Taken from the journal of Benjamin Garrick, physician.

May 28th 1692, Sozopol

The air hath been heavy with heat today. The townsfolk that dare to speak with me tell me that it is unusually warm for this time of year and the sea breeze hath done little to calm the temperatures. They are, of course, naturally accustomed to the coastal weather, yet I, an Englishman by birth, am more at home with the rain and overcast skies of London. More than once today I hath felt my shirt soaked from collar to hem as I tended the sick and bed-ridden but no amount of mine own discomfort hath forced me to wish for the cool of the night hours. I would endure the sun a thousand times over so not to face the night, for it brings with it an unnatural quiet that rattles me and yet I cannot determine neither rhyme nor reason for it.

I suppose I should be thankful that those afflicted are calmer during the night hours. During the day, when consciousness cruelly allows them no peace, they endure much pain and I confess to be at a complete loss of how to aid them with their suffering.

My initial diagnosis upon arriving in Sozopol after examining some of the sick was that it could indeed be the Plague. It is a coastal town after all, and every day ships come into the port to trade, all potentially bringing with them something far worse than a few drunken seamen. Fever and muscle spasms are common, as is pain and swelling of the throat and yet their skin shows no sign of the Black Death. Not one person displays the dreaded black spots upon their flesh. They hunger and yet will not eat. They thirst and yet will not drink. The heat is not helping of course and they perspire until their bed linen is saturated. I try to air their abodes in the hope that the sea breeze that drifts through the town will offer them some relief, but the sunlight seems to bother them and so I am forced to drape the windows with blankets or other such coverings.

Once the sun has taken its leave, their suffering seems to ease somewhat. Again, this to me, does not speak of the Plague, for I have never heard of nor seen any plague victim who finds a moments peace from their affliction, whether night or day.

I must admit that the priest's words hath not stopped haunting me since I arrived here. I dearly wish to shake this feeling that chills me to the very bone, this sense that I am up against something over which I simply cannot prevail and yet my rational mind - my physician's mind - tells me that logic will out. It tells me that I will find the cause of this and I will find a cure. I must. For five days now I hath tended the sick of Sozopol to no avail. So far, it is fortunate that not one of the afflicted hath died under my watch, but since my arrival, I am advised of newly sick each day. At my last count, ten more hath fallen prey to this mysterious illness. It is a voracious and vicious malady indeed to strike so many so quickly and I must act with haste, yet how do you begin to cure what you cannot diagnose?

The heavy sense of foreboding that hangs over Sozopol appears to be highly infectious. Indeed, upon entering the town, I suffered many a suspicious glance myself, although no doubt a grinning fool who bid everyone a good morning with such gusto was a curious sight to behold in a town that is gripped by so much misery and darkness. Let me tell you, it was not long before that foolish enthusiasm was drained from my spirit!

Despite receiving barely a good morning from those I met along the way, I continued upon my path until I happened upon a young gentleman on his knees in the dirt, his bag and its contents spilled out on the ground. Immediately I set about assisting the young fellow, who thanked me in surprisingly good English and I noted with some enthusiasm that it was the tools of a physician that lay strewn about his feet.

I enquired as to whether he was indeed a doctor and the fellow met my question with a dramatic wave of his hand and insisted that he was not, which perplexed me greatly since he clearly held a doctor's bag in his possession. He told me that his name was Andrey and he had been the old physician's assistant. Since there was now no physician in the town, the task had befallen this poor young man to aid the sick, yet it became clear to me very quickly that he lacked the knowledge and skill to do anything of value. Naturally he was overjoyed to learn that I, myself, was a doctor and immediately set about informing me of the town's predicament and asked me to accompany him with haste to the home of one of the stricken, a local fisherman named Petar.

I was shocked to find Petar alone in his small dwelling located near the outskirts of town, with no one but Andrey to tend to him. Petar was barely conscious, his bed stained and stinking from his own putrid offerings and was clearly showing signs of malnourishment.

I was disgusted at the lack of adequate care for this poor man and demanded to know how he could be left to suffer alone, save for the visits from the physician's assistant. Andrey told me that the fisherman's wife had cared for him until just two nights afore, when she had proclaimed Petar to be cursed by the Devil and so had fled with her two children and stripped the house bare of all their belongings. The man had been left with nought but a bed, a few armchairs, some clothing and not much else besides.

"Why on God's earth would she believe such a thing?" I demanded of Andrey. Of course, I knew of the priest's fears about the Devil's grip on the residents of Sozopol, but I was not about to place credence on such a claim until I had witnessed absolute proof of it myself.

"He attacked the boy. He attacked their first-born son," Andrey replied.

"Was he prone to violence towards the child?" I asked, to which Andrey said no, Petar was a quiet man, who loved his wife and sons very much and worked hard to provide what little he could for them.

"Then surely his wife must understand that he was no doubt delirious and mad from fever when he struck his son?" I said. I did not condone the attack, of course, but I hath seen many a man behave oddly and out of character when slave to fever.

"He did not strike him, sir," Andrey said, his voice but a whisper. "He clawed at the child's throat and left a welt from his ear to his chest."

I was shocked and saddened to hear this, but held firm my opinion regardless. I could not believe this good, quiet man could intentionally seek to hurt his child and wondered how he could even find the strength to rise from his bed to commit such an act.

"And what of his neighbours? His friends? Could not one of them come to his aid now that his wife hath gone?"

"No one will come, sir," he confessed with grim face.

I was aghast. Neither Andrey nor Petar's wife and children had succumbed to any supposed contagion and yet no one else would come to help this man!

"Have they no compassion for their fellow man, their neighbour, their kinsman?"

"They have compassion only for God's creatures, sir," Andrey replied, making the sign of the cross against his chest. "And they say he is not one. Not no more anyhow."

"Do they speak for God himself?" I said. "There is no priest here to proclaim this man is not with God, I should know sir, for I met him upon the road just today. Or did he utter such nonsense before he left, condemning these poor afflicted people to their lonely deaths without beloved ones to care for them? Tell me!"

Andrey seemed very troubled as he looked at Petar with suspicious eyes, that same look of suspicion offered by so many that had greeted me when I had first set foot in Sozopol.

"The tavern owner Rumen said he saw Petar talking with a stranger down by the docks one night. They were laughing, walking together arm in arm. That very same night Petar fell sick."

"And from that we can assume that he is now in league with the beast? Come man! Surely a chance meeting with one stranger does not mean he loves the Devil now?"

"It is said that many of the sick have been seen with this same stranger, sir."

"Have you seen him, this stranger?"

Andrey appeared somewhat confused. "No sir, I have not," he said.

"Then how can you be sure he even exists? It is wild conjecture, sir, nought more. One person claims to see a stranger with one of the afflicted and the town goes mad with rumour and accusation and the sick are left to suffer. It is utterly preposterous!"

"I only say what I have been told, Mr Garrick."

"Yes, yes," I cried, "but what do you believe?"

"I know not what to believe, sir. All I know is that no one can help these people. We have tried and we have prayed and still they sicken more with every passing day. Forgive me, but it is hard not to believe what the townsfolk claim is true."

"And what do they claim, Andrey?"

"That God has truly deserted this place, sir and the beast dances through our streets, unchallenged and free to feast on these poor lost souls. Sozopol belongs to him now and we are nothing but fodder for the Devil himself."