Dead to Write

My faithful readers,

In the pages of this monthly column, I have revealed to you the mysterious doings of some of the most curious and eccentric persons on this earth. Over the years of your faithful readership, you’ve followed along on my adventures in meeting such elusive characters as the Bayou Swamp Preacher, the Magician Salesman, and the Mob Exorcist. Although I’m proud of my chronicles thus far, there had been one particularly evanescent figure of great importance who had evaded my attention…until now. Join me as I regale my encounter with the mysterious ghost writer known as Mr. De Ville, exposing his true nature and fulfilling a family destiny of mine that stretches back generations.

As one becomes enlightened about the literary world, it does not take long to recognize the impossible pace at which many well-regarded authors publish new works. It was this realization that fed my intrigue of the shrouded world of ghost writing. Surely, a profession that encourages comparisons with specters must guard some shadowy personalities worthy of my column. To find such intrigues, I once again elicited help from my contacts in the dark, digital spaces that underpin our society.

After a few weeks of plodding developments, I finally was afforded a lead regarding a man hiding under the alias of a Mr. De Ville. Subsequent investigation revealed this man to be the uncredited author of several infamous biographies, the subjects of whom had a strange habit of dying mysterious deaths before their life stories had been published. A lack of criminal investigations into these matters led me to assume that Mr. De Ville had somehow acquired powerful allies in high places. This gave me pause as to whether to continue my investigation, as any damning details I surfaced would surely haunt me after publication. However, I had a hunch that this Mr. De Ville may be the nefarious figure whose exposure would alleviate some darkness in the world and cement my rightful place in my family’s legacy. After much internal debate, I found the fortitude to carry on.

Details were sparse on the man, even from my associates of questionable character, whose powers of recommendation rarely led me astray. I was ultimately blessed with an address, a domain in a rural part of upstate New York, deep in the forested bosom of the Adirondacks. Reluctant to make the drive without confirmation of identity, I sent a letter addressing my desire to interview the ghost writer. To my surprise, I received a return letter in just four short days. In the letter, a man who identified himself only as Rene, revealed that he was Mr. De Ville’s assistant, and conveyed his employer’s desire to meet with me at his residence. An invitation with strict conditions for meeting was followed by a harsh warning of discretion, promising the utmost legal action for any public revelation of my planned visit. I took the threat seriously, based on my earlier assumptions, and told no one, despite the obvious risks it posed to myself.

The day before the proposed meeting, I made the long drive from the city to the small town nearest Mr. De Ville’s supposed residence. I stopped for the night at a dilapidated motel near the highway just as a fierce storm whipped up. Sleep evaded me that night. Thunder crashes and sweaty nightmares awakened me constantly. In one fleeting moment, I felt the presence of someone in my room, prompting me to grab my trusty cane and raise it above my head, shouting like a fool into the empty darkness. A more cautious person may have regarded the nights’ disturbances as terrible omens and abandoned the campaign, but I am not such a person.

The journey from town took me along progressively degraded roads, from smooth highways to bumpy gravel roads, to barely passible dirt paths that appeared untraversed for years. Rene had suggested I bring along printed directions, for there was no cell service in these deep woods. I was glad to have followed his advice, for I was nearly lost multiple times even with said assistance. The unmarked dirt roads curved and branched endlessly into a disorienting maze amongst the sea of trees. I began to fear that I would arrive dreadfully late for the meeting, if I arrived at all.

Deep in the evergreen timber, the light of day struggled to penetrate the thick tangle of branches. I had been driving nearly all day, and the fuel light flashed a warning. Fortunately, I had brought along an extra container of gas. As I parked, a premature, thick darkness overtook the woods. I kept the key in the ignition and the headlights on. Without my cane, I leaned on the car as I filled the tank. The forest was eerily quiet. Two glowing eyes appeared between the trees up ahead. The glowing orbs seemed to sit atop some tall creature. As it moved through the trees, the eyes lowered to the ground. Walking into the headlights, the eyes belonged to a snarling wolf. It approached slowly; its sharp incisors revealed. I felt frozen, paralyzed, from some otherworldly fear. The wolf stalked to the side of the car. It’s eyes locked with mine, and it’s snarl retreated. The wolf backed away and returned to the headlights, trotting a few paces before stopping and turning back, as if expecting me to follow. I fumbled putting the empty container away and hastily returned to the car. I proceeded hesitantly, slowly rolling behind this fearsome lupin as it guided me through the darkness. After some time, it stopped and let out a blood-curdling howl, before dashing into the thicket.

No sooner than the wolf abandoned me, than I spied several specks of flickering orange light in the distance. Like a moth to flame, I followed the light of the lanterns until coming to a rest in front of a manor so out of place in these remote woods that I could barely register my belief. The large gothic mansion screamed of Victorian excess. A grand, stone staircase led up to an imposing wooden door fit for a castle. Ornate carvings danced along all its awnings.

I hobbled up the great stone steps and breathed a deep, calming breath. As I reached for the ornate door knocker, the door flew open. A squat, bespeckled man with patchy, wispy hair greeted me.

“Mr. Helsnig, I presume?”

“Oh…uh, indeed…but please, call me Abe,” I said, as he motioned for me to come inside. I crossed the threshold as I spoke. “I assume you are Rene, whom I corresponded with?”

“Ah, of course, Abe. Yes, I am the one who wrote to you. How was your journey? I’m afraid the path here can be quite cumbersome for those unaccustomed to the…”

My focus on his voice faded as I absorbed the scene before me. A soaring cathedral-shaped ceiling overlooked a looming balcony, with two spiral staircases descended like twisted metal skeletons. There were no windows to be seen, with the gloomy space lit only by dwindled candles mounted along the peeling walls. It was even more ghastly than I had expected, even for such a supposedly eccentric person. I struggled to shake away the goosebumps that prickled my skin.

“Please, follow me into the library where Mast…er…Mister De Ville awaits your company.”

Rene had walked to the doorway between the staircases as I gawked at the room. He looked impatient, as I’m sure my late arrival had inconvenienced him. The metal tip of my wooden cane echoed through the empty room as I stepped towards him. I caught Rene looking at it suspiciously.

“May I ask, for what use does a young man like yourself have with such an aid?”

With much effort I withheld my annoyance and responded politely. I gave a brief explanation of my illness in youth, which had led to my current hindrance.

Rene led us around a dark corner and down a narrow hallway. From a doorway at the end, I could see a dark silhouette illuminated by the dancing light of a fire. Rene hurried ahead and disappeared into the room. A deep, booming voice said “Ah, yes, send him in.” Rene reappeared and motioned for me to approach.

The grand library awaited me. A roaring fire crackled in a cavernous hearth along one wall, flanked by two wooden chairs with intricate carvings along their frames. The room reeked of ancient books, which sat piled on sagging wooden shelves extending from floor to ceiling. Against the far shelves appeared to be a rusted and tattered hospital gurney.

“For my treatments, Mr. Helsnig.” The voice materialized suddenly behind me, giving me fright. I turned to see a tall, pale man looming over me. A black shawl draped from his gangly shoulders.

“Ah! Mr. De Ville, it’s nice to finally make your acquaintance!” I struggled to calm my voice.

“Are you alarmed by my appearance?” He inquired. His blood-red eyes piercing mine.

“No,” I lied, a sheepish attempt to convince us both.

“Albinism is a rare and strange affliction, one of many I suffer from, but I’ve accommodated with my unique dwelling.” He raised his arms, gesturing at his mausoleum-like estate, the shawl hanging like giant wings.

“Please, Mr. Helsnig, join me at the fireplace. You have travelled so far, and I presume you have many questions to ask of me.” He moved gracefully, as if floating, taking a seat beside the fireplace. I joined him. The hot flames on my face thawed the chill of dreadful nerves.

“Well, Mr. De Ville, shall we start with your craft? How does one go about telling someone else’s story, in the manner of their voice?”

“Ah, yes, well over much trial and error, I’ve found that it does not suffice to simply listen to one’s story, no matter how brilliantly they can orate the intricacies of their journeys.” De Ville gazed intently into the fire as he spoke. I spied flames dancing in his eyes, and I could swear it was not merely a reflection. He continued with a patient elegance. “I shall perform a demonstration for you tonight, but first, let us hear your other questions.”

My concentration wavered as I considered his intentions. I scrambled to collect my thoughts as I continued.

“I must say, I’ve marveled over your work, and with your powerful prose, surely you could have fame and fortune if you so desired. Why this profession? Why seek anonymity?”

De Ville turned his gaze to me, and his severe expression alerted me that I had struck upon a sensitive subject.

“True power lies in the shadows, Mr. Helsnig!” A bitter tone rose in his voice. “Be not foolish enough to reveal oneself to the masses, for you only invite injury. Better to thrive in the darkness.”

I let a grave silence settle before I continued.

“Pardon me, I don’t mean to be rude, but I must ask. Why invite me to your residence?”

De Ville turned to me. White lips wrinkled like maggots pursed into an amused smirk.

“Why, haven’t you already guessed? A young man as well traveled and full of experiences as yourself, I’d be a fool to not wish to tell your story. How fortunate am I that you sought me out!”

A tremor rang through my heart. De Ville smiled big, and I saw his fangs. Before I could react, the sound of quickening footsteps behind me followed was followed by a dull whack to the back of my head, after which the world went black.

I awoke with a blinding headache. My body was strapped down to what I could only assume was the hospital gurney I spied earlier. Sensing a tingling in my right arm, and I lifted my head to see a dark red tube snaking from it.

“Ah, I see you’ve awaken!” Mr. De Ville, or whatever name this monster went by, was staring at me from across the room near the fireplace hearth. Rene shuffled over to me and attended to a bandage on my head.

“I do apologize for that nasty whack on the head. Rene is a good Familiar, but he tends to get a bit carried away at times with his duties.”

After changing my head bandage, Rene bent down and was rummaging with something at my side. Upon standing, I saw him holding a bag of blood, my blood, and he shuffled quickly over to his master. The monster’s eyes lit up and he clasped the bag with his long, bony fingers. He seemed to rise into the air, afloat with pleasure.

“Now, Mr. Helsnig, you shall witness my process! In the blood of my subjects, I can taste their personality, smell the successes and failures. I imbibe the very essence of their life. With this, I can flesh out their story as perhaps no one else can.”

As the monster lectured, I worked at my wrist restraints. One was loose enough that I hoped to pull my arm free. I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having to dislocate my shoulder to do so, but the alternative was even more unpleasant.

“If you would be so kind, Mr. Helsnig, as to regale me with your life story while I sip on your most vital of fluids. Your cooperation will result in a peaceful death, as you slowly weaken and fall into that irreversible sleep after me having drained you completely.”

I yelped as I forced my shoulder from it’s socket, nearly fainting from the pain.

“Please, do not struggle my dear subject, it only delays our work. Must I appeal to your sensibilities as a writer to convince you? I shall write for you the grandest biography that one could hope for!”

Realizing they had not suspected my plan of escape, I played along. “Yes…okay….I will tell my story.”

“Excellent,” the monster exclaimed with a hissing sound. Opening his mouth wide, like a snake unhinging its jaw, he bit into the bag of my blood. After a moment, Rene rushed to his master and grabbed at it.

“Master, pace yourself!”

The monster pulled his mouth away and licked my blood dripping from his chin.

“Ah, yes, I can get carried away, ahem…now please, continue…cough, ahem.” The monster lurched into a coughing fit. It clutched it’s throat and glared at me, it’s eyes aflame. “What have you eaten!?”

“Ha!” I laughed, stalling for time as I wiggled my wrist free. “You have doomed yourself with a taste for blood!”

“Master!?” The familiar yelled, grasping at his side. The monster doubled over, hacking a terrible sound. The familiar turned to me, anger flashing across his face. “What have you done to my master!?”

“Hahaha!” I couldn’t contain my glee. “The monster’s throat burns from the garlic and colloidal silver that flows through my veins!”

I slipped my hand from the restraint and untied the other. Free of my bondage, I grasped my cane leaning against the bookshelves. Upon seeing my escape, the familiar charged at me, no doubt intent on carrying out deadly revenge. With a swift dodge of his advance, I spun round and swung my weapon, catching him right at the temple with a sickening thud. He collapsed limply to the floor.

My heart thumped; my vision tilted as the loss of blood lightened my head. I steadied myself with my cane, sucking deep breaths. My eyes desperately scanned the room for other threats, but the only remaining appeared to be the once great monster who was now reduced to a pitiful heap on the floor, coughing and wheezing and spasming like a caught fish.

“Who…haaack….haa…..who…are…haack…you?” The monster weakly rasped.

“Face me and I’ll reveal my true self!” I ordered, kicking the monster. It feebly dragged itself to a slumped position against the wall. My blood seeped from the holes burned through it’s throat.

“Spare me….haak…and…haack…haaack…I shall…give…..haaack…eternal life!”

“Ha! Spare me the offers of your cursed eternal life! My family of mere mortals can live forever through the deeds that each generation visits upon the damned!”

I slipped off a protective metal cap to reveal the sharp end of my wooden cane. Standing over the monster, I raised it high with both hands. The monster hissed and threw up a hand in a futile attempt at deflecting my blow.

“I shall cast you to hell for your undead deeds against the living! For my true name is Abraham Van Helsing the 6^th, and I continue that which my great, great, great grandfather began so long ago!”

With all my strength, I drove the sharpened point through the monsters hand and into its chest. It released a horrendous scream. Fire spontaneously burst forth from its chest and quickly consumed the entire body. The flames of damnation burned quick and hot, quickly reducing the monster to smoldering ash.

When I finally peeled my gaze away from the glorious death, I noticed that the Familiar had slipped away. I followed his trail of blood out a back door, where the tire marks in the dirt revealed that he had escaped. I resolved to track him down, for he would surely lead me to another monster.

My dear readers, as I have now exposed my identity, my column shall take on a different tact. I may have downed a king of the shadows, but there are many others who lie in wait to take the throne. I do hope you will continue to follow along as I hunt them all.



Sincerely, Abe Helsnig, aka Abraham Van Helsing the 6th