I dreamt of last night.
I woke craving more.
Even now I can still recall the metallic taste of blood lingering upon my tongue.
I should not feel this way-
and yet I do.
This morning, one of my servants, Thomas, informed me of a murder that occurred in town.
Two bodies-a man and a woman-found lying dead in the cold streets of Transylvania.
Thomas made sure to let me know
that I was lucky that it was not me lying dead.
He knows nothing, of course.
But in truth, I was indeed lucky.
I have never felt more alive in all my eighteen years.
Even should an investigation arise, no one saw me-no witnesses.
None but the moon; in its silent intimacy, it beheld everything, yet it shall not speak.
I expect a detective shall soon request an audience.
Since I am now Duke of Transylvania, after the passing of my father last month.
While preparing myself for the day, I noticed something strange-something wrong-within my body.
I feel stronger. Healthier.
My teeth feel sharper than any knife.
My skin appears paler than moonlight itself.
I sought a mirror.
No reflection.
I cannot see my own reflection.
I checked every mirror within the castle, one after the other.
Still... nothing.
I laughed.
Uncontrollably.
Hysterically.
What is happening to me?
Am I dreaming still?
Is this some nightmare from which I have yet to wake?
I am not a superstitious man.
My mother was.
My father, a doctor and a man of law.
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If demons were real, then God must be as well.
He is omniscient; mayhaps He already knew of last night,
and so He cursed me in my mother's womb.
That is what I would believe... if I were given to superstition.
Instead, I choose to think this is merely the fruit of my imagination.
I cannot forgive myself for last night-
so now I begin to see things.
As I'm writing this, dinner was being prepared.
Before Thomas even informed me, I already knew.
From my chambers, I could scent blood.
Bovine.
It was bovine blood.
I felt almost disgusted.
I wished it were human.
I covered my face with my hand, ashamed of the hope blooming within me.
I craved human blood.
How much more insane could I become?
I attempted to collect myself before descending the stairs.
Apparently, the detective had arrived.
A woman-with short red hair-and beside her, a tall man carrying a rifle.
They introduced themselves:
Charlotte Holmes, detective.
And Theodorus Black, hunter.
"Holmes? The famous detective Sherlock Holmes of England?" I asked.
"People oft mispronounce my name," she replied. "It is Charlotte, not Sherlorck."
They were properly welcomed into my home.
We sat in the living room, both seated across from me..
After exchanging for a brief moment,
Holmes shared that she was engaged by the family of that woman who died to work on the case.
She was in the region by mere circumstance and now she is looking for the person who killed both the woman and the man,
she believes that both did not kill each other but that a third person was there.
Perhaps a passerby attempting to save the woman-or perhaps a man who simply delights in killing.
As for Black, the hunter, he believes that there is an unknown animal, a beast in our region.
And that this beast is after humans and if so, he wants to take it down.
Am I the monster of whom he speaks?
Am I the man Holmes is looking for?
Both were looking at me as if I was their prey; hunted by a fox and a wolf.
I will do anything in my power to help, I said.
Before they left, Holmes asked me one more question.
"Didst thou leave your castle last night as well, my lord?"
She looked at me with a cold demeanor-eyes sharp, as though she had already caught me with blood upon my hands.
She studied me carefully, watching to see whether my composure would betray even the faintest trace of suspicion.
"I was," I replied-calm, no need to lie.
"I did not come across anything strange.
Streets were empty-like this castle.
The moon was quite bright last night; it was a full moon I think."
"I have a feeling we'll soon meet again, my lord," said Holmes at the door.
Black left silently; he looked at me with the hollow stillness one might expect of a corpse.
What strange couple of days.
Was the death of two people,
the price to pay for me to finally feel alive?
If so, will I do it again?
I sincerely hope not, but my hunger remains.
- V. van Helsing
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