It's not easy being me. Really, it's not.

That's what I kept thinking as I walked the streets of San Francisco. I made sure that my body was completely covered – I wore a brown trench coat, sunglasses that ended in points, an orange scarf wrapped around the rest of my face, and black combat boots. Sure, I received more than my fair share of stares, but everyone was too busy snickering about my fashion sense or marveling at my 5 foot 9 height than looking beneath it.

I eventually reached my apartment. It wasn't all that complex – just a bed, a fridge that went up to my knee, a mirror, and two shelves that contained multitudes of comic books. Taking off my outfit, I looked into the mirror.

This is why I'm glad for my disguise – I'm a freakin' scarecrow. Not the cuddly Wizard of Oz scarecrow, but one that would send Batman's Scarecrow running for his mom. Demonic red eyes shined with a hatred that existed nowhere in my soul. My left hand was like the clawed hand of some forgotten bad guy from Lord of the Rings. If people looked beneath my faded brown sack of a t-shirt, they'd find bugs for blood (gross, I know, but I didn't choose that. I'll get to that later) and a black metal that seemed to glow a dark red for a skeleton. My shoes were pointed like a jester's, only they didn't curl. My hat, which I left behind, would have been what Clint Eastwood would have worn in a horror movie. A nice mix of wizardry and western, if I do say so myself. My right hand was the only thing that seemed normal, looking like a gardener's glove. Every time I moved it though, it rustled and snapped. Makes sense, seeing as it's the only part of me that's stuffed with straw.

Perhaps I should explain why I'm a scarecrow. You see, scarecrows were originally invented by Merlin during his last few years of life, in order to combat the then-recent rise of supernatural creatures. We were quite good at it, too. We kept the early world safe for a while, even helping out during the American Revolution. However, that's when a certain vampire called Dracula happened. He gradually corrupted us, either through sorcery or simply through our own faults. I was the most recent scarecrow to be created, born during the early days of the 9/11 aftermath. One of Dracula's associate's made contact with me, a werewolf by the name of Riptear. He tried to turn me, showing me just how despicable humanity can be. He almost succeeded too, if it weren't for this one girl.

I never did learn her name. All I remember of her is her hair, which was the color of a ripe tomato, and her eyes, which were the sparkling blue of the ocean. She knew about the true world of the supernatural, and she wanted me to help her. I was hesitant – why should I help this species called humanity, who raped and murdered like it was second nature? That was when she showed me the other side of humanity – love. It was my first time, too, and it would have led to marriage if Riptear didn't intervene.

He killed her. He killed her, and showered me with her blood. Riptear had hoped that the taste of blood would turn me permanently, but he was sorely mistaken. What became of him? Well, let's just say that Dracula will need to find another person to command the werewolves.

Eleven years later, I'm here. I had managed to turn two other scarecrows, and they went over to Beijing and Paris, respectively. Things were actually starting to look good. So I decided to try and live what the humans call an "ordinary life". So far, so good. I was an editor for the San Francisco Times, and I even was staring my first relationship in the face after… I think I'll call that woman Red, seeing as I never got her name.

Sitting down on my bed, I turned on the TV. Maybe Mythbusters is on. I hope they test whether silver bullets actually survive getting out of the gun. That's been causing a lot of issues lately.

Agh, could these guys have worse timing? Turning towards the smell of brimstone, I saw two stone gargoyles. One was my height, while the other barely reached the top of the fridge. These morons were the Three Stooges of the supernatural (or two, in this case).

"Are we seriously gonna do this dance again, guys?" I complained, my voice as whispy as the wind and crunchy as dry straw. "Could you at least wait until I finish my program?"

"We can't, betrayer!" the short guy hissed. "We have been blessed by our Lord Dracula with more than enough power to enslave you! You are coming with us!"

Their hands started glowing green as circles started appearing over my body. Damn – they aren't kidding around this time! Once the circles reach my bloodstream, I'll be nothing other than a puppet! Time to show these guys that I can mean business.

I summoned a tendril of darkness in my left hand, letting it twist in the air like a snake. That tendril wasn't just any darkness – it was holy darkness, composed of God's own shadow. As it started traveling over my body, I leaped at the two gargoyles. The moment I landed, I elbowed the taller gargoyle in the face, making him explode in a thousand fragments. The other gargoyle launched himself at me, tackling me to the ground. He would have bitten me, but I released a few yellow jackets and commanded them to attack the gargoyle's eyes. Most people don't know this, but gargoyles aren't all stone – the eyes and the tongue are flesh.

The gargoyle got off of me, swatting the bugs out of his eyes. Standing up, I used my most lethal power. Brimstone, rotten eggs, and spoiled milk filled the air with their stench as red smoke and black sparks surrounded my left hand. A hideous gun emerged from that smoke, like a zombie emerging from the grave. This was our most feared power – the ability to use a Reaper Gun, the one thing that can kill anyone it touches.

Gargoyle Two seemed smarter than Gargoyle One, seeing as he recognized the gun. He started screaming, "Have mercy! Have mercy, Shadow of God!"

"How many people have you killed?"

This made Gargoyle Two confused. "What?"

"Answer me! It's the only way you'll live."

"I… I don't know! I stopped keeping track after five hundred!"

That did it. I pulled the trigger, and the gun fired. A Reaper Gun doesn't have a bang like a normal gun – it has a hiss, like some animal would hiss before devouring some animal. Gargoyle Two disintegrated into nothingness, leaving me alone again.

I'm going to Transylvania. Dracula needs to pay for his crimes.