WtAF Eloise Journal

May 4th, 2014 (Episode One)

Session One (7/3/2014)
Dear Luther,
I fondly recall your journaling habits. Sitting in the library, the bay windows open to the night sky behind you, while you scribbled away, the room lit only by that damned green-shaded public library-style lamp you insisted on using. I'd bring you tea occasionally, and you only ever refused when you had a tumbler of whiskey already at hand.

I think I understand why you journaled the way you did. Was it your only means of keeping sane? Was it a confidant you could tell about the things you encountered, when you couldn't tell anyone else? There is a part of me that wishes you might have confided in me, but I know it would have done terrible things to our marriage, even if I had believed you. I'm grateful to you for compartmentalizing the horrors you saw so effectively, my love, for protecting me and our family as well as you did.

I do wonder whatever happened to your journals. After you died, I deliberately avoided looking for them, because I was afraid it might hurt too much. I wanted to remember you as the man I remembered, through the filter of my own experiences and feelings for you. I didn't want to see the flaws you saw in yourself, the petty insecurities and little jealousies and all the other things people tend to pour out onto the page. So it became a habit to forget about them.

But now, I have to wonder - what exactly was in those journals? And where might I find them? Is there information there that might help me better know this horrifying world? After fifty years, I'd assumed I knew how the world worked, but last night's revelations were eye opening, to say the least.

Yesterday afternoon, Robert hosted a barbeque, and of course the usual riot of people showed up. I made sure to see that we had far too much food, so that we could package some of it up and send home with some of our guests. Two of our guests were quite disturbed, however, and had clearly seen recent violence! Daniel is a young man from a difficult home life, whom we've sometimes assisted. He is friends with another bright young man, James - the young man who we helped sponsor a scholarship for once. The two of them were out for a night on the town then they encountered James' sister, Karol. They described a particularly unsettling encounter.

I'm not entirely sure how it transitioned from there, to be truthful. It seemed all very sudden: one minute we were discussing the police negligence in finding the poor child, and the next we were discussing vampires, with Robert giving us grave warnings, and them making plans to hunt the culprit down themselves!

It was all very surreal, Luther, and I'd had perhaps a little too much sangria with the barbeque. The next thing I knew, we were all paging through the library you left here, looking for information on these so-called "undead": where they might lair, what could harm them and a myriad other gruesome facts.

Session Two (7/16/2014)
It's no curiosity to me why I was so taken in by this research, my love. It's very simple: I miss you. Finding the answers to these questions, no matter how terribly strange they were, was comforting, because we were finding them in your own handwriting. Your notes and margin scribblings, scattered throughout these books, were the closest thing I'd had to the comfort of your presence, your solid intellect devising the answers to questions and problems. It was taken in by it. Even now, I recall the process with a small ache, because it felt like I was close to you one again in far too long.

Thankfully, Oz was a voice of reason. His concern that these young people were reacting from the pain of loss, a desire for revenge against someone who'd wronged and injured them, and even possibly a little hysteria - all well-founded. But since the police weren't doing anything about it, and it was plain that they were hell-bent on doing something themselves, what choice did I have? I love Josephine like a daughter, and I could never look Alexander Frost in the face again if I let anything happen to his son! I convinced Oz to come with us - I should drive, and remain on hand to dial 911, while he accompanied them to make sure nothing got out of hand.

Oh, if only.

A photo of Luther Danford, tucked into the journal

We stopped off at a hardware store to purchase some cans of bug spray, long-necked lighters a machete (God help us!), and then proceeded to try and find the monster. They first tracked his progress across rooftops - he seemed to have skills similar to Daniel's own athletics - but they lost the trail. On the way over, James had cleverly discovered a picture of the man we were seeking, and so we started canvassing the locals. Surely a man who can spring up fire escapes, carrying a young woman all the while is going to draw some attention! After a bit of asking (and a little money - you taught me that, if you remember), we discovered the building where he lived. (He'd apparently gained a reputation as "Super Whitey," and the young man who described him seemed very taken with his leaping prowess. Or that all might have been a drug metaphor of some kind. I can't always tell.)

I waited in the car while they went in. Oz was very hesitant to leave me there, but I assured him I'd have 911 almost dialed on my phone, the windows up and the doors locked. He insisted on leaving me with a can of mace, which was very sweet of him. I also kept a can of bug spray, because I'm much more experienced with that, thanks to the dankness of summer in our house sometimes. (Yes, we still have that problem with ants seeking water when it gets terribly hot.)

In truth, I don't really know what happened inside. I heard distinct gunshots, and immediately dialed 911. I told them someone had gone in, looking for the missing girl, and that there were gunshots. In short order though (and of course long before the police even hinted at showing their faces), they emerged with three girls! They were all in terrible condition, too: two of the girls (one of whom was James' sister Karol, thank God) were helping a third one out. Daniel came next, limping terribly, a stitch in his side that I'm sure must be an injury of some kind to his ribs. Finally, James and Josephine emerged, carrying Oz between them! I swear to you, my heart all but stopped when I saw that sweet boy, but they assured me he had just fainted, and I remembered his narcolepsy. If stress is what triggers it, I'm certain last night was enough to make him sleep for a week!

It was decided that I would drive the girls to the hospital. I'd made the 911 call, they had my phone's number, and so I made a statement to the police that I'd seen the girls emerging, injured, and insisted that I take them to the hospital immediately. I'm sure my name helped speed things along, but the fact that there was nothing else for the police to actually tend to with the situation sped them along even faster.

Luther, I saw some of the injuries those girls had. Not cuts - puncture wounds. In an arc, from a bite - horrible, jagged, red. God help us, one of the girls even died from the deprivation, and I held Karol's hand while she wept about the horrible man feeding on her.

I did not see the things that the others saw. But I saw enough. I know now a little bit of what you knew, Luther. And it scares me half to death.

I think I am a terrible hypocrite. You see, I am both grateful that you never shared this world with me, but also wish desperately that you were here for me to share it with. How can I simultaneously be thankful you never came to me for support against the burdens of this hunt, while also wishing you were here to help take some of the burden from me. I suppose I am fortunate that you always seemed to love me, despite those flaws, my Luther.

And so something begins, I think. I don't want to find more of these horrors. I don't want to be involved in this world. But you were - I know this now. You died thirteen years ago, and I've been through my mourning and recovery. But all of this opens those wounds up anew. I want to know more. I have to know more, because you were enmeshed in all of this monstrousness. I want to know the secret hero you were, the good you did. I want to know your legacy, Luther, even if I can tell no one of it.

I also admit here, and can tell no one else, but I have a secret fear. Seeing all of this has awakened a dread in me. I am afraid that your death was not simply an accident. Is that foolish of me? Is that the fancy of a widow who ought to have been done with her mourning a long time ago, looking for more meaning in her husband's death? Even if it is, I must know. Seeing how the police handled these situations - Karol's abduction and the trauma the young women went through - only to have them turn a blind eye...could they have been equally negligent and careless in investigating your death, Luther?

May 7th, 2014 (Downtime)

Downtime
Dear Luther,
I spent a few days recovering from everything that happened on the night of the 4th. I was so filled with adrenaline the night-of, and felt so brave, waiting alone in that alley, car at the ready to get us out of there.

The day after, I'm afraid I was something of a wreck. I stayed in bed most of the day. It was three pm before I had my first glass of wine, but that's no worthy accomplishment when you understand that I woke around noon. I heard little Miguel running around the floors above - the ones that are abandoned - and got out of bed just long enough to shout for him to leave that floor immediately. His mother Tina came running up, apologizing to me and scolding him. I just turned and went back into my room.

I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I was so cross, until I was back in bed and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I feel very lost without you here, Luther. I thought I'd grown accustomed to life without you, and I had: all the things I've learned to do without you. But this is new, and it's inexorably intertwined with you. Your handwriting is all throughout these books, guiding me like little whispers from you that have somehow become visible on a page. (I still love your handwriting. It's so bold, even if it gets hard to read when tiny and cramped.)

I spent the last four or so days mostly in bed, wandering down to the kitchen only in the dead of night to get another bottle of wine, a small plate of food, and another armful of books. Thank God for the elevator - I would never have made it back up the steps with all of those in hand, although I may have woken the Fowlers once or twice.

Speaking of whom, April Fowler has noticed, and she showed up at my room very early this morning (nine am or so!), with a plate full of excellent food. She came in, and collected up all of the wine bottles. She didn't say anything, but her look was clear: I've been overly indulgent these past few days, and so I shall stop. Writing this down is the first step in that.

Though I've been reading your books for days, it's been in a sort of drunken stupor. I think I was reading them mostly to frighten myself. Perhaps even to justify hiding in bed and at the bottom of a wine bottle at the same time. Enough of that, though. When sweet Mrs. Fowler is casting looks of askance at me for my indulgence, it's time to reset my priorities.

I've decided that I'm going to go down into your workshop. Soon, I think. Since we discovered not only the reality of the things out there, but also your involvement in them, I almost instinctively knew where your headquarters for such things was.

But I've been afraid, I admit. I don't know what I shall find down there, and I feel as though I can hardly handle what I've discovered already. Perhaps it is a fool's errand to add more to it! But how can I not? It isn't just the world out there that drives me - no indeed, if that were all, I should happily shut myself away in my house and never look out a window again!

No, there is a part of you down there, Luther. A part I don't know about, and I can't ignore it. I've only recently discovered that I don't didn't know you in the fullness of who you were, and I must know. It's almost like when we were courting, when we spent all that time finding out about one another. There was a part you left out about yourself, Luther. Is it greedy of me to want to know about that part, too?

Perhaps, but I feel as though it's all I have of you, and there is a part of me that refuses to not know. So, I will go down into that workshop.

May 10th, 2014 (Downtime)

Downtime
Dear Luther,
I've tried several times. To go into the workshop. But I just can't - I don't really know why. I've gone down the steps into the basement, and turned around and fled. I've made it as far as the door to your workshop, even putting my hand on the lock. My hand shook too badly to fit key into that lock.

It is perhaps a misfortune for the person I am that our wine cellar is so close to the basement entrance, and lies between your workshop and the stairs. I'm afraid my intentions of drinking less have withered in the face of what I'm trying to do.

I am trying, Luther. Please don't think me weak.

May 11th, 2014 (Downtime)

Downtime
Dear Luther,
I have called dear Oz, and he has agreed to go into the workshop with me. I shall probably call the others, as well. Having them there - their bravery, their interest, their drive - will surely steel me against my own tattered nerves. I can take courage from them, can I not?

I need to call them, and ask them to come over. I'm hesitating, though. I keep putting it off. I've lessened my wine drinking in the past few days, though I have tipped from your old whiskey supply to help me sleep at night these past few evenings.

Soon, my love. I'll know what's in there.

May 13th, 2014 (Episode Two)

Session 3 (7/31/2014)
Dear Luther,
Things have escalated rather quickly. I asked everyone who is involved so far - Robert, Oz, Josephine, James and Daniel - over to a dinner last night. April was kind enough to oversee the meal preparation, and thank God. As you well know, calling me a mediocre cook is an insult to mediocre cooks everywhere. As soon as they showed up, the topics veered immediately into the strangenesses we'd experienced and discovered. I was finding it harder and harder to enjoy the meal, so Robert and I asked that we at least wait until dinner was done.

James arrived late, and he had some distressing news: Madelena, the young girl from the crack house (or whatever that place was) who'd died? Her body had been taken by someone! This of course began us discussing all of those topics all over again, but sanity reigned and we had a nice (if someone awkwardly strained) dinner. All of them seem to be handling the issue in their own way. James I think is trying his best to pretend it never happened - he seems unchanged, bless his ironclad soul. Josephine, on the other hand, seems very...angry. There is a streak of aggression occurring in her that I've never seen before, as though she's just looking for an excuse to put herself in harm's way again. Poor Daniel is still practically black and blue, and though he doesn't acknowledge it, I know he's got to be in some pain. Oz, on the other hand...well, the poor dear just seems very, very afraid. I didn't entirely understand what he's been saying, but I think he may be partially living out of his shop? I'm not sure. He was festooned in religious iconography (which would be very humorous considering his general opinion of his grandmother's churchgoing tendencies, if it weren't positively heart-breaking to see him so afraid). He even asked to stay the night, which is something he hasn't done in years - I think he's actually a bit fearful to venture out after dark.

Of course, all of that makes me wonder how I'm handling it all.

After dinner, we marched downstairs and got into the workshop. I had the key on that old keyring of mine. Many of your work tools were gone - Robert said he'd sold a number of them off, to help with maintenance. It hurt my heart a little to hear, of course, but necessity is what it is, and I did ask him to tend to those sorts of things. He claimed that he hadn't been in the back part of the workshop, and though I didn't catch it, Josephine and the others seem to think he was lying (which he admitted to later).

There are of course lots of things we discovered within, Luther - although I'm sure you know all about that. The photo of you and your friends was perhaps the hardest on us. Luther, how could you never tell me all of this was going on? I know you were only trying to protect me, but it cost you your life. It cost James and Josephine their fathers, Luther. What right did you have to do all of this, this hunting that left them without their fathers?

And damn you, and damn Robert as well, because your hunting both cost me my daughter.

(I've sat and stared at that sentence for altogether too much time. Oz asked me if everything was all right, the poor bleary-eyed dear. He and I are doing some additional reading, but I was just...staring at my journal. More about all that later, though.)

Your death and your...I don't know what to call it. Hobby? Vigilantism? Whatever it is, it took you from me, and then it took our daughter from me as well, and I don't know how I'm going to forgive either of you. I know that Rebecca was headstrong, and given Robert's general hesitation to help us in this, I'm sure she's the one who dragged him into it. But we found the truth: he'd come in here with Rebecca, when she wanted to know how you died. And she got too close to all of that.

We found a virtual bunker filled with books, armaments, strange curios and all manner of things, but all of it paled next to the understanding that this cost me you, and it cost me Rebecca, and I'm so angry, Luther. I'm so angry that you could exclude me, and that she could exclude me.

I'm so, so angry that Robert could know how both of you died - my husband and my daughter - and never tell me the truth. I feel like I might choke on the bile that rises in my throat at that knowledge, and like I might start crying and simply never be able to stop.

While the others departed, Oz and I stayed downstairs. He reading, and I pretending to read. I couldn't see the pages through the tears, although I hid all that from Oz. I'm afraid that fine French red held far, far more of my attention last night than the books did, and I kept glancing over at Oz ensconced in his corner, from time to time.

This morning I woke to find him partaking in caffeine (I seem to remember that he's not supposed to have any of that...or is it alcohol?), and already reading, so I've taken a moment with my journal before I dive back into these books. I want to know everything I can about these horrors that we might face. Oz seems intent on discovering what all is out there - I'm not sure what a domovoi (I had to have him spell it for me), but he seems content that they don't actually exist...so far.

We have more ahead of us, Luther. So much more. I have to wrestle with my own grief in this, knowing what I know now. And though I am horrified beyond belief at what we've found, and what all of this has cost me, I am, as they say, "all in."

It took you from me, and I'm going to find out who you were. Luther the hunter, since I know all of the other Luthers.

It took Rebecca from me, and I'm going to find out who killed her, Luther. And I'm going to make them pay, somehow.

There's no one to miss me, no one to weep for me should they kill me, so I gladly into this. If this was worth the sacrifice of your life, if it was worth the efforts of Rebecca and her life? I have nothing else to live for right now, and I think I've been trying to not admit that to myself. I've been an old woman, surrounded by too many empty wine bottles, in a big old house that is falling apart, in a city that is falling apart.

If this is what I'm going to use my last days on earth to do, then by God, I shall do it.

I love you, and I miss you, and I'm so angry with you, Luther, but I shall get over it, I'm certain. Just...not right now.

May 13th, 2014 (Episode Two)

Session 4 (8/13/2014)
Dear Luther,
I'm taking a break from all of this research to write this. It's the same day as my last entry, I know, but I feel as though this journal is a lifeline of sanity in all of this absurdity.

We have learned that the body of the one of the girls we helped to save - a girl named Magdalena - has disappeared. While Josephine and James investigated the hospital (Daniel was at work, I believe - such a conscientious young man), Oz and I continued to feverishly read through the books we found in your workshop.

Oh, Luther. My head is spinning with what we've found! How can any one person keep track of it all? I suppose one can't, hence the necessity of having such books. Still, I am aghast at this entire world you kept hidden from me.

After lunch, I made some calls and got David Edelstein on the phone. He sits on the Board of Directors at the xxx hospital, and by way of our chatting I introduced the idea of some curiosity in him about what happened. He took a little time to do some digging - how the junior bureaucrats of the hospital must dread that! - and then got back to me. It seems that the hospital has a history of losing bodies. He assured me it wasn't because they were going missing, but undoubtedly because their paper trails were merely mismanaged, but given what I know now? I have my doubts.

He also told me that occasionally there were instances of bodies that were already in the morgue being decapitated! It is a mark of just how strange things are that I took that gruesome fact as some sort of relief - surely that was you and your cohorts at work, protecting people. Imagine my horror to discover just a few hours later that the UnDead sometimes take measures to prevent the creation of more of their kind in that way as well!

Oz and I discovered reference to a great many things - councils of vampire monarchs, bloodthirsty laws between apex predators, vampire cults! They even referred to a "blood sorcery," and the raising of demons to serve them! Good God! After all of this madness, I can't help but feel that I must return to Church. My faith has only ever been one of social obligation at best, but I'm starting to seriously reconsider that, I think. (Although, I wonder if simple mortal fear is a...good enough reason for faith. No atheists in a foxhole and all that.)

Josephine and James have had some luck in starting to track down Magdalena, but they could use some extra help asking questions. I proved somewhat useful at that previously, so I am about to load up the car with some "dangerous things" (James' request) and meet them just south of the hospital.

We shall see what we see.

Elements to mention next time

• Daniel's little crush!
• Very well spoken vampires
• A sad scene in a church
• Vampires that want to murder us in a church. Bad form.