Page 26 of The Diary of the Vam'pir Jacques

The others were all safely in their chambers when Maurick returned, and, indeed, he had left it till the last minute. He noticed the chamber had been moved, but he didn’t have time to move it back.

I waited whilst he climbed inside, and I felt the sun come up. Sleepiness washed over me, but by sheer willpower, I kept my eyes open.

Then, I pulled the cloth off, and sunlight streamed in as dawn broke. The pain of the light beams were excruciating to my eyes but well worth it.

Maurick began to shriek immediately. “Jacques!” he screamed, making his throat raw.

Yes, he knew who was behind this.

Good.

Boils appeared on Maurick’s body as the sun found him through the hundreds of tiny holes. One by one, they burst, and his blood splattered on the top of his chamber.

Maurick was a writhing, undulating mess of blood, muscle, and bones. It did make me feel a little sick, but I continued to watch. Then Maurick exploded, and with thankfulness, I sank back into my chamber and slept.

Upon waking, Eduardo reprimanded me, stressing respect and understanding and sticking together. But Maurick was never one of us, was he?

Eduardo told me I would try the patience of the Creator himself.

Over the years, I’d striven to achieve this goal and probably succeeded.

Chapter Five.

I’m going to introduce you to the Vam’pirs. Skip this chapter if you wish, but it doesn’t hurt to know a little of the people of whom I talk about.

We lived in Kaltos semi-peacefully over the next few years. None of us left our designated home. Although most still saw their families regularly, we stuck together as a group.

As the old adage says, ‘There is safety in numbers.’ We’d made no others like us. Quite simply, our lack of knowledge prevented us from realising that was a possibility. Plus, we wouldn’t have wanted to bestow this on another innocent.

Vam’pirism is a cursed gift, but as I stated, now I have it, I won’t give it up.The others also began to feel the same—if they didn’t already feel like that. The wickedness of Vam’pirism was that we’d lost our lives to gain it, but the beauty was that we had forever to live.

Our home was richly furnished, and we spared nothing to get it as comfortable as we wanted. Granted, we didn’t eat or drink anymore, which saved us a great deal of waste. Instead, we traded for furnishings or for tools that we needed for work or for things for our families. Gradually we were able to treat them to more gifts as our needs had changed, obviously.

Our routine was set. At sundown every night, we would all rise from our sleep. We would close our coffins as they were intensely private to us. Everyone had their own, and we never shared or mixed them up. Each Vam’pir decorated it to their liking.

They lay far under the foundations of the villa and against four reinforced walls. The cellar sat ten feet underground. We had bolstered the walls with concrete three feet deep but had plated the walls with gold. Sunlight would glance off gold and warn us the underground chamber had been breached.

The only entrance was through a hatch ten feet above us. Instead of stairs, a rope dangled that allowed us to pull ourselves up effortlessly.

On our side were two heavy bolts only a Vam’pir could undo. You then ascended a tunnel leading to the family room’s trapdoor. This was also bolted on the inside. This guaranteed Vam’pir only entry and exit. Any betrayal would come from a Vam’pir. Not that we expected any, but you’d never be too certain.

After all, had not Maurick betrayed his best friends?

The cellar was quite large and spacious. Obviously, it had a high ceiling, and we had paved the floor with marble and the walls, as I have already mentioned, were gold. Curtan pursued engraving as a hobby, and he had carved representations of animals and birds.

Curtan also etched lifelike images of trees and plants. I was sure he didn’t mean to remind us of what we had lost, but the carvings did. Still, we appreciated the beauty of his work.

Inka painted the other walls. She had created a jungle mosaic on one, and tigers and leopards peered out from bushes. Monkeys swung from trees, and brightly coloured snakes curled around branches. It was so rich and vivid that you imagined the birds would fly away, and one of the tigers would pounce.

On the other wall, she had drawn great mountains of ice. Immense snowdrifts appeared poised to collapse upon us. Inka had painted the sun high in the sky, glinting off the snow and ice. A bright blue cloudless sky stretched overhead. On the left-hand side, two massive icebergs smashed together. In the far-right corner, a towering iceberg broke off and crashed into the sea. The sheer power of the artwork was awesome, and it drew you into the scenery.

Her scene made me shiver whenever I looked at it, and yet it compelled me to look. That scene was the first and last thing I saw on sleeping and awaking. But Inka had never seen the Icelands. She had painted this from her mind and from books she had seen.

And yes, Inka’s scenes also reminded us of our loss, but she’s my wife. I’m not criticising her.

Strangely enough, Inka and D’vid had designed the ceiling as the night. They spent two weeks gossiping in the corner, and then they threw us out one evening.

They had painted the entire ceiling in black and carefully carved a moon of white opal. For the stars, they used diamonds. Hundreds and thousands of them gleamed in the blackness of the sky. The Milky Way had been made using opals and tiny diamonds. They sparkled against the dark night, creating a spellbinding effect.

---