This Easter was my first Holiday with the firm. I was invited to the corporate holiday party. Of course I went.

During the party, I pretended to get drunk really quickly, I jumped on the table, and took my shirt off. Turns out, I was right all along: vampires are indeed paralysed by seeing the tattoo on my chest. The bad news is, all my co-workers fell off their chairs paralysed. ALL. OF. THEM.

Needless to say, I ran away as fast as I could. I've been on the run the past few weeks. I'm writing this to worn people that vampires are real and to urge them to look up that symbol. There aren't very many Linear-A inscriptions surviving. Paint it on your front door. Frame it and hang it in your bedroom. Please, people, your life depends on it.