Chapter 1
The horror of my life is in the telling of it.
The young lady pulled her hood back and she was turned! A Vampire-Nosferatu! An undead parody, passing for human. Pale-white skin, so translucent I could see the bluish veins in her neck and head, elongated canine teeth grazing her lower lip, red eyes, coupled with a demonic smile without mirth or gaiety.
She reached out, faster than I could react, and shoved me backward. I flew across the room and into the hallway, sliding into a wall, cracking the plaster. My breath left me and a debilitating pain lanced through my back. I sat up coughing as the monster advanced on me.
“Shouldn’t have invited me in Doctor! Or should I call you by your real name? Child-killer! And now, I come to take your life!”
She took what seemed to me, one step, and was on top of me, breathing fetid breath from the grave. Though this woman had been slight of frame in life, her undead form seemed to have doubled her weight, as it felt as if a three-hundred-pound man sat atop my chest, crushing it!
“You killed my boy like he was nothin’! Did it feel good Doctor Strapp?”
“He…was…lost already…as you are…” I strained to get the words out, each effort a monumental task.
She placed a hand around my throat, hissing at me.
“Now you die child-killer!”
I looked into my death, and thought about my life…
******
Before I begin in earnest, I feel compelled to tell you that I have recorded, to the best of my ability, events culled from the diaries, journals, and letters of the individuals who were there with me; as well as various archival sources I could procure. I endeavored to recall with great felicity, the details as much as I could recollect so that a marker could be shared. An artifact of scientific fascination that future scholars can peer over and dissect. What was once normal has been forfeit by a descent into darkness. My curiosity remains, though it is touched less by a desire to know, than a responsibility to record. It is not enough to know darkness exists, one must catalog and record the darkness for others to understand their place in relation to it.
Baltimore is now a city torn by the strife of the Civil War and Martial Law. But beneath this war between men and states, there is a deeper evil lurking. An evil that, unless checked, threatens to destroy ALL mankind. And, the only hope to combat this threat are three broken people.
Few will believe my tales. I know this. But, as GOD is my witness, I have told the truth as I, and others have seen it
So, backward I go. Starting close to when these events first thrust me into the world outside the world.
******
Secessionists have tried to seal off the city, forcing the first brigade of Union troops ordered by Lincoln to travel through the city. Violence has erupted and many civilians were killed or injured. As a doctor, I was called out to treat them.
I was there to help tend to the wounded as best I could, though I had a sense that this was just the beginning of a wildfire of violence that would sweep the city, and the nation. Horse-drawn carriages were parked along the muddy, unpaved streets close to the station proper, and as I picked my way through the angry mob people were shouting. Police in their severe uniforms tried to keep the crowd at bay as I stepped over the bodies of the dead soldiers and civilians, holding a handkerchief to my nose against the awful stench of manure, urine, body odor, waste and blood.
I consider myself a man of strict personal standards and strong religious and moral convictions against slavery. Those who know me remark of my great depth of compassion for our fellow man and woman and how I am a respected member of Baltimore society held in high regard. To this, I cannot speak, but I can attest to my passion for humanity. It is indeed my calling. A calling I hold dear to my heart. One in which, I shall not fail or tire. This is the main reason I am so appalled about the violence happening in Baltimore. I think stronger hearts and minds are needed as we thread the moral needle. More voices are needed to stand against the evil that is the bondage of man.
******
What a bloody affair today has been!
From the open window of my office in Fell’s Point, I could see the tall masts of a myriad sea vessels waving in the breeze. I smelled the saltwater and heard the creaking of wood against metal as the ships heaved and jostled in the bay. The port was a non-stop panorama of activity that continued day and night; a great multitude of vessels that entered and exited the Patapsco with no end in sight. The Port near my practice housed a great many warehouses and factories, and these backed into the numerous pubs and several houses of ill repute where sailors spent their hard-earned coin for a few hours of pleasure during shore leave. Immigrants and other residents of this section of Baltimore conversed and interacted in a great throng of humanity that was vibrant and alive. I often would walk the cobblestone streets to feel the energy of the neighborhood. Unlike some, I reveled in the differences this neighborhood presented; the promise for our nation.
But today my mind was occupied with the saving of life as another patient would be arriving. I motioned to Judith Baker my faithful assistant and housekeeper. She was an older woman with a short mane of sandy brown hair that always seemed to fall into her face no matter how she attempted to pull it back. Judith was widowed with no children. She raised me after my own mother’s passing and treated me as the son she had never been blessed with. Judith was an individual of stout heart and steely determination. She was unshakeable and I depended on her. We prepared tools and the like to work on the poor soul that was to be brought to us from the riot.
God-willing, we can help.
Summer
My lovely wife of fourteen years, Anna, has died. The poor dear fought a losing battle to pneumonia, although the symptoms were more akin to influenza. I tried all remedies but to no avail. What a poor physician am I! I could save countless lives, but not my beloved! I sat by her bedside until some of my fellow physicians forced me to part with her body. I fought them like a rabid animal until I was given a sedative and slipped into a fitful, dreamless slumber.
I dreamed of Anna last night. I wandered under a gray sky, along a long path leading to a large mansion. At the far end of this drive was a figure in white. Somehow, I knew it was my Anna! I ran to her. But, as I ran, she seemed to recede further and further into the distance. I screamed her name, trying in vain to reach her. Anna held one arm aloft, waving to me, then I woke. I spent the last few hours of night cradling the pillows her head once rested on.
Winter
Heavy snow has fallen on our city. The potential for violence still smothers the air. President Lincoln ordered Union troops into the city right after the War began. Baltimore is under Martial Law. People are wary of one another. Loyalties are divided. This is not my city. Not the one I remember.
I do not know the date or day. I have not slept or eaten in…how long has it been? I do not know. Judith, the dear woman, attempts to force-feed me to no avail. I rebuff her gently. I know she sits by my door during the night, listening to my breathing. She is like a mother to me in so many ways. I know she grieves for my loss as well as her loss of me in this time, but for this I can do nothing.
My mind is adrift and I am stricken with loneliness and grief, and how do I honor Anna’s memory? By spending most of my nights in back alley opium dens. I inhale the resplendent, hallucinatory fragrance until the world and all pain melts away. I drift upon a cloud of translucent images, until I am yanked back to earth by the sound of patrons fighting each other, or the local police rousting the owners. For some miraculous reason, I am never arrested or even held. It is as if fate seeks to hold me for a crueler joke.
After one such incident, I walk the city streets, wondering why I go on. I stumbled upon the aftermath of a stabbing; the victim bleeding and the perpetrator long gone. I bent over to help the man even in my drug-induced state, knowing that I need to do something. But the man perished in front of me, bleeding his life’s blood into the dirty gutters. As I stared at his body, I noticed the knife laying there. It was interesting. Without thinking, I picked up the knife, feeling the weight of it, wondering what it would be like to end the pain right here, right now. I placed the blade against my throat, pressing until a thin line of blood welled up. If I pressed deeper it could all be over and I would see her again.
“Hey! Whadaya doin’ there!” A voice shouts.
I regained my senses and panicked, running away from the voice. Behind me, shouts and more voices. I ran with the blind animal terror of madness. I knew I was not responsible, but when I thoughtlessly picked up the knife, I became a suspect. So, I continued to run until the sound of pursuit was long gone. My mind assisted me in that I ran in a great circle, coming back to Fell’s Point right near the docks. I stopped by the pier gasping for breath and realized I still gripped the blade. I glanced around. Seeing no one, I pitched the knife into the dark waters and slumped down onto the wood planks.
I must find a way to venture back to myself because the only thing I long for is death now. But, even amidst these thoughts I wondered; could I find meaning and purpose again with my frail life; a reason to live and not just exist? Could I turn to helping others even if not as a physician or healer, but as living witness or chronicler? Or, perhaps, oral historian. I have uncovered rumblings of events that border on the supernatural. Perhaps a reason for me to not give up on this life? Is there life after love? Maybe this could be my new purpose. To document, catalogue, and encode a history of sorts on my investigations into the Supernatural, or, the Other-Natural. Curious events in this great city of Baltimore.