Graham Masterton - Descendant

My father stood on the opposite side of the room, saying nothing.

“Don’t blame your father,” said my mother. “Love can make us blind to other people’s suffering. Love can make us very selfish, and cruel.”

I shook my head. “So it was you that Duca was after, when it tried to sail to America. Duca knew that it wasn’t your body in that airplane.”

My mother nodded. “It may be looking for me still.”

“And if it finds you?”

“If it survived, and it manages to find any of us, then I’m afraid we have a very horrible experience waiting for us.”

I didn’t know what else to say. My mother came up to me and held out her hands, but I couldn’t take them.

“I have your watch,” I told her. “I’ll make sure you get it back.”

So now you know the truth. Now you know what really happened during that summer of 1957, in South London, and now you know what happened afterward.

Now you know that when your great-grandfather first went to Romania, and fell in love with your great-grandmother, and decided to marry her, he was quite aware of what she was, and he was also aware of the price that other people would have to pay to keep her perfect for all eternity.

Now you know what blood runs in my veins, and why I was capable of being so heartless in my pursuit of Screechers, and so cruel when I finally caught up with them. I have Screecher blood in me too, as your father does, and you do.

In spite of our cruelty, though, we’re deeply sentimental, which is why your great-grandfather could never destroy my mother, or seal her away; and which is why I could never bring myself to destroy your grandmother, although she still lies in the cellar, in a lead casket, bound by the seals and rituals which my mother was taught in her childhood.

I don’t know for sure if Duca is still walking this earth, looking for me, and looking for your grandmother. But vampires never forgive, and they never forget, and you should keep your eyes open for men and women with pale faces, and you should tightly close all of your windows at night.

I am old now, James, and I cannot protect you any longer. One day soon you will inherit my house and you will also inherit the casket that lies in the cellar. I could never bring myself to destroy the woman I loved, and I am sorry that I have left you such a legacy. But whatever you decide to do, always remember that I loved you.

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