The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1)
Page 24
Entry 2
My abductor returned, though he wasn’t alone this time. His leader isn’t vampire, isn’t bloodless, but some monstrous mutation of both. I’m hesitant to call him a ghoul but he’s like something from a tale of the macabre. He’s a genuine demon, if they do in fact exist, and when I first laid eyes on him, I thought I recognized him from my nightmares in the hill town. He knows me and whispers my name between the words he wheezes out, his beaked mouth garbling his speech. But he doesn’t frighten me because I can hear his frequency—clearly, in fact—which helps me anticipate his behavior. He comes in peace despite himself.
“Eveleeeenaaaaa,” he said. “Vincent rescue.” He didn’t approach me, but stood in the doorway, blocking his entourage from entering. When a bloodless poked its nose into the shed, as though sniffing for me, he crushed its head with his elbow, squashing it beyond repair. “Vincent comes,” he said, drawing out both n’s in Vincent, making it sound like he was caught in a stammer.
When he shut the door again, I dropped the chain. I’d wrapped it around my wrists, and held it taut in my hands, ready to choke him with the links if he came closer. Shortly after he left, my abductor returned with supper. I downed the wanting blood and tossed the carcass back at him. He brought the ferret to his lips to finish it off, disappointed to find I’d left him nothing.
“La com,” he said, as he spat on the ground in disgust. He slammed the shed door and I waited some moments for him to disappear before returning to my ritual. This is how I while away the hours until my rescue, knowing Vincent will find me—he has to—he’ll always come for me.
THE JOURNAL OF VINCENT DU MAURIER II is now available at
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Apple
Kobo