Tonight will be much different from those many long nights of peering through half-open windows and stalking the perimeter of his estate. Tonight, Henry Coveton will die and by my hands.
Before you think I am insane, like those fools over at the Ministry, let me announce that Coveton is an evil man, born of Hell, and I will send him back there before the sun rises.
It is possible I have already lost your confidence. Still, I assure you all the words before you are accurate, and if deemed necessary, you may investigate these happenings at your own discretion. There are times in the life of a man when his existence in this world is tested, while no other soul can bear witness to such events. These words written will stand as a final testament to the awful affairs of my last mortal night on earth.
On this night, I stood outside his domain, an immense Victorian castle contained by a double stone and brick wall with steel pikes raised taller than a man. A vast, untamed forest enclosed the grounds with only a sliver of road piercing through the trees. I had walked the road many times before and now stood near the outer wall of Coveton’s manor. There were heavy, brown clouds in the sky that set off flashes of red and green every few moments. This lightning mixed with the moon’s shadow to provide barely enough illumination for these old eyes to see what stands between me and the evil I swore to extinguish.
Now you know one thing about me; I might as well share the rest. My name is Jeremy Keen, and I hunt vampires. At one time, I was among the elite of Special Operations in service of the United Kingdom’s Ministry of Defense. For decades, I existed as Protectorate, often unbeknownst to those I protected. Funny how things barely change. As time moved on and the attitudes and motivations of younger men began to limit my chance for field duty, I retired from the service. Surely, I was still an asset to the ministry; however, they labeled me as having various maladies and announced my discharge due to mental fatigue. Fools. Even as I walked out of the halls of the Ministry’s Headquarters, all eyes transfixed on a hero, I recall a feeling of remorse that an era of my life had ended. Since that day, only several years ago, I have given myself a new mission of ridding the world of those beings that walk among us and steal our very lives.
As for the day of my death, my physical form was not what it once was, of course. At six foot and with perfect posture, I was still able to carry on as a man half my age might do. However, my advanced age showed in unmistakable ways. Where once my hair was full and dark with crimson waves, it became wispy and gray with strands merely poking out through the scalp like my very thoughts were slithering out of my head. Photos of me from long ago show a man of sleek, olive complexion like some Mediterranean native living eternally under the mid-day sun. Oh, how the women adored me! Tall and rugged and dark with a charming wit and an air of complete confidence. I knew the passions of dozens of women until I met my fair-skinned beauty, a simple woman who stole my breath and married me in the prime of my youth.