What I abhorred? Predators of the human variety.

I didn’t know who lived in the bungalow on the quiet side street. So why then, you might wonder, did I skulk atop the roof of the house, crouched in wait like a skulking vulture?

The reason arrived on foot, wearing a ski mask and nondescript clothing, the kind easily ditched and forgotten. I watched as he sidled right up to the window he’d unlocked earlier in the day when he’d entered the home to check the water meter. The homeowner didn’t notice his subterfuge. Then again, why would they suspect someone who claimed they had municipal authority to enter their house?

He didn’t, actually. The work order, the uniform, everything was fake and all part of how this predator operated. You see, Simon Petrie was a pervert, and tonight his reign of indecent exposure would come to an end.

As to how Simon came to my notice? The police issued a warning. Over the past few months there’d been several reported incidents of a man illegally entering homes via an unlocked window, waking the victim and threatening them with a knife if they screamed. Once the victims promised to behave, Simon then proceeded to jerk off his small cock to a slimy conclusion. He didn’t rape, didn’t even touch—not yet at least. However, Simon the pervert needed to be handled before his crimes escalated. Already he’d gone from exposing himself once every other week, to four times in the past eight days. It was only a matter of time before the thrill of tugging himself to climax for a disgusted audience was no longer enough to satisfy. I planned to end his jizzing career before that happened.

With that mission in mind, and little clues to go on—because the cops couldn’t find a match for the DNA left behind—I visited a few crime scenes. I questioned the victims, then ensured none would remember seeing me. Got a description and a scent. Once I had those, it took me five days of wandering my city before I tracked Simon down, during which time he traumatized two more women.

His terrorizing of women ended tonight. My Christmas gift to the world.

Now, I could have confronted Simon at his apartment. After all, I knew his name and where he lived, but honestly, I found it much more satisfying to stalk and swoop into the rescue before my target committed their unholy crime, and lucky me, he’d dumbly left the address of his next victim written on a pad of paper that also listed future potentials.

Giddy with anticipation, I allowed Simon to reach for the window he’d unlocked and stifled a giggle as he found it latched. My doing. I’d ensured Martha Stewart—no relation to the household goddess!—fastened it shut earlier that evening.

“What the fuck,” Simon muttered as he strained to no avail. The annoyed and stymied perv kicked the snow as he turned around and headed for the sidewalk in a full-blown sulk. Boohoo, I’d ruined his plans.

Quietly, I leapt from the rooftop and shadowed Simon as he made his way to his car, which he’d parked close to the park. Smart on his part, given how many people strolled, jogged, or dragged a dog to do its business through the myriad trails. No one would give the plain sedan a second glance.

Lights blinked as he unlocked his car, my cue to announce my presence.

“Going home so soon, Simon?” I purred.

At the sound of my voice, he whirled and frowned. “Who are you?”

“Given I’m feeling rather festive, let’s go with the Spirit of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I know what you’ve done and what you were about to do. I am also going to make sure it never happens again.” Said with a lilting tone, because I truly was feeling merry about the situation.

“Fuck off, bitch.” He took a menacing step in my direction.

Old me would have been intimated by a six foot three-ish man with at least two hundred plus pounds of muscle and a scowl.

New me laughed. “Oh, Simon. Do you think you scare me? I’ve handled bigger with ease,” I taunted. But I could understand why he thought I’d be an easy target, seeing how he topped me by a good eight inches and outweighed me by at least sixty or seventy pounds.

“How do you know my name?”

My lips curved. “Because I’ve been following you. You’ve been a bad boy, Simon. Congrats on making my naughty list.”

“How dare you spy on me!” He spat as he lunged for me.

A simple sidestep, an extended foot, and oopsies, down went the perv.

Simon hit the cold asphalt face first and immediately popped to his feet yelling. “You fucking cunt. I am going to mess you up so bad.”

“I’d like to see you try.” I crossed my arms and arched a brow. “Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got. Or maybe not. I’ve heard it’s rather small, and I wouldn’t want to pee my pants laughing.” It used to be a problem when I hit menopause and my body suddenly stopped working the way it should.

"Bitch! You are going to regret messing with me." Simon’s sudden courage came from his less-than-subtle reach for the switchblade in his pocket. He extended it and growled. “On your knees where you belong, whore.”

“You really need to look up the definition of whore because I’m pretty sure the fact I only screw one guy makes me the opposite.”

“Whatever, slut. I said kneel.” He waved his puny blade, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“I can’t believe your knife is as small as your dick.”

His eyes narrowed in rage. “We’ll see if you’re still calling it small when I choke you with it.” He lunged for me and swung. Rather than dodge, I leaned in so that the tip of the blade slashed open my cheek.

Yes, I let him injure me to prove a point. The cut barely bled and immediately sealed shut without leaving so much as a dimple. Pretty cool, huh? Super-duper healing would have been handy when my appendix blew up a few years back and I ended up in intensive care for a week eating shitty hospital food.

“What the fuck? Who are you?” Simon gasped. Nothing like seeing the wide-eyed look on the face of my prey when they realized just how screwed they were.

I tossed my hair as I posed. “Take a wild guess. You may have read about me in the news.” While Simon had been given the title, Midnight Diddler, mine ended up being much cooler.

“You’re the Vigilante Vampire,” he exclaimed.

“I am.” And I quite approved of my social media name, especially since they also called me a hero for taking out the trash.

No longer as confident, Simon suddenly decided to bolt.

Silly man. I let him get a head start and watched as he sprinted into the woods, then I did the slow villain stalk. The trail meandering through the suburban copse of trees was pretty. Softly falling snow passed through the bare branches and dusted the ground, a blanket of white that clearly showed Simon’s shoe prints.

Not that I need those to find him. Like a certain famous toucan, I followed my nose.

I allowed Simon to run until he thought himself safe. When he slowed to a walk, I tackled his ass and flipped him onto his back.

He squeaked, like a mouse caught by a cat.

I knelt on his chest and smiled. “Did you really think you could escape me?”

“Leave me alone.”

“The same way you left those poor women alone? I think not.”

“I didn’t hurt them,” he huffed.

“Mental trauma counts.” Some of the victims required counseling afterwards, not to mention poor Sue-Ellen, the virgin, whose first experience with a dick would leave her unprepared for the fact they were usually much larger and more fearsome.

He had the nerve to beg. "Don't kill me. I'll give you anything you want."

“There’s only one thing I want from you, Simon,” I stated, licking my lips as the pulse in his neck fluttered rapidly, teasing and tempting me.

“I won’t do it anymore. I promise,” he blubbered.

“No, you won’t.” I made sure of that. I struck quick as a viper, my fangs penetrating his flesh, letting his blood flow. I gulped to quench my thirst, and didn’t stop until Simon’s heart ceased beating.

I could have stopped before he died, but better to have one less pervert walking the streets. Santa could thank me later for clearing the backlog on his naughty list.

You might wonder how I went from a menopausal, dumpy, perpetually single, aging poorly data manager to a crime fighting cougar—with fangs.

My story, make that my second chance at life, began two years ago around Christmas…