Pyre

         I would like to say that I knew what I was walking into. I would feel less the fool if, truthfully, I could say a vision of these turn of events was mine to see, long before ever occurring. If I was the capable liar, as has been found quite the opposite of the truth, I could perhaps claim to relish these things. Perhaps my grins were found to be what I hoped, far from what they are, as a capable monster's glee at being caught. I find myself sulking now, playing the tired part of the child whose wish is always granted. I cannot truthfully admit to any of the claims I wish, with this lone exception.
         In each new bed that I found myself in, in place of my regular prayers I offered a more sacred, private vow. Never again would I pray. Least of all to a god that I could no longer recognize. How, with all of his claimed splendor, could such things crawl this earth? How can they Be, through all these years, and none of us the wiser? If such as these exist, what more is there; mer-men, werewolves, imps in their endless nightwatch? Even as I write these words I know that no matter how my questions persevere, there will always stand one truth: Vampyres are real. But worse, oh yes, the fear deepens. These creatures of the night are among me. I can feel no remorse, however, for any to find this tablet. Only know, before you read on, that once these creatures enter your world, there is no end. Not even in death. And as surely as you read these words, is the surety you can claim that any who Know, will enter their lives. Your Belief empowers them, but do not think that disbelief will ward them away. To read these very words will bring Them into your life. No garlic cloves or silver crosses will guard your path, as the very ones you believe to be mortals among you will be your traitors.

         -J.G. Haigh



         At night I often see the wind blowing the draperies through my open window. I sometimes wonder what it is I see specifically. I see my draperies flutter as if an unseen hand pulls them alive, and suddenly they begin to fall, lifeless again, back to the window and the wall, but lo! Before they can fall back safely again they are windborn, as the hand pulls them further this time. Many moons ago I saw only the draperies move, thinking as most do that I was seeing the wind and the hand pulling them. I was mistaken, of course, as I could only see the draperies themselves. Now I see all. The wind is not as I would have imagined. As children we draw wind with our crayons as bent lines, wavering against the background. Wind has a much different appearance than our child assumptions may reveal. But to be unable to See it as I can would signify one's ignorance of what we are.
         I find that I have to rely on you, my journal, to keep me sane these days. True, you are but a continuation of the thoughts, arguments, narratives, and articles that my life may consist of. Nonetheless, I find that to type out what I am - which will never be revealed simply by typing until my breath runs out - is so much simpler than to socialize and explain. So many problems, so many issues. First would be to find one among us. Those like myself Know. They Are. There is nothing to say. When so many can hear you say a word right as it enters your brain - which is long before it touches your tongue - there is only the issue of thinking back at each other. If you can see all among one's thoughts, and they yours, why continue to argue? I find that few vampires - I still feel a scar on my nonexistant soul when this word is in my mind - choose to be in the company of others, excluding the older - impossible to determine by their appearances alone, you understand - of us, of course. Thinking grounds are their stomping grounds, if my words aren't misconstrued. Thinking to another, controlling their thoughts so skillfully, seeing others' thoughts - this is all simple to the more practised vampire.
         So if not a vampire, who?
         To go to a mortal breaks many rules that are etched in our black hearts. Unless we wish for them to Know and Become, to strictly have mortal allies is somewhat of a joke. A truly cynical mortal with no wish to continue life - but no means or will to end it - would be required, if we were to go on. Usually this is found in the old and decrepit, I believe. Many teenagers may appear to possess these qualities, but are too filled with angst to be trusted. They are an unruly bunch, which I find to be tasty - this brings me to my pathetic past, another tale for another day; for we do not feed on humans quite as the movies and books suggest - as their blood is hot with a perversion for life, but in social angles, quite obnoxious conversationalists. As for the old and decrepit, we vampires are known even in human fantasies for our love of beauty, which is much as we are. To conversate with someone old or misformed would be as to eating through the nose. It does not come easily, and burns like hell. There is, however, a beauty in knowledge. This beauty may sometimes pave the way for wonderful friendships with mortals who are quite aged. This brings on yet another problem. Mortals who are friends . . . well quite simply, they're mortal. Even worse is the friendship you may find with an elderly mortal can dissolve in the blink of an eye, as older mortals are more apt to dying.
         I'm sure, that were you breathing and talking, dear journal, you would reprimand my light usage of these words, and how very arrogant I seem. I can find many reasons that would assure you that you are quite right. Too much sorrow has lived in this ashy heart of mine. Sorrow enough to fill many generations of a mortal's family. I have learned to turn this sorrow and create something new. You may find me to be one with the times, as they say. Turning to this computer, as I have, when many of my kind remain with their coffins lined up in castle basements.