Nish !

Shattered Glass is a Clue, Chapter 1

You will have to remind me exactly how much money I placed on that bet we made, should I survive this journey, for I believe I owe you a hefty sum. In hindsight, it was foolish indeed to believe my past could not come back to haunt me, considering how heavily I contend with it on a daily basis. 

As you are well aware, by this point, I did not return from my scholarly journey to Oakhurst entirely intact. Perhaps it was shortsighted of me to deceive you—and for that I am sorry—but I did purposefully withhold the extent to which my time in that haunted town affected the subsequent course of events of my life. In my defense, I truly believed I would never see any of my old acquaintances again and that, with your help, I would easily be able to blend in with the greying mortal scholars of this place. I was mistaken, obviously. 

I was grading late into the night last night. You need not treat me again to one of your signature lectures chastising my frequent procrastination, as I was punished sufficiently by the circumstances. In particular, I spent hours listening to distant clacking of typewriter keys and obnoxious slurping of coffee from down the hall. It seems we have another coworker who would be more deserving than myself of your scorn over work the night before a deadline, no? The sounds were excessively irritating–I even considered briefly shutting my door, which I am loath to do at this time of year, as my office tends to get uncomfortably drafty at night when I do so–but I resolved that it was my cosmic punishment for my hubris, and I was nearly done, in any case. However, when I found myself running out of ink, I admit I was less than graceful accepting the minor setback. I toyed with the idea of saving myself the headache of refilling it by simply skipping out on annotating the remaining three papers, and quickly decided that I would rather avoid the evil eye from the higher-ups in the department, this week. 

It was a quest in its own right to rummage through my desk drawer in search of more ink, and only more trouble to locate a syringe to refill it. For a pen that was coined for being infinite, I find these fountain pens rather a nuisance. 

In any case, I was frozen before I could make my way back to my seat with my newly recovered materials by a glimpse of a shadow in the hallway outside my just-barely-ajar door. Now, I don’t take myself for the sort that’s easily spooked, especially not in my own place of work, and especially not given the horrors I’ve been privy to in my lifetime, but I admit I felt my stomach twist at the sight. I took a breath and steadied myself, for I am a scholar, not a character in a horror novel, and opened the door. 

A figure revealed herself, auburn hair in long curls behind her, standing just beyond the threshold, looking just as she did the day we met. My dear old friend Shelby stood there, staring at me–oh, how odd it was to see her wearing her glasses again–and said simply, by way of greeting, “may I come in?”

“It’s not my home,” I breathed, “you don’t need an invitation.” I had meant to put some degree of lightheartedness into it, but as I write this, I am certain that I both looked and sounded as if I had seen a ghost.

I brought them into my office and closed the door. They fidgeted with the hem of their deep green sweater vest, as they were typically wont to do when they had news they feared the other party would take poorly. Naturally, I began to fear the worst, running through a list in my head of potential tragedies that could have befallen them, and preparing my response accordingly for each.

I couldn’t have possibly prepared for what she did say.

“I need your help, I think I found him.”

My stomach twisted again, and I found myself incapable of speech–a fact which I am sure you will find great humour in, if you even believe it true. I listened to the click-clack of the wall clock behind me while Shelby only grew more anxious and fidgety in front of me.

I had a great many questions, namely, are you sure? And how do you know it isn’t a trick? And do you think it is even a good idea to find him? But the one I gave voice to was, “why me?”

I heard myself sound miles away from my ears, my voice wavering as if I was a boy prince being led to the gallows for his father’s crimes and not a professor catching up with an old friend, albeit in an unexpected circumstance. 

This is where my deceit of you comes in: I had told you I was cured of my vampirism before I left Oakhurst one century ago (and I had, of course, slightly fudged the timeline of my life to explain my longstanding youthful appearance) and left that town as a man, a haunted man, but a man nonetheless. You see, that is what I wished had happened, but I was unfortunately not so lucky, for my sire yet lives. 

And my good friend believes I am the key to finding him. 

While I call Shelby a friend, and I stand by such a statement, she and I had very different relationships with the former leader of our brood. While I was relieved that he had disappeared from Oakhurst without a trace, she spent nights pacing and asking why. After leaving that place, I honestly had half a mind to try to follow him, to stick by my coven and find a way to exist in the world in my new form. When it became clear to me that I would have better luck trying to find allies in an academic institution, who could help me rewrite my identity (in case this is my last opportunity to reaffirm my gratitude: thank you again, by the way) to live a normal life while avoiding suspicion than spending these long years actively pursuing the man who put me in such a position, Shelby did not agree, evidently. She continued the mission to find him, all these years, and now, it seems she is finally making progress. She would not contact me otherwise. She knows better than anyone the fear in my heart for that vampire. 

My sire is cruel as they come, and as dastardly as the children’s stories about the creatures of the night. Perhaps some of those stories were born out of fear of him precisely. In fact, the reason he fled the town is likely because he knew we were devising a plot to kill him, to prevent him from terrorizing the world as he had us, once we finally found a route to freedom. Were it up to me, I think I would still kill the guy, however, she would not stand for that. She says she needs my help putting the final pieces together and finally meeting him again, and I have agreed to help her. She begged me, really, and after all the horrors we’ve seen together, I was weak to it.

You may think me insane for such a thing, to which I would not protest. However, unlike Shelby, I predict you understand that I do not seek out this man with intentions of friendship. We are not the only people searching for him, you see, and there is an organization I know of that would be extremely interested in his whereabouts. I assume he knows this, too, and that is why he has not revealed himself to us yet. I plan to let Shelby have their reunion, as any good friend would, and then write a detailed report on our findings. What happens after that is out of my hands, though I would not complain if it resulted in my freedom back to mortal life.

Again, I regret that the truth about my existence had to come to light in such a drastic way. I never had a flair for the dramatic before my trip to Oakhurst, and I suspect it was a trait I picked up from the relationships I made there, but I digress.

I am leaving this letter to inform you of my whereabouts, and to serve as my final testament should I perish on this search. Though as I’m sure you know, I would not be making this risky venture if I was not certain I was on the verge of finding something. By the time you arrive at work this morning, I will have already departed. I hope this goal will not take me more than the weekend to achieve, as I have no doubts there will be an excess of work for me to complete upon my return.

In any case, I will see you again on Monday, if I am still alive (at least, as much as I can be, given what I have divulged to you above) and in the meantime, I would greatly appreciate your continued discretion on my true nature. 

All the best,