Taken from the journal of Benjamin Garrick, physician.

May 31st, 1692, Sozopol.

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I hath neglected my writings these past few days, for my time here hath been occupied so greatly that I have barely found a minute's peace to eat or drink, let alone put ink to page.

Peace is nought but a long-lost feeling, I fear, because there is no peace to be found in Sozopol and certainly none to be found in my heart nor my mind. Now, fear; that is something that is very much in existence here and it is fear that grasps me now, tightly by the throat until I feel I cannot breathe from its cold clammy grip.

When I arrived here, I came with the belief that I could save these poor people. I was determined to offer them some hope and yet after tonight's happenings, I find myself falling short of hope myself. I ask you, what good is a physician who carries no hope in his heart? All the scientific knowledge in the world cannot aid you if you do not believe you can help someone and I am no longer convinced that it is within my capabilities to save the people here.

I am worried for Petar. His condition still does not improve and he is becoming severely malnourished and dehydrated. I cannot force but one morsel of bread nor one drop of water down the poor man's throat. Oh how he suffers so! This night, not even the coming of dusk could ease his agony. In fact, if anything, he grew more agitated and when he was conscious, he did beg and plead with me in his native language. With Andrey needed elsewhere in the town, I was at a loss to translate much of Petar's mad ramblings but I did recognise the words 'gladen sam' to mean that he hungered. I, of course, hurried to prepare Petar something to eat when I heard a thump of noise and ran with haste back to Petar, only to find him on the floor, desperately trying to drag his skeletal body towards the door.

What a truly awful sight to behold! I tell you, that man is nought but skin and bone. The flesh doth hang loose from his withered frame and his body is ravaged horribly by raw patches of skin from all his time in the cot. When I tried to help lift his prostrate form, I was surprised to see the life suddenly spark in his eyes at my touch and he began to struggle in my arms.

Let me tell you I hath never seen such a face as that! It was not a man, but some animal, intent on overpowering me, for what reason I surely did not know but I admit to feeling terrified of Petar then.

Thankfully it was not hard to push him away and he did fall to the floor onto his back. His chest heaved in and out in the most violent of manners and his blood-shot eyes bulged from their sockets as if they might burst free from his skull. After a while, he grew still and I was certain that he must surely be dead, yet a gasp of breath did escape his lips and the poor soul continued to live.

When Andrey returned, I left with haste for I could not stand to remain there a moment longer. I am tortured by my inability to save this man and I am tortured to bear witness to his suffering. Nothing I attempt doth ease his pain and meanwhile all I can do is stand idly by whilst he grows weaker and weaker. I curse my own failure!

Should one pray for the death of another? Is it right, that a physician like myself who has sworn to save lives, should plead with God to take one? For that is what I hath done. These past few days, I hath verily prayed for Petar's suffering to end, but I wonder now, do I pray for his death in order to end his suffering or to end mine own?

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June 2nd, 1692

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Forgive me for my weak penmanship, for my hand shakes so as I write this. No amount of rum can strengthen my spirit nor steady my heart this night, as I sit here in my dwelling with the door bolted and drapes drawn. What good bolted doors and closed drapes can do against the irrational workings of a haunted and hysterical mind, I know not, but for some reason they offer me a small sense of comfort and I must take that comfort from wherever it may come, whether that be from inside a locked room or in the bottom of a rum bottle.

I was followed home tonight. My rational mind tries to persuade me that I am merely effected by the evening's revelations and that I hath allowed myself to become hysterical, all upon the words of a child, but I know with absolute certainty that what I believe is the truth.

Since I arrived in Sozopol, I hath often pondered on the fact that not more children hath fallen prey to the contagion. They are the most likely victims, being weaker and more susceptible to the usual maladies and yet the most affected tend to be adult males. Tonight, however, I went to the dwelling of a child called Emil who began to sicken not long after his ninth birthday. I have visited Emil on a number of occasions since he became bed-ridden and my heart hath bled to see one so young be stricken with such an immobilising and terrible sickness. It is one thing to witness an adult suffer, but to see a child, so frail and so small, thrash wildly about his bed and scream in pain, well, it did weaken my spirit terribly.

When I arrived, he was sleeping and his parents did rejoice with me that earlier that day the boy had awoken and did speak with them, albeit briefly, but with more coherence than he had displayed for some days. They had also managed to persuade their son to drink some water, just half a cup, but I was comforted by this development and dared myself to hope that maybe this boy would come back to us.

Oh how foolish I was to hope for such a thing!

Later the boy did awake with such a start and proceeded to vomit with such violence that even I - who hath seen the most heinous of things the body can expel in my time as physician - was truly shocked by the force of his sickness. With haste, I did clean the boy and again tried to persuade the child to drink some water, but he refused and appeared to be gasping for breath. The room was hot and stifling, with the stench of his vomit pervading the air and so I reached across to open the small window aside his bed.

When the boy grabbed hold of my wrist, it was all I could do to not cry out loud in surprise. Digging his fingers into my flesh, Emil shook his head and was quite hysterical in his insistence that I did not open the window. He pulled me closer and closer and for a moment I expected to look into his face and see the same animal hunger that Petar had shown.

Instead the boy appeared utterly petrified. His eyes were wide with such a terrible fear and as he held onto me, his whole body trembled.

"Vrykolakas! Vrykolakas!" he whispered.

I was at a total loss for I did not know this word. His parents, however, who are good God-fearing people, almost collapsed upon hearing it and his mother began to shriek in the most fearful manner. I demanded to know what it meant for it clearly terrified them both. The father, who did not speak much English, was fortunately able to translate this one word.

Vampires!

I hath heard whispers of this in the town already and but dismissed it as simple hysteria. Stories about these despicable creatures of the night are common here in the East, but I am a physician from London no less, and hath never put much stock in such fairy tales. Yet the boy was insistent and he repeated it over and over again in a way that did unnerve me. Emil's parent's made the sign of the Cross and brandished the simple crucifixes they wore around their necks.

The child began to scream then, clutching at his own throat as if he could not breathe and just as I was trying to calm him, he stiffened in my arms. His whole body went into spasm and then after a few moments, he was finally still. Emil was dead.

I was stunned that after seeming to improve that day, Emil's condition had changed so suddenly and so dramatically. Andrey arrived and took up a conversation with Emil's father that saw them both shoot me a number of wary looks of which I felt highly offended and I did tell Andrey this, lamenting how we could return to attributing blame and cause to the foreigner in town, when all I had done was attempt to help these people. Andrey apologised profusely and assured me no offence was intended and that Emil's father was merely discussing the funeral arrangements and was concerned that I would not understand their customs.

"A funeral is a funeral," I exclaimed. "And I have already seen two happen here since my arrival. Why should I not understand? It is not my job to question their customs."

"This one is different," insisted Andrey. "For the suspicions that such an abomination has taken place here can mean only one thing. We must bury the boy tomorrow with haste. A stake must be driven through the boy's body before he is laid in the ground and not only that, but we must now exhume the other two deceased and do the same to them before it is too late."

I was aghast. "Too late for what, Andrey?"

"To stop them rising from the grave, Dr. Garrick."

I cannot tell you how troubled I was to hear such talk. When you hath travelled as I hath done, you discover many customs and beliefs that you do not necessarily believe in yourself, but you come to respect them, out of respect for the people and places that welcome you in. Yet I could not respect this. How could I make peace with this notion of desecrating the boy's body in such a way? To me, that was the true abomination!

I left Emil's house with a dark cloud enshrouding my heart. The whole world had descended into chaos and my mind was in utter turmoil. I was so immersed in mine own tumultuous thoughts that it was some time before I realised that I could hear footsteps on the road behind me.

When I stopped and surveyed the darkened street, I could see nothing and no one. Cursing the town's infectious hysteria and cursing myself for becoming susceptible to such nonsense, I continued and then, again, came the footsteps, yet this time much closer.

I stopped once more, feeling an irrational fear grip me and although I still could not see anything or anyone pursuing me, I was unable to shake the feeling that somebody really was there. A shiver passed over my body as if a thousand eyes watched me from the shadows. The terror I felt was almost indescribable in nature as I have truly never experienced such a cold grip on my senses as I did tonight. I am not a superstitious man by any means. I prefer to put my faith in science and medicine and in the will of the Lord, but this fear that overcame me was so strong that I acted, I'm almost ashamed to say, completely on pure instinct and I ran. I ran until I thought my heart would burst from my chest and I could barely catch my breath.

I tell you now, that a learned and educated man I might be, but I cannot simply ignore what is happening here. Whatever followed me through the dark streets of Sozopol did pursue me right to the door of this very inn. I saw nothing and yet I know this to be the truth of it all. I despise myself for believing in such hysterics and fairy tales and I despise myself more for allowing my hand to shake so terribly as I write this. I dare not peek out of my window because in my heart, I know whatever evil exists in this town – and yes, I do now speak of evil – is waiting outside.

It waits and it watches and I fear that time is now the only thing that stands between us.