Confessions of The Vampire Hunter, ________ __________ , Esq, being an accurate and timely report on his activities

Technically, I'm a vampire hunter. I have been hunting since I was six. That was when I found out that more than sunlight or a stake would kill a vampire. One time in primary school, one of the kids told me he had a secret, second name. Grayson had overheard his parents talking about it, and decided to share it with me, since I didn't have one myself.

 He told me his name, the poor bastard (actually I'm not sure of his parentage), lisping the whole time. His second name hissed, twisted and sputtered like a living thing. I took it in, repeating it, taking out the lisp, playing with the word order, when suddenly a vampire boy exploded in a shower of glitter (it was art class, we had one of those teachers). Everything was covered in red chunks, and I was shitting glitter for a week (she put it in the paste as well, I was one of those kids). 

 The next time I was 13. Anita, a girl I didn't like, told me she had a secret name, to spite me for not having one. She told me it, not knowing its power (though by now I was beginning to suspect). I'd heard rumours of missing kids, and most people I knew only had one, proper name, though some of those could get very long.

 

 The girl, Anita, had read hers on some document, a secret birth certificate or some such. She was very proud to be able to read it, she had been learning her own (terrible) language blah blah blah. What language needs 18 different tenses? Not English that's for sure! Like an idiot, she told me her special name. Like an idiot, I recited it back to her, perfectly, the first time.

 Sometimes I think, if such a name can kill, why would you have it in a publicly accessible database? Actually, sometimes we do find them in unsecured Google docs or AWS S3 buckets. It's crazy. Anyone could kill you just by calling out your name. No, to be really secure, you keep them secret, in thick heavily guarded tomes, written in a language which sounds like spittle, hissing and drooling, like unfulfilled promises, like the sound of blood and glitter squelching underfoot.

 One of the teachers had overheard our conversation just before Anita exploded all over the playground. I was expelled from school, doomed to live the rest of my life fighting the undead and their children through damp cellars, and speed running Scientology office raids, because a couple of braggarts with a fatal garlic allergy couldn't keep their mouths shut, and I couldn't either.