Break of Day

12) Myths and Midnight Snacks

"Shit," I hiss, slamming my computer shut. Fastening my fingers in my hair, I rest my forehead on my knees, eyes burning, begging me to close them. This isn't working and I don't know where my fucking charger is. This entire notion is completely asinine.

All I have learned is that Google doesn't know a damn thing and I hate writing comparison essays on mythical creatures.

Groaning, I lean back against my headboard, gingerly stretching my stiff legs over my paper covered bed. At this point, I wasn't sure what I needed and what was torn out of my notebook in anger.

A cold light caused my eyes to flutter open. Greeting me was the brilliant glow of the full white-gold moon, no longer hidden beneath its blanket of fair grey clouds, taking her place in the heavens. The now dark clouds puffed around the moon, surrounding it like an ethereal picture frame.

A cool breeze circled around my room, teasing my loose strands of hair and disturbing my papers. As cautiously as I could, I climbed over my wall of blankets, loose papers and the limited mythology books the library had. Sighing as my foot hit a paper, causing several to float to the floor, I leaned down and grabbed them. As I examined them, I used the short ledge of my window as a seat, using the moon as a light to attempt at understanding my messy notes.

The first page had the majority of what I could find on an old burial ritual against vampires in Italy. Where they were convinced that not only did they feed off of innocent blood, but also caused the plague. In order to stop them, they would remove the shroud—the cloth used to cover the faces of the dead would often decay due to the bacteria in the mouth and reveal the corpse's teeth leaving vampires to be called "shroud-eaters"— and place a brick or stone in its place. They believed that the shroud fed the vampires, like milk for a child. These creatures would cause disease in order to suck the remaining life from corpses until they gained enough strength to walk again.

I wish there had been more information on that, however, it would be useful for the paper. Since gravediggers would find people with hair, bloated by gas, or blood oozing from their mouths and think them alive, or rather, undead. I feel like this ritual had some influence on the idea that vampires sleep in coffins.

There were scattered pages of Ambrogio, whom is talked about in something called the Scriptures of Delhi, in a collection of writings titled "The Vampire Bible". None of the pages were in order. Where one talked about how Apollo cursed him in a fit of rage, leaving his skin to burn in the sunlight; then he gambled his soul to Hades; then he did something to anger Artemis, causing another curse where his skin would burn if he touched silver. I couldn't figure out what he did to deserve the curses, however. Luckily for him, Artemis took pity on him, giving him immortal life and hunting skills second only to her own. On the next page, he was using the blood of swans to write love poems. On another, I described something about a civil war in Italy, I think.

I couldn't be sure where the rest of his story was. Somewhere in my room, I presume.

"No!" I exclaimed as another gust of wind tore through my room, dragging the papers in my lap out the window. "For fucks sake." Annoyance tore at the anger in my stomach as I watched, defended, my papers dancing through the air and out of sight.

"I give up," I hissed, leaning against the window.

My heart seemed to stutter as the clouds turned the moonlight into a dim spotlight, reflecting off of a figure at the edge of the trees. I knew that no one was there, logically. There were no eyes, but something prevented the moon from touching the earth, unblocked by trees. Blinking, I shook my head. Reading so many vampire stories must be going to my head. I am always a little paranoid as it is.

The grass was lit with the cool light of the moon, now unblocked.

I suppose I should take a break.

Manoeuvring my way around the stack of books at the end of my bed, acting as a sort of gate between my room and the walkspace between my bed and window. Quieter than a ghost, I made my way to the kitchen. The one good thing about growing up with Maria, you learn to walk silently.