Vampyrs

‘There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane peoples.’—Bram Stoker

I had been travelling aboard a train from Zagreb to Varaždin when I arrived at my destination in the late afternoon of the year 1868. My name is Karl Von Henkel. I had come to Varaždin from Austria to assist a good friend of mine and colleague, Dr Horvat, who was expecting me at the train station. In his private correspondence, he had urgently required my expertise in the prevention of a rare disease that had been afflicting the locals, at a nearby village called Mrka.

There was mention of the concern over an outbreak of a plague that was spreading and was feared to reach Varaždin within days. There were not many details shared in the correspondence, but I had sensed the serious nature of the predicament.

I had registered myself at one of the local inns and had my luggage directly transported there. Afterward, I discussed at length with Dr Horvat the ongoing situation that had unfolded in the village of Mrka. I was not certain to what degree I could assist the doctor, but I was willing to help him in whatever capacity was feasible.

His concern was very noticeable in his demeanour and temperament. He did not need to elaborate more for me to realise that he was profoundly troubled by the inexplicable disease. Dr Horvat had not been able to diagnose the origin or the cause, for that matter. He knew of my expertise in the field of contagions and diseases, although I could not guarantee him that I would ultimately find the diagnosis or cure for his mysterious illness. I would require time. That would be difficult.

When we arrived at the village of Mrka, we encountered an unusual murk that had overshadowed the small village. There was a pervasive fog that clouded the sober entrance, near a lone church that stood erect, as a reminder of the ancient lore of the village.

An elderly villager named Milo greeted us there. He escorted us to the church graveyard to see the deceased who were in the process of being buried. It was an indescribable scene of countless rows of corpses, infused with the scent of incense to disguise the noisome smell of putrefaction.

Dr Horvat was as shocked as I was to witness such a horrendous sight of death. There was nothing that could have prepared us for this result. The circumstances were unpredictable. Our initial observation and examination of the corpses were that they had no evident marks of a disease that was known to us. No malaria or tuberculosis were detected. The latter was what I had feared occurring.

The only signs we could conclude were some unexplained marks on the necks of the deceased. Their faces were extremely pallid and cold. Their bodies were stiff and devoid of blood. The local villagers knew what was transpiring, but they would not speak to us nor dare utter their thoughts in public. Our task at hand was to examine any infested villagers who were still alive. We had managed to find one, a young boy no older than twelve. We were taken to his home, whereupon we examined him in his bed.

I closely examined him myself and saw a horrible look in his dilated eyes and his faint expressions. He appeared to be in some kind of pain that was also mental, and he was pallid and cold but alive. He was sweating profoundly and having convulsions.

I checked his neck and saw the familiar markings that the others who were dead had demonstrated. It was difficult to surmise from a studious examination of the boy if the puncture marks were from a bite or a wound from any indigenous animal.

Wolves and bats were rare to find in these parts of the country. However, we did not dismiss the possibility of them being the carriers of an actual outbreak of rabies. Dr Horvat assumed that the disease was related to rabies. I was not yet convinced and reserved my judgment. The blood we extracted from the boy was infected, but we could not determine the origin of the infection under the magnification of our microscopes.

It was unusual to see that all the persons I had examined so far had borne the same marks on their necks. I needed to examine more patients who were afflicted and still alive, like the boy. Unfortunately, the boy was the only one at the time that could be fully examined. If Professor Horvat's observation and diagnosis were correct and these poor people had died due to an outbreak of rabies, then it was extremely important that we monitor the progress of the boy and other potential victims closely.

We could not afford this unknown disease to extend to other parts of the area, including Varaždin, the towns of Ivanec, Ludbreg, Lepoglava, and Novi Marof. It would have catastrophic consequences. I suggested that the villagers be quarantined until we could isolate the illness. A virus was not excluded, but the notion of the spread of rabies was considered to be more probable than an unknown virus.

Dr Horvat was not in agreement. He preferred to wait until we could positively determine what was behind the spread of the contagion. He did at least concede to the logic of my suggestion, and he did seem to respect my insight. I understood his hesitance to quarantine the villagers, and I was convinced that there had to be a reasonable explanation for what was occurring in the village.

In the meantime, we did the best we could in attempting to analyse and deduce the origin and cause of the mysterious illness. We stayed in one of the rooms of the old church. That first night, I experienced the eeriness of the village. A whistling breeze stirred the graveyards of tombs, and howling wolves bellowed from the forest. The church bell rang and awakened me from my dormant sleep.

When I rose to my feet to look out of the window, I saw what appeared to be women roaming the grim nights in hoods, drenched in the moisture of dripping blood and dew. I was not certain if I had seen what my eyes were witnessing. I did notice that as the night gradually approached, the shutters of the villagers' homes were closed, and their windows were bolted and locked. There were wreaths of garlic hanging over them, as if to ward off an intruder. I was curious to know the reason for all these superstitious measures.

In the morning, I commented on this to Dr Horvat, who would only confirm my suspicion about the villagers' superstitions. One of the villagers had seen our carriage pass and had warned us to leave the village at once. He told us to return from whence we came and not visit the castle.

When we stopped to ask him why, he stared into our eyes and uttered the word 'vampyr'. Had I heard him make such a bold and strange utterance? I would not have the opportunity to question him. Dr Horvat told me to dismiss what the old man had related to me and not to give credence to his words.

Despite the advice from the doctor, I could not desist from wondering what was truly meant by the words 'vampyr'. It was disturbing to hear what I understood as meaning vampire. We passed through a patch of thick trees in the forest. There were unique sounds that could be heard, but I sensed that we were being watched. By whom, I did not know. It was a perception I had ever since we entered the forest.

There was even a wagon behind us. We could not distinguish the countenance of the driver. Was he following us, or was it a mere coincidence that we were both on the same road at the same time? When we reached the end of the forest, he passed us by. He appeared to be a villager. I could not tell if he was from Mrka. The serious look in his eyes was penetrating and bizarre.

Dr Horvat did not comment on the mysterious man in the wagon, and I did not see the need to distract him. On our way to check on the young boy, I saw an ancient castle from afar that sat atop a tall hill, with its towering spires protruding over the tree line of the verdant forest and celestial lake below.

The castle was situated between the roads from Ptuj to the Bednja Valley. According to Dr Horvat, it was once a fortification that had later been remodelled into a residential castle for the nobility. It was built and protected by the chivalrous knights of Drachenstein.

It was impressive in its sheer structure and design. It was the first time I had ever seen a castle in these parts of Europe. There was something mesmerising about the castle that drew me into its mystique and history. I wanted to know more, but that would have to wait.

We reached the house of the young boy to discover that he had regrettably passed away in his sleep the previous night. The boy’s parents were distraught and inconsolable, but they seemed to know why he had died. They had no doubt. This was merely my impression, for they did not dare to reveal their thoughts to me. Both Dr Horvat and I examined the boy with meticulous care. There was nothing new that differed from the other fatal cases recorded.

The familiar marks on his neck were still there, yet after a closer look, I noticed that the punctures were fresh. Something had bitten the boy on the neck. It was difficult to distinguish exactly what had caused the bite. It could have been any wild animal.

I had the impression that Dr Horvat understood what was troubling the boy’s parents, but he did not disclose his interpretation to me. It was terrible to see such a young life taken by a disease whose cause we had not yet determined.

The boy’s body was immediately transported by carriage to the church cemetery, where we were staying for precautionary reasons. Dr Horvat and I remained perplexed by the sudden and unexplained nature of the deaths.

At that point, I could not entirely discard the possibility of rabies as the culprit. But if a wild dog or wolf had bitten these people on their necks, would the wounds not have been more brutal and fatal? Such animals would surely have killed the boy outright.

There was another occurrence that had not been disclosed to us upon our arrival—some of the villagers had gone missing. Apparently, they had disappeared in the night. This conjured the image of the hooded women I had seen walking through the graveyard of the church the previous evening.

The Catholic priest of the church remained quiet. He spoke only a few words to us. The only person who was even slightly talkative was Milo, the man who had greeted us upon our arrival to the village. It was queer indeed that two dramatic events were affecting the villagers in such a haunting sequence. Without much credible evidence, there was little that I could asseverate as pure fact.

The image of the ancient castle returned to my mind. I asked Dr Horvat to tell me more about its history. He began to recount his knowledge in detail. He told me that the Draschkovich Castle had indeed been a fortification, as he had mentioned.

At the end of the 14th century, it was owned by the Counts of Celje. After their lineage became extinct, it passed into the hands of the Draschkovich family a century later, who retained the castle for generations and gave it a Gothic appearance.

During the period of Austrian rule, King Maximilian granted the entire estate to a Juraj Draschkovich for services rendered to the Empire. In 1584, the Draschkovich family came into sole possession of the castle. When I enquired who presently dwelled there, Dr Horvat did not know. Milo, who had been eavesdropping on our conversation and spoke German, interjected.

He said that a baroness named Draga Draschkovich had been living in the castle, but it was now abandoned. I asked whether anyone could visit it. He replied that the castle had no visitors. I insisted on seeing it in person. Dr Horvat wondered why I was so urgent in my request.

I explained that perhaps the suspected contagion of rabies could have originated from the forlorn castle. It was not implausible that bats, wild dogs, or rats were infesting the grounds. Given that we lacked certainty regarding the cause of the affliction, such a hypothesis could not be ignored.

The castle was erected at the foothills near a lake. Milo, who was apprehensive about escorting us, agreed to take us by carriage to the front gate, where he would then wait. The pathway was steep and narrow. We opened the front gate and passed through the aperture of the ancient stone masonry. The towering structure above us was imposing, bearing a Gothic coat of arms.

Milo had obtained the keys to the castle from its caretaker. I noticed that he was visibly leery and nervous. We passed through the solemn courtyard and stepped inside the castle. An ominous atmosphere pervaded the air as I stood before the front door. At the time, I had no inkling of the horror that lurked within.

Inside were three storeys, a main hall, aged tapestries, and priceless furniture. The mahogany chairs and tables were covered with layers of dust, as was the chandelier above. The wooden floor creaked beneath our steps. Violet silken drapes covered the ornate windows, barring the sunlight. We opened them to better observe the castle’s interior. The corridors were narrow and long. I had an intuitive presentiment that there were secret passageways, leading to ancient mysteries yet discovered.

In the dining hall hung elaborate paintings of the knights of Drachenstein, and in the upper chambers were portraits of the Draschkovich family. The House of Draschkovich was a prominent Croatian noble family, supposedly descended from an old Croatian tribe of Krcshelac. Ivan Draschkovich was the father of Marko Draschkovich, who in turn was the father of the last known descendant to live there—his daughter, the baroness Draga.

I could sense their powerful presence within the castle, as if captured forever in the expressions painted on their countenances. It was somewhat unnerving to wander inside such a vast and deserted estate. A narrow passageway led downward into what appeared to be a dungeon. The spiralling staircase was long, and I could hear the awful screeching of rats and smell the unmistakable stench of death.

I began my descent, but Dr Horvat halted me. He insisted it was unnecessary to go down there, and that if rats were indeed present, he would have them exterminated. We could not risk being bitten, especially if they were carriers of rabies.

Although I favoured examining the area below, I remained uncertain whether we were dealing with a rabies outbreak or something else entirely. I acquiesced and climbed back up the stairs.

We continued our search of the castle but soon departed. Before leaving, I noticed something peculiar that I had previously overlooked: there were no mirrors anywhere in the castle. Dr Horvat maintained that rabies was likely the cause of the disease plaguing the village. I was not yet convinced.

I needed more time to reach a proper conclusion or diagnosis. My thoughts were fixated on the castle. Why did it feel so relevant? Why did I believe it was somehow connected to the disease? Was it spreading to nearby villages?

According to Dr Horvat, it was indeed occurring in those neighbouring areas. Drastic measures would have to be taken to prevent the disease from spreading further across Croatia. It was decided that we would focus our attention on Mrka, while other doctors tended to the affected villages.

That night, a thick mist shrouded the area. As I lay in bed at the church, I felt long fingernails graze my face. For a fleeting moment, I saw the image of a seductive woman who then transformed into a horrific creature. She vanished into thin air.

I heard once more the howling of wolves or dogs—though I could not be sure which. Looking out through my window, I saw hooded women walking amongst the headstones. Who were they, and why were they in the cemetery at such a late hour? What I did not yet know was that they were nocturnal thralls of the vampiric Baroness Draga.

The clangour of the bells rang out, and plaintive dirges filled the air. This was unusual, considering the village’s affliction and the reluctance of healthy villagers to venture out at night.

Intrigued by the hooded women, I ventured outside to investigate. Had they come to pay respects to the dead? When I arrived at the cemetery, only one woman remained. She knelt before a headstone, her back to me.

I hesitated, reluctant to interrupt what I assumed was a moment of mourning. But as I approached her, I saw a horrific sight no man should witness—she was sucking the blood from the young boy we had examined. I was aghast and grabbed her at once.

She turned to face me and bared her sharp fangs, hissing with impudence. I was stunned and released my grip. She rose to her feet and vanished into the mist. Had I encountered a preternatural being from the world of the undead? It was implausible to accept such a notion. It defied logic.

I could attempt to explain the events, but it would be mere speculation. How could I convince myself—let alone Dr Horvat—that I had seen a vampiric creature in the guise of a woman? I had never been a believer in ancient legends of vampires.

Was I merely dreaming, or had I imagined this dreadful sequence? Was she simply an insane woman, animalistic and cannibalistic? That would seem more plausible than the notion of a blood-sucking fiend.

I slept little that night. I could not erase the image of the vampiric woman from my mind. By morning, I had made the conscious decision to reveal to Dr Horvat the horrifying episode I had witnessed in the cemetery the night before.

He was somewhat sceptical, but it was more surprise than disbelief that I had felt. His precise words were more of a question: had I not dreamt what I thought I had seen? As a man of medicine and science, I could not dismiss that possibility—but I was certain of what I had witnessed. He asked if I had been sleepwalking, or if I had mistaken the image of the vampiric creature for a deranged woman from the village. There were no credible reports of vampires roaming Mrka, nor did I see anyone else, except this woman.

For the time being, it was best to concentrate on what I had originally come for with the doctor—diagnosing the disease that was afflicting the villagers. Was I beginning to imagine things that were not there, or conjuring images that were not real at all? If I had mistaken all these things for a trick of my fanciful mind, then surely something must have been occurring to me.

Was I falling under the influence of the situation, and the tales of vampires known in these parts of Europe? Was I becoming less incredulous? I had to cast aside all of this and dedicate my thoughts to matters where they were truly needed. It was difficult to accept the notion that real vampires existed and were feeding on the deceased villagers.

We proceeded to another house in the vicinity, where yet another poor victim was succumbing to the deadly effects of the disease. This time, it was a young woman who bore the same bite marks as the other victims. The pale skin of her neck had been punctured with sharp, needle-like precision. I felt instant guilt for not being able to save her, but we were dealing with something unnatural and abnormal.

Her body was to be taken to the cemetery, where there was a designated mortuary. We had taken samples from several of the deceased and compared them to a dead rat, dog, and wolf under our microscopes. We examined each one meticulously and concluded that it was probably not rabies. The size of the bite marks did not align with the pattern left by those animals.

I told Dr Horvat that it was time to request additional assistance. He gave me the sober truth: no other doctors were available. The others were treating villagers in nearby settlements. It reached a point where no one was allowed to enter or leave these villages, including Mrka. This meant we were trapped and unable to leave until the outbreak was completely under control. Such was the gravity of our predicament.

I sent a letter back to Vienna, imploring other doctors to assist us. Europe had endured the horrors of the Black Death and other contagions before, but this was something that defied the conventional understanding of natural causes of death.

I needed to prove my theory regarding the vampire, in a manner that was credible and not born of fancy. Perhaps a touch of psychology was needed. It was possible that the woman I had seen drinking blood from the dead boy believed herself to be a vampire, though she was not.

I shared this thought with Dr Horvat, and he concurred. We visited all the villagers’ homes in search of the old woman in the hood I had seen in the cemetery, but to no avail. We could not locate her, nor any other hooded woman matching her description.

There was one place we had not checked: the ancient castle. Dr Horvat objected to this idea, convincing me that it would be futile to search the castle for the old woman, especially as I could not even be certain she had truly existed.

There was growing urgency to solve the mystery of the illness. Dr Horvat suggested we transfuse blood into the afflicted, to see whether we could prevent their deaths. It was a plausible solution—if it proved viable. However, it required that healthy villagers be willing to donate their blood, and that was not guaranteed. Time was of the essence, and we could not afford to dwell on matters not conducive to resolving the illness.

We waited until the evening, when a certain middle-aged man had become infected. Upon visiting his home, we found him in bed, sweating profusely. There was little time left to test our theory. We administered a transfusion using the blood of another villager of the same type. Unfortunately, it was not enough to save his life. Realistically, he was already beyond saving.

This meant we could not yet determine whether transfusion alone could save the infected. We had to devise another effective method. Would we have sufficient time to achieve our objective? The growing number of dead villagers was quickly filling the cemetery.

Who would remain to bury the dead? So many questions remained unanswered. The complexity of attempting to diagnose something we did not even know was treatable was both disturbing and immensely challenging. It was not easy to remain imperturbable.

That night, a singular presage came to fruition. While in the company of Dr Horvat at the cemetery, a chilling event occurred. We were examining the latest victim of the virulent disease by lamplight when, suddenly, several women appeared before us, cloaked in darkened hoods.

We saw them clearly, but they did not utter a single word when we addressed them. They proceeded to remove their hoods, revealing not only the pallor of their skin, but their hideous beady eyes and ominous fangs. For the first time, Dr Horvat saw what I had previously described—the image of the vampires. They seized us and knocked us unconscious. This was when the terror of the legendary vampiress began.

When I awoke, I was shackled to the cold, hard ground, surrounded by cobwebs and an oppressive gloom. Starving rats gnawed at my clothing in the darkness, thick with the scent of blood. I could hear the ghastly wailing of children echoing from behind the stone walls. I was in the Stygian depths of the dungeon within Draschkovich Castle.

I could scarcely remember the details of the cemetery, only that I had been attacked by a vampiric woman. Who had imprisoned me? I could not say. All I knew for certain was that someone had bound me without my knowledge. I struggled to free myself, calling out—but no one answered.

A faint light from the full moon shimmered through a narrow aperture above the oubliette, casting a dim glow into the dungeon. Through the small opening in the door, I could see the flickering torches illuminating a corridor. A silhouette approached—graceful, gliding silently along the stone floor.

I could smell the gruesome scent of blood as she neared and hear the rhythm of her breath. Her voice emerged in soft, malacophonous murmurs. She passed me and entered another cell—the one holding Dr Horvat. I had not known he was nearby. He too was a captive. Worse still, he would meet a tragic end, trembling in anticipation of his doom.

I heard his haunting screams of agony, and could only imagine the horror he endured. I knew then that I was next. Whatever madness dwelled in that castle, it was an inscrutable evil, beyond any rational description. It was ineffable.

The thought struck me—these vampires must be behind the deaths and disappearances in the village. Yet I did not grasp the full scope of their terror until I was forced to face it myself. It would not be surreal—it would be real.

Within the castle’s dungeons were the bones and skulls of victims who had fallen prey to the predatory whims of this vampiric race. What I had not known was that many of the villagers had risen again, becoming undead servants to her macabre pleasures and erotic rituals.

They gathered in the corridors, awaiting her arrival. I saw their abhorrent, vampiric features. The red glow in their eyes reflected their sinister nature. Their pointed fangs and elongated fingernails betrayed their animalistic behaviour.

Like a cult, they revered the Baroness Draga as if she were their eternal goddess. It was unfathomable that all this time, the castle had been the hidden lair of the vampyrs, and that she was their queen. How long had they dwelled there, unnoticed?

When I first visited the castle, I had seen nothing. They had been concealed below, in the dungeons, resting within coffins that protected them from sunlight. Escape was impossible. I was bound hand and foot. There seemed no way to free myself from the impenetrable chains that held me fast.

The horrific screams of Dr Horvat had ceased thereafter. I sensed that he was dead—another death to add to the already countless others recorded. I did not know the hour at which the doctor had died or was presumed dead, but it was still night. Within several minutes, Draga the baroness would enter my dungeon. Slowly, the door creaked open, and there before me appeared her seductive figure, adorned in an exotic white gown of unruffled silk, wearing a golden crown upon her ebony flaxen curls of imposition.

Her harrowing, willowy fingernails and long, jagged fangs drooled, ready to thirl my bare neck with her insatiable thirst, as she stared into my eyes with her crimson gaze and devilish grin. She did not utter a word, but her singular expression was enough to fill me with apprehension. She began to smell me, then licked my face, before pressing her scarlet lips upon mine. It was the same woman who had entered my room at the church.

Afterwards, she began to tear at my shirt, and with her fingernails, scratched down my chest, causing droplets of blood to fall upon the ground. She cut the veins in my right hand, and then began to drink from both my chest and veins. She poured some of that blood into a crystal chalice. I was helpless to do anything to thwart her ravenous thirst and beguiling seduction. I was a victim to her terrifying hunger for human flesh. Her provocative seduction had encompassed the fulfilment of her lustful and perverse desires as well.

She was a sinful temptation, but I had to resist with all the might within me if I were to survive this madness. She undressed before me and stood naked. Then, she transformed into an abominable creature that was not human in nature. It was a beast of great dimensions and perdurability.

For some reason, she decided to spare me that night, but I remained her wretched prisoner, locked away in a forsaken dungeon for the rest of the night. It was not until the following morning that I heard the familiar voice of Milo. He had entered the castle and was calling out my name. I was weak and deprived of sleep, but I was awakened by the sound of his voice. I managed to summon enough strength to shout for him to come to the dungeon.

The door was locked, and he had to use a metal rod to break the padlock. When he finally succeeded in opening it, he used the same metal rod to break the chains that had shackled me. I was free, at last—or so it seemed—but the horror had not yet abated.

I told him that in the dungeon adjacent to mine was the body of Dr Horvat. Milo went to check, and found only the remains of a lone skeleton chained to the wall. I was shocked to discover there was nothing but a skeleton. Was it the doctor's? It had to be. Who else could it have been?

We discovered numerous dead bodies of villagers, lying in coffins. That was not the only shocking revelation. There was no sign of the vampiric baroness Draga, nor of her coffin. Milo told me that the coffins had not been placed there by a vampire, but by the gravediggers from the cemetery. As there were no other places to store the deceased, they had been brought to the castle as a temporary solution.

I was confused. I searched everywhere, but I was growing weaker by the minute. I told him that the deceased bodies in the coffins were vampires who had risen in the night. He understood what I was referring to, but refused to utter the word 'vampyr'.

Ultimately, we left the castle. Milo managed to carry me into the carriage. I awoke resting in my bed at the church. A woman was tending to me. I drifted in and out of states of consciousness and sleep. I suffered terrible episodes of nightmares—of the dungeon, the baroness, and all I had witnessed.

After several hours, I regained my consciousness and mental faculties. My vision, my sense of smell, my hearing—all were altered. I could see across great distances, smell the flowers from the cemetery, and hear the faintest beat of my heart. I touched my neck and felt a mark. Then I saw a mirror beside me, and I rose to my feet, staring into it. I was extremely pale. Yet when I looked into the mirror—I saw nothing. No reflection.

There are no words sufficient to describe the horror of beholding no reflection where once a man had stood. I had often imagined death as a cessation, a void or perhaps a release. But this—this was something far crueller. I had not ceased; I had changed. I was no longer the man who had entered the baroness’s manor, nor the broken figure who had crawled through the graveyard to sanctuary. I was something else now. Something born not of nature, but of ancient perversion.

The mirror mocked me with its silence. I moved my hand, yet nothing met my gaze. I leant in close, desperate, almost begging for some trace of myself. Nothing. The glass bore the reflection of the room—the candle, the chest of drawers, the iron crucifix on the wall—but I was gone from it. As though the world had cast me out from its visible truth.

I fell back against the timber floor. My hands trembled, not from weakness, but from the sensation that they were no longer mine. They responded to thought, yes, but moved with a strange fluidity—as though driven by will, not muscle. Even the veins that once pulsed beneath my skin now lay dormant, blue lines drawn across a pale canvas. My chest barely rose, and when it did, it was out of habit, not need.

The air no longer filled my lungs with meaning. I tasted it instead—each breath rich with detail. I could separate the dampness of the walls from the faint incense clinging to the chapel wood. Most disturbing of all was the scent of blood—faint, distant, but achingly vivid. It was not spilt, not even close, yet I could sense it coursing through the veins of the woman who had brought me here. Somewhere beyond the walls, she moved gently through her duties, unaware of the thing she had unknowingly sheltered.

The thirst began not as a pain, but as a whisper. A dryness at the back of my throat, subtle and curious. But it grew rapidly, intensifying into a hunger so profound it overshadowed every rational thought. I pressed my fists to my mouth, terrified by the urge blooming within me. It was not hunger as I had known it—it was need. It was command.

I crawled to the far wall, away from the mirror, away from the memory of what I no longer was. A shaft of daylight slipped in through a narrow crack in the shutter. It struck the floor like a sword, and even at a distance, I could feel its heat as pain. Not warmth, not light pain. The sun had become my enemy, and I had done nothing to deserve its wrath but survive.

As I sat in the shadows, the room began to change for me. Every sound was clearer. The creak of the wood above, the scurry of a mouse behind the walls, the distant echo of a bell I could not see—each noise was precise, crystalline. The world had not grown louder; I had grown sharper.

Time moved strangely now. Minutes did not pass—they coiled, drifted. I had no pulse to measure their length. I could feel my thoughts slowing, not from weariness, but from something darker: a growing detachment. The man I had been—the scholar, the traveller, the curious fool—was dissolving.

I closed my eyes. Behind the lids, memories swam like oil in water. The baroness’s lips upon my throat. Her eyes glowing like embers. The taste of something ancient passing between us, warm and potent, like life corrupted. I could recall every word she spoke, though I had not consciously listened. They rang now like commandments through my bones. I was bound to her. Not by affection. By condition.

And deeper still, I could feel her presence—not near, not even within reach, but watching. Somewhere beyond the hills or forests or stone crypts, she remained. Not asleep, nor idle, but patient. I was part of her now, and she, part of me. I had not been spared. I had been claimed.

I rose to my feet slowly, finding no resistance in my joints. My body was no longer subject to fatigue. Yet I felt no triumph. Only dread. My movements were elegant, almost soundless. I walked across the wooden floor as though weightless. The priest’s study, once a haven, now resembled a cell—a place where I waited for a sentence already passed.

I opened the drawer of a desk. Inside, I found a rosary. I held it in my hand. It did not burn, but nor did it comfort. Its holiness seemed indifferent to what I had become. I had not turned from God; I had been turned from man.

Outside, I could hear the graveyard stirring. The morning breeze rustled the bare branches. Somewhere, a spade struck soil. The gravedigger was working. I recognised his rhythm. Milo. Faithful Milo. I could smell the tobacco on his coat from here. I could feel his life—fragile, beautiful, unaware. A pang of longing ran through me, but not for companionship. For warmth. For sustenance.

I dropped the rosary.

There would come a time, soon, when I would not resist the hunger. When thought would give way to need. But not yet. For now, I would sit in the darkness, in this half-life, and remember what it was to be human.

For soon, I would forget.

I was horrified to realise that I had become one with the undead. A VAMPYR.

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