Jennie R. Heid
Copy of outgoing E-Mail:
Tuesday February 22, 2010
Okay, first let me start by telling you that I already know how much you dislike me. Second, let me tell you that well this letter may only serve to cause you to dislike me even more, please know that it is written with nothing but your safety and well being in mind. Please, please, Seth, if not for me than for your own sake read this before you delete it.
I know that events in the past have given you more than enough reason not to trust me, and I am afraid I have known all along how right you were not to. But just this once you must listen to me. You know, even though it is nothing but a joke amongst you, your fiancé, and your friends, how I feel about you; that I have done nothing but love you wholly and completely for the past seven years since our graduation from high school. I know what you and so many others think of me now, that such a devotion to someone who clearly doesn't even care about you is both unhealthy and offensive, if not pure insanity. And, Seth, that is probably true. But never mind me. What I am saying here is that my utter devotion to you and everything that you are should be more than enough reason for you to trust me, even if it is only just this once. After all, if you love someone so much would you not warn them if you knew something terrible was about to happen to them? And might you not expect trust from them if they knew of your love? You have the kindest heart of anyone I have ever known, and so I believe you can understand where I am coming from. So please, Seth, read this and trust me. You can be disgusted with me all you want but still you have to trust me.
Also, I must warn you that certain acts of mine are going to cause you to want to read no further, and I don't blame you. But for the sake of your life you must continue. There will beGod willingtime later for you to hate me, end even inform the police if you want and I will not argue. But please find it in your heart to look past my ill manner and read on.
So here it goes. . .
I know it was stupid and idiotic of me, not to mention extremely rude and intrusive, but while you and your fiancé were out of town last weekend I snuck into your house. I don't know what came over me, or even why, but one minute I was sitting at home on my sofa reading a book and the next thing I knew I was standing in your backyard with my flashlight aimed at the small window under your porch. Maybe it was the pressure caused by your wedding taking place as soon as you got back, or perhaps it was that I hadn't seen you around town or at work in quite some time. Or maybe it was both, or neither. It doesn't matter. What matters is what I found.
I couldn't tell you why I found myself going through your wife's (forgive me for I have just now realized the date as Tuesday, your fiancée is now your wife) things, but I did. I was up in your attic at the time, rummaging through all the boxes with "Julianne" inked on them, when I noticed her hope chest. Or, at least I thought it was a hope chest at the time. It looked very old and ornate and smelled faintly of roses. I thought it must have been handed down from generation to generation. The lock wasn't hard to pick, I did it using two hairpins.
Inside there were a lot of white lace things; sheets or tablecloths I assumed. Underneath those there were a few odds and ends; some jewelry, a doll, an old mirror, seemingly random and mundane things not really worth going on about. But underneath those I found a collection of what looked like exceedingly old books until I opened one and discovered that it was a diary. I read the page I had opened it on and was most curiously intrigued so I read more. A time came when I grew quite confused in certain areas, mostly concerning time lines and technology references, so I put that one down and started to read from the first in the collection.
The more I read, the more consumed I became. And the more consumed I became the more wary I grew. I confess: I didn't stray from my corner in your attic for the rest of the weekend. It wasn't until early Monday morning just before you came home that I left. Though I'll admit that after reading those diaries the last thing I wanted to do was leave, but I needed to do some research. I needed to find out if what I read was true or not. And as it turns out, all of it was true. Later on you'll wonder how I came upon this realization but I'll assure you that the internet is not only a vast field of knowledge but of curiosity as well and I found more than I wished for, and perhaps more than I bargained for.
It is with a heavy heart that I am about to explain to you the thingsif you can really call them things, more like abominationsI discovered in those old and dusty pages. Even now I am hard pressed to believe them, but I need only consult the evidence I have found and I am reminded once more of the awful truth.
I know there is no right or sane way to start such a tale, and quite a tale it is, so I guess I'll just start from the beginning in the best way I know how and hope to all that is good and just in this world that you believe me.
Seth. . . Your wife is not human. At least, not in the most basic of senses. What I mean is that she isn't alive. Well. . . then again one could very well argue that. She has a body, and a beating heart, and possesses emotions and no doubt inner thoughts. So what makes her un-human you ask? Her age. If I read correctly, and I quite assure you that I did, the date in the first entry of her diary is marked June 18th, 1918. At first I thought perhaps they belonged to a long since dead relative but the overall style and handwriting did not change all the way to the latest entry, which was marked January 1st, 2006.
Your wife was born Julianne Rosemary Harker on May 28th, 1902. This marks her age in the first entry as sixteen. I don't think I need to calculate what her actual age today may be; I already know that whatever it is, it is most unholy. Anyways, the following is what I have learned about her and her life for the time in which she kept record of it:
Julianne was born in Boston Massachusetts and raised by her mother alone, her father having died of leukemia just before her birth. Her mother had no great skills or education to speak of, and this made their financial situation extremely difficult. On the rarest of occasions, her mother would manage to turn out a page or two of decent poetry, earning them just enough to scrape by until her next bout of inspiration. But for the most part this only served to buy them the most basic of provisions. Before Julianne took her first step, the small family was forced to relocate from their humble home in the city to one of the lowest parts of the slums outside of town.
As both you and I, as well as anyone who has ever laid eyes on her know, Julianne is extremely, heartbreakingly beautiful and seemingly very kind hearted. However, no matter how hard she tried to make an impression on men, none would even glance twice at her. This was mostly due to the tattered, filthy, and often unpleasant smelling state of her clothing. There was a time when her shoes were so small on her growing feet she could bear them no more and tossed them. Neither her nor her mother could raise the money to buy her new ones and she was seen for a little over a year walking about with bare feet.
Her lack of being able to acquire a husband greatly depressed Julianne, especially in her mid twenties when her mother became ill and no longer sought inspiration for writing poetry. Julianne tried for a time her hand in writing but to no avail. Now the small family survived solely on scraps from their neighbors. And in the winter of 1925 when her mother died, Julianne was left homeless at the age of 23.
With no room to call her own, Julianne did little more than wonder the streets at all hours, often stopping in front of various homes and looking up at the tall balconies, wondering what it would be like to look down from one; to see the vast city laid out before her like a giant picture blanket. She often shivered; for she had no winter coat, and she was so thin she imagined the mere sight of her must cause an awful fright to just about anyone.
Julianne had begun to lose all hope of ever finding happiness or wellness again. Eventually she stopped trying all together and simply lost herself in the visual studying of modern architecture and dream fantasies. Until one day while standing in front of a particular abode, which had come to be one of her local favorites during the past few months, she was approached by a young man. At first Julianne thought he was teasing her with his jolly greetings and how-do-you-dos, as so many others had done before throwing various objects and then scampering off, but after a while she began to realize the man was serious and turned to face him. Not only was this young man quite handsome, in fact so handsome it almost hurt just to look at him, but from his dress and manner he was obviously very well off.
Once more the man offered a polite greeting and inquired as to how she was doing on such a day. After a few moments of shock at the young man's earnest curiosity and obvious good intentions, Julianne told him that while she had seen better days, she was doing just fine. To this the young man laughed, but not cruelly, and asked her name. She willingly told him and in return learned the young man's name was Victor Wallace. Julianne could hardly believe it was happening, but Victor seemed actually delighted in learning her name, as well as what it was she found so interesting about the home she stood in front of. He listened intently as she told him about how she found its peculiar shapes and colors beautiful while many others did not, and how comforting she found the warm glow of light from the windows to be, and how she constantly wondered what it might be like to stand on the tallest balcony. And when she was finished relaying her thoughts, she was astonished when Victor began telling her about every detail of the inside of the house.
As it turned out, the house belonged to a Howard Phillips Wallace, whom Julianne was quite familiar with as the manager of the local bank, and his son, young Victor Wallace, the very young man she was conversing with in front of said house. And not only that, but on more than one occasion, mostly late in the night when Victor was unable to sleep and found himself peering from his bedroom window, he had seen Julianne staring up at it.
To this Julianne could find no words save for apologies, but as it turned out they did no good. Victor went on to tell her how he would stare down at her as she stared up, wondering if she knew he was there. He marveled at her beauty and curious smile, and longed to know her thoughts and have her know his. Eventually he began to stay awake nights, peering out his window waiting for her to arrive. He had debated long and hard about how to approach her during the day and it had taken him a long time to finally work up the courage to do so. He was still nervous. Naturally Julianne was hard pressed to believe him, and it took Victor months afterward to earn her complete trust, but eventually he did so and Julianne was never happier.
A week after their meeting Julianne had come to live in the Wallace home, sleeping on a cot in the basement next to one of the maids. A month later she was sleeping in her own room on the third floor, the one with the high balcony. She had a full closet of brand new dresses and more pairs of shoes than she knew what to do with. She ate three meals a day, bathed on a regular basis, and was regarded by her local peers as equal. Six months later she became Mrs. Julianne Rosemary Wallace, and the two of them, seemingly so in love they paid little attention too much else, moved out to a somewhat smaller but still quite extravagant home of their own on the other side of the city.
It all seems like a heartwarming fairytale, doesn't it. And I suppose maybe it is, at least the first part of it anyway. I nearly shrieked with joy as I read of Julianne and Victor's marriage, and I could hardly contain myself when I learned she had finally come to believe that he loved her more than anything else in the world. Obviously, I never knew the man, but I have learned enough through her writings of him to feel that I know him almost as well as she did. And I must confess, Seth, there is a lingering familiarity between Victor and you that I am wordless to identify. But now is not the time for such frivolities. I must tell you the rest of their tale which I am pained to admit, goes only downhill from here on out.
Julianne and Victor Wallace indeed, for a period, seemed to live the life of happily ever after. Victor made a living as a linguist, and was currently deciphering a rather lengthy text of hieroglyphs from ancient Egypt for a professor in New York, a task which he had been working on long before the two of them met. While Victor was hard at work in his study, never to be interrupted, Julianne spent most of her time either in their garden or in her music room. Julianne loved music and desired very much so to play it, and upon learning this, Victor hired several of the finest music teachers Boston had to offer to come to their home during the day and teach Julianne to play cello, violin, piano, and the harp. And though they spent a great deal of time apart during the day while Victor worked, every moment afterward was spent together. There seemed never to be need of questioning their love or devotion to each other.
Almost a full year had passed when Victor finally finished the translation of the text he had been working on for so many years. He spent a full month devoting his days to spending time with Julianne before he left for New York to deliver the text. He was gone for nearly two weeks and when he returned he had with him another text of hieroglyphs from ancient Egypt to decipher. He took to the work with a new enthusiasm which had been absent in his previous work. Julianne was glad to see him so exulted but at the same time was a little saddened as he now spent almost the entirety of his days in his study. There was a time, when she did not see or hear from him for an entire two weeks. She was relieved when only three months later he finished the project and spent a full two weeks by her side before leaving to New York again.
She hoped that when he returned this time it would be with a task less intriguing but this was not the case. When he came home he had with him an entire wooden crate filled with various stone carvings and texts to be deciphered and he seemed just as enthusiastic about working on them as he had his previous project. Julianne was once again saddened. Once she spoke to Victor about her feelings and longing to spend more time with him, but he only responded by telling her that though he loved her very much, his work was of the utmost importance and urgency. Soon it would be over with and they would spend all their time together. This satisfied her for a time but eventually the sadness returned. She longed for the completion of Victor's current work.
When the time came that he was finished with it, a full eight months later, Julianne woke the next morning looking forward to spending the day with her beloved Victor, but the man was nowhere in sight. She rang their butler to ask where he had gone and was informed that he had already left for New York. She asked if he had left her any sort of message and the butler said he had not. This nearly broke Julianne's heart. She wasn't sure why, because she knew full well that Victor loved her very much, but she was both scared and saddened to the point of tears.
When three weeks passed and Victor had still not come home, Julianne picked the lock to Victors study and went inside to have a look around, to see if there might be any evidence of what he was working on that was so damned important as to completely ignore your wife. Of his work she found no trace, but there was something exceedingly odd about the collection of books on his shelves. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected to find, but certainly Alchemy, Egyptian folklore, and peculiar sorts of black magic were the last things she had thought her usually good-natured husbands library to consist of. Also there were many strange looking knick-knacks cluttering his desk as well as various other places about the room. One she picked up was a small carving of a man and women entwined together in a rather obscene sexual position, while another was of a curious looking creature whose origins Julianne had never seen or heard of before. It was barrel shaped with a long neck and snake-like face with short, stubby looking legs. Around its midsection was an array of tentacles. The strange stone carving made her sick to her stomach just looking at it. She meant to place the carving back on Victor's desk where she had found it but for a reason unknown to her, had begun to feel a little faint and the carving slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the floor where it broke in half. When she bent to pick up the pieces she noticed the thing had been hollow, and an odd pink sandy substance had spilled out from its insides. Also there was a rather peculiar odor about the room now which revolted Julianne and only served to make her stomach churn even more. Completely disgusted, Julianne fled the room and locked the door behind her, her desire to know the sorts of things Victor had been working on all but vanished.
A few days later Victor returned home. She thought it was probably silly and stupid to hope that he might spend a little more time with her this time but she couldn't help it. She vowed to keep to herself the snooping she had done in his study. If he asked about the broken carving, she would tell him it was probably one of their servants who had gone in to dust the place because he had been gone for so long. But Victor never asked, nor did he spend any more time with her than he had previously.
Julianne now spent most of her days away from their home. She walked through the city during the days when the weather was nice and often found herself stopping in front of Victor's old house with a longing to once again stand on the balcony of the top floor. Once, she had come to the door of the place, hoping that Victors father might be home and find it in his heart to let her linger on the balcony for a while but when a servant answered the door she was informed that Howard Phillips Wallace had passed away some time ago and there was a new family living there.
It was strange that Victor had never mentioned the passing of his father and even more strange that he had never shown, at any time, even the tiniest amount of sadness. She wondered if perhaps, for some unknown reason, Victor had never been informed of his father's death. She briefly pondered the thought of telling him, but some strange feeling told her not to, that upsetting Victor in such a manner might be the most wrong of things to do. So she kept the knowledge to herself for the time being, resolving to tell him at a later date when he was not so consumed with his work. Though she shuddered at the thought that such a date might be a very long time off.
So Julianne returned home and ceased her walks of the downtown area. At a complete and total loss of what to do with herself, Julianne took to endless hours of sitting and staring out a window towards the garden she no longer desired to walk in. Certain things had come to remind her of her husband, and since she no longer seemed to have a husband--at least not in the physical sense--she distanced herself from those things. The only time she seemed to find happiness was in the late hours of the night when Victor would finish his work for the day and come to bed. He would creep in silently hoping not to wake her, though she was almost always still awake and waiting. He would crawl into bed beside her, kiss her goodnight and wrap his arms around her. Only then would Julianne allow herself to feel like his beloved wife rather than someone living a lonely life all by herself in a house full of servants. She couldn't help but think that, in a way, she was losing Victor a little more each day. But every time he wrapped his arms around her and held her as he fell asleep and she felt his heart beating erratically in his chest, she knew that he still loved her very much. But she always woke in the mornings to find Victor already up and working in his study.
Twice more Victor left for New York without giving notice. And twice more Julianne mourned the loss of her husband during the long and lonely nights he was away. She knew it wasn't right to feel as though he had died, but she simply didn't have it in her to feel any other way. She was sure, that if an accident should ever actually happen that would take Victors life, that by that time she would be all cried out and unable to shed a single tear for her dead husband. And after yet another unpronounced trip to New York when Victor began to sleep in his study, Julianne finally had a nervous breakdown.
Upon waking one morning and once again finding Victors side of the bed empty, and knowing it had not even been slept in, Julianne flung herself from the bed and began picking up and throwing everything in the room she could lift at the ceiling where she knew her husband would hear it in his study. She cried and screamed at the top of her lungs until she finally had no strength left and collapsed to the floor. It was only then that Victor finally came to her.
He knelt beside her and cradled her in his arms, all the while professing his undying love for her and telling her how sorry he was and how terrible he felt. And Julianne knew from the trembling in his voice and the tears in his eyes that he meant every word. The pair spent the rest of the day and the night in each other's arms, never leaving the same spot on the floor where they had been, and awoke the next morning still entwined together amongst the rubble that had once been their bedroom.
When Julianne woke Victor told her that as soon as he was done with his current project that he would quit the University in New York and take on other projects that would allow him to spend more time with her. Julianne was still saddened but had new hope. It was that hope alone that got her through the remaining weeks until Victor finished his work.
When he finally finished he left once more for New York without giving Notice, and Julianne fought a great internal battle with herself to not feel saddened at his absence, for once he returned, all would be set right again. So instead of mourning the loss of her husband as was usual, she sat and waited and hoped, all the while thinking of the things they might do together upon his return.
Now, the rest of the story is told a great deal of time later. The date on her entry telling of her nervous breakdown and his intentions upon returning home was marked June 3rd, 1929. The next entry is marked August 18th, 1976. I can only assume that she stopped writing because of the events that happened, and perhaps lost or forgot about her diaries until such a later date, since she doesn't explain the lapse in time at all. It's very strange; she picks up her entries as if no time has passed at all. Except, of course, that she wrote of the further events in the past tense.
The night Victor came home, he entered the door in much the same state as always; dreary, worn out, and half asleep with bags under his eyes. Julianne met him at the door and welcomed him home. She commented on his state and offered to make him some tea before bed but he refused. Instead he only looked at her with a strange longing in his eyes. Then, all at once, he seized her in his arms and carried her up to their bedroom where they made love three times in a row. Afterwards Victor cradled her against his chest and spoke to her the rest of the night of how he truly did love her. There was fierceness in his voice as he spoke, and a sense of wonder as if he was just now discovering that he really loved her. Julianne noticed these things but paid them no attention. Everything was finally as it should be.
When the sun came up and birds began their songs outside their window the next morning they were still awake and Victor was still holding onto Julianne and telling her of his love for her. There was a knocking at the bedroom door and Victor, for the first time since his return, let go of Julianne and answered it. It was one of their servants; there was a phone call for Victor. He asked the servant who it was and then informed the servant to tell the caller that he would get back to them as soon as he made some tea for his wife. Julianne couldn't help but feel a lift as she heard this.
Victor then left the room and came back a short while later with a cup of tea on a small platter and set it down on the table beside their bed where Julianne still lay, trying not to let her eyelids shut. He bent forward and kissed her and once more informed her that she was his one and only true love, and then handed her the cup of tea. She sipped it drearily, for she was very tired from not sleeping at all the previous night. And in no time the warmth began to settle inside her in the most relaxing manner and she began to slip away into dreamland. Before she was gone completely, she swore she heard her husband speak something to her, but she couldn't tell quite what it was. It sounded like "I'm sorry" but she couldn't be sure. She was so tired. And then she was asleep at long last.
When she awoke some time later it was to a sharp pain in her chest. Though she had not yet opened her eyes, she could tell Victor was near because she smelled his distinct smell of old books and various types of wood. But the pain in her chest, it throbbed and seared as if it were on fire. There was also a slight difficulty in her breathing.
When she opened her eyes she was faced with Victors, inches away from her own, blazing with a mixed look of agony and sadness. As the pain in her chest grew stronger and the feeling of something wet seeping down her belly, she found that she couldn't breathe at all. And that look in Victor's eyes, it was as if someone or something had done him some great torment for which he was now paying dearly. She wanted to reach out her hands and touch his face, to beg him to confess what was wrong but she couldn't move. She tried briefly to ascertain why but gave up when her vision started to fail. She tried to keep her eyes open and focused on Victors, and she managed to do so for a few remaining moments but eventually her eyelids ceased to pay any attention to Julianne's will and closed themselves. She raged for them to open again but to no avail. Something was wrong, terribly wrong and Victor was part of it; he was in danger. But try as hard as she did she could not do anything. She was hopeless and helpless as she slipped away into a strange new cold blackness. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Then, as if by the grace of God himself having heard her prayers and granting her the one thing she wished for more than anything, her eyes shot open and she drew in a long, deep breath of air. She heard herself screaming for Victor, and thankfully, there was Victors own voice in return, trying desperately to comfort and sooth her. And when her eyes finally found focus, his face was right there hovering over hers. There were tears in his eyes as well as what looked like both shock and disbelief. Julianne was baffled but did not argue when Victor crushed her lips with his own. She was simply glad to know that he was here with her and seemingly alright.
Though now that she thought about it, she couldn't get those tears out of her mind or the look she had seen in his eyes during that terrible thing that must surely have been a nightmare of the most hideous sort. When she put her hands on Victors face and pulled it back so that she could look at it, the tears were still streaming.
When she asked him what was wrong, he ignored the question and responded by wrapping his arms around her and telling her once more of how much he loved her. For a few moments she allowed it, but then as her curiosity and fear grew even stronger she tore away from him and demanded to know what was going on. Why was he crying, and why was he looking at her as if his very life depended on it?
At first there was nothing. But then Victor drew back a ways and appeared to be thinking intently. It was then that she noticed the true state he was in. He was shirtless, and there were strange streaks of red and brown covering his chest as well as the sides of his face. His hair was in serious disarray, as if he hadn't washed or combed it in weeks. He looked thin and frail. There was also a very peculiar odor about him. It tugged on her memory faintly and at the same time made her feel sick to her stomach.
Then she remembered the aching pain in her chest from the dream and looked down to make sure there was nothing there, and saw that she was completely naked. There was a large scar between her breasts that had never been there before. Her skin didn't quite look right either, it was pale and oddly shiny and absolutely covered in dirt. She saw then that she was actually sitting in dirt.
That was when she finally realized, and with horror, the sort of room they were in. All four walls, as well as the ceiling and the floor were made of dirt. There were four large stone pillars reaching from the bottom to the top, which Julianne assumed were what kept the place from caving in on itself, for surely they must be underground somewhere. They sat in the middle of the room, on a slightly raised mound of dirt. There were strange drawings in the dirt around the edges of the mound, and little pools here and there of what looked like the same red that covered her husband's bare skin. All around them in the dirt there were dozens of footprints. Obviously, someone had spent a great deal of time covering every inch of the hideous place.
She was hesitant to ask her husband where they were and why, she wasn't sure she really wanted to know. But in the end she didn't have to. Seeming to be able to read her thoughts, Victor explained that he would tell her everything just as soon as they were out of that terrible place. Julianne didn't argue, and she obeyed diligently when he told her to close her eyes and keep her face pressed against his chest as he carried her away. Still she couldn't help but notice the peculiar array of smells as they ventured out. Some of them were quite pleasant while others almost caused her to gag. There were noises as well, but she doesn't define them, only that they made her shake involuntarily at times and cause her to fear for their very lives. She was glad when he finally set her down, wrapped something around her, then picked her back up again and walked her out into the cool, fresh air and told her she could open her eyes.
They were on a mountain. Behind them was the entrance to some sort of cave. The air was cool and yet warm at the same time. He didn't tell her exactly where they were, and by the time she thought to ask it was too late. It isn't until later on in her writings that she mentions the mountain again, but she only refers to it as "The cursed mountain of death and suffering". There is no geological explanation.
They sat together outside the entrance to the cave, where Victor assured her that they were very much safe, and he told her everything. And I am thinking here, that my words can do it no justice. I will let her tell you the tale of Victor's horrible deeds. This is her entry in her diary word for word:
"I listened in horror as Victor spoke to me of his goings on in the days of apparent old. Though old I might not consider them, he claimed that each one without me was an eternity and he had long since become a man of hardened shell and madness beyond his years. I believed him, for Victor has actually never lied to me. At times during our marriage there were things he never told me, and subjects he cleverly crept around, but always the words he did speak were truth. So I listened, and God help meif indeed there is a God after all, I sincerely doubt itI believed every word.
The ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs he had been charged with the task of deciphering were not what he thought they would be. Instead of telling tales of life in the old days and deeds of kings and queens, they told tales of religion and ceremony. There was one text which told of an ancient demon named Naa who, when summoned, would bestow upon he who called him forth all the knowledge of the Gods of Old. It is written that amongst this knowledge lies the fountain of youth, as well as the secret to obtaining vast amounts of riches, the methods of shape shifting, the power to control mortal men, and the ingredients of the love potion.
He didn't say how he came to believe such wild tales, but he did, and he spent years seeking out the incantation to summon the demon Naa. When he finally found it, it turned out that it was surprisingly rather simple and easy to remember, consisting of only a few words. The ingredients needed were also exceedingly simple and easy to acquire without suspicion. There was only one thing that set him back for such a long time. The final ingredient that was needed; the one thing that was the hardest to find out of all, the one thing that most seek for their entire lives and never find, the sacrifice that needed to be made. For without it the entire ceremony would fail and he who dared try it without or fooled by the promise of it would be killed and eaten by the demon. For he who summons Naa, known as the Rebellious, must make sacrifice of his one true love. But he must be sure of this love, for it must not be false or misleading. He must, after speaking the words of old, pierce the heart of his lover and spill her blood. When the demon appears, it will drink the blood from the hole in her chest and once he has tasted that your love is true, then and only then will he bestow onto he who hath made the ultimate sacrifice all the knowledge of the Gods of Old.
It was for my sacrifice that Victor sought. It was for my sacrifice that he allowed himself to come to love and cherish me more than his own life itself. For my sacrifice. The entire time we were wed he knew of my impending death. . . of my sacrifice. . . and that he was the one to bring it. He looked into my eyes on the day of our marriage as he spoke the words that would eternally bind us for better or worse, knowing that he was going to ultimately murder me. He slept by my side each night in our bed, in our home, full or our things; little remnants of our professed love to each other, knowing he was one day going to drive a blade through my heart to let a cursed demon drink my life blood!
What sort of sick sad hideous abomination of a man would live in such a way and with such knowledge and yet still look into the eyes of another with reflections of such pure innocence and devotion as to make the onlooker believe whole heartedly his words when he speaks of things such as love and joy and rapture! The sort of creature that is not even man but some otherworldly thing not meant to dwell on this earth save for the devouring of souls upon death. Such utter insanity should not be. Such a thing should not exist.
And yet, I must confess that even after hearing all this, even after finding out exactly what sort of man my Victor really was, I still loved him. Perhaps that makes me an otherworldly creature as well. And perhaps that is true. The sole reason I walk this earth today is because of him. And for this I both love and curse him. I love him because of the man I knew was still inside him, even in his most hideous of moments. And I curse him for the evil he has brought me.
And he really did love me as wholly and completely as he vowed, for when the demon was summoned, he drank my blood and then bestowed upon him all the knowledge of the Gods of Old. But none of it did him any good, he told me, for what good are riches and eternal youth once that which was all you had lived for and wanted to live for has been taken away, and at the will of your own hands? All the things he had once thought of as treasures of the highest priority were now mere fool's gold without me at his side. And so he sought to bring me back; to give me the gift that so many men have sought after and died trying; the gift that, according to Victor, who knew all there was to know about such things, could only be given and never taken upon one's self; the gift of eternal life.
He obtained the lifeblood of one of every type of animal on this earth, as well as that of man and women, a leaf from every tree and plant on this earth, a trinket of every type of metal, wood, and stone, sand from the deepest part of the ocean floor, and dust from the moon itself. He brought his ingredients and my body along with the book known to a very sad few as the Necronomicon to the valley of the Dim in the Far East and scaled the cursed mountain of death and suffering to the cave of the slithering minions of the goddess of all life and performed the ritual of immortality."
There are entire passages, pages long, from this point that express both Julianne's love and hate for her Victor. But I feel that relaying them is not needed. Being the man that you are I venture to guess that you can understand. I feel the same sense of hatred towards the man, and yet I feel sorry for him because I know that he truly did love her and that he truly did see the error in his actions. And yet I know that such pity is undeserved because he really should have known better. And I also feel for poor Julienne.
She didn't want the gift Victor gave to her, and neither would I. Who would want to life forever while they are forced to watch everyone they love grow old and die before their eyes while they remain young and unchanged? And especially since, according to Victor as written by Julianne, the gift of immortality can never be given to one's self. And Victor knew that, he knew that in bringing Julianne back she would be forced to watch him grow old and die. Yet he did it anyways. Was he selfish in doing so? I believe very much so. And yet at the same time. . . perhaps there was also the act of selflessness in there somewhere. Mostly because in the end Victor paid the ultimate price: death.
Julianne grew angry with Victor and expressed her distaste for his actions in words I do not care much to relay, but eventually anger gave way to sadness and she begged him to kill her. When he refused to do it she took his blade and tried to do it herself. But she could not die. She was immortal. So instead she turned the blade on him and pierced his heart in the same fashion he had pierced hers. She did this with tears in her eyes and a scream so loud it might have shaken the very mountain they were on. Before he breathed his last breath and closed his eyes for the last time to slip away into the eternal nothingness of death, she kissed him on the lips one last time and told him how much she truly did love him, and that she was showing it by giving him the one gift she thought was the most precious of all; the one gift he had made sure she would never be able to receive; the gift of long last eternal peace.
Afterword Julianne wondered the hills below the mountain for days, lost, all the while carrying with her the dead body of her lover, until she was picked up by a wary group of travelers bound for Ireland. She told them that her and her husband were traveling afar on vacation and were robbed in the night by a gang of unknown, masked men, one of whom stabbed him in the heart when he protested the taking of their wedding rings. The travelers believed her, and gave her a blanket to wrap Victor in as well as clothes to cover herself with. They let her travel with them to some port whose name she has long since forgotten, and paid for her travel back to her hometown of Boston.
She buried Victor's body under the secret cover of night in their garden, and marked it by planting an extremely rare type of blue rose on top of it. She had been told that that particular breed of blue rose signified the purest of all love. She then signed the deeds to their home and all the land they owned, along with a significant portion of their funds, to a Miss Pequita Manuel, their most trusted servant whom had been with them from the beginning. And the only condition was that the blue rose bush in the middle of their garden must, at all costs and no matter what the circumstances, always be taken exceedingly good care of. Miss Manuel apparently fainted, but she apparently also lived very happily ever after. And of the rose bush, Julianne writes, much, much later on in her diaries towards the end, is still to this day in the finest of conditions.
After the signing of the deeds and the transfer of funds, there is a short passage where she once more claims her love and hatred for Victor, and then there is nothing but the most mundane frivolities that span thirty years in less than a thousand pages. From Boston she traveled to France and lived there for a few years before traveling to Germany. She speaks fondly of Germany and of its lager, and writes that one day she might enjoy another visit. From Germany she traveled to Mexico and wrote of the warmth of the ocean and of the various festivities that at all times seemed like a party to end all parties. And from Mexico, she traveled back to the United States, in the year 1993, and settled in the City of Seattle, which she had been told was "the place to be" if you loved music, and wrote about the cool breeze that blew in from the Pacific ocean and of the tender caress of the falling rain.
Then, for a period there are passages where she expresses a new found distaste for all of mankind, claiming that "they have, through the growing influence of science and modern religion, forgotten how to dream, and hence do not live at all but merely exist for the promise of some unknown revelation to the meaning of life they seem to secretly know has never and will never exist." And yet she also writes, "It is with a profound sadness that I consider myself apart from the human race, for I wish for nothing more than to be as ignorant as they are. But I cannot count my own stars as lucky."
I think it is for these main two reasons she has come to the conclusion that she has, and sought the same forbidden knowledge as Victor in his earlier days. She writes that while she never has felt any desire in living as long as she has, there is now a newfound hatred and loathing for her life and she wishes for nothing more than the release of death. She then goes on to explain the possibility that if there exists a demon of such vast knowledge of the Gods of Old, of immortality and how to bestow it, than there must exist within that very same knowledge the ability to take immortality. Her last entry, January 1st, 2006, is both the shortest and yet the most disturbing of all. It reads: "I have found him at last, my key to death."
Seth. . . was that not very shortly after the two of you met? Look at the evidence Seth, please! That big scar between her breasts she claims is from surgery because of a car accident that happened when she was a teenager, the antique ring she wears around her neck that she claims was given to her by her mother, the strange out of date matter in which she speaks, and that picture Seth. . . the one in your bedroom above the bed, of a vast garden with an extremely strange looking blue rosebush! God Seth, the woman means to kill you!
You are so much like her Victor, it's frightening. And I have seen the way she looks at you, the longing and adoration in her eyes. She is very much in love with you and she knows it. I don't think she is going to wait at all. I think she plans to go through with it as soon as possible, since the two of you are already married. She is going to drug you, drag you off somewhere, pierce your heart and let a demon drink your blood! PLEASE Seth! Please listen to me!
You can call the police on me for my actions, you can have me locked up in a straight jacket in some god forsaken institution if you want and I promise I will leave you along for the rest of your life. I'll even move across the country if it's what you want just please; please trust me on this one thing.
Please, Seth. This is me, Linda May Leigh, begging you on her hands and knees. Get away from Julianne as fast as you can.
I have to go now. Its morning and I know you will wake up soon and check your email first thing, as is you're routine and I want you to read this before you do anything else.
Jesus, my hands are shaking now. I'm truly sorry. But please trust me.
All my love and hope and prayers go out to you.
Clipping from The Seattle Times
Wednesday, February 23rd, 2010
DOUBLE SUICIDE SHAKES SUBURBS
By Erin Bowers
Last night in a quiet suburb of downtown Seattle, two bodies were discovered in a basement after a concerned neighbor phoned the police reporting that she heard "a bloodcurdling scream" from next door. According to the police, who were reluctant to give any details at this time of the actual nature of the cause of death other than suicide on both accounts, the identities of the two bodies are unknown. They both had current Washington State Identification, marking them as Julianne R. Carlson and Seth J. Olson. However, there are discrepancies in other paperwork and in dental records. It was determined earlier this morning that the IDs were both false. It is a possibility the two are actually fugitives from the law, but they do not match any descriptions so far. Local police are currently working with the Oregon State Police, as well as the Idaho State Police to see if they can get a match on a description. We are waiting on any further developments in that area. There is no new information at this time as to the true identities of the two bodies or any factual circumstances of their deaths. However we are looking forward to speaking with a member of the forensics team later on this evening. Look forward to more details tomorrow.
Copy of outgoing E-Mail:
Tuesday February 22, 2010
Dear Linny. . .
I already know.