Rising to darkness

by Lucia Guglielminetti

  "You need transportation, especially if you really have the intention to go back to the Netherlands to see what's left of your family. You should already have made a clean break with your past, but I know you're stubborn and you will do what you want to do. This is my farewell gift.

  I looked grimly at her. "Why are you so good to me? I have always given you only problems."

  "Maybe something human is left in me too, Dutchman. Give me a kiss and take me to my carriage."

  I kissed her and, before she went out of my life, I was genteel enough to thank her. Eventually the carriage left and I remained alone with my new friend. I named him Coal as a tribute to his color and to my old profession.

  During the first days after Shibeen's departure, I was too busy to miss her. I wanted to organize my journey back to the Netherlands, to find out whether my mother was still alive. I had also planned to move into a smaller house upon my return, something more appropriate for a single person. I didn't like having servants all around, besides all those empty rooms depressed me.

  I had already located a part of the town where I would like to move: the hills around Montmartre. As a good Dutch accustomed to flat and monotonous scenery, I was attracted by all the places that allowed a view from a higher perspective. Besides, at that time, Montmartre was still a quiet place, barely populated: a winegrower’s village detached from Paris. It seemed to me a good place for a vampire willing to live undisturbed and to cultivate his nocturnal habits. Meanwhile, I had received the funds from the sale of the London shop and house. Rumors about me inhibited many prospective buyers so I didn’t get as much as I had wished for; but, I preferred to make myself happy and close that chapter of my life. The plans relating to my move were overshadowed by the preparation for the journey to my homeland, though. A significant problem, enough to restrain me from leaving at once, was my accommodations during the daylight hours. If I had been an ordinary traveler, I could have stopped in one of the rest stations along the road, places where riders could find a shelter for the night, a meal, and fresh hay for their mounts. A member of my species, on the other hand, could not show up at dawn in one of these places and hope to get something other than a pole stuck in the heart.

  I couldn't even waste time waiting for Shibeen's reply if I had written a letter to ask for advice. I had to think up of something by myself. This was the way it had to be.

  The solution to my problem came from Mother Nature when I was having a stroll in a park one evening. I saw many mounds of loose soil, the obvious work of moles. A light bulb went off in my head: the earth could give me refuge too. I could enjoy its coolness and its protection from the light for as much time as I wanted!

  Encouraged by this creative solution, I went back home and started to prepare seriously for my departure.

  The very idea of the journey filled me with apprehension. I was unable to decide whether it would have been worse to find my mother alive and reveal to her my new condition or to discover she was dead and live with the regret of not having said goodbye to her. Nevertheless, I felt that Shibeen was right: I had to part with my remaining bonds with the human world.

  I was changing.

  I was transforming from the inside.

  I was increasingly unable to empathize with the mortals, becoming less and less a participant of the fate of their race; I was starting to consider them just as food rather than as sentient beings and no longer yearned for their company. After the “Goat and Chain” slaughter when the survival instinct triumphed over compassion, I realized my new nature didn't just involve changes from the point of view of nutrition and sleep/wake rhythms, but something much deeper. I guess that dreaming about the desperate screams of those people for months depended on the ultimate battle between my two identities, the human and the vampire trying to overpower one another. The latter was destined to prevail. Until now, I didn’t realize how powerful and violent it was to the point of totally annihilating the other. I didn’t care actually. Being heartless made everything easier. I wasn't lying when I told Mrs. Andrews that I randomly choose my victims. Not until she brought out the topic was it ever an issue to me if not, perhaps, during the first few days of my new life or some rare moments of generosity. I must confess, the only reason why I've never fed on children, not even once, is not because of my good heart, but for the simple fact that one would not be enough to quench my thirst and I would, then, be always too lazy to find another one immediately after. If I would happen to find myself in the vicinity of a primary school, I don't know if I'd be so virtuous. Now, after I got to know little Ellie, Andrews' daughter, really sweet, I wouldn't even think of doing it because of her; it has taken three hundred years for me to get back a hint of humanity and I am not even convinced it's a good thing. It just means more complications and maybe I'm too old to want any more complications in my life.

  10 - HOME SWEET HOME

  On June 10, 1712, three days after my 35th human birthday, at sunset, I set forth to go back to my homeland.

  I brought with me just a few spare clothes, a map, some money, and Doimar, my trusty dagger. The distance that separated me from home was about 450 miles; riding the horse at a pace not too hurried and being able to travel only six or seven hours a night, I calculated it should take more or less a week to cover it. I decided to keep away from the main roads since I didn't want any problems. As for my livelihood, I'd have to adapt to drinking the blood of animals hunted little by little. Galloping through the fields for the first stretch of my travel, I felt a sort of exaltation, a wonderful feeling of freedom. The silence, broken only by the wind whistling in my ears and the sound of the horse hooves striking the ground, was invigorating. I was so used to the noise and confusion of the city that the peacefulness of the voyage made me feel better, a sensation that I had not felt for the last six months.

  After the first few miles, I slowed down so as not to tire my Coal too much and carried on through the night at a trot passing through the French country and along some tiny villages. Two hours before dawn, I arrived near a grove. I judged it to be a favorable place to find food and shelter since daybreak was fast approaching. I dismounted, freed the horse from the saddle that I hid in a small ravine, and looked around in the darkness, my senses on high alert to detect the presence of some animal. Even the wild animals must have distinguished my own as it was completely silent. I slightly reclined my head back and sniffed the air, quickly getting a whiff of a gamy and warm scent nearby. Soon after, a deer came out in front of me taking me by surprise for a moment and ran to take refuge in the bush. I chased him, predator versus prey, reached him, and put him down, sinking my teeth into his long pulsing neck. His blood had a taste much different than that of a human and I can't say that I liked it, but it was food and it warmed me.

  I abandoned his carcass in the dense vegetation to devote myself to the thing that worried me the most: my burial. I called the horse with a whistle and tied him to a tree with his reins, then drew a long sigh and undressed. I noticed with irritation how much my body was visible in the moonlight. If someone had passed, he would not have been able to help but see a white spot on the edge of the woods. I hid my clothes in an empty trunk, then I leaned over and began to dig. My hands immediately sank into the ground, as if an irresistible force was drawing me from beneath. I soon discovered that the land in some way claims us and that, apart from winter when the ground is frozen, there is nothing easier for us to create other than a nice underground bed. Concealing myself to a depth of about four feet below the surface, with the only precaution to hold my breath so as not to inhale the soil, I settled into a comfortable position and soon fell asleep with all that weight on top of me, comforting like a warm blanket.

  The second and the third night went less smoothly: it seemed that animals had moved en masse from the places I was passing through; therefore, I couldn't catch anything except for a tiny mouse which only served to rekindle my appetite. Indeed, I began to have dangerous thoughts about Coal, so I thought it w
ise not to breathe in his presence. To make matters worse, around three in the morning of the third day, rain started, a torrential downpour which caught me completely by surprise in the open space without even a nearby tree for shelter. I sat hunched in the saddle, completely soaked while my poor horse sank to the hocks in the mud, just as depressed as I was. Then, I saw in the distance a cluster of houses and decided to move towards them. Maybe I could scrape up something - or someone - to eat and find a dry place to sit out a couple of hours until the hurricane diminished. I dared not think of the odyssey my journey would become if the weather conditions didn't improved in the nights to come. I was now in Belgian territory and the rain wasn't something new, but it was June, for heaven’s sake, didn't that mean anything?

  The smartest thing to do was to walk into the village, taking advantage of my ability to move quickly and in complete silence, but there was no hint of a grove around and I could not leave Coal in the middle of the countryside; the first early morning passerby would see him and take him while I slept. Therefore, I went to the village through its western border. Luckily, there was not a soul around. The late hour and the pouring rain had persuaded everyone to stay locked inside their homes. Even the small tavern was closed and in darkness. Something I had not considered were the dogs. Like a preset signal, they all began barking, even howling, and, judging by the noise emitted, they had to be numerous. Coal reared, nervous, and almost unsaddled me. I had to resign myself to leave the village without even dismounting, passing through it like a pale and restless ghost accompanied by the barks of its guardians. As dawn approached, under a freezing rain that had never given me respite, I descended into the ground without even undressing. My only desire was to escape that obsessive pounding on every inch of my body. Poor Coal remained out in the open to relish the rest of the thunderstorm in the middle of the field where I had to establish my residence for the new day.

  The next night, spared by weather that seemed to have turned to good, I wanted to recuperate the time I had wasted and galloped for a long stretch of road. Until then, I had traveled about 190 miles, not even halfway through the trip. The most pressing priority that evening was feeding, so I rode for a couple of hours at a fast pace and then devoted myself to the search for food. I came across a boar and soon drained it with pleasure, feeling immediately better, more relaxed and positive towards my mission. After the hunt, I climbed onto the saddle and resumed the journey, taking the cart track for a change. The ground was so muddy and uneven that I feared Coal could become crippled by some hole that was invisible in the darkness. I lifted the hood of my cloak to hide my hair in total black and continued my ride, lost in my thoughts. All of a sudden, with astonishment, I was thrown forward over the neck of my horse which had stumbled, falling and tumbling to the ground; I immediately took back control of my movements and landed on both feet, unhurt but furious. I was also worried about Coal which had not managed to get up yet. At that moment, from the ditch that ran beside the road, a handful of shady characters popped up armed with knives and sticks. Under the light of a torch, at least five attacked me while two others grabbed the reins of my horse and led him away. I saw with relief that Coal didn't seem to have suffered serious injuries, just a few bruises on his front legs. They were robbers similar to those who had attacked and killed my brother many years ago. The amazing thing was the timing of their attack, when travelers could be counted only on the fingers of one hand.

  Anticipating the fun I'd have enjoyed shortly thereafter and feeling a cold fury growing inside me that would allow me to appreciate the episode even more, I let them do it. Hidden in the shadows of my cloak with my head bowed and a slight smile on my lips, I granted them the gratification to tug me, kick me, and mock me. When one of them lowered my hood, the fun began. I remember their increasingly perplexed expressions as they observed my face and became aware of its strangeness. The man with the torch drew it close to my face and immediately stepped back.

  "What are you? What kind of freak are you? And why the fuck are you laughing?"

  He spoke Flemish, a language very similar to mine though with a different accent. Pathetic that they had not yet figured out what they were facing and what the outcome would be of our meeting. I finally exposed my fangs and the torch fell from his hand.

  "I'm someone who you'd have done better to have left alone," I replied. Then everything happened quickly. I threw myself on the first one, biting his throat and leaving him on the ground in a pool of blood, extracting cries from the others, petrified with surprise. Someone behind me had the presence of mind to stab my back and rejoiced seeing me wince and stiffen for a moment. His celebration, however, ended shortly after as I detached his head from his body with a single blow from Doimar which was still safely hidden in my boot. Panic ensued among the robbers as they tried to scamper, but I was not going to spare any of them even at the cost of having to chase them around for the whole of Belgium. It seemed like I was taking revenge for my unfortunate brother and my family.

  One by one, they fell under my blows or were victims of my fangs, screaming as they saw me coming, knowing that their time had come; until the very end, the confusion and the astonishment for the way things went were witnessed by those remaining. When it was over, I reached out over my left shoulder and pulled the knife out of my back, throwing it to the nearest corpse. Eventually I got to my horse, talked sweetly to him, caressed him for a while to calm him down, and then resumed my journey.

  In the early hours of the seventh night, a day later than expected, I saw in the distance the Amsterdam skyline. About fifteen miles to the south was Aalsmeer, the small village where my home was. Before arriving, I had to make myself presentable. Sleeping underground for a week, sometimes with clothes on, is detrimental to one's appearance. I stopped my horse on the banks of a canal, took off my clothes, and immersed myself into the icy water to wash away the traces of earth and blood. The cold didn't have any effect on me, but I didn’t wish to prolong the unpleasant bathing longer than necessary. As soon as I considered myself clean enough, I got out of the water and dressed myself with the change of clothes I had brought along with me, then got back on the horse and completed my travel.

  When I arrived in front of my birthplace, I stood there to observe the outside for a moment, trying to match up what my eyes was actually seeing with the mental image I had stored in my mind all these years. It seemed smaller than I remembered, perhaps because in my new life I had stayed in more spacious and majestic houses than it. The façade, which I remembered a pure white, was peeling and stained with moisture; the once pleasant and well cared for garden was infested with weeds. I was tempted to turn my horse and leave, convinced that I had arrived too late. A part of me, however, wanted to see one last time the inside of the house where I spent my human childhood, where I had known love and warmth as well as loneliness and sadness; and, it was to this yearning that I listened.

  I dismounted and pushed the gate corroded by rust, convinced to find it open; it was closed, instead, and this gave me a little hope. I retrieved the keys in the worn bag I departed with twenty years ago and opened the gate which opened with a frightening creak and with great difficulty due to the climbers that had colonized it, clinging to its bars like too intrusive guests. I brought Coal inside and walked towards the house: in the moonlight, it seemed more and more eerie and ominous, just as it should be, in the popular representation of a vampire’s cove.

  I put the key in the lock and went in, leaving behind any hesitation.

  The front door faced an atrium that had once known splendor.

  I remember the shiny, waxed wooden floors, a nice exotic carpet my father brought back from one of his trips ... Right then, I was seized by a scary thought that my mind had always refused to make: what if instead of my mother, or anyone, I had found a crazy and delusional father ready to attack me? Again, I was tempted to turn around and run away from a place that seemed bewitched regardless of my presence. Meanwhile, I noticed the sounds and
smells around me. The slow drip through some hole in the roof; the scampering of little mice around the rooms; above all else, a smell of dust, mold, and neglect, but, at the same time, cooked food and people, giving me no doubt even though I could not identify who they were. From the atrium, the doors opened to the living room, to the kitchen with the adjoining utility rooms, and to my father's studio; on the first floor were the bedrooms, mine and my family's; in the attic, there were the servants' bedrooms, primarily that of Annika and of Inga, the cook. Given the time, about two in the morning, I assumed that if there was someone, I would have found him or her upstairs asleep. I decided that if it was my father, I'd have left without revealing my presence; in case I found my mother, however, I'd have wanted to embrace her one last time. I did not know how she might have reacted before my transformation, I did not have enough experience to know what was to be expected, and I was scared. Being rejected by her would be almost unbearable.

  I climbed the stairs with vampire speed and reached the rooms, placing my ear against my father's door in order to hear some kind of noise that came from the inside, but the silence was complete. No heavy breathing, no muttering in his sleep, nothing at all. Even without opening it, I could say with certainty that the room was empty.

  I passed by my brother's room and gave him a quick thought, informing him about what had happened on the street a few nights before and about the fate I had reserved to the robbers who had attacked me, dedicating it to his memory; finally it was my mother's room’s turn. I didn't have the nerves to listen, I was terrified of what I might hear and especially not hear; I leaned against the wall with my hands and bowed my head between my outstretched arms, closing my eyes for a moment, then turned the handle.