Nathaniel's E-Journal, August 2005... Beginning A New Chapter Part-II

                                                

Another night and I stand once more in my artist's studio located on the top floor of the building that houses my club "The Crypt".  No one's allowed up here unless I say so, and tonight I wish to be alone with my thoughts.  For two days now I've been wrestling with the idea of trying my hand at writing novels.    

In some ways the idea seems ridiculous.  Me? An author?  

Then another question comes to mind in the form of one word, why?

That's the sticking point for me.  Why would I take up writing?  Because I'm bored and want to try something new that I've never done before?   It wouldn't be the first time.  When I joined vaudeville, it was simply to keep myself busy and working behind the scenes as a stagehand at night seemed ideal.  But then I started to get to know the performers like Julius, Arthur, Herbert and Leonard... better known as the Marx Brothers.  Their range of talents fascinated me.  The number of instruments they could play, or the snappy patter they should spout on a moments notice never ceased to amaze me.  Plus, they seemed to sense the feeling of being 'lost' and 'adrift' in me, which made them reach out so I could be a part of their comeraderie.  But it didn't stop there.  Others in the troupe welcomed me as well, like "Fatty" (Roscoe Arbuckle), the Keatons, Harry and Bess Houdini, the lovely and sweet Mae West and so many others...

Before I knew what was happening they'd be teaching me all kinds of skills and even dragging me out on stage to help out in their acts.  I could write endless stories about those days and the ones that came before.  

My days on the battlefield while serving in the Union Army.  So many stories were lost there that only I know about.  The hopes and fears of my brothers in blue, as well as some of those who wore the rebel gray.  In 167 years of walking this world, I've not forgotten a single person who I've met, good or bad, I remember them.  I also remember the stories they shared, the sweethearts they pursued and the outcomes.  

So many stories to choose from, but where would I begin?  

I brought up the idea of my taking up writing to Brian and his family last night at dinner.  Much to my surprise no one laughed.  Instead they eagerly supported the venture.  Brian in particular urged me to take a couple of creative writing courses at the college where he teaches history.  "We've got some really good instructors there and they could really help you hone your skills?" Brian pointed out.  "I've taken a couple of them and they were really helpful.  Of course, you'll need to decide on a genre to write in.  Agents and publishers like to represent someone who has a specific kind of novel."

"You should write romance," his daughter Lisa suggested with a twinkle in her eye as she looked at me.  Even though she's only a child I have a feeling she's developing a crush on me.  I've seen that look before in girls her age and even younger, over the decades.  But only one ever managed to land me, but she was extremely persistent.  

Even now I can feel her eyes on me after seven decades.  Looking up I find myself staring into a pair of dark eyes, forever captured in oil.  Dark hair frames those eyes along with the lovely face and strong chin.  "Magda," I whisper and smile.

Our time together was not nearly as long as either of us had hoped, but it was magical.  Our first meeting and her prolonged pursuit for my love could fill several volumes.  Her persistence paid off and after three years she became my wife at the young age of sixteen.  

As I stand there lost in thought, the sounds of music reaches my ears from several floors below.  The Crypt is now open and is already filling up with the usual crowd.  Even from here I can sense the whirl of emotions and life down there.  Laughter, sorrow, broken hearts, lust, hopes for love...  

A flash of light through the window catches my eye.  After several nights of gathering clouds it looks as rain is finally drawing near.  I make my way up the stairs and onto the roof of the building to watch the approaching storm.

I see lightning in the distance over my hometown, it's going to be a good one.  But instead of retreating back inside, I stay where I am and feel the breeze on my face and close my eyes.  I can feel the storm's energy on the wind and without thinking, several lines of words describing the feeling come to mind.  Some of the words are trite, but they still help paint a picture within my head.

Suddenly my eyes shoot open as realization sinks in.  Painting a picture, but with words instead of oils or acrylics!   No pencils, no paintbrushes, just words that form an image or a scene within the readers mind.  That's what an author does. But they don't just paint one picture, they paint a whole series of images, coupled with emotions and thoughts.  Yet, I can still use my skills as a painter as well.  Illustrations and book covers... yes.  

And I have so much material to draw upon.  My own experiences as well as those of people who's memories lives I keep alive within me.  I've shared their stories countless times with descendants so they are never forgotten.  

But what kind of stories to write? 

From down in the alley I hear the sound of raised voices.  Looking over the edge I see a young couple having a heated argument.  The boy is obviously breaking up with the girl and leaves her in the alley alone.  But she does not remain that way for long.  Three others, friends of hers arrive and comfort her.  One of them is a young man who obviously has feelings of his own for her.  But instead of being foolish and declaring his affections, he merely gives her the support and comfort of the friend she needs right now.  

But I can sense a change in her.  It's not big, but her gratitude to him and the two girls with him is obvious.  I hear her say she wishes more guys were like him as they step inside.  Perhaps something will come of it eventually.  

However the thing that gets me most is the image that forms in my mind.  Just like the other night down in the club, I could see other figures, superimposed over the trio.  Their outfits changed several times within the span of a few seconds.  I saw flappers, soldiers, suits, gowns, hippies, but their actions were all the same and leading towards one thing... romance.

"Love Across Time..." I murmur as the first drops of rain start hitting my head.  

Why not?  I've seen and experienced it so many times in the last fifteen decades.  Oh, the settings and ways one behaved have changed over time, but the feelings never do.  

Feeling elated at the idea, I spread my arms wide and let the rain and story ideas pour over me.  

Nathaniel's Private E-Journal - August 2005 : "Beginning A New Chapter..."

 

Summer in West Virginia hasn't changed all that much in a hundred and fifty years and tonight is no exception.  It hit the upper 80's which in and of itself isn't so bad, but the humidity makes it feel much worse.  Brian and his family are out of town, so I spent part of the evening with Jack, the town's physician, and his family.  They know my secret and have kept it to themselves for the past one hundred and twenty years.  It was nice spending time with his mother and grandmother.  As much as time has passed I still see them both as little girls who I used to take up into the evening sky on a warm summer night.  

But only when the sky was clear.  Tonight there are clouds overhead so I can't even enjoy the stars.  I'd have spent the rest of the evening with Jack and his family, but they were hosting a party with others from out of town and I didn't want some of our conversations overheard, so I left early and headed to The Crypt.

One of the nice things about having a private club that's located in the basement level of an old building is that it doesn't get too hot down there and I'm not the only one who knows this fact.  Even before I turned down the alley and reached the stairs that led down into my club, I could hear the music playing, accompanied by laughter and cheering.  

 

Upon opening the door I find the room is full bodies gyrating to the latest hit tunes my new disc jockey is playing.  He goes by the name of Scar-Man due to on old wound that runs from his forehead and across his face.  Thank God I got to him in time, otherwise it could've been a lot worse.  I've offered to help him get it fixed but he always refuses.  "I need to remember where I've been... so I don't forget where I'm goin'," he always tells me, so I leave it at that.

He spots me from across the room and gives me a questioning look.  Some nights I like to make a grand entrance, other times I don't.  Tonight is one of the latter.  Instead I find myself in a reflective mood and give a little shake to my head.  He nods and keeps the party going.

I quietly make my way through the crowd in my own unique way.  I pass between bodies that only a fly could navigate without anyone noticing.  Soon I've reached a dark quiet corner of the room where I can observe without being noticed.  There is a table here and I settle in and let my eyes roam.  Oddly enough they fall upon one of the old vaudeville posters I have lining my wall.  My mind begins thinking about how things were back in the 1910's and the 1920's.  Without realizing it, my eyes swing back to the crowd on the dance floor and I see something wondrous.  My eyes are clearly seeing the young people moving back and forth, flirting, and kissing and having a wonderful time.  Yet in the same moment in my mind I'm seeing another image super-imposed over them.  I see uniforms from bygone eras.  One moment I see the Union blue, then the brown ones we wore back in World War I, in another instant I'm seeing the dresses become flapper style, while the young men are decked out in the old Zoot suits.

The styles continue to change, yet the emotions and feelings are still the same as I watch the figures both before me and in my memories.  Something stirs within me as I stare.  Soon I leave my little corner of the club and head upstairs.  Normally, I'd take the actual stairs themselves, but tonight I take my 'mist' form and head upwards until I reach the door that leads to my art studio and slip through the open transom above it.

Once inside my artistic sanctuary I solidify and stare around at my surroundings.  Canvasses, both finished and still under way, line the floor and walls.  

  

I soon find myself studying each one intently.  My mind begins to think back to when I created each one and the story that led to their creation.  But more than just the stories return, so do the emotions that inspired the imagery.  Before long I find myself exploring where those stories and feelings began which culminated in these artworks.  I've often heard people say, "I wonder what the story is behind this art piece..."   Well, I know each and every story behind my works.  Some of them are simple, others could fill page upon page of a number of books.  

"And I'm the only one who still knows most of them..." I murmur to myself as new thoughts enter my mind.  "Do I dare..." I whisper to the silence that surrounds me.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A Blog Milestone - 100,000 Views!

Wow, I cannot believe we've had this many views! It took 7 years, but we've done it. And it's all thanks to everyone who comes to read about Nathan and his friends. Your comments and continued visits mean so much to us and we hope to keep bringing new content later this year. I've still got a lot of audios to record, some of which will be tales about Nathan and company, and I will be sharing them here along with new tales. 

The "Christmas Carol" project which I will be releasing on YouTube in December is more than halfway completed. However, I'm also continuing on editing another collaborative novel with my old high school friend Rich Caminiti, and an amazing illustrator Gabrielle Callan. This book does not involve th Para-Earth series, but is an entirely new series which we will be kicking off hopefully in October. The first novel with be titled "The Pass". What will this book be about? Here's a little tease:

Was it just bad luck and weather that doomed the Donner Party in 1846, or was it something 'else', something evil and powerful? And is it still there waiting to help bring about the fall of the Union army during the final years of the Civil War?

Conspiracy and Intrigue meet Asian mythology, Native American folklore, and something as old as Earth itself in the first installment of this epic trilogy that spans the continent and distant shores.  

Sound interesting? I'll keep you all informed in future posts.

In the meantime, I'm also going to be working on a cover for Helen's 4th novel in her "Forever Detective Series", which will be titled "Forever Festive".  As you can guess this will be a holiday story, where her vampire detective Rafael Jones, goes home to celebrate the season with his parents who have no idea that their dear son is now one of the undead.  But it gets even more interesting when besides trying to hide his condition, he's also working on a missing person's case for a Guardian Angel. Intrigued, then I suggest you all check out the first three books in her series over at Amazon: The Forever Detective Series where you can find them in e-book, paperback, and Audible formats. (PS: I did the narration for the Audible, and they've been getting 5 star ratings and reviews)

Getting back to Nathan and company, the sequel to their first novel "The Vampyre Blogs - Family Ties" has been coming along. That novel now sits at 12,000+ words so far, and will finally see the light of day next year (2022), just in time for the Halloween festivities. Which is rather appropriate since the events of the story will be happening at Halloween. 

We're also in the process of gathering tales for another anthology starring Nathan, Otto, Lisa, Marisa, and others, so there's a lot going on behind the scenes. 

So we hope you'll stick with us and stay tuned for more tales here on this blog. In the meantime, here's to keeping this blog going and hitting 200,000 views in the not too distant future.

Again thank you all for getting us to this huge milestone. We love and appreciate you all, and please stay safe.

"Visiting My Family" E-Journal of Nathaniel Eoghan Steward - January 4th, 2005

 It's been two days since my last entry.  I had expected copying the letter I'd left Isabella to be hard, but not like that.  I should have known better.  Father told me in one of his letters that Isabella had kept my note on her nightstand to look at every night before she went to bed.  I had made her a promise that she had hoped I'd be able to keep, in spite of all the news that came back from the front lines.  I had always been able to keep my promises to her.  No matter what the odds were, I always found a way to fulfill them.  Which was probably why she was still clutching it in her hand that December night when... 

I'm getting ahead of myself again.  There are more letters and journal entries that must be copied and saved, but not tonight.  Something happened after I left here the other night, that I need to follow up on. 

You see, after Brian took the letter away to clean it, I left and began wandering the streets.  I don't even remember what I saw or whether or not I passed anyone as I walked.  I just had to keep moving.  At times I ran, even though there was no one chasing me.  It was foolish of course, one cannot can run from memories of guilt, pain, or loss.  Especially not when you've had a hundred and fifty years to accumulate them, and God knows how many more decades ahead to add to them.

Probably that was what my brain was telling me when I finally came to a halt.  Back when I still had a breath to catch, I'd probably have been bent over trying to do just that.  But not these days.  Instead, I simply stood there taking in my surroundings, trying to figure out where I was.  Imagine my lack of surprise when I realized I was standing in front of my old homestead.  Perhaps the old saying you can't run away from the past is more accurate than we think.

I stood there for several minutes staring up at the old manor.  Time had not been kind to it.  Probably because no one has lived in it since the 1970's, when the last of a series of relations tried inhabiting the place passed away.  After she passed on there was no one else to take over the place, so it became another forgotten edifice from a bygone era.  I could have come forward to try and claim the place, but there would be awkward questions about my lineage,  Especially since I'd had myself declared among the fallen back at Gettysburg during the Civil War.  But that's another story.

Anyway, I felt compelled to enter the old grounds.  I did not go inside the building itself, I rarely do these days.  Maybe it's seeing how time has and has not touched the interior.  Oh, the wallpaper has faded and peeled in many places.  Yet, a lot of the furnishings are still there, untouched, preserved by yellowed sheets that have accumulated layers of dust.  On the shelves sit figurines and books, untouched and forgotten.  As if waiting for someone to brush away the cobwebs and clean them off to they can be admired once again.

The portraits still hang in the gallery beneath dust cloths, their colors preserved and vibrant thanks to being spared and denied the light. Forgotten and unappreciated works of art by some of the most skilled painters of their time.

Why has no one ever gone inside and tried to steal any of the these forgotten treasures, I do not know.  Perhaps, some of the rumors of the place being haunted have a ring to truth to them?  I wouldn't put it past some of my 'nephews and nieces' to have come up with story of the place being inhabited by spirits.  They probably even played a few tricks to help reinforce the idea.  Heaven knows the number of times they've begged me to claim my old homestead and live here permanently, so I can be close to them.  Generation after generation have made this plea, and I always refuse.

Not that the idea isn't tempting.  But as I pointed out in my last entry, the longer I stay in one place, eventually tongues wag and trouble follows.  I couldn't bear the idea of the place and all the things within, being destroyed.  I know time will eventually take its final toll, which is why I helped Brian's father create the museum forty years ago.  My goal was to slowly remove the more valuable and treasured items from here and transfer them into the museum for safe-keeping.  Yet, every time I go inside the old place, I cannot bring myself to remove even a simple knick-knack.  It always feels like someone is glaring down at me with disapproval.

I did not enter the house, that night.  Instead I walked the overgrown path towards the family plot which sits a back in the trees behind the house.  There was once a little chapel as well, but that fell during the 'Night of Fire', along with my parents and our servants.  Again, another story, for another time.

The family plot is surrounded by a wrought iron fence which is only a few years old.  The original had long fell into disrepair and I'd had it replaced, with a new one that still had the old world look to it.  Oddly enough, the new gate creaked like its predecessor.  I could have had it fixed, but the sound seemed appropriate somehow.

So when I heard it groaning in the distance I new we had visitors.  Normally, it would be one of my extended family, but not at three in the morning.  Besides, I'd already caught a whiff of smoke in the air.  No, these were most likely unwelcome guests.  And as the only liv... still walking member of the household, it was up to me to greet them.

My footsteps become silent, even thought I'm walking over layers of dried leaves from autumns long past.  Not only do I make no sound, there are no imprints to mark my passing.  I'm still not sure how I manage this little trick, it just seems to happen whenever I go into stealth mode.  Even after one hundred and fifty years, there are questions I have yet to answer about my condition.

I turn the corner and see three figures entering my family's resting place.  Young would-be toughs.  I've seen countless numbers of them over the years.  The costumes may change, but the attitudes and arrogance is always the same.  I'm tempted to wait and get an idea of what kind of mischief they intend to get up to.  But I already hear the rattle of a spray paint can coming from one of their pockets, while another starts brandishing a crowbar.  The third kicks an old white stone I know so well.  It belonged to William, our butler.  It strikes me as disrespectful to see someone of African descent violating the grave of one of his own kind.

I decide to make my presence known.  "If you're not here to pay your respects, I suggest you take yourselves elsewhere and find some other form of enjoyment," I say loudly.

I won't bother repeating the profanity they shoot in my direction.  Needless to say, it was followed with threats against my person if I didn't start running.  Naturally, I did not retreat.  I merely stood my ground and repeated my request in the form of a warning this time.

The one with crowbar was the first to start walking towards me.  He was white, about sixteen, with all the swagger and arrogance of someone who'd watched way too many 'Gangsta' films.  I kind of felt sorry for him, which is probably why I didn't kick the living shit out him like I wanted.  Yes, I do curse and swear with the best of them.  However, I was also raised to be a gentleman and as such I refrain from using unnecessary violence when a simple scare can be far more effective.

He was about  twenty feet from me when I smile at him, put my hands in my pocket, and then and look down at the bottom of the jacket I'm wearing.  It goes all the way to the ground, similar to the style of coats back in my day.  It's a style I've always been partial to and have kept using throughout the years.  Though I make sure the cut and collar are always in keeping with whatever the 'modern day' trends are of the time.

In this case, my coat has what's called a Mandarin or Banded collar, which I leave unbuttoned as is the custom these days.

I glance up at him and smile.  This enrages him and he gets even more angry, which pleases me.  Anger can be your worst enemy sometimes.  While it may give you an adrenaline rush and maybe add a bit more to your punches, it can also make you careless.   He obviously has not noticed the movement taking place at my feet.

He soon does though.  The first dog head slips out from beneath my coat when he's just ten feet away and growls.  That catches his attention.

It throws him for a second and then he laughs, "Oh you got a dog, huh?  You think he's going to stop me from cracking your fucking skull open?  You a dead man, you here me?"

Then the second head emerges from the folds of cloth at my feet.  His blustering begins to waiver as the two hounds emerge.  Both are black with heads the size of  beachballs, with bodies to match.  I decide then to make their eyes glow red, a little something I picked up from the countless movies I've seen over the years.  It may seem trite, but the effect they have are always impressive.

As he takes his first few steps backwards, I can see his friends coming out of the gate looking worried.  There's just something about seeing something that looks like a Pitbull, but is the size of a Great Dane that is really off putting to people.

Tough guy yells as the first dog lunges for him.  He takes a step back and tries to hit it with the crowbar.  He connects and the dog's head splits in two.  For a moment he thinks he's won, then realizes that each half is now shaping and becoming whole.  Now he's dealing with an angry two-headed beast.

Unfortunately, I can smell the urine running down his legs as he screams like a girl and flees.  His buddies are already far ahead of him, chased by the second hound which had silently shot past Mr. Crowbar before he could blink.

Once I'm satisfied that they've had enough I retract my pets.  I've not moved an inch from where I'm standing, with good reason.  Thanks to the darkness, none of the trio noticed the long black lines stretching  from beneath my coat, across the ground and all the way to where the dogs should have hind quarters.  As the canine figures distort and stretch back beneath my coat, I sigh.  I could've easily shape-shifted into the form of a huge wolf, but that would start rumors.  And as you know I abhor those.

After my 'pets' are back in their proper place and I can feel my legs again, I enter the family plot and right the headstone.  I'm relieved to see that it hasn't broken, or even cracked.  I was worried, considering its the original stone and fragile.  Eventually, I'll have to replace it, but not yet.  Maybe in another few decades, but for now it's still quite legible and beautiful in a weathered sort of way.

I check on the other graves, none of them were harmed.  I got here just in time.  But the flowers have been trampled, plus there are a few looking rather wilted.  I know what needs to be done.  As sacrilegious as it sounds, I slowly walk over each grave.  As the tails of my coat pass over them, the flowers are looking strong and healthy once more.

Satisfied with my handiwork, I take a final look around.  There's no one near. I can even hear the trio still running, they're at least a mile and half away.  Good.

I knew they wouldn't be back, but I checked on things last night and stayed in the shadows until I sensed the dawn coming.  I intend to do the same tonight.  Brian is insisting on coming with me this time.  He wants to keep me company and go over some of the other letters I have to transcribe.  I think he's going to bring his laptop with him in case the mood to type strikes me.

If he offers to do it for me I'll decline.  Those letters and journal pages tell just a part of the story, only I can fill in the other sections.  No matter how hard or difficult I may find it at times, it needs to be done.

I can see it's almost nine now, I've been here for over an hour already and Brian is looking antsy.  He wants to read what I've typed, which I will let him do.  He's a good man, just like his father and grandfather and so on all the way back to his great-great-great grandfather, the first Brian Weston.  Or rather I should say Captain Weston, hero, and childhood friend.

I'll probably speak more of him in my next entry, since the next letters will begin mentioning my military service.

Good night.

Nathaniel's Blog "Gone West" August 20th, 2018

 While scouring my art studio for clean paper I found one of my old journals which I thought I'd lost.  It's a fairly recent one with only a few entries in it.  I remember buying it just after I headed out to California to meet with some movie producers down in Los Angeles.  It had been many years since I'd last been down there so I bought some art supplies to do some preliminary sketches to be turned into paintings later on.  The journal had originally been intended so I could make some mental notes and impression, but it wound up being a travel diary after I made an unexpected stop in Monterey and wound up visiting my first aquarium...

*Note:   Yes I know it sounds weird but most places like this have daytime business hours.  I was lucky to catch this one with extended evening hours.  Furthermore, not everywhere I've gone has been close to the water.  A pity really because I really enjoy walking along the sea, or traveling on a ship. 

I need to do that some more.  Anyway, here goes...

Travel Journal, May 16th, 2009...

Well, everything is set. The producers were happy and so am I.  Soon my bank account will be as well. Negotiations for the rights to my first two novels are set and all is well. I've come back north to stay with some old friends, the Cloudfoots. As the name implies, they were of native American ancestry dating back to way before my time even.  

I met Jason Cloudfoot some years back over in Connecticut, when his niece disappeared around Christmas. After helping find her, Jason and I became fast friends and I visited whenever I could. Over the years he's told me some wonderful tales of Seneca lore, while I've shared many of my own personal stories and adventure with him. He's one of the most remarkable men I've ever met. One of those rare people who figured out right away I wasn't all that I appeared to be... but that's a story for another time.

I got to know his children and helped keep an eye on them they were growing up and they too know all about me and what I am.  Now they have families of their own and have moved out this way and are currently living up near Santa Cruz. When they heard I was going to be down in Los Angeles, they insisted I swing up north and come to stay with them for a few days.  

When I gave them a date they asked me to meet them here in Monterey, because they were taking their own children to the aquarium located here. Apparently, this place keeps long hours and occasionally have sleep-overs for children who wish to spend the night surrounded by the mysterious beings from the depths.  

I agreed to meet them and I'm so glad I did. I've never been to an aquarium like this before. To me, an aquarium is a big twenty to thirty gallon tank in someone's living room, filled with gold-fish or whatever.  

I had no idea what a treat I was in for.  This place was magical. I've practically filled my sketch pad with pencil drawings of creatures and settings I'd never dreamed existed. Oh, I've seen photos in magazines, but to actually be here is another thing entirely.

For one thing, each exhibit room has it's own background sounds. There's a jellyfish exhibit that is nice and dark (perfect for someone like me) with the most ethereal music playing in the back ground. It was so soothing and relaxing I almost didn't want to leave that room.  The types of fish varied more widely than I ever suspected.  

Then there were the sea otters, playful furry beings who are so gosh-darned cute as well. They are also very large, much bigger than I originally expected. Some are the size of a large dog, as in 60-70 pounds big.  Yet they were so graceful under the water.

There was a particularly interesting blue room with a circular ceiling. Inside the ceiling was a series of glass windows all interconnected, with silver sardines racing about in one huge continuous circle.  It was both dizzying and breathtaking.  

I even got to see my first real live octopus.  My timing couldn't have been more perfect.  Like me, the creature is usually very shy during the daytime hours.  But tonight, he was more lively and I got to see him to great advantage.  I made several sketches of him for future use.

A part of me could have stayed in this wondrous place for days or weeks. Alas, time was getting on and the children decided they wanted to be home instead of staying for the sleepover. Too much excitement for them they said. Personally I think they were a little intimidated by all that was around them and I couldn't blame them. Everything here inspires both wonder and awe. I could set up my easel and spend night after night painting these wonderful creatures.  This place is truly magical...

Alas, I haven't been back there since duty has called me away to other places.  But I hope to get back there soon.  Jason is no longer with us, but his children know me (and what I am) yet always ask me to come and visit them again.  Which I will do shortly.  There are other sights and places I wish to visit, like the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk and a supposed "Concrete Boat".  Jason's son always laughs when he mentions it, perhaps it's the incredulous tone in my voice.  A concrete boat?  That is something I have to see for myself.  I'm planning on going to see them next month.  I'll write more about that adventure when I get there.

For now, I'm going to set up my easel and try and make up my mind which of my sketches to work from first.  I'll either do several pieces or use the various creatures to create one large painting.  We shall see, it's so hard to say.  They are all so beautiful and colorful.  My palette will get a hell of a workout over the next few weeks.

Nathaniel's Blog January 7th, 2014 "A Night At The Crypt"

First off, a note from the author. Due to health issues (back problems with a pinched nerve) and being very busy with recording and editing audios (which will soon include short stories involving Nathan and company), I haven't been as productive on the story front. Aside from trying to focus on the next book in this series "The Vampyre Blogs - Family Ties", and "The Door", I'm limited in what I can do at this time. So for the next few months there will be re-posts of some of the earliest stories about Nathan and friends. However, I will also be posting to sneak peeks into TVB - Family Ties as well. So please enjoy this tale from seven years ago (wow, it's really been that long since I started some of these - I'm amazed).  Any happy reading and stay safe everyone...

At The Crypt...

Brian talked me into taking the night off from transcribing more letters, and going to my dance club.  It's an older building.  One of many I purchased during the Depression.  Like many I felt the pinch of the stock market collapse, but I wasn't destroyed by it.  I lost a fair amount mind you, but I never kept all my eggs in one basket.  For one thing gold never goes out of style, no matter how bad things get.  Nor do diamonds and other fine jewels.  Plus I had investments that did not suffer, especially those overseas.

Not that I've had to worry about money for some time.  I don't have as many needs to spend money on, and I've had many jobs over the years which paid nicely.  What can I say, I like to keep busy doing things and learning new trades and skills.  It also helped that my first wife also left me quite well off.  Ah Madeline, even after 110 years I still miss her.  She was a wonderful woman and we enjoyed our time together.  Benjamin Franklin was quite right in his advice to a young man about being with an older woman, I learned so much from her.  Unfortunately, it also meant our time together was not nearly as long as I would've liked. 

These days however, I'm surrounded by younger women all the time.  Which is only natural.  It's hard to find someone your own age when you're a 167.  Many are in their teens, some in their twenties, with the occasional 30 or 40 year old as well.  I admire them all, but keep myself somewhat distant.  Sex is still quite enjoyable, even being what I am.  But I've learned to be careful about who I partner up with for the pleasure. 

But tonight, I'm just enjoying the company of the crowd itself.  Love watching excitement and pleasure they get from being in a place where everyone knows they're safe and can and enjoy themselves.

I've just finished running the turntables and turning them over to my main DJ "The Scar Man".  Former gang -banger I met a few years back.  He's a great guy and helps keep an eye out on  the younger crowd for me.  I prefer things being friendly around my place, not that there aren't the occasional upsets and punches thrown.  After all, a lot of my clientele are in their teens.  Hormones are running rampant, and status is oh so important.  

They mostly patrol themselves, because they know better than to have me intercede. If a weapon comes out, then I'm all over them before they know it.  God knows I've been stabbed by or even shot by accident more than once.  Most of the culprits freak out because they can't believe what they'd just done.  A rare few, don't care and even make another attempt to get past me.  They learn the hard way.  I make sure they never pull a weapon on anyone ever again, unless their own life or someone else's is at stake.  I try not to be stupid with my powers.   Not everyone is as long-lived or hard to kill as I am.

Tonight, I see trouble brewing but of the lesser kind.  

Over in one corner a boy named Teddy is asking the head cheerleader for a dance.  I've watched Teddy for a while.  He's not one of my nephews, but he's friends with a few.  He's a good kid, on the quiet side, not good at sports and certainly not a stoner.  So in short, a prime 'bully' target.  When he was younger, I heard he cried a lot when he got picked on which led to getting beat up.  Although others intervened on those occasions, he seemed to suffer more than one would expect from a few simple punches.  These days I think I know why.  And now I see the football's quarterback Cory coming over with a few of his buddies.

He grabs Teddy and gives him a body check that sends him into a couple of chairs.  Teddy hits the ground hard.  I pass through the crowd without their even realizing it.  Not one gyration or step is missed as I pass between the smallest of openings.

I'm standing before Cory and his friends before they can let out their first guffaw.  Their mouths clamp shut instantly.  I glance down at Teddy who is clenching his teeth in pain.  I can tell from here there's only going to be a bruise or two, but I know what's really going on.  I had it when I was a kid, only we didn't have a name for it back then.

Cory starts telling me that he'd warned Teddy about bothering Sherry, the cheerleader.  They're not actually dating, but he's one of those alpha males who thinks they are destined to be a couple.  Someone's been watching too many movies.

I nod and tell him he's not in trouble with me.  But I also point out that I know for a fact that he's been riding Ted since elementary school.  That's another benefit of being around for so long, you hear a lot of things. "While I'm glad you've channeled your more aggressive nature into sports, it doesn't give you free pass for tormenting those who are ill," I tell him.

He gives me an incredulous look.  "What are you talking about?  He's just a drama-queen who likes to have people feeling sorry for him," he shoots back.

Turning to Ted I ask, "How bad is your Fibromyalgia acting up today?  What are the pain levels like?"

The young man stares at me in shock.  "You know?"

I nod and say, "Of course I do.  Takes one to know one.  I had it back when I was a kid.  I suspect you have too."

"Yeah," he tells me and looks away.  "It's been this way my whole life.  They only diagnosed me with it two years ago.  Everyone kept telling me I was a crybaby, or a wimp who needed to toughen up.  My dad kept telling me I needed to be a man.  He never believed me until the doctor's told him what was wrong.  He still doesn't, but Mom does.  So do my sisters."

Behind me I hear one of Cory's crew muttering, "Shit!  My mom's got that."

I reach down and help Ted up onto a chair.  He hurts more than he's letting on, but I can sense it.  One of the other cheerleaders, comes over and sits down with us.  I remember her name is Tina.  She's one of the back-up cheerleaders.  She starts telling Ted that she knows where he's coming from and that she has it too.  Which is why she's a second-stringer.  Her ability to perform is erratic some days.

I leave them all to sort things out amongst themselves.  A few friendships may arise from this, even possibly a romantic relationship.  Mostly I'm hoping to see tolerance come from this encounter.  Invisible illnesses can be quite a difficult thing to contend with.  Both for the person suffering it, as well as for others to recognize.

My own father never fully recognized it in me, but I learned to hide it with time.  He wanted a son who was strong and able.  I did my best for years to live up to that expectation.  It was also one of the prime reasons I went to war, besides wanting to protect my friends.  I no longer feel those old pains at least not physically.  But I remember them as well as if they were still plaguing me.  I can't do anything for the physical pain, Ted is feeling, but at least I may have lessened some of the others he's known for so long.

I glance back once more.  Cory and most of his crew have moved on, but Tina is still with Ted.  They seem to be getting on pretty well.

Katy Perry's "Roar" is winding down, so I head over to the keyboard.  A little slow dance music seems to be in order.

Lisa's Private Thoughts, December 24th, 2017: "My Christmas Ghost Story" Part-VII Conclusion

It was hard trying to keep my eyes on Madeleine, while that all-too-familiar mist opened a secret panel in the shelves and deposited its bundle inside the compartment. Knowing Nathan was actually here in the room with me was reassuring, but worrying at the same time. He'd upset Madeleine last time so badly she'd turned violent and had gotten the better of him. I really didn't want to see a rematch and possibly get caught in the crossfire. So I needed to keep her attention totally fixed on me. 

Finally, I said with complete honesty, "I know what you're saying. I even sympathize, because I truly know how much pain you're in."

"Do you?" Madeleine asked politely. All too politely, if you know what I mean. Her eyes never left mine as she took a step closer. "Pray tell me, how do you know what I feel? Does your situation run along the same exact path as mine?"

"No," I replied with a sigh. "Although we both share the knowledge and anger from being told we have to wait, I've never resented my family to the point I'd resort to violence against any of them. And I certainly would never raise a hand against my younger brother... not even accidentally."

That made her pause and she nodded. "It was an accident," she murmured, "I never meant for him to fall back and..." she cut herself off and raised her eyes and I could see both the pain and anger in them. "If he had only told me where they were when I'd asked, it never would have happened?" she screamed.

I think she expected me to flinch or recoil, but I didn't. That look in her eyes had confirmed everything I needed to know. "How did it happen?" I asked gently.

Her eyes never left me, as if she dared not look past my shoulder where her younger brother stood just a few feet away. "I think you already know," she said evenly. 

"I know you had started out being nice to him, just the way you used to," I replied, not tearing my eyes away from hers, I could feel Nathan was behind me which was giving me courage. Only, then his presence began to fade, as if he were moving away and out of the room. What the hell was he playing at? I needed backup right, like right now! Meanwhile, I continued saying, "Then you began asking about your mother's jewelry, and when he refused to tell you where they were you began losing your temper and started shouting at him. Eventually, you grabbed him and were screaming at him... just how I found you when I burst into this room."

Madeleine's gave me a cold smile, "That's right, you're so right. It was exactly like that, only then I began shaking him and he started to pull away. Eventually, he struggled so hard I lost my grip and he fell backwards." Here her voice cracked and I could hear the pain in her voice. "He fell away too quickly for me to grab him and struck his head against the stonework of the fireplace."

A faraway look crept into her eyes. They were still locked with mine, but I knew she wasn't seeing me as she continued...

"He began to fall into the hearth itself. I barely had time to keep him from falling into the flames. But I did!" A mania had crept back into her voice as she grabbed my hand. "I did, and that's when he finally told me where they were... and I retrieved them. I finally had them and could join my Jonathan, but..." Now, her gaze slid away from me and over my shoulder. "But I couldn't leave my brother..." her voice started to become hard again, "He needed me. He was hurt. I couldn't leave him lying there on the floor, bleeding."

Her breathing became harsh along with her tone, as she continued. "If he'd only told me where they were when I first asked, none of it would have happened! And I'd have been able to get to my Jonathan outside, instead I stayed here... and then the door opened and... WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME WHEN I ASKED?" 

Those last words and her glare were aimed at Reginald who was still behind me.

Turning, I saw the tears in his eyes as he stood there, not having moved a inch from where I'd left him when I'd come between them. 

In the background I could still hear the approach of the carriage, it was practically just outside. 

Madeleine heard it too and tried to push me out of the way, only I held her back. 

"TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE! I CAN'T REMEMBER!" she shrieked, struggling against me. "HE'S HERE! TELL ME SO I CAN GO WITH HIM REGINALD! YOU CAN COME WITH US, WE CAN LEAVE THIS PLACE TOGETHER AND FINALLY BE FREE!"

I had no idea how much longer I could hold her back and was about to tell Reginald to tell her what she wanted to know when I heard a familiar voice say, "Tell her, Reginald. It's the only way."

Both Madeleine and I froze for a second then I turned and looked over my shoulder. Nathan was standing in the doorway. His gaze was fixed on young boy behind me, who finally blinked, as if waking from a bad dream. Finally, the boy turned to Nathan and said, "Buy our Uncle told me..."

"I know," Nathan cut in gently. "But this is very important. Especially for her."

Reginald still looked uncertain but turned to his sister and said, "They're behind the panel in the bookcase behind you. The third shelf."

Madeleine looked stunned. "There's a room behind there?" she breathed. 

"No, just a compartment," Reginald told her, his lip trembling. He looked more scared than before to me, but I said nothing.

Meanwhile, Madeleine raced to the bookcase and began searching the third shelf until she found the panel and opened it. Immediately, she reached inside with a look of delight which quickly changed to confusion as she pulled out not only an old velvet bag, but the stack of papers I'd seen Nathan place in there moments ago. 

To my surprise, Madeleine put the velvet bag aside while staring at the papers. "They're calling to me..." she breathed and then started studying them more closely. "This handwriting, it's my Jonathan's. What are they doing in there? He only ever wrote to me. Are these my letters? No, they're something else... along with papers from my uncle. I don't understand."

I felt Nathan's hand on my shoulder as he drew next to me. On his other side, was Reginald, whom he had his other hand resting on. "Be ready to get behind me, this could turn ugly," Nathan told both of us, in a hushed voice. 

"What did you put in there?" I whispered at him.

"The truth," he murmured back. 

For the next five minutes Madeleine examined each page, some more than once, before finally raising her eyes to stare at us. "No!" she whispered in a ragged breath. "It's not true! It can't be! He loved me! He wanted to be with me... he'd never... These papers are all lies! Tell me none of this is true!"

This was directed at Nathan who sadly shook his head. 

For a second I thought she was about to attack us, but instead she nodded then fell to her knees. A moment later, she began pounding the floor, while sobbing hysterically. "Please tell me it isn't true..."

Nathan started forward, but I stopped him and shook my head firmly. "No, not you. The last thing she needs is a man telling her she'd been wrong." Then without another word, I walked over to Madeleine's shaking form and I knelt beside her. 

"You couldn't have known..." I began but she cut me off with a violent shake of her head.

"You're wrong. I'd been warned... I'd been warned by so many people. My father, my uncle, even several of my friends, but I wouldn't listen to any of them," she rasped and finally raised her head. "I'd only listen to him. He made me feel so special, like my opinion and beliefs mattered. He'd listen and tell what a tragedy it was that other's refused to see my wisdom or even listen to me."

I nodded, "That's how men like him work. They put you on a pedestal and make you believe you are the center of their world..."

Now it was her time to nod. "Exactly..." Now she turned her gaze to her younger brother, who had not left Nathan's side. "Did you know?"

Reginald nodded.

"What did our uncle tell you?" Madeleine asked gently.

"Only that I shouldn't tell you where mother's jewels were, because you'd leave and that Jonathan might do something bad to you," her brother replied in sad voice. 

"Oh God," Madeleine wailed, "You were trying to watch out for me and I... I..." Once more she buried her face in hands and doubled over sobbing uncontrollably.

This time she did not pull away when I reached out and held her close. In fact she returned the gesture and clung to me like a lost child. I spared a look over to Nathan who gave me a reassuring smile.  It was only after I started stroking her hair that she slowly began to calm down.

Once she found her voice she turned to Nathan and said, "Please, take Reginald with you when you leave. Let me remain here until the final day of Judgement. Let the place of my crime be my prison, my place of penance. Seal the door with mortar and stone, then cover the entrance so none will know this room exists. This way I will not disturb the residents and they can live in peace."

I shot Nathan a look to ask him what we should do, but Reginald was already rushing towards his sister and pulling her close. 

"No, I will not leave you," he told her earnestly, "If you stay, then so must I."

Madeleine shook her head, "No, Mother and Father have been waiting for you. I'm sure of it. You mustn't keep them waiting any longer."

"But they told me that when I became into my title I was always to take care of you. And I promised I would. So I cannot leave without you," he insisted, holding onto her even tighter. "We're family, and I love you." 

Outside I could here the carriage come to a halt. Getting up I went over to Nathan and whispered, "There's someone outside."

"I know," he assured me. "But it's not who you're expecting."

"How do you know?"

Instead of answering, he gestured to Reginal and his sister.

Madeleine was gazing at her brother in disbelief. "But I hurt you," she breathed, "I didn't meant to."

"I know," Reginald smiled and touched her cheek, "That's why I forgave you."

Madeleine looked stunned, "You did?"

"That he did, Miss," said Billings as he entered the room, dressed in the finery of a butler instead of a simple manservant. "I'm afraid you had already fled the room at the time, but he spoke those very words as I held him in my arms. I tried calling to you, but I'm afraid my entrance and poorly worded question had sent you into a panic. A terrible mistake on my part. And one that I've long regretted and have hoped to make amends for some time. "

My eyes had widened at that. HE had been the servant who'd found them that night. Then he was a ghost too! And, yes I'm still kicking myself for not realizing that sooner. 

Anyway, Billings continued, "I pray you can find in your heart to forgive me, both of you." 

"Of course," Madeleine told him, without hesitation. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were trapped here as well."

"Not trapped, Miss Madeleine," he corrected her gently, "The decision to stay was my own. The welfare of you both have always been my responsibility. And now, if you will both come with me, you're parents are waiting just out front."

This time I caught on before the siblings did. I turned to Nathan and whispered, "The carriage outside, it's their parents not her murderous suitor!"

He smiled and nodded.

I turned in time to see Madeleine and Reginald accepting Billing's extended hands and began to follow him out of the room. All three paused at the door to thank us and also with us a Happy Blessed Christmas. 

As soon as they left Nathan grabbed me by the hand and led me over to the window. Down below we could see the carriage. It was a fine looking vehicle, with four horses pawing at the snow covered ground, eager to be on their way. As Billings and his charges appeared, the door to the carriage swung open and a man and woman climbed out. After a warm embrace everyone, including Billings climbed back inside and the door was closed. A moment later, the coachman looked up at us in the window and gave us a salute. Then he snapped the reins and the carriage gently moved forward and disappeared into the snowy night.

"It's finally over," I heard Nathan sigh, "Thanks to you."

I shot him a look. "ME? More like US," I pointed out, then after a thinking about it for a moment I added, "Well, I guess I did actually deal with both of them more than you did."

"Yes you did," he admitted, much to my surprise. "I couldn't have done it without you. There was no way she was going to listen to me, or any man."

"So you did bring me here just to help with you," I accused, well I wasn't exactly angry, it was more like I wanted him to admit the truth to me.

He gave me a sheepish grin. "Let's say I was hoping to use your talents as a last resort. I really hadn't planned to bring you into things unless I really had to. I never expected trying to find that pile of papers was going to take as long as it did."

"Is that what you and his lordship been so occupied with ever since we arrived?" I asked, thinking about all those little private meetings they seemed to be having.

Nathan nodded. "He found out the papers existed but was having a devil of a time locating them. And in case you hadn't noticed, this place is HUGE. Not to mention there are a number of hidden corridors and secret compartments throughout the entire building. Although, at his point I think we now know where they all are... I think. Anyway, I only finally found them after I heard you tearing up the stairs and running down the hall tonight."

"So that was you I heard calling my name," I murmured.

He nodded. "I had hoped that Billings would get you out of here before things started happening up here..."

"Only I insisted on hearing the whole story after I ran into Reginald earlier this evening," I finished and then told him about the game of Sardines.

"I see," he nodded, "I should've known your abilities would get you caught up in things."

"Stop it, I'm not psychic," I insisted, then added, "Am I?"

He gave me a sympathetic look. "Oh, you are. Trust me, I've known a number of psychics. And so have you, Alex and Cassandra for instance."

"But I'm not anywhere near as strong as those them," I said looking away. I was really feeling embarrassed. I'd seen our friends do some incredible things with their talents, which I'd never be able to do.

Nathan laughed and put a finger under my chin and made me look at him. "It doesn't matter how much power you have, it's what you do with what you have. You're a sensitive with a big heart. And that's what allowed us to help Madeleine, Reginald and Billings find peace."

That made me smile. "Thanks." 

"Thank you," Nathan smiled back. Together we gathered up the papers from where Madeleine had left them. I saw they were transcripts from her beloved Jonathan's trial, including a written confession that he himself penned of his own free will. The man had not only been a sociopath, but a narcissist to boot. There was not an ounce of regret in the pages I scanned, while picking them up. Apparently, Madeleine's uncle, the magistrate who had excused himself from overseeing the trial, had collected all of this paperwork to keep it out of the public eye. But had never brought himself to destroy any of it, as a reminder of his own failure to protect his brother's family. 

Finally, we grabbed velvet bag of jewelry and headed back downstairs. Once there we settled down in front of the fire to wait for our hosts and their guests. 

As we sat there, Nathan remarked, "Are you okay? You've been awfully quiet coming back down here."

Nodding I smiled and answered, "Of course. How many women get to say they helped bring an end to a haunting? At Christmas time now less?"

"Some would call it a Christmas miracle," he pointed out. 

I thought about that for a moment and looked at him. "Was it? Did we pull of a Christmas miracle?"

Holding up a hand he began ticking off the facts, "We helped not one, but three spirits cross over and find peace and in the process reunited them with their loved ones. And we also freed the current family, and their future generations, from the threat of a terrifying haunting. I'd say that qualifies, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess it does," I agreed.

Just then we could hear everyone returning from the chapel. I can't tell you how great it felt great being able to give our hosts the gift of knowing the haunting that had plagued their home for over a century had finally ended.