From the Journal of Leveticus

[redstripe]

This is a new journal for a new beginning. An unruly mob bearing torches ensured my previous journals would never be read. It is a new lesson learned and it seems it is a time of many new things, the least of which is not my new benefactor.

It is a rare thing that someone recognizes the merit of my craft. It is a rarer thing still where we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement. Though remote, the laboratory my patron has provided me with is spacious. Aside from more mundane appliances, it is equipped with an enormous miller’s windmill affixed to a substantial dynamo that seems capable of providing me with all the electricity I require. It is a surprisingly stable source of energy given the wind that continuously whips across this icy wasteland. Though the cold may benefit the longevity of my cadavers, I am thankful for the fireplace and the store of wood.

Even if it weren’t for such manageable facilities, I would have accepted the job simply because my employer is so curious. She is a strange woman with steel blue eyes that betray her frigid countenance. I would sooner believe she were the personification of this wintery place than true flesh and blood for she does not display the usual revulsion at my materials or methods. Indeed, she seems completely devoid of emotion and comprised instead of cold, calculating logic. I find it a unique quality amongst women that quickly enamored me to her.

And the job, of course. At first I thought it was simply one of those tragedies of youth, a mother who lost her child in those first fragile months and who refuses to accept the death. More and more, though, I am convinced that the child is not her own if for the simple fact I do not think her capable of such an attachment. The cold had ensured that the tiny bundle was delivered to me remarkably fresh, its ghost seemingly only recently departed. Though it is delicate work on such a tiny babe, after I had rebuilt my apparati, it was a simple enough task.

I have heard the coroner’s bell and I know my work was well accomplished. Though distant, my benefactor is naïve. The dead do not return to us because they wish to live but because they hate the living. They are jealous of the blush, the warmth of the living and their desire for such manifests in the most gruesome appetites. No-one will suspect a sweet child of such horrors. Even in undeath, the babe is certainly that, sweet, but I do hope the coroner manages to salvage some of the bodies. I have faith my benefactor isn’t among the dead. Regardless, I have scheduled a visit to the morgue to restock my supplies. I am quite in need of a new lab assistant.

[Nathan Caroland]

Hah, rather enjoyed that and how you tied in a round about manner a couple of other characters into the story. I did get a serious laugh out of the last sentence though!

[Hinton]

An excellent short story. I look forward to more entries in the "journal".

[goblyn13]

Nice work. the description of the other characters without actually naming them is fantastic.

[redstripe]

Thanks for the kind words. After an evening of putting the finishing touches on Rasputina, I had caught myself writing about it in my journal. Seeing how friendly this forum is, I thought I'd share. I do hope to post more about some of my wyrd favorites in the near future.