From The Journal Of Your Dear Friend, Dracula
The crew seems to be murmuring, unsure and uncomfortable about a topic I cannot glean from the little I have heard. Is this about the payments? They did not seem the type to be good-hearted men who would so easily regret giving the foolish officers some rewards for a quicker job. It is not as if I can ask them, for they do not speak to me. In lieu of this, I have been reduced to a shadow of observation, stalking the deck just to hear their words. My dignity is forced to the side, they practically ignore me as they work. A fact I am trying to accept with a great and quiet grace. If it gets us to land faster, then I will bear it as I must.
Rather, my free time these last two days has been spent rereading that mystery novel you gifted me a while ago, initially packed among my belongings to act as a companion on the train ride. I’ve gone through it twice now on this vessel, and while the first half remained quite good, the second half lost a fair bit of entertainment awaiting the detective to announce the killer. Violence born from the bosom of love and grief does not save from the truth. The truth of the book falls flat as it vexingly keeps information from you until it deems it time to tell you. Does omission, leaving your audience in complete darkness acting as the only light, truly craft a narrative where you can ever be sure that another killer may not be hidden in the shadows just out of your sight? How can we follow these men and trust their every word, believing all the things they’ve claimed they’ve done, if they already are keeping vital information from us? It asks you to follow along the scarlet thread of murder of its story, but rather than unravel it as promised, it twists and turns you in a dance, stepping on your toes before it pulls down the curtain. I have far more to say on the book, yet my complete review of the novel will not do being immortalized in this journal. These musings will be better regaled in person as I in turn will lend an ear to all your thoughts as well. Did yo
There is some sort of noise outside of my lodgings. It sounds as if the first mate has begun arguing with two members of the crew. This may be my only chance to overhear what bothers them so. I will have to set down my pen and leave my note-book so they do not hear the scratching of the nib.
Carefully matching the lull of the waves to make it silently to the door of my quarters, I placed my ear up towards the sound of their voices. There was not much I could garner from the few words I had become privy to. One of the sailors had cracked out in a hushed whisper, “Something aboard the ship is amiss.” At first I thought that it was a sailor’s intuition. A faulty rope. Perhaps maintenance had been done so poorly that a piece of wood looked too eager to leak. He continued, “I’ve seen it in the shadows! Eyes of burning flames that hungered for my flesh. A beast-“ His words were cut off with the sound of a slap, a wheezing, choking sound finishing his sentence in their place. Silence hung heavy for a moment. In the midst of it, I almost thought the door might swing open from them hearing my breath from the other side of it. The first mate, a man who must have sailed the sea so long he shared in her temperament, scolded him in a harsh whisper I could not make out. I returned to finish this entry after hearing the sounds of their soft leather soles leaving departing creaks of goodbye as the men were forced by the first mate to return to their duties.
We have made it farther in our journey and did not have to stop today. While this should act as good news, there is a lingering notion in me that cannot so easily brush off the sailor’s words. Is there truly something on the horizon, or are we all mistaking the rising glow of the sun?
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