June 5th 1626

Today I received troubling news from my dear brother, who set sail for the new world some two years past.

It has taken many months for this letter to come into my position, him having sent it some time in March.

We were wrong. The devils came with us and there are more besides. This country has it's own imps and demons and it is not the safe land we had hoped.

I can't convey how much this torments me.

I feel now my life here is done.

I will sail to the new world and meet with my brother.

July 20th 1626

I was lucky to find passage with a cargo vessel, mostly cloth and grain, but a few other passengers.

When darkness fell I did a sweep of the ship, laying salt where I could, checking boxes for vampires, but was pleased to find nothing to alarm me.

I may, in fact, sleep more soundly upon this vessel than I ever have.

July 24th 1626

I find myself itching to be off this ship and it is only four days!

I pray I may find the patience to continue, but this voyage is very tiresome. Perhaps my father was right when he said that you cannot leave the life any more than you can chose it. I have hunted since I were a small lad, as my father did before me, and my sons will do after I am gone.

But this ship and the endless expanse of ocean holds nothing to hunt, and a man with no purpose is a dangerous thing indeed.

July 31st 1626

There is a girl travelling alone and she is the object of much speculation.

The wife of a minister has taken her somewhat under her wing, but she will not divulge how it is she came to be travelling to the new world without husband or chaperone.

She is a small girl, not well fed, but pretty with a ready smile.

I feel that the ministers wife has made quite the pet of her, her other children being all sons, and she is making much of fussing about her and giving her things to sew.

Sometimes she slips away from this mother hen and sneaks up on deck during the night.

I have seen her many nights since we started this journey, although she has not seen me. My father did train me well on that account.

But I can't help but find my mind wanders at the thought of her smile.

August 4th 1626

The girls name is Margret Tully and she was the daughter of a wheelwright in Devon.

I know all this because last night I did make my presence on deck known and engage her in conversation.

She is more comely than I thought, not just in her looks but her mind.

As a hunter I rarely spend time talking to the fairer sex.

God understands that I have seen my fair share of wenches to my bed, but my life is not one where time for talk comes easily.

This is, perhaps, the longest I have not had to hunt and the first time I have talked at length with so intelligent a girl.

We talked into the night about stars and the ocean, her hopes for the future in the new world. She hopes to find work sewing, as she has a skilled hand, but knows it will be hard on her own.

The ministers wife has assured her she can stay with them, but Margrets tone implied that this was not what she left England for.

Naturally, I did not tell her much about myself.

Better for all involved to pretend the monsters do not exist.

August 7th 1626

I am not sure if I am ashamed or elated.

Last night, in the dark of the new moon, I did kiss Margret Tully.

I feel as though my heart is at once shattered into pieces and swollen with love.

How would I behave?

I would have her as my wife if she would have me, but there is no father to ask her hand, nor uncle or brother, and I fear the ministers wife would cause sorrow for us as she coverts the girl as a daughter.

There is a hardness in the wifes eyes though, and I wonder if daughter might just be another way of saying servant.

I will pray perhaps, and see if God will show me the path to take.

August 12th 1626

They say that God works in mysterious ways, and none more mysterious than what came to pass two days ago.

I waited at our usual spot on deck and Margret did not come.

My heart was heavy at the thought that she may have been ashamed at the kiss we had shared, but just as I thought to leave and retire for the night, she came, holding in her hands my journal!

Her face was frightened and as I approached she took a step back, as though fearful of me.

"Is it true? Are you a witch finder?"

I saw at once why she was afraid.

She thought me to be one of thosee charlatans who wouldn't know what a hex bag was if you waved it in their face.

"No my love. Not a witch finder. I promise."

"Then what? All these drawings, and writings. I would know what it is you do."

And so I told her.

I told her of my life as a hunter and she listened with a great interest.

Finally, she did take my hand and place my journal in it.

"I know something of the darkness." She said.

August 20th 1626

Today I am married.

We asked the captain if he would marry us and he agreed.

He also did talk at length with the minister and his wife and they agreed that I was an upright seeming fellow and that the girls future would be more certain with a husband in the new world.

The hunt for the correct things for a wedding sent the ship into somewhat of a good natured frenzy, there being nothing on this vast ocean to entertain us.

In due course a veil was made and I dug into my small purse and paid the cook for his own ring to use as a wedding band.

Our wedding was quick, it being held on deck in the noonday sun, and after, much merriment was had as the Captain allowed a little of the rations to be used as a celebratory meal.

And now I lay next to my wife.

My wife.

Writing by lamplight.

There is little privacy on this ship, there being but a thin blanket between us and the next person. But there will be time enough on shore for intimacy.

I am happy to have her by my side.

15th September 1626

Land has been spotted.

I am at once delighted and afraid.

These past weeks I have lived a sheltered, if dull life, but now I must return to the hunt.

Only this time I have a wife at my side.

A thousand worries race through my mind and I can only hope that I was not selfish in marrying her.

1st November 1626

My brother is dead.

We did travel from the port at Massachusetts, west, heading for the settlement my brother told me of, but on arriving I was told he had been gone since April, and having left all his belongings, did not seem likely to return.

The minister of this place did give me a parcel of his personal things and told me, with a steely eye, that his own journal was in there as well.

I would not have stayed long in this place, but Margret was much fatigued from the journey and begged we rest for a day or two.

A small cabin has been lent to us. It used to belong to a sheep farmer, but he has built his house now and had no use for it.

Many houses are being built to replace the crude cabins hastily put up when they first settled, but this cabin is fair enough for us.

2nd November 1626

Margret is with child.

I should be happy.

The future is too uncertain though.

My brothers journal is worrisome to read.

I fear that the monsters we had known in England are but a fraction of what awaits in the forests of the new world.

9th November 1626

The snow has come.

And such snow as I have never seen.

We will stay, it being too dangerous to go back to the port.

There is work to be had as these are a prosperous folk and there is a physician here.

Margaret is pleased that we will stay.

The baby should come in late spring and I am thankful. A baby born in such a harsh a winter as I fear we may have, would not thrive.

The sheep farmer traded with some of the native people who came to our settlement today.

They are a sight to behold, even one such as I who have seen many things was taken aback at their dress and manner, but I am assured that they are friendly enough and one or two are even learning a little of the English tongue, the better to trade.

I was much taken with the small boy who rode upon his fathers shoulders, the snow being too deep for him.

Such solemn knowing eyes I have not seen, but the fellow did smile for me when I handed him a little of the dried fruit I had in my pocket, and something inside me was very glad that in the spring I should be a father.

31st December 1626

There is little to do during these long dark nights but talk.

And I am grateful everyday for my Margret, who's mind is as sharp and witty as anyone's I've met.

Today though, she did confess to me some of her past which she had been afraid to share.

Her family where all dead, from a fever.

Because she had not succumbed to the fever, her village had declared her to be a witch, and so, she had stolen away with all the money and possessions she could carry and ran away to Plymouth.

"My love. Would it Vex you to know that I know a little of the craft?"

These words she had spoken in the dark, as darkness makes all men's tongues looser.

"My mother and grandmother knew of it. Most women in my village had a little herbal knowledge."

"The knowing of herbs is not witchcraft pet."

She was silent for a long time and I thought her sleeping.

"I know more than the mixing of herbs."

My hand did rest on her stomach, as though reassuring the child within.

"You did kill the witch. In your journal, it said…."

"Yes. I killed the witch. But she was dark, she had killed children."

"Would you kill me love?"

"Nay pet."

And I did hold her for a long time and I knew it to be true.

I could never lift a hand to her.

9th February 1627

I was called to the ministers house last night and told of a troubling thing he had witnessed.

A family was taken ill one by one and he was afraid that it was a vampyre, a daughter from the family having been attacked by an animal some time before had vanished into the woods and a frightened servant of his had claimed she had seen the girl returning to her house and leaving before sun up.

Barefoot in the snow, her night dress bloody.

Before attending the house in question I returned to my own cabin.

I made sure Margret would salt the threshold once I had left and handed her a flask of holy water.

She only nodded and I knew it was only one of the reasons I love her so.

How many women would have begged me to stay?

I arrived at the house to find the family all taken to their beds, their throats marked by the beast, but, as yet, none turned.

I salted everywhere but the doorway, leaving the vampyre no escape route once she would enter, then hid behind the door.

I will be honest and say I was giddy at the prospect of a hunt, having not had chance to hunt since I left England, and when she crossed the threshold, it was hard for me to stay still long enough to let her truly enter.

As I shut the door the beast did turn at me, hissing like a cat, her fangs extended, she rushed at me but I swung my cleaver and decapitated her quickly.

The minister helped me remove her body and I covered her in salt and burned her in the grave we had dug in the frozen ground.

"It is well and good that the child is now in the earth." The minister said when we had finished. "But we should probably ask ourselves, where is the beast that turned her?"

11th April 1627

It is a year since my brother vanished, and if he is still of this world it is hard to imagine he survived the winter.

Margret is now very big with child.

The baby seems robust, it wanting to kick it's way out I feel! But Margret has a very pleasing glow to her cheeks and with spring well and truly here, it's hard to be anything but happy.

I have spent much time conversing with one of the native men.

He calls himself Sahkonteic which means White eagle.

His English is very good and he is teaching me, with great patience, some of the words of the Wampanoag people.

I feel I know him well enough to tell him of my past and even showed him my brothers journal.

He pointed to a drawing of a tall skinny man and told me it was a Wendigo. A monster that used to be a man until feasting on the flesh of his fellows and turning into the beast.

Truly there are many monsters to learn of in this new country, but the native tribes seem more aware than the English do.

When my Brother left England, it was to find a place with no monsters. He was tired of his life and wanted no more to do with it.

I am grieved that he could not have his wish.

21st May 1627

My daughter is born.

Margret had a fair labour, with two women in attendance.

White Eagle stayed outside with me, him becoming a firm friend here. From time to time he sang quietly to himself and I found it a comfort.

She is a fine healthy child, with strong lungs and a dark crop of hair like her mothers.

When all I've known is blood and death, to look down on her face, to place my finger in her tiny grasping hand, it's nothing less than a miracle.

We have named her Margret, for her mother, but we shall call her Meg.