Chapter Text
“Well, that is a loaded question.” Herr Ludwig readjusts his glasses, leaning forward in his chair. He clasps his hands together, “How long have I been a vampire? Hm…” He tilts his head, “Two hundred, three hundred years? Ach, I can never remember, could be longer.”
“I was turned during my research into achieving eternal life. Ha, I certainly figured it out.” He meets my gaze with only a semi-humorous glint in his long-dead eyes.
“Since then, it’s been… entertaining. I’ve killed, well, who counts how many people anymore? All I know for certain is that I’ve had my fill. I turned my studies towards researching how to reverse vampirism. I’m aware it is as easy as simply killing the person who turned me, but… well, I have no idea who did. And even if I did that, I’d immediately become two-or-so-hundred years old and die in an instant, therefore…” Herr Ludwig shrugs, “I have to find alternate methods.”
He smiles and gestures towards the laboratory behind him.
Vampire corpses are strewn across counters, floors, in vats of acid and some even in the process of being dissected. The floor is pooled in several places with blood. A table, repurposed to host restraints, holds the stitched-together body of a multitude of different corpses. At that point is when I notice a larger man scouring the counters of bodies, and when he looks my way, he waves at me with a smile.
Herr Ludwig’s gaze is on the man as he concludes his statement, “It’s very hard work.”
Renard prefers to conduct his interviews in the larger, fancy room of the house of which he’s furnished himself. I can’t blame him for holding such pride in it, with all of the mounted heads of animals and the large grand piano on the opposite side of the entrance, a bear-hide rug of which I’m not certain of the legality of and a series of older portraits of the household members on the walls. I take note of a painting of Renard in a military uniform, possibly from the 1700s if I had to guess.
I’d gotten consent from each of the household members in order to conduct my series of interviews and reports, however Renard seems to try not to mind my existence too much, not until my first question. He seems to be listening out for something, eyes peeled on the vent just above my head.
He exhales a thick cloud of smoke that wafts into the face of the man beside him, that I’d barely noticed either as he stands ridiculously still, save for the weak cough he lets out.
“Herr Ludwig and I arrived in this country two hundred years ago, almost exactly I believe.” Renard finally looks my way, thoughtfully regarding my appearance as he looks back on his history, “We’d heard tales of new opportunities. A fresh start for any vampires who’d had their identities uprooted in the Old World.” The man beside him coughs again, and Renard glances his way before looking back at me, “Neither of us were fugitives. The idea of a fresh pool of prey was what enticed us.” He smiles, but his eyes keep gravitating towards the vent above my head as he takes another drag from his pipe, “We may have also been regarded as serial killers.”
I ask my second question, and Renard looks back at me, “I live with two vampires. We met Tavish in the cargo hold of the steamboat that carried our coffins across the Atlantic. He’d been a startlingly new vampire, he wasn’t sure of how to behave. Ludwig and I taught him all of the basics. How to turn into a bat, how to efficiently attack werewolves, how to not get caught when feeding.
“Soon, Tavish learned of a particular vampiric trait, our lack of blood. At least, blood that travels instead of lying still. We landed on the shores of the New World and he dove into the deep end of a vicious cycle of alcoholism.” Renard winces at the thought, “That man has been drunk for two hundred years. I fear what will happen to him if he ever sobers.”
‘Who’s the man beside you?’
“Y’know, the thing about bein’ a familiar is that you become less than human to them, somehow.” Mick grumbles, almost to himself as he walks around the gardens. It’s a struggle for me to keep up with his long-legged strides and write at the same time, but I manage. “Nah, cause humans are just meals to them, yeah? But as a familiar, you’re a human they’re under condition not to eat, so they just throw every stupid job your way and expect you to do it without question. And I keep bloody doin’ it ‘cause that absolute cunt told me - what - ten years ago that he’d make me a vampire? I’m getting old, mate, I don’t want to be a vampire with back pain.”
“If I have to be honest, human to human, I don’t even think he’s gonna turn me.” Mick rolls one of his shoulders, fingers twitching in agitation, “Wish the other familiar felt similarly, that bloke’s completely a-okay with bein’ Ludwig’s little assistant.” He turns to me for a moment, “They’re both psychopaths, trust me.”
“This house makes me feel like I’m goin’ crazy sometimes. But I’m in too deep, aren’t I? I’m gonna have to see this through.”
As I sit down on a couch opposite the famed Tavish of the house, he’s waking up from one of his many stupours. With his face almost fully planted into a cushion, he only opens one eye to look my way. It’s at that point I realise he only has one eye, and I think he can tell with the look on my face.
“Never seen a man wit’ one eye, aye?” He chuckles, and tries to push himself to sit up, but flops back down. I’ve conducted interviews in worse situations. I ask my questions slowly and clearly.
“Ae’m a feckin’ legend in dis communitayyy-” Tavish raises a hand to wave, but it falls almost immediately to lightly brush the carpet, “Best… urgh, best vampire aroond, yea? Ae’m doin’ da experiments that Loodwig guy neva tries. Eva seen a blood alcohool percentage of, eh, 100? All me.”
I’m only slightly comprehending what he’s saying, and much of my recorded interview has been translated to avoid the worst of the incomprehensible sentences.
“But Ae’m a good lad aboot it, the otha vampires looove me. Haven’’ seen summa them in a while…” Tavish lets out a groan and shuts his eye, “Humans loooove me too, ‘specially our neighbour wuz-he-called. Ae dinnae no more. Mind if Ae take a nap?”
The last personal interview I conduct for the night is with the large, imposing man I’d seen in Herr Ludwig’s laboratory earlier. He sits opposite me in a chair in the lobby, wearing a sweater that makes him look rather non-threatening. He smiles at me politely.
“My name is Mikhail, call me Misha. I was born in Russia, moved here for job, found work with dear Ludwig.”
“I do not mind work as familiar,” Misha seems genuine, “Unlike the other, I do not wish to become vampire. I could not feed on living human as they do, and I quite enjoy sunlight.
“It is false rumour that all familiars are victim. I find that Ludwig helps me just as much as I help him with, you know, the bodies. I assist him in experiment, he gives me money to send back home to family.
“No, they do not know of vampires. I hold secret of Ludwig and Renard close to chest, to my grave. It is promise I made on first day of work, I do not plan to lose their trust so easily. I am honest man, believe me, but I am also loyal. They respect me.”
‘How would you describe your relationship to Herr Ludwig?’
“He is dear friend of mine, of course.”
I’d taken note of how his gaze followed Misha so intently earlier in the night, but I realise I don’t want to intrude on their business.
I neatly wrap up a long night of interviews. The next night, I’d be following in their day-to-day, night-to-night even, and I need to train my body to become nocturnal in order to record their happenings most accurately.