The Vampyre Memoirs: Bohemian Rhapsodies

By A. V. Black

The Vampyre Memoirs tells the memorable experiences of the seven oldest vampyre siblings in the world.
For thousands of years, they have already lived among humans and have quite a lot to tell about what they have experienced in the human world.
Is all the history you were told really true?

Bohemian Rhapsodies is narrated by one of the siblings, Layla Amentson.
Once upon a time, a small German town was infested by two large mysterious fires, diminishing the town almost completely.
How were the fires truly sparked?
Layla’s paths crossed with an obscure abbot imposing a deathly threat not only to vampyres but also to humans.
Can the oldest vampyres be killed?
The siblings set out in Bohemian London on their quest to find the mischievous culprit hiding his sinister tampering in the small German town he put under his spell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. V. Black
• Release date: Apr 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370400324

Book preview

pasted-image.png

The Vampyre Memoirs

Bohemian Rhapsodies

A. V. Black

To those who have supported me along the journey and

those, who have never stopped believing in me.

You know who you are.

To Alistair Veryard and Minna Waring I express my utmost gratitude for kindly allowing me to use their photographs.

In memory of Mr T. J.

Copyright © Amy Valeria Black, 2017

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover photograph by Alistair Veryard

Cover design by Amy V. Black

Interior photograph page 230 by Minna Waring

Interior illustrations by Amy V. Black

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Contents

Prologue: Qui vampyria en considerata: Layla

Trevere

Horatios Notes

Arcelins Notes

Resurrection

Two Worlds

Tracking Trails

The Journey

The Townies

Behind Larian Curtains

The Liberation

For an enhanced reading experience,

please visit the playlist of the

Bohemian Rhapsodies

at www.the-vampyre-memoirs.com

Qui vampyria en considerata: Layla

(Or: The in the following regarding vampyre: Layla)

  I am Layla Amentson. I am a vampyre. I was reborn at night to become what I have become as one of nine siblings, of which only me and six others have remained. Our renascence happened at the back doors of a temple in Abydos 4000 years ago, according to your time calculation.

  It was a late, dark afternoon in autumn that I wandered among the borders of Camden Town and Kentish Town, in North London. I’ve loved this area and how it is filled with diversity. It had been very alternative and bohemian for a few decades now, with all sorts of different people of various modern subcultures, arty people, inventive people, musicians and alike, but that vibrant vivid bohemian flair has started to disappear due to monetary reasons of certain humans. It was a shame that this atmospheric spirit of my borough was forced out, after it already happened years ago in Notting Hill and before that in Chelsea. Certainly a lot has changed over the past centuries from a more rural area with Charles Dickens in his cottage in an open field to the present with its unique shop fronts on the High Street and the converted Stables, where one would more find small shops of upcoming artists, artisans and designers or antiques. I still liked it the most here and was proud to inhabit one of those Gregorian-style houses for almost a century by now. At least it was still in one of the unsuspected quieter streets, from where it wasn’t far to the remaining thriving vibe in the more central streets, if one felt the urge to dive in there.

  The leaves already turned into their typical varicoloured resemblance, a gentle wind waved through the left leaves on the trees, reminding with its subtle song of the sought-after calamity in today’s fast paced world. I walked through several quiet side streets, only occasionally crossing a main road. I preferred to avoid those with its tremendous

noisiness of the traffic and all those numerous voices of the stressed out humans, who have been caught in the cobweb of modern society’s superficial ancillary concerns, which they rather attempted to drown unsuccessfully in the pubs at the end of the day with money they could barely have due to the sky-rocketing rents, in order jump on the train of the never-ending treadmill of minding one’s own business of functioning like dressed machines on the following day again. Those rarely known wonderful gems of natural silence and architectural beauty as well as inventiveness in its unique settings I rather enjoyed between those engaged areas, where no one particularly expected to find them. Such as the beautifully cute mews, which often make one forget one in actually in central London with their rural appearances, or garden squares.

  I tried to ignore the town’s common modern-day noise and focused on what was ignored as self-evident by most of the human creatures in these days. I listened only to the whistling wind, swiftly tossing the first fallen leaves on the pavement, blowing another passing warm season away and offering another seasonal silent song in the background. One of the many integrated gardens of Camden I passed, Camden Gardens to be precise, where I remained for a little while, delightfully observing the leaves dancing on the trimmed lawn. I was about to quickly walk down Kentish Town Road towards the Grand Union Tow Path, which was usually a lot less busy, in order to walk a little further along my beloved artificial remnant of nature — the canal. But a stranger walked up to me at the traffic lights.

  Excuse me, love, could you tell me the directions to the next Posmark? I feel like I am totally lost, he asked me in desperation.

  Posmark – one of the most obnoxious clothing shops, of which one could find a branch in almost every bloody borough of London, to which the teenagers and chavs of these days flooded into to have their smallest bit of taste for fashion scaled. Maybe it was good enough to get a pair of socks. But there was no branch of that shop here in my area, luckily.

  Lost you are, indeed, there is none to be found in this area, I replied with a smug wide grin, deliberately exposing the sharp pointy ends of my fangs.

  Oh, those teeth look really great on you! In fact, they appear very real. OK then, thank you anyway, have nice evening, he answered with a frolic smile, turned around and returned to his path, wherever it might have lead him, leaving me in confusion.

  I would have at least expected a slight indication of fear at the sight of my fangs. But there was none at all. I didn’t even feel a mere precariousness hidden behind his less worth mentioning thoughts and emotions. It appeared normal and little unsettling to him to meet a vampyre on the open street.

  Of course, us vampyres have seen some kind of excitement by the humans when they obsessively started to read the works of Bram Stoker, Anne Rice and the other author, who claimed we’d shimmer like diamonds in the sunlight, and then even more when the film industry caught an interest on those polished ‘lores’. I started to get the impression, that it was not only a certain kind of interest in our kind, but also that there evolved an acceptance towards our kind among those humans. Or was it just plain ignorance and blindness to what else there is right in front of their eyes between heaven and earth, I wondered.

  Maybe I was just bored after all these centuries and passed millennia or maybe I needed another pursue in my life for the time being, until something else may come along, that it came into my mind to possibly put down some odds and ends I’ve witnessed together with my siblings. That wasn’t my sole decision, though. Each of us siblings would have to agree, like we usually made any sweeping decisions, especially when it is regarding such a sensitive topic like our kin.

  It was a rare occasion that we all met in one spot at the same time in these days. The world just turned so vast and broad with all its opportunities, that we’ve spread even more than when it all began. Only my twin-brother Horatio and I remained close and hardly ever apart for a long period of time. The London Stone was our place to meet, which I arranged to be closed for a private function on that evening. It was the most adequate for us, I felt, with its dark and gothic-style interior. It had something old, something that remained, which was appreciated by the guests, especially those with a certain subculture background. Unlike any other random pub we could have chosen it wasn’t shabby or all too typical, neither was it modern, probably apart from its selection of beverages and food.

  Horatio and I arrived a little earlier to evade the upcoming rush hour of the early evening and also to oblige the few present staff members, who were going to serve us, that they would not hear anything of our conversation no matter how loud it might be or notice our general presence, aside

from when we called them to place our orders. It was a matter of habit to do so, a leftover from past times so to say, when we had to be a lot more careful about the possibility of exposing our kind. It could have also well been, that they would have simply thought we were just a group of role players, cos players or pretentious geeks. Prudence is the better part of valour, they say.

  At first our oldest brother Kheprimay arrived. The large and muscular body opened the door with a haul, before he stood firmly in the door. He always had a grim impression on his face, of which one wouldn’t think to ever see any other mimics at all, like of a stone statue, which had, in fact, its reason. But as soon as he saw us, a bright smile was drawn on his face and he rushed towards Horatio and me, greeting and merrily  hugging us in excitement. As he just took a seat at our round table, our second-oldest brother Tethapi arrived together with our youngest sisters Amaris and Menhit. He was the one who always wore a mask, both mentally and physically, due to an unfortunate innate skin condition, which

had left half his face covered in red skin. He was slender and one of most quiet very introvert personalities, who rarely said anything and never openly showed what he felt or thought. Amasis and Menhit were quite the opposite with their always joyful and very outgoing nature. As we were all over-excited of seeing each other again, our two other siblings, our brother Shaiti and our sister Iris, entered. Iris always managed to wear her long black hair gorgeously, even though she might claim she didn’t do anything in particular. Last, but not least, our always late sister Neph arrived. She never liked to be the first anyway and always preferred to join as the last. Neph was the odd one out of us with silver blonde hair and icy blue, almost white, eyes, yet with an angelic appearance.

  Another round of pleasurable hugs of joy and even more excitement followed accompanied by heartily laughter, the one or the other may have lifted each other up and swung around. As one can see, we definitely hadn’t seen each other all together in the same spot literally for ages. All of us even managed to dress up for this seldom occasion. My brothers all wore a suit and us sisters wore a dress or at least a skirt with a matching blouse and a pair of unique distinctive shoes. Not all too strangely, we all attired black from top to toe.

  As we just sat down, Horatio already called the waitress, who kept herself preoccupied behind the counter with polishing glasses, when she didn’t scribble tattoo designs on her notepad. He only lifted his hand and she was already on her way to us.

  Greetings. What may I serve you? she asked polite with an overly enthusiastic pretentious voice.

  Blood. Kheprimay replied dryly with a deep voice. The round remained dead silent. Her pretentious enthusiasm disappeared at once and her face froze.

  Pardon me? she asked insecure.

  Blood red wine, dry with a hint of sweetness, Horatio intervened and winked, signalising our brother may have bantered. None of us would have surely refused the one or

the other drop of fresh blood though, if they had offered. The waitress brightened up immediately.

  Oh, all right, she said. For all of you?

  Yes, please. You might as well bring us three bottles. And a Vampire Kiss for each of us, too, he responded with a polite smile, while us others slightly giggled and had to make an effort not to break out in laughter. The waitress wouldn’t have understood the ambiguousness for us, as the Vampire Kiss was a kind of shot cocktail with equal parts of Black

Sambuca and Jaegermeister, which was commonly served in

London.

  As soon as the waitress brought us the drinks and the glasses together with her co-worker, who kept himself occupied in the storage room, if he didn’t eagerly check his social networks, we were finally free to talk and I could bring my endeavour to the table. I told my siblings about my recent encounter with the human. However, they didn’t seem to be all that surprised of his reaction. Similar encounters they have made over the past few years, they admitted. The humans even asked at which dentist the teeth were made, they told. None of the humans came to the conclusion though, the teeth, or the fangs, might actually be real. They left them to it and the humans remained reacting highly polite and also delighted to meet a vampyre, thinking it was all nothing but well-played hoax. There were even groups gathering these days, who pretended to be vampyres themselves. Only a few of us, if any at all just for fun, were found amongst those though, Neph mentioned of what she researched.

  Considering there have been hundreds of books about characters of our kind, I wondered if we shouldn’t go with the flow and tell our story as well? I asked into the round, which suddenly turned quiet in the middle of their rather interesting conservations about their more or less polite encounters with humans, when they dared to expose something of our nature. I felt an uneasiness and concerned thoughtfulness among my siblings. They were not very sure

if that was such a good idea. But I intervened their second thoughts.

  We don’t have to expose ourselves to such an extent that we’d reveal our true names and whereabouts. I wouldn’t want to find a crowd of hysterical fans in front of our door either. Neither would I like to raise too many eyebrows of the public. I don’t think the humans would in fact notice how very real our stories are, since their brains are currently mostly not capable of grasping other dimensions in their small-minded consciousness and despite all that partly well done fiction out there.

  I literally heard my siblings thinking. Each and every one of them played through different scenarios in their minds. It could definitely cause another witch hunt, or let’s say another vampyre hunt, which is bound to happen one day again anyway. On the other hand, we had little to lose. If such a mass hysteria came to pass, we could still bedazzle the human minds accordingly, which are so easy to constrain with their simple human brain connections especially with the modern available media, with which it would even be far more effective for such on a large scale, and everything would be just like before.

  We could ask a human to write our stories for us. Afterwards, we oblige him or her, so that it appears like it was an own idea. And I think I have already found the right person for this task, I said with a wink and grabbed my smart phone with an image of her.

  Actually, why not. Kheprimay agreed while the others remained silent, although I felt assured we were all on the same page. Sometimes, as a matter of fact, the sharper-minded are in the position to learn even from fictional stories. They should from what we’ve quietly observed throughout the times, which they mostly don’t know, if they don’t think it’s made up or a conspiracy. They need to wake up. And since you came up with the idea, why don’t you go first and let her write  down one of your most memorable adventures, he suggested challenging.

  I wouldn’t mind at all. The time has come to reveal the other side of the coin of what they do not know. I replied

with a confident smile and raised my glass for a toast.

  With perceiving you do not feel scared to the ultimate death of our kind any longer, my siblings and I offer you something in return for your curious trust: the tales of the unknown. In the process of reading what we, or respectively I, have to tell you, you might be able to draw a relation wiring your silly human arguments about races and religion. There is a vast amount of people who are made the outcast, simply due to their native origins or religious beliefs. Our kin, the vampyres, is not of much else. Since we are just another life form of humans, we are very much comparable with yours. Other kinds of humans also had to go into hiding, which we have done for a few millennia likewise - hoping you would not find and recognise us and drive us to unreasonable extinction like it’s been done to so many other ‘exotic’ creatures in this world. We were hiding all this time from you because you were so frightened by us. Fear easily drives you humans into an insane murder lust. We never stayed in one place for too long and repeatedly spread false rumours about our kind on purpose, which still widely exist and are stubbornly believed in, only to protect ourselves once. Ultimately, we rarely called a haven set alone in the wild, far away from you, our home. We have lived amongst you, all the time, just next door.

  We were like you once - we were humans. But we just have to survive on other’s energy flows similarly like you humans do, to remain nourished. There are only few differences: you need to eat what this world offers to you and we need a little of your blood for our bodies to function. Contrary to you, we have evolved and learnt it is not necessary to kill in order to survive.

Trevere

  Trevere, 1793. I awoke in confusion from an apparently long some unconsciousness in darkness. My eyes were widely open and stared directly into a greyish sultry cloudy morning. The sudden light, as dim it was to a longer awake pair of eyes, irritated me. I wanted to bat my eyelids, but they didn’t move to my will for some inexplicable reason. My eyes burned and a sharp pain evolved to an almost unbearable extent in my eyeballs, which flooded down into my brain towards my ears and almost deafened my hearing senses. My ears started to ring with a high monotone sound, that seemed to grow. It got noisier and louder with each passing second as if the sound tried to tear apart my tympanums, waiting for my blood vessels to break through with its pounding drum flow. The pain then spread to my upper nose, building up more pressure there at the same time. When I expected my veins to blast and the blood streaming uncontrollably from my eyes, ears and nostrils, it slowly started to ease. My mind felt cloudy like was covered underneath a thick veil made of wads of cotton. I had to make quite an effort in order to push the deafening noise out of my ears together with the remaining pain.

  I remembered not the tiniest bit of the previous hours or even days. It was completely blank to me which day it was and what happened last. I was indefinitely at a loss for how long I might have been unconscious, not knowing for sure where I was.

  As I tried to focus more on my surrounding, I noticed a hard and stiff surface I was laid upon, most likely wood. I then felt how my body was roughly moved and hit another surface on both sides of the same structure I was laying on. It appeared as if I was put into a wooden case, which confused me even more how I ended up in there.

  I heard a distant flowing, like of a river, which softly streamed along some brickworks, seeking its way underneath a masonry bridge, that gently quenched its watery echoes. I was not far from some streaming water. While my eyes stared uncontrollably straight into the sky, I made out two dark shadows to the right and to the left of me, who seemed to look down on me with their red-shimmering eye pairs. They appeared to be two unfathomed men.

  You sure she’s dead?, one asked the other feeling uncertain and looked up to him.

  Can’t you see it? Of course, she is, the other man replied and grossly poked into my stomach with his forefinger.

  I was unable to move. I startled deep inside. I could see and feel everything happening around me, but I was not able to move at all and not even able to open my mouth in order to yet a lone let a whispering pass my lips. I was left entirely indefensible in a wooden case and not at all in the position to help myself out of the precarious situation.

  Well, that’s another one dead.... How many more corpses do we have to keep on carrying out the abbot’s quarters? the one on the left enquired. At least his question gave me an idea where I was. It assured me, I was still in Trevere, although I was apparently in the centre, where a river divided the town into two equal parts to that time.

  Look, I do not know. And I do not know what happened, neither do I want to. I ain’t getting involved, I’m only doing as I was told here! the other bragged cockily.

  While they stared down on me, I saw them moving up a cover on my feigned coffin. It turned dark again and I heard them nailing the cover under a thunder of rattles.

  My chest started to burn with the pain like of a bullet wound. Slowly, the previous events returned to my muffled mind. The hunter apparently poisoned the bullet, it was impossible for a creature of my kind to feel pain for such an endurance. I had no other choice, but to wait until the men would leave me in my coffin as well as to watch for it, if I might regain any sovereignty over my body, which seemed to me more like doll-like hull. Though at least I could gather through noises and movements what was happening around me — and with me.

  I felt how I was lifted and into a carriage. Then I felt a pull and heard the hooves of the horses clattering on the bouldering. No other people I could smell or hear, apart from these two guys leading the carriage with their cartload, containing my frightened and utterly defenceless self. The ride on the carriage appeared long and never to end, it went a few times up and down, to the left and the right, the horses were not the fastest ones either. I  was rolled in my coffin a few times from one side to the other. Once I felt how my head hit the top, then my feet hit the bottom. To the left I rolled again. I started to wonder if these guys needed a lesson at how to drive a carriage. On the other hand, they didn’t know about the contents of their load. I never had such a turbulent journey in a coffin. Of course, I had to travel a few times in a coffin, but it was at least my own one, which was comfortably padded with cushions and a thick soft blanket underneath.

  Suddenly we stopped, at last. I almost thought they were going to bring me to the other end of the country. If I wasn’t a vampyre, I am sure I would have been sick after that irritating and disorienting travel in a darkened wooden box without knowing in the slightest where we were probably going. They pulled my coffin out of the carriage and lifted me onto the ground. Afterwards, they carried me further away. I could smell the wet grass rustling beneath their sullen steps, which made their footsteps sound rather soft and mysterious at the same time. Otherwise, it was completely quiet. Not a single bird dared to intone its morning canon or to spread its wings and flee from my carrying companions, neither did I notice only one other lonesome living soul.

  Then we halted again shortly and I felt how I was lowered, into a freshly dug hole as it seemed. I smelled the fresh and earthy rich soil around me and finally then on top of me as well, when they started to grave me in my cheap coffin. It felt like it was the end of all times for me as I heard one heaping of soil after another covering an unknown creature in a wooden box. For a moment, memories of my life rushed through my mind, delightful and unpleasant ones alike. But as unpromising my bearing seemed, I decided to stop that sudden rush of