Turtle Island, Part 4 - The Legacy

Jim and I were standing the last watch before dawn. I had no trouble staying awake after the story the housekeeper had told. I could scarcely credit her tale but I had no other explanation for what I had seen with my own eyes. With the first false dawn Margarate approached me. Her tone was less imperious and more friendly than it had been earlier. She offered up some small talk which I found tedious at this time of day, and at last I asked her plainly what was on her mind.  She bridled, but adopted a more business-like tone. She described how her husband had kept a fortune in silver coins in a small chest in his study. When the situation began to deteriorate, he secretly hid the chest in the warehouse by the dock. She hinted that her father would not be pleased if we left the island without recovering the chest. I explained to her that our departure was likely to be a desperate business and it wasn’t likely we would have an opportunity to search for the chest. At that moment a picture of that horrid pagan altar we had seen in the warehouse when we landed was in my mind. Margarate started to argue the matter, but at that moment the maid, Martha interrupted. With tears in her eyes she said she had gone to check Seth’s wound and had found him dead. Doctor Menting and Hector soon joined us. The doctor expressed his surprise at the death, as the wound had not been a mortal one. While Menting went to examine Seth the housekeeper entered the room and told us the slaves were gathering about 100 yards from the front of the house. She showed no surprise at the news of our man’s death, but said he must not fall into the witch doctor’s hands or he would become like those things outside.

                                          ....the slaves were gathering...

 

All of us were now together. The light was increasing and there were a dozen or a few more of the slaves forming a ragged line across our route to the dock. A few others could be seen in the distance moving slowly in our direction. We had to decide quickly what we would do. We couldn’t bring Seth’s body with us and we couldn’t leave him behind. At this juncture, Hector spoke up. He asked the housekeeper what might be done to prevent Seth’s transformation. She responded that the body must be burnt or the head removed. Without hesitation Hector directed Menting to remove the head and rejoin the group ready to move out.  He spoke to us in an even tone but he wore the habit of command plainly and I think our spirits were lifted by his steadiness. We were going to stay in a tight group with the four men in front and the three women close behind. The line of slaves blocking our path was broken up by scattered patches of dense undergrowth. We would exit the house and move quickly toward a gap in the undergrowth to our right front. Three slaves stood in that gap. About halfway to that gap Hector would give the command Halt! Fire! We would drop those three slaves and bolt through the gap. As we had observed the previous day, the slaves were slow and clumsy. Our speed would be our salvation. Hector warned us that no one must stop to reload, and any man that fell behind must be left to his fate, Speed was everything.

 

                                              I was being left behind!

We broke from the front door, formed quickly as instructed, and began to jog toward the gap. The slaves were in motion toward us all along the line. About halfway Hector gave the command to halt and fire. Our four muskets banged out a ragged volley. We were blinded for the moment by the smoke but Hector shouted “Move!” and we began jogging forward again. I was relieved to see all three of the slaves on the ground, but two others were now near enough to dispute our passage. My crewman Joe moved the women through the gap and to the right, away from the closest slaves while Menting and Hector struck the two slaves with their musket butts. I moved to follow Joe and the women when I felt a pair of claw-like hands clutching my leg. One of the slaves I thought we had dispatched was dragging at me and snarling like an animal. I think I am as steady a hand as most men, but at that moment terror overtook me. I saw Menting and Hector running to catch Joe and the women. I was being left behind! Several slaves were approaching me, attracted by the sound of my struggle with the thing clawing at my leg. I felt despair and surrender rising in me, the horror of becoming one of them, and then I found a last reserve of strength. I struck savagely with my musket butt on the head of my assailant and twisted out of his grip. I slipped on the blood and went down on one knee. As the monsters closed on me, I sprang to my feet and ran. I felt fingers clutching at my coat but I focused all on just running as fast as I could. My musket fell from my hand and was left behind. The path the others had taken was now blocked, so I swerved farther to my right and found another path.

 

                                              I sprang to my feet and ran

 I had left my pursuers behind but I didn’t slacken my pace until I reached the shore. I saw the others gathered at the dock, but instead of boarding the sloop there was some sort of argument underway. Doctor Menting had Margarate by the arm, Hector was loading his musket and looking back at the slowly advancing slaves. Joe was helping the men left behind to prepare to cast off. I ran down the beach to the group just as Margarate broke away from Menting.  She ran to the warehouse intending,  I suppose, to search for her husband’s chest of silver. Just as Menting caught up with her, she pulled the door open and recoiled in horror. There in the shed, seated above that awful pagan shrine was a slave with elaborate symbols painted on his body and her husband and the overseer! I reached the dock and could see the slave stand up, laughing maniacally. The two white men were dead, but awake like the other slaves. The painted man must have been the witch doctor. I ran down the dock and boarded the Hermione. Hector stood at the end of the dock, eyes fixed on the advancing slaves and called out “To me, Doctor!”.  Menting slapped the struggling Margarate hard and half dragged, half carried her to the ship.  We were able to push away from the dock just as the slave things emerged from the path onto the beach.  

 

As the island faded in the distance we fugitives were still sitting on the deck, in silence. Hector was in conversation with the mate, who was steering a course for Saint Martins. I feared that if I stood and walked over to join them my legs might fail me. Hector walked over, sat next to me and offered me his flask. He smiled (for the first time since we met) and said “You did well, Captain”. That, and the strong drink in the flask steadied me and I was soon able to assume command of my Hermione. The voyage back to Saint Martins was uneventful. The man Hector took his leave a few days after we landed as, he said he had business in Havana. Doctor Menting spent a good deal of time in the company of the widow Margarate. They were married a few months later. I wish him joy of it but I think a good man like him could have done better. Still, her father was a very wealthy man. For my part, I got to know her maid, Martha on the voyage home. She was a sweet girl who I thought had conducted herself with credit on the island. We talked for hours when I took my turn at the helm, and by the time we reached Saint Martins, she had agreed to be my wife. Over the years of our long and happy marriage we had rarely spoken of Turtle Island, until the night of the Governor’s reception, and if God grants it we will think of it no more.  

 

Note: This was originally a game that I played with Mike (who styles himself King of St Maurice) using The Dead Walk zombie rules with some basic card draw stuff to generate zombies and random events. After the game Mike began riffing on all that we might do with the card deck to flesh out the characters and generate actions they might take consistent with their personalities. I’m retired now, so I did a solo rerun of the original later in the week using the additional ‘chrome’. The story above is that game. Mike and I will continue to refine the thing for use in other heroic adventure type games set in various periods.        

Turtle Island, Part 3 - A long night

For a while we stood to arms, expecting another attack but none came. Dusk was coming on and we agreed it wouldn’t be prudent to try to get back to the ship in the growing darkness. I feared for the safety of the few crewmen I had left on board, but we heard no firing from that direction and my first mate, a wise and experienced man was in charge there. We posted Jim and Seth to watch the front and back of the house from second floor windows. The maid, a young lass named Martha, tended to Seth’s wound and the housekeeper prepared a meal for us while Menting, Hector and I talked with Margarate about what had just happened. It seemed things had been even worse than she had hinted to her father in her letters. Her husband’s drinking and brutality disgusted her. He and his overseer worked the slaves without mercy, and at last a sickness took hold in the slave quarters. One of the slaves had been an important man in their land, a witch doctor of some sort. He undertook the care of the sick men but, despite his best efforts the slaves began to die, two or three a day at first and then ten or a dozen. The fool Colbert tried to bully the native, who soon grew cold and defiant. One night as he sat over his dinner the overseer insisted on speaking to him immediately. He reported that there were no fresh burials in the scrub land that had been set aside for the purpose. When he confronted the witch doctor the man smiled wickedly and assured him no graves were required.

 

The residents in the manor house were used to the sound of joyless singing coming from the slave quarters in the evening. When the sickness came the sound changed to something akin to a primitive worship service. The singing faded away over the next two days. The overseer, who alone could communicate with the slaves, feared to approach their quarters, and the next morning when the overseer failed to report for instructions, Colbert took his gun and stormed over to the man’s cabin in a rage. When he returned Margarate found him pale and shaken. He mumbled something about blood on the floor and the man being gone. Colbert lingered indoors for the rest of the day, drank himself into a stupor and fell asleep in the drawing room on the ground floor. Margarate retired and heard nothing during the night. When she awoke in the morning, he was gone. Later that same day our ship had arrived. She knew not whether he was dead or alive and she didn’t care.

She shared with us stories her mother had told her.

 

While we were talking, the black housekeeper brought food. She lingered around the room fussing with one thing or another until at last her mistress lost patience and told her to get out. Hector intervened and asked her what she had to say. I can scarcely credit what she told us even now. Haltingly at first, and then with more confidence as she found she was not being mocked, she shared with us stories that her mother had told her. Her mother had been brought from Africa as a slave and among the stories she told were tales of witch doctors who had the power to raise the dead and control them. She believed that our’s was such a man. Doctor Menting spoke then about the slave he had examined briefly during our fight that day. The man’s body gave every indication of having been dead for several days, and yet he had attacked our party. Hector then proposed that we take turns standing watch and be prepared to strike out for the ship at dawn.

Turtle Island, Part 2 - The Pact

I had sailed in the Hermione before, but this was my first time in command and everything seemed new and exciting. We enjoyed fair weather all the way to Saint Martins. My mission was to meet with the head of the Van Hendriks House, a respected Dutch trading firm, and secure an agreement regarding commerce between our Houses. I arrived in port and that same evening I dined with Abraham Van Hendriks. After dinner we retired to his library to discuss business. I presented my proposal and was surprised by his response. Instead of a negotiation, he said he would accept my terms as stated if I would assist him in a personal matter. A year earlier he had arranged what he thought was a fine marriage for his only daughter, Margarate, to a wealthy planter. This man, Colbert, had come to the islands five years before and had established his plantation on a small, uninhabited island. He named his new home Turtle Island, and spent lavishly on a fine home and 100 slaves to clear the land for growing sugar cane.  

 

At first all seemed well with Margarate. Van Hendriks ships that brought supplies to the island and returned with cargoes of sugar always brought a letter from her full of little details about her household. More recently, the letters hinted at her husband’s drunkenness and cruelty. He and his overseer worked the slaves brutally. She had only the company of her maid, Martha and the housekeeper, a black freewoman named Mary for consolation. Margarate knew not where her husband might turn his rage next, and feared for her safety. Van Hendrik wanted to bring his daughter home, but to send one of his own ships would attract attention and turn the matter into a public scandal. The favor he asked of me was to transport his trusted friend Doctor Menting to Turtle Island to quietly bring his daughter home. This all seemed a simple enough task to secure a very favorable agreement with Hendriks, so I agreed and Hendriks promised to have his people, Menting and Hector at the dock in time to sail with the morning tide two days hence.

 

At the appointed time Hendriks people arrived. Doctor Menting was a young man, tall and thin with an easy smile and a look of a university student about him. His companion, the German Hector, was an odd duck. He was not a young man, but looked to be a man of action. I was a bit unsettled to see both men had included a musket among their gear. And so we set off for Turtle Island. Our destination was but two days easy sailing to the North West, which gave me time to get acquainted with my passengers. Menting was a fine fellow with a great store of interesting tales. Hector was quiet but, despite his well worn clothes, a gentleman and very widely travelled.

 

 In due course we arrived off Turtle Island. As we coasted around to the dockside we had a view of the cane fields. We could see a few of the slaves moving about but no one was working the fields. I hadn’t thought much about it until I saw Hector leaning on the rail and watching. While I didn’t see anything worth observing he was taking in every detail. We tied up at the dock and disembarked. I decided to accompany Menting and Hector. For insurance I brought two of my most steady men and we armed ourselves with muskets as Menting and Hector were. Just to the right of the docks was a small warehouse with the double doors half open. I would have passed it by but Hector suggested we look inside. As we swung the doors back the smell was overpowering. Blood had been spilled here and there was a grotesque primitive religious display of some kind that included human remains. We backed out of the shed, checked the priming on our muskets and moved inland. Hector and I were in the lead and the others close behind. We could see the house a few hundred yards off through gaps in the undergrowth. As we made our way along the path Hector tapped my forearm lightly and pointed off to our left. A single slave was approaching us. He seemed listless but clearly he had seen us and was moving our way. I called out a question to the man but he ignored me and kept shuffling toward us.

                                              "The man is sick..."

“The man is sick” said Doctor Menting. Hector leveled his musket at ten yards and put a bullet through the slave’s heart. The wretch dropped to the ground and we all looked at the German with shock and surprise. Before we could speak Hector said “He was a threat, look”. He pointed off to our right front and there were two more slaves in the same disoriented state moving toward us through the undergrowth. “Take them” he said coolly as he started to reload, and Menting and my two men stepped forward and leveled their muskets. Before they could fire the slaves lunged forward snarling like animals. My man Jim and the doctor beat one of the slaves down with their musket butts while the other slave seized my other crewman, Seth, by the hair and bit him where the neck meets the shoulder. Seth staggered back in horror as I advanced and cracked his assailants head open with my musket butt.

                                              "Take them!"

Doctor Menting moved quickly to assist Seth. He examined his wound and found it superficial. He poured water on the wound to clean it and encouraged us to move directly to the house so we could treat it properly. Hector meanwhile was crouching next to the man he had shot. He called over to Menting “Doctor, take a look at this man”. “Too late for him, I’m afraid” said Menting as he walked over and kneeled next to the corpse. “Is he dead?” I said, but Menting waved me off as he examined the man with a puzzled look on his face. At last, he looked over at Hector and said “This man has been dead for the best part of a week”. I was trying to make sense of that statement when Jim called out “They’re coming!” and we looked around to see three more slaves approaching from our right, through the undergrowth. Others could be seen in the distance between us and the house. We hesitated, none of this was expected, nothing made sense and then Hector barked “To the house! Run!” and we ran. Our assailants were slow and we were able to avoid them as we approached the house. The door swung open and a woman called to us “Come in, quickly!” We tumbled in and she slammed the door and locked it.

                                              "To the house!  Run!"

We were in the central hall of the house, where a broad stairway led to the second floor. Doorways to the left and right led to the two main rooms on the ground floor. Margarate, the maid and the cook stood in the hall staring at us. Menting approached Margarate who, of course, knew him but Hector interrupted. “You and you to the window in that room and start shooting, Menting follow me, you (this to the wounded Seth) escort the ladies upstairs and stay with them”. He had the habit of command and we all responded by moving to our assigned posts briskly. Soon muskets were firing from both front windows and two of the slaves fell in the front yard. After that initial volley, the slaves turned as if on command and shuffled away toward the undergrowth.  “Cease fire!” called Hector, I suppose to preserve our limited powder and shot, and soon our assailants were nowhere to be seen.

Turtle Island, Part 1 - An Unwelcome Memory

It was a beautiful  autumn evening in Charleston.  The new Governor was having a reception and, as one of our towns most prominent citizens, I and my dear wife of 40 years were invited. I’ve never been much of a dancer, nor have I the skill of idle chatter. My wife was on the other side of the room with her friends and I found myself discussing ships with the Governor, a man who had spent considerable time at sea in his youth. When he offered to show me the collection of curiosities he had acquired on his voyages, I accepted with pleasure. The first few items were the usual clutter that the locals in far flung places will sell to gullible white men, but I made a credible show of being interested. He had, he assured me, saved the best for last. He led me to a cabinet about the height of my chest and the width of my outstretched arms. He opened the doors, I saw it and the years fell away. The breath was taken from my body and my heart was frozen with fear. It was a primitive ritual display of bones and feathers of sacrificed small animals interspersed with clay fire pots against a backdrop of magic symbols painted on a tanned human skin. The centerpiece was a human skull also painted with ritual symbols. I had seen one exactly like it during my first voyage as Master, when I landed on Turtle Island in the Caribbean.  When I regained consciousness the guests were gathered around me and my wife was holding my hand.

 

As our carriage made its way through the empty streets toward home my thoughts drifted back to the  circumstances of my childhood. I was born William Fletcher. My parents were indentured to one of the great plantations upriver of Charleston. My memories of that time are mostly of working alongside of them in the fields. The year that I turned 10 a coughing sickness swept through the area and took both my parents. I stayed long enough to see their Christian burial by the plantation folk and then set off for the city, having no desire to serve out the rest of their contract.

 

My first impression of Charleston was of a place of unimagined wonder. I was amazed by the size of the place, and so many people, and most of all the ships. I’d never seen a ship and as I wandered along the docks looking at one after another my heart stirred and the sadness I felt for the loss of my parents was in some way lessened. The little food I had brought with me was gone and, as I walked along the docks I tried to think on what I might do to get by. There were men carrying burdens up a gangplank onto one of the great ships and I wondered if I might help out and thereby earn a meal. A young man in a fine brown coat stood to one side eating an apple and watching their progress. He looked like he was in charge so I approached him but was taken by shyness and couldn’t find words. The man looked down at me, smiled and said “Good day to you, shipmate!” His face was so kind and his voice so warm that everything that had happened in the last few days overwhelmed me and I started to cry. He soon had my story out of me and in no time I was eating a fine meal in a window seat of one of the taverns that lined the docks.  In response to his questions I revealed my circumstances. I had no kin, no place to go and I feared that I would be caught and forced to serve out the remainder of my parents’ indenture contract on the plantation. The man, John, was Master of the ship that was loading, and the son of the house that owned several such ships. He was sailing that evening and expected to be gone for about a month. He offered me a berth as cabin boy and I accepted joyfully.

 

I took to the sea naturally and could never learn enough. My duties were light and the crew thought I was lucky and adopted me as a sort of mascot. I spent the free time working alongside various crewmen  and learning what I could of their duties. By the end of my first voyage I was a proper shipmate indeed. When we returned to Charleston John brought me to the family home and introduced me to his parents. His father was impressed by the overly generous account of my seagoing exploits and his mother embraced me almost as a son from the outset. Over the next ten years I was at sea more than on land. My responsibilities increased with my growing skill and experience, and my adopted family even hired a tutor to teach me reading, writing and mathematics whenever I was home. On my twentieth birthday my father, for so I regarded him, made me Master of a small trading sloop bound for the Dutch colony of Saint Martins in the Caribbean. So began the strange voyage that I will tell you of tomorrow. Such things are better told sitting by the fire with plenty of brandy after a good dinner. For now, I’ll just say that I lived happily with my adopted family. When John was lost at sea the tragedy brought me and my  parents closer in our grief. My mother passed away a few years later and my father did his best to keep me running the business on dry land. It was too much for him then and I think he feared losing me too. When that great and good man went to his reward I was surprised to find that there was no other family and that all had been left to me. From that time to this I have continued his honest business practices and the company has prospered greatly.

Confrontation

We rode by easy stages all morning, following the river back to Schmeckle. The sun was warm and the air smelled sweet, or perhaps it just seemed so to me as I rode alongside my Anna. She seemed shy and uncertain of herself, quite different from her demeanor when we first met. I found her coyness charming and, without meaning to, I talked far too much about myself. In due course we arrived at the village. We stabled our horses with the blacksmith and, according to Brother Mattias’s plan (worked out with Brumm on the way while I was making a fool of myself) we went directly to the Mayor’s house. His housekeeper, an old woman with long, matted black hair streaked with white answered the door. She told us that the mayor was engaged and not receiving visitors. As she moved to close the door Brumm pushed past her with a gruff comment about overbearing servants and the rest of us followed.

We entered the sitting room and found the mayor staring out the window. When he turned to face us I was shocked at his appearance. He was a ruined man, haggard and unkempt. His red rimmed eyes were vacant, and he visibly flinched as his housekeeper entered the room and walked to his side. She turned to face us and the humble servant who had met us at the door transformed before our eyes into a vision of horror. Her twisted visage was terrifying, and I felt my blood freeze as she surveyed our little group contemptuously. Smiling and pointing a long clawed finger at the mayor, she said sweetly “He belongs to me”.

The hunters confront the witch

“Good morning, Emma” said Mattias, although not as confidently as was his manner.

“I will eat your soul, holy man” said the witch “but not too soon. First you will watch your friends die.” She turned her gaze on Anna, grinning malevolently, rolled her eyes back in her head and started to chant “By Oak and Ash and Thorn I command thee…”

I wanted to run to Anna, to protect her with my life, if need be, but my legs wouldn’t answer. I looked back at my love and the first thing I saw was her face. She was pleading with the monster with her eyes. Then I saw the pistol in her shaking hand, pointed directly at me.  

Mad Emma was laughing, but the sound was without mirth, conveying only malice. “Ah, true love!” she sneered. “Make your lover a gift, my dear!” At this, Anna’s expression changed from one of fear to profound sorrow. Slowly, she turned the pistol and placed the muzzle against her own breast. “You will not!” shrieked Emma “You will obey me!” and the sound of her voice unmanned me. The report of the pistol echoed off the walls of the small room and Anna was thrown back and dropped to the floor.

I awoke in my bed at the inn with Brumm by my side. “He’s awake!” he shouted, and a moment later Mattias and the landlord crowded in. “God be praised” said the Brother. We thought you weren’t coming back. The side of my face, my shoulder and chest were heavily bandaged and burned marvelously.

“Anna?” I said.

“I’m sorry, Heinrich” said Mattias, taking my hand “she is safe in God’s care now.”

I felt overwhelmed with sorrow, and for a time I could not trust myself to speak. Brumm and the landlord left Mattias and me alone. At last I was able to ask what had happened.

“When……when Anna fell you turned on the witch. She began to laugh, a horrid sound, but the sound died in her mouth when you drew your long knife and threw yourself across the room upon her. The struggle lasted but a moment and was terrible. She tried to tear the flesh from your bones but your knife was at her throat. You took off her head, and a bloody mess you made of it. As it came away and her black soul left her body there was a blinding flash and the room was filled with a terrible smell. The Devil claiming his own, I suppose.  We brought you back here to care for your wounds, but we didn’t think you would make it. You have been asleep these two days past. “

I remained abed for three more days regaining my strength and mourning for what I had lost. Mattias stayed by my side, talking incessantly and bringing me back little by little. Farmer Brumm came by each day to check on my progress, but he was quite busy setting right the damage that had been done to the community, as far as he was able. The mayor was a broken man and would, in all likelihood, never recover. The village elders chose Brumm to replace him. They could not have chosen better than that brave, honest fellow. Brother Mattias rode part of the way with me on the road to Ardoberg. At last our roads parted as he had to return to Rome to report on the business in Holstein. He was hoping for a holiday of his own in that city before another assignment came his way. It seems there is a wealthy widow of middle years there who is quite fond of him. I asked, smiling, how that squared with his vow of celibacy and he replied that it was not so much a vow as a guideline, or recommendation, as it were. We wished each other good health and parted ways. I hope we shall meet again.

I resumed my position in Ardoberg and excused myself to my superiors for returning so late. An unfortunate accident and a slow recovery, I explained. I couldn’t very well tell them the truth. For a man of my years to be going off on an adventure would be seen as evidence of ….unpredictability unbecoming of a Civil Servant. I think often of my time there, and I wonder if I will ever regain that feeling of dull contentment that used to define me.

Notes: This was an actual game that Mike and I played. The concept was to recreate a classic horror movie type situation with Mike and me as the heroes, hunting down the evil witch. The concept came from a great board game called A Touch of Evil, which I got for Christmas. We set the 16’x6’ gaming table with a village in the middle and mysterious locations in the four corners to be investigated.  The miniature rules used were Chaos in Carpathia, and we had homemade campaign rules based on the board game to drive the action between confrontations. As luck would have it the witch dragged the town down into darkness before we could find her in the game, but that wouldn’t have made a very good story so I changed a bunch of stuff to make it more entertaining. Hooray for Hollywood! 

Gathering darkness

Herr Brumm was an avid hunter and proved to be a capable tracker. We followed the trail steadily West for a time. I was unaccustomed to moving across rough terrain at such a pace. My companions both seemed inured to this hardship and I feared I would hold them back, or worse, be left behind. Finally, we emerged from the wooded terrain and found ourselves in the home field of an old manor house. It was a handsome structure, but showing signs of neglect. While making our plans back at the inn Brumm had told us of the reclusive Baroness Von Rundel, the last of her ancient family, who lived here with a few retainers. This was one of the locations we had discussed while laying our plans at the inn and, I confess, being suddenly confronted with the possibility of a new danger was an unpleasant sensation.

 We presented ourselves at the front door where we were met by the man Rapp, who served as her butler. We requested to speak with the Baroness but, although he recognized Brumm, he was on the point of turning us away when a woman appeared behind him and said “Thank you, Rapp. I will receive our guests in the library”. The Baroness, for it was she, was of middle height, perhaps in her early 30s, with golden hair and grey eyes. Her carriage was distinctly aristocratic but her face radiated kindness. We followed her to the library where we shared the events of the last few days and how we had tracked the degenerate laborers to the area of her manor. She told us that several of them had indeed entered her home field not 30 minutes before our arrival, and had been run off by Rapp and the dogs. Brumm was for continuing to follow them, but they had scattered in several directions and Mattias felt we had more to learn from the Baroness.

                        The hunters arrive at the manor house

We spent the afternoon discussing the situation with the Baroness, who insisted we address her by her name, Anna. Despite her reputation as a recluse, she was a charming and gracious hostess. Her intelligence and gentle manner were having quite a strange effect on me. I had always been a confirmed bachelor but as the afternoon became evening and she invited us to stay at the manor overnight rather than make the long journey back to the village, I agreed with the enthusiasm of a much younger man. I caught an amused glance from Brother Mattias out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t care. I felt that, perhaps I had found the woman I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. You may laugh at a man approaching forty years acting like a young sprat, but those who have felt as I have will understand. Farmer Brumm retired to his room soon after dinner. Brother Mattias asked for, and received, the use of her library and Anna invited me to join her in the drawing room. We talked far into the night and by the time I retired to my quarters it was clear to me that we had formed a bond.

I lay awake for a time happily thinking how I might approach Anna regarding our future together, but the exertions of the day soon claimed me and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I awoke with a start about an hour before dawn. Everything was quiet, indeed unnaturally so. The quiet was oppressive but I dared not break it. I lay very still thinking of my life, the opportunities wasted, the failures. How disappointed my parents must have been. What a fool I had been to think Anna might love me, that anyone might love me. There was something more. The sadness overwhelmed me. The darkness in my soul was like a living thing that would be with me always. I could not live on like this, yet I lacked even the courage to end my miserable existence.

             Mad Emma sends her curse winging through the night sky

 The knock on the door broke the silence like a gunshot. Sunlight was streaming through the window. How long had I lay in this state? The man Rapp was enquiring after my well being. The others had breakfasted and were preparing to depart. I could not find voice to answer. Soon Brother Mattias, Brumm and Anna were at my side. I was ashamed that she should see me in this state. Mattias asked that we be left alone for a time. He looked at my face and into my eyes for what seemed a long time in silence and then he interrogated me closely. He told me that the witch had reached out for me in an effort to destroy my will. I didn’t understand how this could be, but Mattias showed it to me in his Hammer of the Witches book. Immediately he set to work to counter Mad Emma’s spell. Throughout the day he prayed over me, punctuated by long discussions about my life and my faith. We stayed behind closed doors for most of the day, although Anna insisted on interrupting several times to bring in food or tea. On these occasions she would sit with me and talk while I ate. Her smile and the light touch of her hand on mine did as much, perhaps, as Mattias efforts to bring me back to myself. Brumm had kept busy all day visiting the surrounding farms to see what he could learn about Mad Emma and her cohorts. By evening I had shaken the terrible curse that Emma had placed on me, although I felt drained. We decided to stay one more night and set out for the village in the morning. Mattias, Brumm and I all stayed in the same chamber that night. Mattias hung the small brass cross that he wore around his neck on the window and placed several objects; a small bag of dirt, a glass phial half full of what looked like dirty water and the skull of a common cat, around the room. He seemed to take great care in the placement of these objects but when I asked what he was doing he just laughed and referred to them as the superstitions of an ignorant man. Still, we slept well and when I awoke I was feeling myself again.

At breakfast Brumm told us what he had learned from the local farmers. It seemed the bonds that held this community together were starting to unravel. Since we had left the village another man had gone missing, crude dolls made from knotted grass and other ritual magic objects had been found in the church, causing the village priest to pack up and leave, and several prominent citizens had openly discussed trying to make peace with Mad Emma.

 We were losing.

We decided to return to the village to try and stabilize the situation. Perhaps with all of the activity in the village there might be a thread that we could follow back to Emma’s lair. As we stood in front of the manor preparing to set out, the man Rapp brought us provisions for our journey and dropped his impassive butler’s mask long enough to wish us Godspeed. Anna came around the corner of the house on horseback. Her stableman led three saddled horses.

“Baroness” Brumm protested “You can’t come with us. There is terrible danger.”

“Herr Brumm” she replied “I am not accustomed to taking orders in my own courtyard. In any case, I think I may be able to exert some influence here and there that may be useful.” She glanced at me briefly and smiled just a bit and my heart leaped in my chest.

And so it was that we skirted the wood and followed the river bank back to the village.

Part 2 - The best laid plans

I sat in the common room of the inn with Brother Mattias far into the night. The landlord had given up long since and had retired. The good Brother enthralled me with stories of his adventures in strange lands. His Order, it seems, was created by the Vatican for the purpose of rooting out occult practices in the dark corners of Europe. I am a rational man, and in the light of day in a civilized place I would have laughed off these tales as the creations of a talented liar. Here in these brooding hills, sitting in this little inn with only the light of the dying fire between us and the darkness, his stories seemed real enough.

Mattias spoke of unnatural creatures, servants of the Devil, who would appear in some remote village and slowly work their evil until the place was given over entirely to the dark forces. When news of such activity came to the Vatican, one of the Irish Christian Brothers would be dispatched to confront the evil. Some were lost, but great victories were won, too. This war had been going on for generations without the people in the great centers of European Enlightenment being aware of it, but in the countryside the common folk knew, and were afraid. I asked why the Roman Church didn’t make this great struggle known, and Mattias reminded me that 100 years before they had tried that. As a result, a witch hunting hysteria swept across Europe and many old women, but very few actual witches, were burned. Since then they had acted quietly, and only in areas they were certain that evil was trying to gain a foothold. As the first light of dawn filtered through the dirty window and the last embers of the fire were dying Brother Mattias informed me that I had been chosen to assist him in this great work. He smiled, congratulated me and instructed me to get some sleep and meet him back here at noon to make a start. By that time he had so worked his magic on me that none of this seemed strange at all.

After listening all night to Mattias’s ghoulish stories one would think that sleep would not be easy or peaceful, but in fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept so well. I awoke entirely refreshed about an hour past noon, and made my way to the common room. I saw my new friend sitting at the same table by the window. By the sheer number of cups and plates in disarray on the table, I could see he was just finishing a substantial meal. As I advanced into the room the Landlord was at my elbow telling me the Brother had charged his meal to my account. I felt so rested and refreshed I smiled and nodded my assent, then went to join him.

 As I partook of a little soup and bread, Mattias shared ‘our’ plan of campaign. In cases like this, he said, the entity would terrorize the local people with misfortunes up to and including murder. They would ply their dark arts to sow discord amongst the population until they sank into despair and submission. His job, he explained, was to find the enemy and destroy it. He produced an ancient tome from a leather bag and placed it on the table.

“This” said Mattias “is the Malleus Maleficarum. It means Hammer of the Witches.”

“I know what it means” I responded with a smile “I learned my Latin at an early age.” This was met with a sour look, which I enjoyed immensely.

Pressing on, Mattias said “This will help us to identify the signs that will ultimately lead us to her lair.”

“Have you ever hunted a witch?”

“No, not a witch, no, but the book will be our guide. We’ll get her, sir, never you fear.”

“Well, let’s say we do find your witch. What will we do with her?”

Mattias smiled brightly, having come to the heart of the matter. “Well, ideally we would burn her, although if pressed for time taking off her head will work just as well.”

He spoke matter of factly, like a tradesman working out a solution to a familiar problem. I was taken aback. I had come here for a relaxing holiday and allowed myself to be gulled by this smooth talking stranger who was now proposing that we hunt down and set fire to an old woman!

“Have you lost your mind, sir? We can’t burn an old woman alive!”

“Not a woman, my good man, a witch. How do you kill witches where you come from?”

“We don’t…” Suddenly the door flew open and a man helped a sobbing woman to a table. I kept my seat as I have always been a man who minds his own affairs, but Brother Mattias walked over and sat with the couple. He took the woman by the hand and they spoke in low tones. The man still looked agitated and the woman distressed, but Mattias seemed to have a calming effect on them. The landlord brought them ale and sat down. There they stayed for the better part of an hour while I sat just out of earshot. Mattias seemed to be doing most of the talking. At last the man and woman got up and left and Mattias returned to our table.

“Things are worse than I thought” he said. “That poor woman’s brother has gone missing after a dispute with a gang of landless farm laborers who seem to have fallen under the control of Mad Emma. Two days ago their neighbor’s milk cow was killed in the night, and yesterday the miller abandoned his mill and left for the city. His neighbor tried to get sense out of him, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t say why. The man, a local farmer, says people are afraid and are talking about making their peace with the witch. We must act now or this village will be lost! The farmer has agreed to join us here later this afternoon.”

The landlord, who had seemed indifferent to the event s unfolding in the area surrounding the village, had actually been too frightened to speak. Seeing that we intended to take a hand in the matter, he agreed to provision us and to allow his inn to be used as a meeting place for those wishing to join us. He also directed us to the village blacksmith, where we were able to purchase two decent pistols and two stout hunting knives. The farmer, Hans Brumm, who had come in with the woman was respected in this community and was known as a reliable man. As good as his word, he arrived in the late afternoon and we made our plans over dinner. Beyond the village within a few hours walk at most there were several places where the witch might have her lair. A manor house owned by a reclusive Baroness, a castle that had been abandoned for years. The windmill had only recently been vacated by the miller who had fled the area and a ruined abbey that was said to be occupied by the renegade farm laborers who were thought to be in thrall to Mad Emma. We decided to go to the Abbey the next day and confront the curs in an attempt to gain information on where the witch’s lair might be.

  At dawn the next day Brother Mattias and I met farmer Brumm in the village square and began our journey to the ruined abbey. With Brumm as our guide we made good progress and arrived at our destination within the hour. We approached the ruins cautiously, hoping to surprise the vagabonds. We were unsure of their numbers but Brumm told us they lacked spirit and could be handled easily enough if one showed resolve. Mattias seemed up to the task and I took comfort in Brumm’s steadiness. This sort of thing was new to me but I was determined to play a man’s part and not let my companions down.

The degenerate laborers are surprised by the witch hunters

We came upon the beggers sleeping. Without hesitation Brother Mattias strode into the abbey courtyard where they lay around a burnt out campfire. “Get up you louts!” he shouted. Brumm followed close behind, shouting and kicked one of the sleepers awake. I came in third brandishing my pistol and trying to look fierce. The laborers scrambled to their feet, snatched up an assortment of agricultural tools that served as their weapons and faced us. To my own surprise I shouted “Drop your weapons, damn you!” and fired my pistol in the air. Our opponents started to move on us and I immediately regretted emptying my weapon. Mattias’s pistol banged and sent a ball close past one man’s ear.  Brumm stepped forward and dropped the ringleader with his musket butt. At this, the rest of them dropped their weapons and ran off through the ruins and into the woods like rats. I found myself shaking with excitement and tremendously relieved. I had never imagined I would be in a situation like this. Would my friends back in Ardoberg believe me? While I was composing myself, Brumm had dragged his victim back on his feet by the scruff and was shaking him like a terrier. Mattias confronted the prisoner.

 “What shall we do with this fellow” he said.

Brumm leaned around to look into the prisoner’s face. “We hang him” he growled. “There is a fine stout oak just beyond the wall.”

They were clearly trying to frighten the man in order to extract information from him on the location of Mad Emma’s lair and also on the fate of the missing brother of that poor woman at the inn yesterday. I was hoping the man wouldn’t notice we had no rope.

“We know you serve the witch” Mattias said to the oaf. “Tell us where she is and we’ll let you go.”

“She protects us!” This from the oaf.

“Is she protecting you now?” said Brumm as he threw the man to the ground. “What did you do with Paul, my wife’s brother?”

“We did nothing! He’s run off, that’s all. He’s afraid of her!”

“I know you Sib.” said Brumm “If you are lying I will find you and I will hang you.”

Mattias knelt down next to the thoroughly frightened man and spoke in a gentle tone. “We don’t want you, man. We want the witch. Tell us where her lair is and we will let you go.

“I don’t know where she lives. When she wanted us to do things she would find us.”

“He is telling the truth” said Mattias. “Turn him loose”.

Brumm sent the oaf on his way with a kick. As the man disappeared into the woods I asked Mattias what our next move was to be. “Give him twenty minutes” he said “and then we follow him.”

The Retribution

Part 1, A holiday gone wrong

“You look like an honest man. I can always tell. I have a powerful thirst and, alas, not much money in my tuck. If you will stand me a tankard of ale I will tell you a story that will amaze you, and every word is true. Mind if I sit?” The man had already taken a seat, and I wasn’t sure I was happy about that. He was of medium height, balding and his clothing was travel worn. He had a most interesting face, like a man who had seen much and had suffered much, and yet a face not without humor.

                    The village of Schmeckle-Something is not quite right here

 My name is Heinrich Emmler. I had come from the city of Ardoberg on holiday. I am the Master of the Electoral Public  Archives by profession, but a Naturalist by vocation. I specialize in the cataloging of rare birds, and the wild places of the province of Holstein are said to have some truly rare species. Now, here I was in the village of Schmeckle, deep in the wooded hills of Holstein and all I had seen so far were surly rustics, the landlord of this establishment where I was lodged, all innocent of soap and water, and now this oddly charming stranger with the outlandish accent, who would most likely knock me on the head later and rob me.   

The ale was set before us in due course, and the stranger drank his straight down. He then began his tale, pausing only briefly to motion to the landlord for two more. I set his story out here as I remember it, and if it seems implausible, what I myself experienced soon after will sound more unlikely still.

A stranger engages Heinrich with an extraordinary tale

So spoke the stranger: “The people of the village are being terrorized by what they claim is a witch. For years villagers have caught glimpses of this impossibly ancient looking hag lurking in the vicinity of the village at night. They call her Mad Emma. She seemed always to be collecting one thing or another, wild plants, tree mold, vermin, animal bones, for some unknown purpose. When approached she would fade into the darkness. Over time, the yokels grew to fear her. Some claimed to have seen her flying on a broom through the night sky and others to have seen her meeting the Devil in a forest clearing.

At last, a group of local men surprised Emma during her nocturnal foraging, dragged her to the nearby river and threw her in. The local folk hold that if a hag is thrown into deep water and she floats, that is proof that she is a witch. If she sinks, then she was innocent and those who threw her in must pay for a Mass to be said for her soul. In this case, she did indeed sink without a trace, proving, they thought, her innocence. A few days later as the Mass was getting under way the church was filled with an unbearable stench that drove the villagers and the priest out into the street. Since then the locals have reported livestock sickening and dying and the crops are starting to wither. Several people have seen the hag in the countryside at night and in each case she has made the sign of the evil eye before vanishing into the darkness.”

There was something about this rustic inn, the rain beating down on the thatch, the fire casting fantastical shadows on the walls and just the two of us travelers and the landlord present that made the strangers story sound a little more plausible.

“A fine story, friend, and worth the price of a tankard or two.”  Indeed, two empty vessels stood before my companion and he held a third to his lips. “My name is Heinrich Emmler,of Ardoberg. Will you tell me yours?”

“I am Brother Mattias, and I am in your debt” said our story-teller.

“Am I to understand that you are a clergyman?”

“I am that. My Order is the Irish Christian Brothers”.

“Not a Roman Priest, then? Why are you not in clerical garb? I confess, I haven’t heard of your Order.”

“No, not a priest, no. A Brother is a servant of God who has better things to do than to learn his Latin! My Order is small and the nature of our mission is such that we are not widely known. As for my cassock, it was left behind with the rest of my poor possessions recently when I had to leave Albania on short notice, with the Sultans minions nipping at my heels.”

I must confess, at this point my thirsty new friend had me entirely engaged. All thoughts of bird watching in the countryside had fled, and had been replaced with an irresistible urge to delve deeper into Brother Mattias’ story, however nonsensical it would prove to be. It is not given to mere mortals to see into the future. If I had known what the next few days had in store regarding Mad Emma, I would have left the inn that night and returned to Ardoberg directly, standing not upon ceremony.
Note: The really nice buildings in the pictures were made by JustMike

Confrontation

From The Memoirs of The Reverend Kurt von Schilling, Bishop of Holstein

We come now to the end of that strangest of all the adventures my companions and I experienced in our youth. I, who was called Nestor, my friends Hector, Agamemnon and Phoenix, and doctor Plummer were gathered in the monster’s lair awaiting his return. Earlier in the day we had stormed the house and killed his human slave and two of his gypsy retainers, but two gypsies had escaped. We knew not where the vampire lurked or if they had gone to warn him. The time passed very slowly and our nerves were stretched to the limit.

 There were but two hours until dawn when, at last, we heard the front door open slowly. We had dragged the bodies out of sight but the smell of death and gunpowder hung in the air, alerting the monster to the danger. He saw us moving toward the entrance to the foyer and what we saw next defies description. It was Lang, but his face was a mask of horror and his very presence radiated menace. Phoenix and Agamemnon, who had proven themselves fearless on many occasions, were momentarily stunned into inaction by the sight. The doctor, Hector and I fired our pistols at the same instant at point blank range. For a moment, time stood still. The smoke stung my eyes and my head was ringing from the discharge of three pistols in that confined space. My eyes focused on a bit of smoldering wadding that was embedded in Lang’s waistcoat and then the desperate engagement began in earnest.

All three pistol balls had struck the monster and had done fearful damage to his body, and yet he fell on us as if he had felt nothing. He seemed more beast than man as he snarled and snapped at us with his teeth and slashed with his claw-like hands. I was struck down and bloodied by his claws. As I tried to fight back the dizziness and nausea and regain my feet I saw Phoenix and Agamemnon, who must have left the sitting room by the back hallway, come around behind the monster slashing and stabbing furiously with their swords. The wounds I saw them inflict would have killed a normal man instantly, and indeed the monster seemed to be flagging from the accumulated damage to his physical form.

                            The monster was trapped and the battle raged

Taking advantage of the brief respite thus gained, the doctor and Hector drew the wooden crosses from their coats and thrust them forward toward Lang. With a savage backhand stroke the monster knocked both men to the floor, sending their crosses skidding away. He advanced on them hoping to finish them and break through our circle. I pulled myself up on one knee and imposed my own cross between Lang and his intended victims. He stopped, uncertain at first, and then recoiled in fear and confusion. At this Phoenix and Agamemnon renewed their assault. I can’t explain what happened next, except to say that we all saw it. The monster, trapped and assailed on all sides, changed before our eyes into a column of grey mist and slipped through a broken window like water down a drain.

Our party was in no condition to pursue and we wouldn’t have known how to do so in any case. We stayed in the house until dawn binding our wounds and keeping watch in case Lang came back. Thanks to the doctor’s vigilance we were sure we had accounted for all of the monster’s sanctuaries in our town and rendered them useless to him. We did not know if he had established similar places of refuge in Ardoberg or elsewhere, but as the weeks passed and no more attacks occurred we came to understand that we had at least driven him out of this region. The doctor, who was becoming something of an expert on such matters through the knowledge gained from Artorius’ book, believes the vampire made it’s way back to the remote regions of Holstein much weakened and unable to sustain a physical form for years to come.

The doctor returned to the practice of medicine in his little country town. He decided not to make his story public. After all, who would believe it. The town magistrate had disappeared during the troubles, and no one knows to this day what happened to him. Another magistrate was appointed by the authorities in Ardoberg, and he was directed to attribute the battle at Artorius house to a robbery attempt by the gypsies.

My friends and I had many adventures in the years to come, but nothing so bizarre as this affair. Agamemnon eventually returned home to manage the great estate he had inherited. He is a generous, if indiscriminate, patron of the Arts, funding the musical style galant and other innovations that have no future. I think he does it just to irritate me. Phoenix rose through the ranks of the Ardoberg-Holstein army and is now Inhaber of the Ardozollern Kuriasser regiment. Hector could never settle down. Last year an English Colonel told me he had met him while fighting red Indians in a place called Ohio. I eventually joined the priesthood. It had been my faith that had given power to the cross I held to drive the vampire back on that terrible night. My friends, brave hearts all, had never been men of faith, and the cross in their hands was useless against the monster.

As for the vampire, I wish I could say he was never heard from again but it was not to be. It took him years to regain his power but in time his shadow grew in the Holstein border country. But that is a tale for another day.

Note: This was an actual wargame ‘mini campaign’ that Mike and I played using the Chaos in Carpathia rules supplemented by simple campaign rules that we made up between us. The Chaos rules are good at depicting combat between assorted monsters and humans, but we felt something was missing. We wanted the game to ‘feel’ like a Gothic horror movie. The campaign rules simply laid out a set of objectives for the monster and a ‘bar of disbelief’ that had to be crossed before the humans could gather their forces and fight back. The monster’s greatest weapon is the fact that nobody believes in monsters. His goal was to achieve as many objectives as possible while “staying below the radar”. His objectives included establishing alternate sanctuaries, collecting ‘brides’ and routine non lethal feeding. He was also required to rest periodically. Support for the idea that a vampire was afoot waxed and waned according to how aggressively the monster pursued his goals. There were two phases per day, daylight and darkness, and multiple locations where elements of the two factions might be deployed in a given phase. If opposing elements found themselves in the same location we went to the tabletop to fight the encounter with miniatures. The final battle occurred when the vampire returned to his lair from an unsuccessful attempt to collect a second bride. There are opportunities to refine the campaign system but overall it did give us the monster movie feel we were after.  

Battle is joined

The Diary of Dr. Plummer, October 13^th, 1748

I write these few lines now against the chance that I may not see the sun rise tomorrow. My young comrades and I now have no choice but to wait here in the monster’s lair until he returns sometime this night. Our campaign began well enough this morning. Following the plan agreed on last night we approached the first of the two cottages recently purchased by Krebs on behalf of his master. We entered openly as if we belonged there and, as Hector predicted, no one questioned our entry. Indeed, there were no townspeople on the streets at all. Over the last few days a sense of foreboding seems to have slowly come over our town. People seem to have caught the fear gripping nearby Ardoberg, but there is something else, too. I believe that they feel, without knowing why, that something evil, something unnatural, is afoot in our town.

Once inside the cottage we started looking for the coffin and for anything that might work to our advantage in the coming battle. Artorius’ tome suggested these satellite locations were simply bolt holes the vampire might avail himself of if something went wrong, but we didn’t know if the place might be occupied by his gypsy retainers or even poor Hannah who was now one of the undead. As it happened, we found a coffin in the basement, but nothing else. We set about rendering the coffin unusable by the vampire, according to the prescription in the book, by planting a portion of the sacred bread in the soil inside. We then went on to the second cottage and repeated the process without incident.

So far the campaign was proceeding according to plan, but now the atmosphere that had so oppressed the town seemed to take hold of Hector. His demeanor had grown more withdrawn as the day progressed. Our plan had called for us to return to my apartment and wait. By now the monster was aware that I knew what he was. He could not know of my young friends. My hope was he would come himself to dispose of me and we would be ready and waiting. We had rejected the plan of storming his house while it was defended by the gypsies but as we approached the intersection that led to my apartment and away from the monster’s lair Hector strode off the wrong way. We caught him up but he looked at me with barely suppressed rage and snarled “It dies today!”. I appealed to his friends but Agamemnon smiled, shrugged and said “Apparently, It dies today” and then they rushed off to join him.  I had no choice but to follow.

Hector, followed closely by the rest of the party, strode directly up to the front door of Lang’s house, drew his pistol and pounded on the door. Whatever Krebs was, he was no soldier. Without looking to see who was on the other side, he simply opened the door and Hector, without hesitation, shot him in the forehead.  The unprepared gypsies came tumbling out of a side room and were met with the ready blades of Hectors friends as they pressed into the foyer behind him. In less than a minute two of the gypsies lay dead on the floor and the other two ran out the back door. Whatever madness had seized Hector was offset by the arrogance or sloth of Krebs, who failed to keep a proper watch.

                      In a moment the defenders were overwhelmed

When I had recovered my composure I prepared my friends for the work before us. As it was now late afternoon there was an excellent chance that the vampire was resting in the house. His coffin, and perhaps another for Hannah, was most likely in the basement. At this time of day he was at his most vulnerable. Taking a pair of lanterns from the kitchen we quickly made our way into the basement. There we found two coffins, one a grand affair and the other a rough built box such as a common man might be buried in. We surrounded the fine coffin, myself with stake and mallet at the ready and the others with weapons drawn. Nestor opened the lid and I made to strike but the coffin was empty! We quickly searched the dark corners of the basement but found nothing. We then denied the monster sanctuary in the great coffin by placing a goodly portion of the sacred bread into the soil therein.

There remained the second coffin. This must be the resting place of the unfortunate Hannah. We surrounded it as we had the other and carefully opened the lid. I was sure she would be in the coffin, and I thought I was prepared. She opened her eyes and I froze. She was a beautiful young lady, unnaturally so now that I reflect on it, and she spoke with a voice like tinkling glass. “Oh, Hector, don’t let them hurt me!” Poor Hector was shaken to his core and turned to appeal to his friends. Agamemnon grasped him by his shoulders and looked into his eyes while Nestor shouted at me “Now, Doctor! Strike!”. In a moment the deed was done. While Agamemnon and Phoenix walked Hector toward the stairs Phoenix stayed behind and helped me to take off the head and place the sacred bread in the coffin.

Agamemnon found brandy for Hector and stayed with him to steady his nerves while the rest of us searched every corner of the house. The monster was certainly away working evil somewhere. The sun is going down and we are resolved to remain here and await his return.  

What have we gotten ourselves into?

Journal of Phoenix, October 12^th 1748

Well, that’s it then. We are in league with a madman. Agamemnon agrees with me but Nestor, the would be Papist priest, accepts the doctor’s wild story and poor Hector, shaken by Hannah’s death, continues to insist her murderer transformed himself into a large wolf before his eyes when he pursued him on the road that night.

After dinner the doctor (an excellent cook, by the way) gathered us in the sitting room and placed a musty old book on the table. He told us that the man Lang is, without a doubt, a vampire! Nestor is a brave man and my sworn comrade but he is from Holstein, and a Catholic to boot so, of course, he had no trouble accepting the doctor’s fairytale. When Agamemnon suggested that vampires were created by mothers to frighten naughty children Nestor was offended and assured him that such creatures had been known to plague certain districts in Holstein within living memory. The doctor, referring to the book, then proceeded to educate us on the ways of a vampire, his strengths and weaknesses, and how we might go about destroying him.

According to our host the vampire possesses great physical strength. It can transform itself into many forms; a large wolf, or bat, or even a cloud of mist. The monster has these powers only between the hours of dusk and dawn. In the light of day the vampire is much like any other man, and so can be killed more easily. For that reason a vampire will often rest during daylight hours and hunt at night. If it rests in it’s native soil the monster’s powers are renewed that much more efficiently. Apparently,  to destroy the thing, one must drive a wooden stake through it’s heart and cut off it’s head. The vampire, quoth our good doctor, feeds on human blood. If he takes blood from a victim without killing then the victim will recover. Sometimes a vampire will take a mate by draining so much blood that the victim dies. That victim will then rise as a vampire bound to the one who inflicted the fatal wound.

The doctor believes that poor Hannah has become a vampire, and the bride of Lang. At this, Hector was furious and swore a terrible vengeance on the monster. As Agamemnon, Nestor, Hector and I took an oath when first we met to share everything, we now stood and swore together to kill Lang, be he monster or man.  Hector was for storming Lang’s house this very night but the doctor persuaded us that only a careful plan would ensure success against such an evil power.

The four young men swear an oath to destroy the monster
Furnishings by Mike

The doctor proceeded to lay out his plan. The man Krebs is, the doctor believes, not a vampire but rather his human slave. According to the book it is common for a vampire to keep a human in thrall to guard him during daylight hours and carry out any necessary interactions with humans. The doctor says the vampires greatest guarantee of security is that civilized people in the modern world don’t believe vampires exist. Then there is the matter of the gypsies. They live outside the pale of law and society and have been known, according to Nestor, to serve creatures like Lang for gold. Krebs has four of them living in Lang’s house.

Rather than strike directly at the vampire’s lair, Doctor Plummer proposes to first raid two other houses in the town. One was purchased by Krebs several days ago and a second this very day. In both cases the gypsies were seen moving a coffin into the house. The doctor believes these are alternate resting places for the monster and he believes we need to deprive it of those sanctuaries. We discussed waiting until dark to break into those properties by stealth but Hector suggested the safest way to break into an empty house is to enter by the front door in broad daylight as if one belonged there. He assures us he can disable a door lock as quickly as if he had a key. I wonder how he knows such things?

                                              Krebs and the gypsies hide another coffin

Finally, the doctor opened a chest and laid out the arsenal he had been amassing for the coming battle. Of course, we all had our own swords. In addition to these he issued each of us a pistol, a blossom of garlic, two wooden stakes and a wooden cross. He also showed us a small silver box that contained a quantity of the sacred bread used by Catholics in their services. This last was provided by Captain Boehm, who obtained it from the pastor of the only Catholic church in Ardoberg.  

So! Tonight we sleep and take it in turns to watch and tomorrow let this strange business begin.