From the journal of Victor Ewing

December 24th 1899

I was unexpectedly ordered back to camp this morning. Of course, I was kept waiting for well over an hour before my commanding officers were gracious enough to speak with me. I must confess that my attitude towards my superiors has suffered greatly after this recent turn of events, and I found myself rather dismissive of their attempts to intimidate me. I have no more time for their pompous games.
After a less than friendly greeting I was left, sitting alone, in an empty office. I had been waiting for quite some time and had taken to looking out of the window when the door finally opened and someone entered. I made no effort to acknowledge them and only moved my eyes away from the view when my journal landed heavily on the table by my arm. I took it up and started to slowly leaf through it, using it as an excuse to ignore the man now sitting across the table from me as much as to make certain that all was present and correct.
It slowly became apparent however, that I was being observed. There was no rustling of papers or clearing of throat in a superior attempt to grasp my attention. Just quietly and patiently, observed.
Curiosity got the better of me and I lifted my eyes from the page. All bravado and pretence fell away in an instant.
Sitting across the table from me, with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly in his lap, was the man himself. The very man I had been searching for.
With a relaxed smile that made my hands curl into fists he simply said, “Good morning Victor, did you read that book I left for you?”
In an instant I was on my feet and launched into such a tirade that I am sure it was heard across most of the camp.
His demeanour barely changed, save for raising his eyebrows in mock surprise and a slight broadening of his maddening smile.
I challenged him to tell me why he had been following me in Southampton. Why he had been following me in Norwich. How he had gained entry to my room without myself or anyone else noticing. I challenged him on all these things and he remained silent and completely unperturbed by my rage until I mentioned his damned book.
I had barely noticed my knuckles pressed hard into the surface of the desk as I leaned on my balled up fists and spat my rage at the grinning bastard.
I may have ended my attack with words to the effect of, “So no, I do not have time to waste reading two penny fiction or damned fairytales of fanged creatures and demons in the night!”
His face slowly dropped. “So, you have read some of it then?”
Aware that I had allowed my rage to get the better of me I chose to remain silent lest I condemn myself further. Slowly, without taking his eyes from mine, he took to his feet. I am not ashamed in the least to tell you that something in that mans eyes drove me back. I have seen things in the field of battle that would turn the stomach of most men. I have charged head long into the foe when faced with odds to great to bare thinking about, but his eyes drove a sliver of ice through me that made me step away. As insane as it may sound, I did not so much see his anger as feel it. I felt it in my core as you might feel the rage of a snarling beast.
When he spoke his voice was level and calm but the force behind his words was undeniable and I remember them as clearly as if I had heard them mere seconds ago.
“After all you have been witness too you still believe them to be fairytales? You went to Norwich in search of answers. You would not have found them there. Stoker may be fanciful in his telling of the story but his whimsy has a basis of truth. The book I left you will yield more answers than anything you would find in the great library of Norwich, even if it had still been standing. You may come to realise that many works of ‘so called’ fiction and fairytales are far more real than you would dare to think”.
I stood dumfounded, almost speechless under his gaze, and watched as the stern look slowly left his face to be replaced with the same jovial smile he always wore. The room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and become a much bigger place.
Without missing a beat he carried on as if nothing had happened. He started to search the desk, pulling out draws and rifling through them as he spoke until he found pencil and paper.
As he wrote he gave me one last word of warning. He assured me that if I truly wanted answers he could give them too me but I must be fully aware that, once learned, the knowledge cannot be unlearned and if I enjoyed my world the way it was, I should forget him and everything I have seen.
Pushing the piece of paper across the desk toward me he kept his finger on it and said only two words.
“Be certain”.
And with that, he bid me good day and left.
The piece of paper had only map coordinates, a date and a time. January 1st 1900, 13.00 hours. That was all it read.
I saw nothing of my commanding officers as I left camp, neither did I wait around for them to impose themselves upon me. In fact, I was not approached at all as I left. Making my way home it suddenly dawned on me what had just happened. Whoever he was, he had made his way onto a military site, into the office of a superior military officer and proceeded to speak to me as if I owed him an explanation.
Who the Devil is he?
More importantly, am I sure I want to know. I have never encountered a man like him in any walk of life or theatre of war. If he is a taste of what is to come then perhaps “my world”, as he puts it, is better off just the way it is.

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One comment


1st of jan, only 8 days or so away. I wonder what is at those co-ordinates?

May 1st, 2013 at 7:54 pm

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