Diary of an English Gentleman

[BobIsBob]

April 7th, 1876 ~
This is the diary of James Williamson II. On the advice of my colleague, Professor Winston Bennett, I have purchased this diary in order to record my thoughts at the end of each day. He says that writing is the voice of the soul, and that by expressing one’s thoughts on a regular basis the true nature of the self can be gleaned. It is certainly an interesting hypothesis, one with which I will be happy to assist him. I must confess, I myself am somewhat excited about the thought of leaving a record of myself for future generations. What might the people of the twentieth century think of us? Our ways, our inventions… I do believe they would be as alien to them as the Chinese are to us.
Of course, if some record of myself is to be left for them to read, I believe it would be prudent for them to know who I am. I was born September 18th, 1840, to James and Gertrude Williamson, in the great city of London. I now live in Cambridge, and was educated in zoology at the university of the same name. I have taken a teaching position there during the spring. During the rest of the year, I am employed by Doctor Ivan Duvanovich, a brilliant Russian scientist who has been studying both human and animal anatomy for longer than I have been alive. Our discussions have been quite enlightening, and I have learned much from him. He says that he sees some of his younger self in me, and hopes that I will continue his work after he has passed. Perhaps my name will be referenced next to his in a textbook someday, to be read by students in the very Cambridge classrooms I spent time in so many years ago.
I believe that is enough writing for tonight. I have a lecture tomorrow morning and wish to be fully refreshed for it.

April 15th, 1876 ~
I met a most extraordinary girl today after one of my lectures. Her name is Emily. She was quite interested in my theories regarding aggressive behavior in certain animals, and wished to know more than I had planned to speak on in the classroom. I told her I would be glad to answer any questions she had over dinner, and she accepted.
So enthralled in discussion were we that neither of us ate much of our food, and it grew cold on the table as we quoted famous scientists and debated the truth of their ideas. She hung on my every word, and even brought up some points that I had never considered before! She expressed an interest in meeting Professor Duvanovich, an idea to which I believe he will be amenable. I must remember to speak with him tomorrow in order to find an agreeable date.

June 15th, 1876 ~
Emily and I were invited to dine tonight with her father. Though she has not spoken of it during the two months in which I have known her, it seems that they are quite well off financially. I shan’t repeat the exact details of what was served, though it was quite delicious. Afterwards, the three of us (Emily is an only child, and her mother, it seems, passed away five years ago) retired to the parlor for a very enlightened discussion. Her father is a philosopher, and has studied the works of Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates quite extensively. His passions have rubbed off some on his daughter, as well, who was as eager to enter in the discussion as I was. As the two of us were leaving, he took me aside and told me that he thought I was a good and honorable man, and that if I wished to marry his daughter I would have his blessing. I was quite surprised by this, and thanked him for the compliment. After walking Emily home, I contemplated the thought of marriage, and I must say it did indeed seem an agreeable prospect. After all, Emily and I are deeply in love with each other… What reason should there be to wait?
…Yes, I’ve made up my mind. Tomorrow night, I will propose to her, and ask her to marry me. I fear, however, that I will be so excited thinking about it that I will be unable to sleep tonight.
I have been meaning to read Frankenstein for some months… It has been sitting on my bookshelf since I purchased it from the bookseller some weeks ago, and perhaps now would be a good time to see why all my colleagues have recommended it to me.

June 16th, 1876 ~
She said yes! Even as I write this, hours later, my heart is still pounding in my chest. I can remember every detail: after leaving the restaurant, we went for a walk in the park. As we passed by the pond, I went down on one knee, and presented her with a ring and a proposal… And she said yes! This is the happiest day of my life… I have penned a letter to my parents informing them of the good news, and I will deliver it to the postman in the morning. For now, I must retire. The lack of sleep last night and all the excitement of this evening have left me exhausted.

August 7th, 1876 ~
At long last, we are married. We held the ceremony in London, at Temple Church, surrounded by the spirits of the knights of old. I felt as though our marriage was blessed not just by the priest and God, but by the spirit of chivalry, and an age long past. The best man was, as I wrote earlier, my childhood friend Jonathan Darrow. He gave an eloquent speech, congratulating myself and Emily, wishing us both good luck throughout our lives, and jesting about how the Church of England allows divorce. I do not believe it will ever come to that, though. Emily and I are so very much in love. Nothing could ever split us apart.
Emily’s father insisted on paying for it all… The church, the food, the musicians… I really cannot thank him enough. He is as generous as he is learned. He got along well with my parents, as well. Though they come from two completely different worlds – my own father is a tobacconist – They still managed to find so much to talk about. Indeed, both of our families got along splendidly. I could not have hoped for a better wedding. After our wedding this afternoon, we retired to our hotel to enjoy our first night together as a married couple. Thus far, it has been complete bliss, and I do not expect that to change. We will be staying here for the next three days before returning to Cambridge. I must admit, I still find the entire situation to be a bit unbelievable, though I am sure I will settle into it soon enough.

September 20th, 1876 ~
Last night we arrived back in London to visit my parents, who are most eager to hear from me. The only thing that spoiled our stay at the hotel last night was the constant howling of what sounded to be a stray dog, all throughout the night. It kept both Emily and I from getting any sleep at all. In the morning, we went to my parents’ house for lunch and tea. Emily’s father, having accompanied us to London, joined us as well. During the course of our discussion, it came out that two people had been found dead, their throats ripped apart and their bodies ravaged, as though my some large animal. The authorities suspect it is a wolf or wild dog of some sort, which would certainly explain the howling that kept us up at night.
Emily and I resolved to retire to our hotel before dark so as to avoid this creature. I do hope that the authorities will catch it swiftly; such a beast should certainly not be allowed to continue terrorizing the streets of London.

September 21st, 1876 ~
I am writing tonight’s entry from the spare bedroom in my parents’ house – Under the current circumstances, they felt that Emily and I should leave our hotel early and spend the remainder of our time in London here. Neither of us disagreed. Perhaps I should start at the beginning.
This morning, another man was found dead, another victim of the nocturnal menace I spoke of in my previous entry. This one was even worse for myself and my parents, as the man was Lewis Black, who has lived two houses down from us for the last fifteen years and is a close family friend. To think that a month ago he was at my wedding, and now he is dead… The thought brought all of us to tears. My father resolved that since the authorities are ineffective in eliminating the threat, the residents should take up arms to defend themselves. Reluctantly, I agreed, and as the sun dropped below the horizon, I went out with Emily’s father and mine, as well as several other men from our street, all armed, to hunt down and kill the predator. Emily begged me not to go, fearing for my safety, but her father assured her that we would all be together, and that what we were doing was for the good of London. I hated making her worry, but both our fathers were very stern in that I should go. Looking back, I should have remained resolute and stayed.
There were ten of us, all told. The others all had hunting rifles, though the only firearm I was skilled in was a pistol. Despite telling Emily that we would stay together, we came to the conclusion that we could cover more ground if we split up, and that we would yell if we saw it. What a fool I was for not returning home right then. An hour after searching through the streets and alleys around our home, I had found no sign of our quarry, and had lost all sense of where the others were. I was about to turn around and retrace my steps to where we had originally met and planned, when I heard a sound that chilled my bones: a deep, inhuman growling, followed by a frantic barking that was rapidly moving closer. Turning around, I beheld an immense black wolf running directly at me. I was so surprised that I did nothing to stop it, and it leapt, knocking me to the ground. I recovered from my shock in time to throw my left arm up in front of my face. The wolf locked its jaws onto it, though I am not so foolish to think that it would not instead have gone for my throat had I not acted when I did. Despite the pain, I managed to raise my other hand, which thankfully had maintained a tight grip on my pistol, and fire three shots into the beast. It yelped and released me, then padded off into the night. Though it had not died immediately, I had no doubt that it would soon suffer that fate. I managed one glance at the torn, bloody mess of my left arm before falling unconscious.
I do not know how long I lay there before someone found me, but I awoke in bed at my parents’ house, my arm wrapped in bandages. Emily was standing over me, crying. She was so relieved that I had come back alive, and told me of my parents’ insistence that we stay the night. She had also thought enough to return to our hotel for our things, including my diary. I have not failed to write in it since I began in April, and will not do so now simply because I have been attacked by a wolf.
So much writing and reflection has worn me out; I did not realize until now how tired I am. However, with the events of the day already told, I feel I can safely retire for the evening. It has been such a long, exhausting night… But, at least, it is over, and I have a beautiful woman by my side to keep me and comfort me throughout.

October 12th, 1876 ~
Wonderful news! Emily believes that she is with child. Having been ill these past few days, I urged her to call the doctor. Only an hour after his arrival, he called me to the bedroom to announce the happy news to both of us. While he cannot be sure until she begins to show signs, all of the evidence suggests that it is so. We spent the day talking about what we would do once she gives birth, including what we would name him (or her). I wished to name it after myself if it is a boy, or if it is a girl, then I should like her name to be Elizabeth. Emily, of course, would like the name to be Charles or Victoria. Well, there is still a great deal of time to decide, and I am quite sure we shall make up our minds once the time comes.
When she prepared dinner, I took a bottle of the finest champagne from the wine cellar to celebrate. Dom Perignon, 1853… A very good year. Emily asked for me to hold her in my arms as I wrote this, and it seems she has fallen asleep. Perhaps we should both retire to bed, as I must confess I have been feeling somewhat ill myself these last few hours. It is likely nothing serious… A mild head cold that will be gone in the morning. But, I should get a good night’s sleep. Doctor Duvanovich wants me at his office at eight o’clock sharp to discuss a most peculiar fossil found in French Canada.

October 13th, 1876 ~
Emily went this afternoon to visit her father and share with him the good news. She has not seen him since the incident with the wolf, and I believe she may have been feeling somewhat homesick. She will stay there through the evening, and return tomorrow afternoon. I do believe that spending some time at home will be good for her. As for myself, I did not feel as well this morning as I believed. And, though it is quite late, I do not feel tired, and fear I will have difficulty sleeping this evening. Perhaps taking a walk, and breathing in some fresh air will clear my head and alleviate whatever fever has befallen me.

October 14th, 1876 ~
I awoke this morning in some dirty alleyway halfway across town, my clothes and all my possessions missing. I remembered nothing of the night before, except that the pain of my head had begun to worsen. The only explanation for how I came to be in the state I found myself in this morning is that some ruffian must have hit me on the head and taken my clothes. I was lucky enough to find a clothesline with some pants hanging on them so as to not walk home as I was, though I do feel some guilt for having stolen them.
When I informed Emily of this, she was worried to death, but quite relieved that I was alive and seemingly unharmed. I am so thankful to have such a caring and loving wife. It is something I think of nearly every day, and I pray to God nightly to thank Him for blessing me so.
My headache has still not abated; I will retire early tonight, and call the doctor on the morrow.

October 15th, 1876 ~
Once again, I awoke lying on the ground without a scrap of clothing. This time it was in front of my house. Emily was furious. She believes I was out drinking. She went to stay at her father’s house for the night again; whether it is to punish me or to comfort herself she did not say; perhaps both. Needless to say, with all that occurred, I did not recall my plan to contact the doctor until late this evening; my head still pains me, but I still feel it can wait until the morning.
The other reason for not calling the doctor this evening was the startling news I heard this afternoon: it seems two people have been found dead. The startling thing about this is how eerily similar their deaths were to the wolf attacks last month in London. It is as though the creature survived and followed me here… But that is simply impossible. No, it is but a mere coincidence. I only hope that the authorities in Cambridge respond more quickly than those in London; I should not like to have to hunt again after the disastrous outcome last time. I was only mere inches away from death or permanent disfigurement – the bite was, as I have previously written, merely a flesh wound and healed smoothly with no complications of any sort – and I do not believe I will be so lucky next time.
My head is throbbing now… I will leave my diary open to this page to remind myself to call the doctor in the morning.

October 16th, 1876 ~
Doctor Duvanovich is dead. I know this because I killed him myself. I only have small flashes of memory – as if in a dream – but I know quite soon his body will be discovered, and it will be confirmed as truth.
I have not gone to the police to report this, though not for the reason one might think. It is because none would ever believe me if I told them what I know. Perhaps the best way to put it is the most obvious: last night, as I was lying in bed, trying vainly to sleep, my body underwent a strange and terrible metamorphosis. I became a wolf and, leaping through the window, padded through town until I happened upon the good doctor taking a late night walk and… I find this difficult to put to pen, though not nearly as difficult as it is to bring it to mind.
I… tore out his throat with my jaws, and ate his flesh. The very thought makes me ill even now, though I have long since emptied my stomach of whatever it may have contained. I was not in control of my actions; it was as though I was watching through the eyes of another. Through the eyes of the savage creature I had become. The fear I saw in the doctor’s eyes… The look on his face as he died… And the blood… Oh, God, the blood… It was horrible. I can barely stand to recount it, and yet I know I must. Only by facing this nightmare can I hope to overcome it.
I know now how I came to be in the state I was these last few mornings, and that I was the one responsible for the deaths that were reported. I have heard tales of werewolves before, but passed them off as mere superstition. I know now that they are frighteningly real. I fear for myself and others – especially Emily – and have been trying desperately to find some way to cure myself of the ailment I have been afflicted with. It is made all the more difficult since the one person who could conceivably help me is now dead. Dead, by my own hand. Even now my hand still shakes at the memory of it.
Emily returned early in the morning. She found me sitting in bed, shaking, still trying to pull myself together and come to terms with the events of the previous night. She assumed that it was because I missed her. I did not correct her. It would only worry her more, and she might believe I had been drinking again.
I attempted to get her to leave, to return to her father’s house and stay there for one more night. She refused, saying that she loved me too much to leave me again, and that whatever problems I may have we would work through together, for the sake of our child. I settled, therefore, in the insistence that she lock me in my study and barricade the door, making no attempt to open it until the morning, no matter what she might hear. Though she thought it a strange request, she eventually agreed. My study has no windows, so there should be no means of escape for me. It is for my protection and for hers.
I have taken a blanket with me so that I may try to sleep, though I know it will be futile. I will become a wolf once more, and quite likely make a fine mess of things before the night is out. But Emily will be safe. I will not kill again. Even if I have to lock myself in this room every night for the rest of my life.

October 17th, 1876 ~
She’s dead… Dear God, I killed her… And I knew every moment of it. Every minute, every second, every bloody instant of my transformation last night is etched into my mind, and I CAN’T GET IT OUT!
After transforming I broke through the door – I did not know how strong my other self would be – And went straight for Emily… And… Oh God, the blood, the blood! Everywhere! Pools of it beneath her body, splatters across the walls, the floor… Her torn face, bereft of its former beauty… And I did it… God, I cannot bear to think about it… But I must… I must, for writing in this diary seems the only way I can keep sane despite the atrocities I have committed.
I know not what I shall do now. My mentor, the man who has shown me nothing but kindness and has named me as his successor, is dead. My wife, the most beautiful, kind, loving, and caring woman in the whole world, who loved me so much that she would bear my children, is dead, her – our – unborn child with her. And others, whose names I do not know, have never known. Whose faces are a mystery to me. I know nothing of them. I know only that they are dead and, like Emily as Ivan Duvanovich, I am responsible. The creature I became, the madness within… It sickens me. I am disgusted, and repulsed by it… Oh, Emily, Emily! Foolish girl, why didn’t you go back to your father’s house? Why did you insist on staying?
God, I can still see her… I can still remember every detail of the massacre I inflicted upon her, the sight, smell, and, God, even the taste of her as I bit into her, gorged myself of her blood and flesh, ate my fill of her body, powerless to stop myself, for it was not me who was doing it, and yet, I am the one who killed her.
I… feel it. It is coming upon me again. The throbbing of my head. The burning of my limbs. The tingling of my hands. The twitching of my face. Soon, my body will fall away, and the transformation will be upon me. I must continue to write. I must. Must put pen to paper, must keep writing, writing, hoping to hold off the inevitable, hoping to postpone what must happen… God, Emily… Why? Why, why, WHY? Oh God, I can feel it… I can… Someone help me, please… Someone… It’s happening…

[BobIsBob]

In order to preserve the surprise (the story has an intentionally misleading name and introduction), I'm posting my comments at the end rather than at the beginning.

I wrote this a few years back for an English class, but the Halloween contest inspired me to post it. Hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

[Palko]

This is a fantastic story, gripping and believable, which is an impressive feat for a story about a werewolf.