by Laurie Johnson
January 1, 2000 11:29 AM
The revelers outside my window made it difficult to sleep, and so though I had nothing to celebrate I rose from my tangled bed and dressed quickly, throwing on layer after layer of clothing to guard from the chill of the frosty night. There was no reason in my dressing, and the odd assortment of clothing made me look rather like a circus clown instead of the dignified professor, but I left the confines of my room regardless, and onto the street I went. I had hoped to be able to lose myself in the throngs of people, even if only for a moment, but it was not to be. No sooner had I stepped from the relative quiet of the yard and onto the street I was swept away by the visions, the same ones that have played through my dreams, my waking hours.. my nightmares have become tangible, and I fear for my sanity.
It began as it always did. A face loomed before me and I tried to step aside, but something.. and that something cannot be explained.. bade me to stay, and to fight. But fight what? A hallucination? For surely the face that melted into being from the normal man that once stood there could not be real. But as I reached out to steady myself the chill flesh that touched my gloveless hand could not be denied, and a growled command escaped from deep within, a place I did not know existed until these horrors began. I screamed out as I always do; again, it’s unexplainable to me where the words came from.. but at the scream of inhumane terror that tore itself from my throat the "thing".. for what else can I call it?.. recoiled and turned, disappearing into the same mass of humanity that I’d thought to lose myself in.
I gave chase; my feet had life of their own. for if I’d had a choice in the matter I surely would have been back in my bed and hiding like the coward I’ve always been under the sheets. Alas, it was not to be, and I followed it as far as I could before it just.. dare I even write it lest someone find this and deem me insane?.. disappeared.
And so I write. My mind has found no rest on this first night of the last year of the millennium, and I need to find answers, but I cannot think clearly. I must find a way to do my research anonymously and to assure that none find out that it is I asking these questions that might come from a madman’s mind. For if I were found out it would mean the end of my tenure here, and the end of my life, I feel certain.
Monday, January 10, 2000 11:45 pm
My chance came today. The students were back in classes after the long holiday break, and it was hard to keep my mind on the lecture. I find myself searching every face I see now for signs of inhumanity. Thankfully I have found none in any of my symposiums, and I can relax somewhat here, and give my students the knowledge that their parents paid for. I only wish I could give them the knowledge of what really matters. But I digress.
As I was standing in the hallway, waiting for my second lecture of the day to assemble, I overheard a conversation between two students nearby. One had apparently received a computer for a gift, and he was telling the other about the internet, and newsgroups. I have never brought myself to read them since Andrew explained to me that viruses can easily be passed from one computer to another through the postings, but I had a sudden feeling that this was what I needed to do. I don’t ignore feelings anymore, as uneducated as that sounds, and after lectures were through for the day, I gathered my things and went to the computer store. I hesitate to write the name here for fear my purchases could be tracked, but I discussed virus protection in detail with several of the salespeople, and finally deciding on one I purchased it, and went home to install it.
I registered for the upgrades for the software as well. I say that here because as I was getting ready to send the online registration I had another "feeling", and I deleted my name and address and substituted another, made-up one. I have no idea why I did so now, but it seemed entirely important at the time, and as I said previously I will not ignore those mental nudges. I registered for the GO Network as well, using a different name and address, and I launched into my searching with a passion I have not felt since I put my hands on my first book of Byron poetry as a young teenage boy.
I have found nothing thus far. I cannot think that I am the only one out there that this is happening to, it’s unimaginable. And so I will not give up. I will continue my queries, I will place them in each newsgroup, each chatroom, each font of information I can find on this electronic highway, until I have my answers.
As a side note: When I was signing up for my free e-mail, I had another insight of sorts. And I find myself with the e-mail address of "Professor 23@hotmail.com" for whatever reason. I hesitate again to write this here for fear of discovery, but I also need to keep track of the visions and the insights, and so one outweighs the other.
Tuesday, January 18, 2000 10:31 pm
As I write this, my hands still shake.. my heart still pounds, the adrenaline races through my body like fire through dry brush on the plain. I cannot put words to paper quickly enough, and yet I am loathe to type this on the computer lest someone find the password to my files and see my insanity. At least in this journal I can lock my thoughts away from prying eyes.. would that I could hide them from myself.
Andrew and I went to dinner tonight at the bistro downtown. We’d planned to meet friends, and I was looking forward to the night of relaxation. I’d had no more visions, and I’d very nearly convinced myself that none of it had actually happened at all, that it was merely stress, and that I was now cured after the long break. I dressed in my usual hasty manner, throwing on the brown wide waled corduroys and the tan turtleneck to ward off the chill that always seems to be prevalent in the small cafe, no matter where we sit. Andrew arrived around 7 and we took his car, stopping at the bookstore for a few new novels that I needed for class, andthen proceeding to the restaurant. We took note of our friends cars in the parking garage and walked inside, their mood seemed light, upbeat; the prospect of a good meal and even better conversation a beacon to me against the darkness of the night and the tone of the past few weeks.
We found them quickly in the tiny place and joined them at the table. The chill seemed worse tonight for some reason and I shivered, but it was more a tingling of fear that licked at my spine rather than just a cool breeze. I could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, and yet nothing presented itself. Andrew noticed, and thinking I was merely cold, draped his jacket over my shoulders; usually that gesture would bring with it such comfort, but not this night. I must have seemed crazed to our friends, eyes darting to and fro, watching each movement, each face with such intensity that I scared even myself.
The waiter came and took our orders. I had no appetite suddenly, not for the meal, not for the conversation, not for any of it. But I asked for consomme and salad to keep up the front of joviality, and picked at it fretfully once it was delivered. I could not shake the sense of doom that overwhelmed my very soul. I finally gave up and excused myself from the table and went to the restroom to collect myself.
How can I explain the wall of dread that met me when I opened the door? It was tangible; I could feel it, I could taste it, I could smell it like acrid sweat on a humid New York summer day. And though I should have run at that very moment, I was urged on through the door by something.. that same something I feel each time I begin to do one thing, and then change my mind without reason. It seemed as I must go in, as if I had no say in the matter, and now that I write this, I know that I did not.
I stood against the door, my hands behind me, my heart pounding. My eyes moved over the small room, and I could discern nothing that would cause me to feel so. The lights that encircled the mirror above the sink resembled that of the dressing room of an actor, naked bulbs in striate rows of warmth.. and yet I felt no light, no heat. I suppose it was the pattern of the lights, but there was a strange shadow thrown against the opposite wall, and it gave me some pause. After a brief instant I stepped toward the mirror and stared into it, finding that my expression was a mask of calm. That somehow surprised me as it was far from what I was feeling. I turned on the water and ran my hands through the comforting reality of the lukewarm stream after pushing up my shirt sleeves. I stood like that for a long moment, collecting my thoughts, or attempting to. And then I turned again toward the door, one foot lifted to take me toward the towel receptacle.. and that’s when I discovered I was not alone.
Now you must understand, the room had no hidden places. It was a tiny restroom, the commode a stark island of porcelain against one corner; the sink, the mirror, a small open trash receptacle were the only furnishings. The door had not opened in the entire time I stood there, unless I had blacked out and not known, a possibility I am only just now thinking of as I write. I saw no one in the mirror as I glanced up, but as I turned I very nearly walked into the man that stood watching me. The look in his eyes was feral, animalistic; I can only compare it to passion, but I now know somehow it was hunger. And he was dead.
He reached for me then, his hands closed like a vice around my shoulders, and as his lips parted I saw incisors that were pointed, sharp.. they extended from his gums like the vampires one reads about in the novels of horror I force down the throats of my students but he was far from the gothic beauties described therein. His body was hard and cold, the very air in the room was lowered by untold degrees. His facial skin and the flesh that I could see hung from him like that of the corpse I saw dragged from the Hudson when I was a mere boy. I opened my mouth to scream in my terror, my hands lifted to grasp at his arms to push him away, and as my hands touched him the words that tore from my throat were not my own.
It happened so quickly that I am not sure the account I present here is accurate. I believe that I uttered a phrase near to, "By the Dead, ye too shall die!". And as the words were wrenched from me by breath that was not mine, the corpse’s eyes flew open wide, it seemed in that moment his terror matched my own, and he melted.. yes, I did write melted.. into the shadow that I had seen against the wall upon my entrance. And if that weren’t insanity enough for me to bear, the shadow then detached itself from the wall and slid across the floor, resembling a man in pain crawling to aid, then up the wall and through a tiny crack where a breeze from the outside billowed the thin gauzy curtain in the window.
I turned and took the two steps to the door and out, bumping into chairs, tables, other patrons.. I staggered like one who had been fatally wounded and could not die before his tale was told. Andrew saw this, and came to my side, and I barely heard the words of apology he uttered to our companions as he hastily led me to the car. I was shaking so badly that I could not have made it on my own, my knees were rubber, my breath was ragged, and I grasped the handle of the door of the car and tore it open with inhuman strength and the need to be inside of it. I slammed my hand down on the lock button in an irrational gesture, and I am embarrassed to say it, but tears poured down my cheeks as I shook silently, arms wrapped around myself as if I could hide there. Andrew drove in silence all the way home, and I was grateful for I could not have spoken at that time had he asked it of me.
As I write this, the telephone is ringing. Andrew, most likely, though I cannot yet explain to him what is happening to me as I do not know myself. I fear if this keeps on, I will lose him, and all I hold dear to me. I pray now, although I have not believed in God for some time, and that in itself gives me some measure of unexplainable comfort. I go to my bed a coward, every light I could find in my apartment are now in this one room, the shades removed and they are lit to keep the shadows away. I will not sleep I fear, but rather replay this night in my mind until the dawn comes.
::a slanting calligraphy-like script of the most delicate hand, ink drawn from a well, and penned with a quill onto vellum, each word a work of art, as if drawn by someone who had years of practice at such::
The 19th day of January in the year of our Lord 2000
I sit before you with news that I cannot yet fathom. Bear with the ramblings of this old man, for I fear that the dire warnings of the mindless puppets of the Camarilla may hold some merit. Be patient while I attempt to explain myself my friend, for the words come slowly to me this night, my mind seeks to understand that which I have had no experience with. And in my centuries on this earth, there is not much I have not seen.
I awoke with a relish this eve. My work here in New York has not gone unnoticed, and though we have lost much for reasons I will not go into in this missive, I remain hopeful that we can once again prevail here. But that is for another time. What I witnessed tonight bears investigating, and that right soon.
The hunger of several nights was upon me, I had not taken the time to feed in my haste to finish my work, and I went out in search of prey. My hunt took me to the University as it often does, and as luck would have it this night, to what I had assumed to be an easy conquest. I made myself unknown, and as the pair of men entered their automobile, I joined them. The older and more unkempt of the two seemed rather nervous, I have always enjoyed a bit of mystery and intrigue with the hunt; What fools these mortals be, in the words of Shakespeare. They stopped at one of those garish shops that sell what pass for books in these modern times, and then proceeded to a small restaurant. I followed them inside and then to the privy, just biding my time, waiting for someone to enter the tiny facilities. I opened the window just slightly as I waited, one never knows which way will be the best way out once one has fed. And so the trap was complete, all that remained was the waiting.
Soon enough the man I mentioned previously entered. He seemed hesitant, but we know that some of the more humane persons can sense us. I bided my time and the door was summarily closed behind him, and he stood there for a moment as if he was unsure of why he had come. The wait seemed endless, and his eyes fell upon my hiding place, I had almost thought I had been discovered in some way and that my game was off tonight, but he moved to the basin and began to run the water. I saw this as my chance and allowed the shadows to unwrap; I stood behind him, my fangs preparing to take sustenance. He turned toward the paper receptacle that passes for fine linen in this day and age, and the look on his face was one I expected, that of stark terror. My hand reached out to choke off the scream before we were discovered, but suddenly he spoke. The words ran into my mind like a hot poker, and I dropped him and stepped back, I must have mirrored that expression that he had worn previously, and he now owned mine. I can almost sense your impatience, my lord, and I apologize for the long description, but I fear it must all be said in order for it to be explained. The words, you are asking yourself? "By the Dead, so shall ye die".
With that utterance it was as if I had no reason of my own. I reeled back as if I had been hit, though the most he may have done was clutched at my arm in his fear. He took steps toward the door as I melted back into my shadowed form, and I felt as if I could not move. I slithered like aweak childe to the window and out, laying in horror of what I had just witnessed.
I fear that something we have not yet known is upon us now. You know me well, perhaps better than any ever have or ever will. You know that I do not run from the fray, but rather gauge my reactions as a general over his troops. You know that something more is present here, or that I would not have reacted so. I do not beg your forgiveness nor ask for pardon. I only wish to send a warning to you and the others, so that we may know the truth. Please impart to me your orders as quickly as possible, and I shall comply.
I remain ever your humble servant.
::the wax seal bears only the initial "S" in fine script::
::the script of this missive is written in red ink, carefully lined, as if the words were meant to impart an order with urgency in its words::
The 24th day of January in the year of our Lord 2000
My dearest Santiago;
Your letter was received in the haste in which you requested and I apologize for the time it has taken for my reply. I am sure you can understand that such news must be carefully considered by all, and agreement reached on the steps to be taken. Such an agreement has been come to this night, and it follows.
We wish for your immediate return. Arrangements have been made for you and will accompany this missive. Raoul, the bearer of the letter, is as you know one of my most trusted servants and he will see to it that your journey is as it should be. You need not worry yourself over your personal effects, they will follow you in due time. We wish a first hand account on all you have seen.
We will be expecting you on the morrow. May your journey be a pleasant one.
::the letter is sealed with the single initial, "M"::
Santiago read the letter as one would accept a death sentence. He turned his eyes upon Raoul, and knew him to be the executioner. One does not pronounce oneself a coward to the Sabbat without fear of retaliation and he had done so. His reasons mattered not, what he had seen mattered not; the sentence had been pronounced without trial or monomacy.
He faced Raoul now, his face a practiced mask of calm. He nodded his acquiescence, and as Raoul turned, Santiago made his move. Three tendrils of shadow coiled from the one cast by the single lamp at the table in the alcove and wound their sinewy way around his arms, effectively pinning them to his sides. Raoul struggled to break free, but enough time was given by the surprise distraction for Santiago to make his move. His potent vitae coursed through his body as he reached for the table that held the lamp and lifted it, slamming it against the wall once. It shattered; all that remained was the leg that he’d hoisted it by. Before Raoul could shake off the last coils of his bindings, the leg had found purchase in his chest and he fell to the floor wearing the same look of shock and hatred that he had adopted when the tendrils had first found their way around him, and Santiago was through the door and onto the street without a thought to his destination.
All Santiago knew was that his death sentence had been reprieved for the moment by his rash actions. And he knew without a doubt that when he had not made his appearance before the Archbishop on the morrow, another would come. And he knew that he would be prepared for this one. He wasted a bit more of that blood now to take the form of the shadows themselves, and sought a haven for the day to come. His unlife had become forfeit in one single moment of haste. Now he had become the enemy, and he knew in that moment he was truly alone.
He stopped his unreasonable flight and took a moment to glance around him. He had been running mindlessly without a thought to his destination, but as he paused he realized he had found his way to the University once again. A cold wave of fear washed over him then, but the dawn was upon him now, and he must have shelter. He must have answers. He found his way into a cellar of one of the older, more stately buildings of the campus, and then into a storage area inside. This days sleep would bring no rest; the nightmares of the truly damned were upon him no sooner had the sun risen.