The Notes and Memoires of Robert Salantino

Somehow you have found my notes. Perhaps you are one of the select few that I have given privilege with a glimpse of what I now have for a life. Perhaps I am dead. For what it is worth, I truly hope that these ramblings will somehow grant you insight into my condition.

Section 1

There have always been things that go bump in the night. I should know, I am one of them. Well, I suppose I should qualify that. I have only recently become one with darkness. For many years I was a carefree kid. My only concerns were the location of the next bar and how many drinks it would take for my to bring the most attractive pair of legs in the place home with me. Being a liberal arts major I occasionally got caught up in politics. That is how I met Jenn.

To be perfectly honest she was a bit plain for me. I was attractive as a mortal, and suppose I still am, though such menial things mean far less to me now. We met at a presidential rally. The poor economy and leadership of the country managed to get me caught up in what would be one of the most historic presidential campaigns in history. Little did I know how lost it’s outcome would be on me.

I don’t want to dwell much on my former life. To be honest, it seems so far away now that it hardly matters. I have found out the hard way that the world is much bigger than I ever gave it credit. The dealings and squabbles of mere mortals seem so much like sand of the beach with the ever battering waves of the underworld pushing it around like it hardly existed. So much I have seen, so much I have done. There is damn near as much blood on my hands as there is in my decrepit veins. Perhaps that is a gross exaggeration, but none the less I still see far to many faces when I try to to sleep.

  • Embrace

I suppose some vampires have a much more pleasant tale of their conversion to this unlife than I. My sire, Jenn, was a fairly powerful yet completely insane Mekhet who took a liking to me. Maybe “liking” isn’t the right word, but for some reason she found me strangely fascinating. Our first meeting was at a politcal rally, an event that really holds little value for me now except that is where I met her.

For a time we partied, my nights were filled with the strangest debaucheries, but for some reason I could only remember them as if they were from a dream. Later I was to find that she was actually sucking the memories out of my head leaving little empty voids where thought once was.

I don’t know how long she did this to me. It seemed like a few days, but when I piece it together it was likely months. For whatever reason she tired of our game. That was when I ended up in a forest near Cranberry Lake in Northern New York. She had given me my personel journal to record my feelings while she hunted me, that is the only way I know that I somehow survived that psycho for about a week.

Occasionally I would see a house, only to find my way blocked. I once saw a road, but I was caught and fed upon then drug back into the forest. On and on this went until I couldn’t take anymore. Finally I sat and gave up, willing for the death that I thought was inevitable. She appeared then, not suprisingly, with a look of anger and disappointment on her face. She didn’t hesitate or play with my as I thought she would. My death was brutal and quick. She was an efficient killer when she wanted to be.

From this strange fog I heard whispers, maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me but I could have sworn I heard her talking to someone. Telling him how I wasn’t worthy and didn’t deserve his gift. The next thing I remember was pain. Sharp and tingling as if my nerves were all dying and waking up at the same time. When I opened my eyes there was no one there but I had an uncomfortable feeling I was being watched.

Suddenly there was a new pain, a burning sensation on my skin. The horror was sudden and absolute. The sun was going to kill me. The first glimmer of dawn was just touching the sky and it was already blistering me. I had been given new life just to die once again. Frantically I clawed at the ground, I could hear my flesh sizzle. The pain was absolutely unbearable. Somehow I fell into a puddle of thick mud and began to burrow down, deeper and deeper. As I decended the pain lessened, the burning stopped. I was holding my breath without thinking and reallized that the need to breath no longer consumed me. However, the damage done to my body was so signifigant that I passed out. I had no idea at that time that it would be almsot thirteen months until I would awaken again.
Section Break

Computers aren’t really my thing. None the less I have found that they are a wealth of information. If you can type a bit and click here and there . It always amazes me at what I can dig out of the goldmine that is the Internet. Ghost stories, strange beasts, haunted sewers. Most are just passed off as silly urban legends. I know better. That is how my story took me to Jackson.

A person wouldn’t expect a dainty little town with a population less that ten thousand to have much in the way of interest to a being like myself. Normally I would agree with you. However, this isn’t your normal town. Later I have come to find out that it is a place full of latent magical energy. All I knew then is that a couple of old news articles caught my eye while looking for something that would explain who and what I had become.

That is also where I met Nora, a seventeen year old girl who was far more complex than any mortal I had met before. Her family, it turns out, lived there for the same reason I was drawn to Jackson in the first place. It was a junction of Waylines and convergences of magic energies. I am getting way ahead of myself, though.

What was it that drew me to Nora? I can’t explain that. Since I was changed I had felt empty and alone. Nothing seemed to brighten my eternal nights. I took very little joy in things anymore, a symptom I have found to be part of my condition. But for some reason she made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t since, well, since I was alive. She gave me back a passion for living. It was with her that I had my first experiences with the supernatural since I was abandonned by Jenn. Since she left me to die in that God damned forest.

“Local Native American tribes production pays homage to legends of beasts who walk the night.” That is the headline I saw in a local newspaper. It seemed that there was a play coming to my local haunt in Maine that ran disturbingly true. After I attended I knew that I had seen others that were like me. I could somehow sense the taint that surrounded them. Try as I might, though, I could not get close to the troop. There was so much for me to learn but it was so far away! Frustration got the best of me. I don’t know how the mortal I fed on that night survived. The last I heard she was released from the hospital after being put on some strong antibiotics for a disease they couldn’t identify. The poor thing had no way to pay her medical costs, either. I suppose it was a good thing that it was all paid for by a strange annonymous charity. My way of trying to make up for the wrongs that I am forced to commit just to stay alive.

  • Current Section

I had tracked the play to Jackson but here my road dead ended, or seemingly so. It didn’t take me long, however, to reallize that this small rural town was much stranger than it first appeared. As I was sifting through the microfilms of newspaper in the local library I began to piece together a string of dissapperances that ranged back for many years. There seemed to be one neighborhood in particular that was especially “cursed.” Not surprisingly I focused more and more on that one little area. Everything was a loose end. A person would just vanish and never be written about again, families would up and leave overnight, the examples went on and on.

For no apparant reason, really, a name stuck out at me. Anna was a young girl, though the article really didn’t go into much detail other than that. It seemed to me that there were things that had been deliberately removed from the story. For some reason her life meant less for this town than covering up her presumed death. It took little coaxing to talk Nora into coming along and poking around the old area of town where she went missing.

Nora was at odds with her father at the time, a situation that I had come to learn that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t take well to her free thinking and rebellious nature. I suppose that it could have had something to do with the fact that his daughter was seeing a man that was a dozen years older than her, not to mention she was still technically underage. The age thing hadn’t really dawned on me for a couple of weeks. To be perfectly honest, I just don’t think about those things much anymore.

The trip was short, and easy. There is very little traffic in a town such as this on any night. The local police deputies were drunk in a bar somewhere so I took the opportunity to make good time.

When we arrived there wasn’t much out of place to discover, really. The place had a certain creepy atmosphere around it. The buildings were run down, though some of them had obviously had some attempt at being remodled. Some sound caught my ear and I saw a glimpse of something moving off to my right. Quickly I started to follow but found nothing. It was then that I felt myself slip. It was an odd feeling, one I can’t really explain. I suppose it was something like dreaming of falling only to wake up with a jolt.

I saw daylight. At first I was panicked beyond words, I waited for the sensation of burning that I felt before, but it didn’t come. Slowly my anxiety died down and around me was a scene of peace and joy. Something you might see on a 1950’s sitcom. The clothes and the cars, everything was correct. Then I saw a little girl in a white dress. She was happy, maybe about five years old. Something in the vision struck me hard in the chest. The sadness that overcame me nearly brought me to my knees but as quickly it came, it was gone. The only thing left was me, Nora and an empty street.

The Notes and Memoires of Robert Salantino

Jackson, Wy Ohgrr KurtLuther