The vampire book two, p.9
The Vampire Book Two, page 9
“Wait—didn’t you say you wanted me to read them in your presence and then give them right back to you?”
Augere turned and frowned. He seemed anxious to be gone. Jason thought he seemed irritable.
“Do not take them from the house. Do not make any copies. And yes, return them to me as soon as possible.” Then he was gone.
Jason was alone with his treasure. He couldn’t believe that he had been entrusted with these. For an awkward moment after he returned to his desk he was torn: the world of exotic travel—he eyed his magazines and the delightful article he had been reading on Bali—or the vampire’s world? He flipped the magazine closed, settled himself on the small sofa in his own library room and eagerly opened the first of the journals.
The reward soon turned to punishment.
The pages were faded and difficult to read. Augere’s spiky handwriting, in various tones and qualities of ink, slowed the reading down considerably. The first entries he read were in French and he couldn’t make out the writing even if he could have translated. The first entry he managed to actually read was noted as 9th September 1802. Augere’s English was far from what it was at present. There were nearly as many French words, if not more, than English ones but at least now Jason could make out some of what was written. It was slow and tedious work. Jason had to abandon the comfort of the small sofa to move to his desk for the use of a solid surface, better lighting and proper tools. He found his French-English dictionary—“I knew I was right to hang on to this!”—and began to make up a translation sheet: “if this is Augere’s “t” than this must be his “f”—or vice versa.” It took almost forty-five minutes to get through two paragraphs. “Yeah. It would really have helped if he was here to read or at least translate this for me.”
Finally he was able to reread the entire entry more smoothly:
9th September 1802
I have received word today from a distant cousin that my father has died. Nine months ago, on the 22nd December, 1801. He had been ill for several months and had asked for me every day. Alone and despondent and (word unclear). A stranger from the village was with him when he died; none of our family was able to be present as what few of our family who remai are all at far distance. I care little for what happens to me now. I have no one to return to and scarcely a home that I would know anymore. I do not know what has become of Kaja and our child and it appears to me that I may never learn this.
***
Jason wrote the dates and any names down on a separate sheet of paper. When he couldn’t make out a word he wrote it on a separate sheet and continued on. He thought it could be helpful to have a list of words already deciphered to refer to as he made his way through the journals.
18th September 1802
I brought down a deer today and allowed myself to be seen by hunters in the woods. Perhaps it was me they were hunting; I cannot say. I was covered in blood as they approached me. They spoke to me in English and I answered in French. I had no weapon. They stood and stared, taking in the sight of me for several minutes and I could feel their fear. It seemed they did not know what to make of what they were seeing. I stepped forward, selecting one of them at random, breaking his neck as I took his gun from him. The others quickly fled. Then I aimed the gun at my heart and fired. The blast of the (unclear—the word might be powder, Jason speculated) in my face caused me to step back. I felt nothing else. It was not possible that I had missed the mark. There was minimal and superficial damage and most of that to my clothing. But my chest remained intact. There was no wound. Nothing.
23rd October 1802
I have gone down to the bayou, as far from people as I can. I have some money now, taken from reckless strangers, but I will not spend it on lodging unless I must. As usual I have no one to talk to; no social contact and no one to share any thought or word; these journal pages are my only company. I can see to read and write in near darkness, as if it were no matter. The nights are the worst for me. There is no rest. It appears I have naught to fear from any creatures and for the most part they seem to avoid me. However two nights ago I was dragged by one of the large beasts which inhabit the swamps here in abundance. It had taken hold of one of my limbs and had me firmly gripped in powerful jaws. It required only some small effort to free myself. Once again there was no wound present where there should have been great ragged, torn damage.
Today I encountered another one of these creatures, this one set firmly in the path I was taking, on a small patch of land, the only dry spot between two large pools of swamp area. It was at dusk, at a time when I have observed these creatures feeding. This was a huge specimen, at least (here Jason tried to interpret the described measurement and came up with 12 feet in length). I marveled at the size of it, impressed with the majesty of the beast. I had no fear of this creature, though surely anyone, even one such as me, should have held fear of it.
And though I am now accustomed to all animals I encounter showing great fear of me, there was no fear present in the large reddish gold eyes of this one. This creature had adapted and survived in apparently much the same form as was its more primitive ancestor; the beautiful black, rough ridged, armored hide; the huge tail, as useful a weapon as any creature could want; the clawed appendages. It had surprising speed, agility and gracefulness on land, and I had actually seen more than one jump an impressive height, given the great weight of it, in order to capture its prey.
I knew this creature was not about to move from the path; only one of us should walk away this day. And I had already learned that my body could not be harmed by any means known to me. But I had no quarrel with or wish to harm this magnificent creature. I wonder if perhaps the creature sensed this. Perhaps it was in defiance of me that the great elongated jaws opened, making the rows of sharp gleaming teeth more visible, as I heard a throaty hissing sound coming at me. Now, somehow, I could smell the blood of this creature and in that moment I knew...I cannot say how or why I knew this, but for certain I was compelled to take the blood of this being.
I was loath to do it, and felt hesitation such as I never felt with human prey. It seemed of utmost importance that I take the life of this beast, that I have the blood of this creature, though it was no act of revenge or malice on my part. There was more here, it seemed to me, than what appeared on the surface. As if we were exactly the same, this creature and I, on some level. I would gladly have let it pass unharmed out of deep respect for it. We share some nameless thing, the two of us, some connection in the blood. I simply know it to be true.
The creature fought me bravely as I descended on it, but I was glad it did not give up its life without a struggle. I was more saddened at taking this life than that of any human life I have destroyed. I felt as if a great sacrifice had been made for me by this creature and I was humbled by that experience. And the blood was truly like no other.
12th December 1802
Another extraordinary thing has occurred. I had entered the city to seek shelter from the rain. It has been cold and damp for many days now. On this day the sun had emerged again and I was preparing to leave the lodging and travel elsewhere. Always it seems I am not safe anywhere after a few days in one place. I have no actual fear as I once had as it seems none may truly cause physical harm. But I prefer not to be cornered or be confronted; I wish only to be left in such peace as I am able to obtain. As I returned to my present lodging several men were waiting and (here several words were unclear). I was pursued by a group of them—
***
Here Jason paused to rub his eyes. After ten minutes or so he resumed and then began translating the next few pages. It was going only slightly quicker now.
—who had been waiting for my return to turn me out of the lodging. (It appeared Augere might have meant to write ‘ambush’ but several words weren’t clear.) I had to abandon once again my few meager belongings. I climbed to the rooftop with the men in pursuit. When I had reached the end, and they were now close at hand, I knew I must take a chance and leap to the church rooftop adjacent. The church had a sloping roof and I sought to avoid the spires that lined the perimeter of it. I was not at all sure of my ability to do so; I had little fear of the men in pursuit, but still I did not want them to put hands on me. I leaped onto the roof, a distance equal to my height and more. I landed upright, but my balance was not steady; I began to fall to one side, and before I could right my body, I had fallen, turning and landing on my back. I remained there quite still, and believing myself to be hidden now, listened for the sounds of those who had given chase. After a time, a quarter of an hour perhaps, and then longer still, there were no sounds of them close by. I remained quite still and listened on the chance they were close and could detect my presence. The sun was full in my eyes as I fell and I had need to keep them closed, as the sun remains quite painful to me. I began to do a mental inventory of my body as I lay there without movement: limbs appeared sound; nothing felt broken; only a slight sense of pressure behind my left shoulder. The fall could easily have killed me; it should have done. But so much strangeness has occurred, since the night of that...strange event... I feel such things as this should no longer amaze me. I have been shot at and stabbed, run through with knife and sword. And often the only knowledge of these events has come when I examined my clothing after the fact and discovered the torn fibers in the cloth, occurring in areas on my body that should have left me dead with fatal wounds. I have taken sure aim upon myself with deadly weapon, as I have elsewhere described, to no consequence. Can I be killed? If so, it appears to be no easy task. Perhaps I am already dead and this is what death may be. If not, then truly what manner of creature have I become?
As I lay upon the church roof then, the sun still full and sharp against my closed eyes, I thought to determine a way to get down from the roof. I tried to sit up as I opened my eyes, but I was not able to move to sitting position. My body felt light...near weightless. In fact I thought I might actually be dead. I attempted to lift my right arm, and it seemed the arm moved by itself, drifting upward in front of me. I did not see but rather felt the movement of it, as if it had a life of its own. I felt an instant fear and then a quiet calm and sense of relief came over me. I felt as if I might gently drift off the roof, and I took this to signify that I existed no more. But the sun beat upon me quite uncomfortably which meant life to me still. And with regret I thought it too easy that I could die from a mere fall. For several moments I struggled to right myself and finally had to open my eyes to the relentless sunlight, painful or not. The sight that greeted my open eyes, in the harsh blinding light of the sun, was not to be believed: a long metal spire protruded from my chest.
***
Jason did a conversion to determine that the spike or spire described was at least ten inches long based on the estimation Augere’s narration provided. He also had to guess at some of the words to fill in some of the context and interpret what he thought Augere had meant.
***
I stared at this for some time, until my mind was able to grasp that I was impaled upon a spire on the roof of the church. It was a struggle for me to attempt to remove myself and I did so finally only by arching my back in such a way that should not be humanly possible and push away from the spire with arms and legs extended behind me. It seemed to me again that I was lighter in weight then. This entire incident has left me oddly shaken and distraught. Furthermore, now I have no funds available to me and some of my few possessions were left behind and are forever lost to me now. Only this journal and a few personal items that I had wrapped in rags and thought to keep hidden within an empty cemetery crypt have remained safe. I will rest this night in the third tier of the same empty crypt in the St. Louis cemetery; it is a narrow place and so it is uncomfortable to me but high and well off the ground from view of others and the best location I have found to keep myself hidden.
20th December 1802
I have moved far from the cities and plan to spend more time on the bayou. It is just past sunset as I write this and there are creatures moving all around me in the darkness, but these cause no concern to me. Even the dreaded insects never plague me, for which I am most grateful. I have misery enough with the cold rain which falls frequently. I am more often weary in mind than body but there never seems to be true rest for me. Deep and restful sleep eludes me always.
Everywhere that I travel the newspapers carry descriptions of my person, sometimes vague descriptions that could be almost anyone, and accounts are given of crimes that I am alleged to have committed. In truth I may well be the guilty perpetrator of some of these crimes. But would that I were responsible for all as I am alleged! There are accounts of crimes committed which I have never done in places that I have never been. I am accused of committing atrocities in two or more locations at the same time. It would seem that any horrific act committed by anyone will see me accused of it. By all these accounts it would seem I am the Devil himself or at least they would accuse me as such.
22nd December 1802
I mourn my father today. Alone and miserable and inconsolable even had there been anyone anywhere who could have offered to console me. I am alone in the depths of despair.
24th December 1802
I heard a hunting party hours ago; they are still in the area now; the sound of the dogs seemed to get closer and I wonder if perhaps it is I whom they are hunting. I do not know if I betray scent; often enough my clothing and person are wretched so it may be true that they are tracking me. I have speed in my favor and that allows me to stay well ahead of them. Though I have come to accept that I may not suffer harm by any means, the fact that they persist against me makes my mind weary. I would be rid of them and seek peace and shelter. I have had to keep moving just to stay apart from them.
***
It appeared that Augere had paused here. There was a page where many words were not able to be deciphered. As if Augere might have randomly written words or doodled on the page. This left Jason hanging in suspense but there was nothing to do but continue on. After several more pages of jumbled scattered writing the same narrative as before seemed to continue.
***
As the sun was just setting, I came upon a small house in a clearing, one that appeared deserted but I sensed occupants within. The farm looked barren as if it had fallen on difficult times. I spotted a (word unclear) and I thought to take shelter there until the hunting party had passed by. I could hear them, hear the frantic barking of the dogs at some distance and knew that the men were not far behind. They were advancing steadily in my direction.
As I approached the structure, a sour stench hung in the air. The cloying scent invaded my nostrils and stung my eyes and even brought a horrid taste to my mouth. To take a full breath was to double the wretched effect of the smell, but there was nothing for it but to go on.
As I removed one of the tin panels of the (silo?granary?) Jason speculated on the meaning of the unrecognizable word) so that I might gain entrance inside and remain hidden with the panel back in place, I heard distinct sounds of some creature within. These sounds grew louder and I knew there were living things inside, of what kind I could not say. But as the dogs and men were drawing close, I had little choice. It was dark inside but I could see well enough. At first the sight made little sense to me; it was as if the floor moved. I swung one leg over and sought purchase on the floor, only to feel my limb sinking. The floor below was not solid but a wet and slippery soft mass that made my footing unsteady. I took hold of the sides of the (silo?) for support and not an instant later a swarm of creatures rushed upon me.
Rats. Hundreds of them, more than a thousand perhaps. They had become trapped inside and unable to scale the wet slippery sides; many had drowned in the rain drenched structure and these had become the floor, their dead, decaying bodies turning to slime, which had perhaps caused the other rats to go into a panic and frenzy. When my limb was extended to the floor I became the highest point they could reach and a way for them to escape. They leaped at me, swarmed over my leg and hip, over my chest, arms and face, scratching at me as they did so in their haste to be free. The huge size of them and the frantic horrible screeching, the sounds of their bodies thudding against me and the sensation of them writhing over me filled me with horror. I saw their red eyes as they kept coming; there seemed no end to them. And the sounds of the dogs grew closer. I had no choice but to wait until most of the rats had made their escape, so that I might make mine. At last I could pull my body inside, quickly replace the panel, while trapping dozens more rats inside with me, as the dogs now approached. They were howling quite close then, and I was certain that I had been discovered. But it appeared that the starving rats which had escaped were distracting the dogs and chase was given to those, ignoring the structure where I hid. Even as the dogs continued to bark at my location it would be assumed that more rats within drew their attention. At last, all was quiet again outside and I was able to free myself from the horror of that dank place. My clothes were now more wretched than before and the air was too cool and damp to be without any garments. I have no others in which to change. I sit here now, alone in the chill and deep darkness of the woods. I write these words as they come from the depths of darkness, despair and misery.
***
Jason wondered if there were more such horrific episodes; he couldn’t imagine Augere, or anyone, enduring anything like what had been described. Jason chose to skip around to different sections in the journals, knowing he would not be able to read every single word of them as he wished, but also not wanting to miss anything that seemed significant. He came back to this entry:
Autumn 1803
By official decree of the US government I have been granted status as a United States citizen, the United States having acquired the Louisiana territories by purchase. Though it seems an illegal motion, by provisions of the purchase all residents of Louisiana are now to become citizens of the US. One is not given a choice in the matter; I am now a “forced” resident, and though I have traveled the South, I mainly reside within Louisiana, where I am now granted citizen status. I have not relinquished my French citizenship. Am I now to become foreign to my own country? I am not certain how to feel about this. I am a man who is a citizen of a country I am not able to travel to, now also a citizen of a country I am not able to leave. I feel as if I am a ghost in both places, invisible and unable to fully have any true existence.
