Wild Women Vampires: Ancient and Modern

Yesterday, the History lesson was all about Cleopatra, and today’s English class focused on “The Vampire” by Kipling. These subjects got me thinking about Wild Women—both the ones from history and those of today. Now, I must confess, I’ve never truly been “wild,” though I must admit that it’s my deepest ambition. At just sixteen, I have more understanding of what being “wild” truly means than many women twice my age, all thanks to a certain “wild” incident that was simply an innocent act misunderstood by a friend of the family.

But I digress. Let’s talk about the allure of Wild Women—particularly, the Vampire Woman. I find myself defending her, especially after a recent family discussion about her.

The Argument at the Table

Last night, the topic of “Wild Women” came up at dinner, and the conversation quickly took an interesting turn. Father, as usual, was absorbed in his evening paper, making little effort to hide his frustration with an advertisement for a “Vampire Film” that caught his eye.

“Another Vampire film?” he groaned, making a show of the paper. “The Queen of Vampires? The meanest woman in the world? Ridiculous. It’s absurd how these movies make women out to be more wicked than they really are. I’ll never understand why men spend their time making the next vampire out-vamp the last.”

The family exchanged glances, resigned to the fact that Father’s rants were part of the daily routine. Mother and Sister May shared a knowing look as if preparing for a storm. I decided to step in.

A Wild Argument

“Father,” I said, leaning forward with a confident smile, “history proves that to be remembered, a woman must live wildly.”

There was a shocked silence. Bill, ever the dramatic, groaned loudly.

“Oh no, here we go again,” he muttered. “Last week it was ‘Love,’ and this week it’s ‘Wild Women.’ What’s next? A lecture on pirates?”

But I wasn’t deterred. I continued with all the passion I could muster, “Think about it. Do we read about peaceful, quiet ladies making history? No! It’s the women who lived on the edge, who dared to break boundaries, who became legends.”

Mother raised an eyebrow, clearly alarmed. “What have you been reading?” she asked, a little too concerned.

Father shot a glance at her as if accusing her of neglecting me, but I pressed on.

The Wild Life in History

I ignored their disbelief and focused on the core of my argument. “Wild women like Cleopatra, like the vampires in these films, get noticed because they make an impact. They don’t sit at home quietly—they do things that shake the very foundations of society.”

“Goodness!” Mother exclaimed, glancing at Father in dismay. “What are you teaching her?”

But before Father could reply, Sister May piped up with sarcasm. “Oh, she’s fine, don’t worry. Last week, an exhibition dancer pulled her into the spotlight. She’s just caught up in that wild, flashy life now—actors, dancers, you know, the usual.”

At the mention of “actor,” Mr. Jack—our family friend—shifted nervously in his seat. I could see his mind racing, likely remembering an event from the past week when I had danced in the spotlight with an actor in front of an audience. The memory thrilled me, but I kept my composure.

The Wild Dance

Meanwhile, Father was scanning the paper again. His eyes narrowed on a piece of news. “Ah, here’s an interesting tidbit,” he said, suddenly more serious. “Remember that dancing man we met at the Lodge Banquet? Mr. Barnes?”

Everyone nodded. He went on, reading aloud from the paper:

“Mr. Barnes, the famous ballroom dancer, is looking for a new partner for his act. The mystery woman will wear a veil, and the public is invited to guess her identity. She’s a society girl—well known, beautiful, and talented.”

Father paused, glancing around to gauge everyone’s reaction. There was a stunned silence, broken only by Mother’s disapproving sigh.

“That’s a disgrace!” she declared. “No well-bred woman would ever do something like that. She’s probably some wild young thing desperate for attention.”

Sister May leaned in, her face lighting up with excitement. “Wait! That’s it! Mr. Barnes called here last week asking for Janet, under an assumed name. He must have wanted her to be his mystery partner. I’m sure of it!”

Everyone remembered the calls, and a tense silence fell over the table. Mother muttered something under her breath, still shocked by the idea.

The Mystery of Wildness

Then, as if on cue, Mr. Jack’s gaze met mine, full of curiosity and perhaps a hint of concern. He seemed lost in thought, replaying the events of the past week in his mind. Something about me must have seemed… wild to him. Wild, yes, but how wild? The thought made my heart race.

I smiled to myself. Like Cleopatra before me, I had dared to live—and that, I knew, was my power. Had I simply stayed at home, quietly, out of sight, I would have been as invisible to him as roller skates to Aunt Priss. But now, in his eyes, I was a mystery—a wild, irresistible force.

And so, the Wild Woman’s legacy continues to captivate, to attract, to unsettle. Through history, through film, through me.