Prologue
The bar he had chosen was quiet, empty and secluded. Perfect.
The few men who did persist to frequent at amongst themselves at the bar, talking in mumbles and grunts to one another.
The only woman in the room stood behind the bar. She poured two glasses of wine upon request and handed them to the customer.
He sat down at an empty table away from the others. He lit the brand new, white candle with a lighter from his pocket, just to get the atmosphere going.
Out of habit, he aligned the glasses up with the candle, one on either side.
With a deep sigh, he rested his head on his chin and began to slowly sip at the wine.
Chapter 1
It had been a long time since I had risen from my grave – quite literally.
Presumed dead, the idiots of the human race had already sealed the shaped wooden box and covered it with mud about six feet below the Earth's surface. I was unimpressed as I had to dig my way out – losing about four nails in the process, and by the time I reached the top I'm going to tell you I looked a mess. My usually soft, silky black hair had never said, "Hide me!" before in it's life. I spent a whole hour after I was out just picking the bits of mud and grass and twigs from my beautiful hair. Not only that, but my 'priest' outfit had now been mutilated. Ripped, covered in God knows what and with a massive, gaping hole over the heart area. I have no idea what happened to my dog-collar.
When I had managed to get to the top, to seat myself down on the edge of the hole dug specially for me, with my legs dangling over the edge, I was not a happy bunny. I was rather pissed off, if you want the truth.
Looking around, amusingly I noted my location; a cemetery. My gravestone wasn't all that special, either. The usual. Nothing to say someone particularly important was buried here. Looking down at my presumed coffin, I noted also that it was a plan, light wooden box. I was surprised they even bothered to give me that – they might as well have just thrown me in there as a corpse. Which raised an important question.
Why was I in a coffin in the ground in the first place?
Turning my body slightly round, I peered through the darkness at my gravestone. Indeed, as expected, there was my name, "Toshimasa Hara". To this I looked miffed. Toshiya would have been nice, add mental note to beat the shit out of the man who carved the letters – rather carelessly – into the stone. I continued. Well, I would have done if I could actually read what was written there. Certainly I could make out no date in the dim light of the moon. I guess it was sometime around the middle of the night? I am guessing what gave me this idea was the fact it was very cold, very dark and the moon was out with millions of sparkly white stars surrounding it – a fair bit to go on really.
Sitting back, I pondered what my options were. I could sit here and think about my situation a little longer; climb back into the box and believe this all to be some sort of twisted dream and pray I might wake up, or I could go walking the streets in search of answers. None really struck any sort of enthusiasm within me.
Oh, silly me. I suppose you're wondering a few things. In between wanting to know why I am in a coffin in the first place – I wish I knew – you're probably not too sure about the priest's outfit, are you? Well, at last. Something I can tell you!
You see, I'm a bit dishonest. Alright, to tell the truth, I am a cheating bastard, and oh, I do love gossip. That's why I am in a priest's outfit. Allow me to explain.
As a nobleman, I live a pretty boring life. During the day that is; there's simply nothing to do and I'm so young, vibrant, and full of life – well, that last one is currently debatable – and when I have nothing to do, the natural male instinct comes out in me. You see, I am such a good actor I can get away with almost anything. Probably with murder if I had the desire to.
Anyway, I have adorned this priest outfit. I'm not sure were I got it from but I thought it looked so nice on me, the way the tight fitting cotton showed off my shapely figure…
Sorry, I didn't mean to go off talking about myself.
I couldn't help but go to Church dressed in it and sit in one of those confessions booth things. Before long people from all over the town were talking away to me about their sins. The opportunity was too good to miss up, and I have been renowned as quite the knowledge man. Of course, no one would ever suspect it was me because I'm simply too nice and too good at bluffing my way out of bad situations. Like I said, I was a nobleman.
Now you know why I have a priest outfit. Also, this gives us – or me – the first clue. Isn't this exciting?
It must have taken place earlier on today. While I was in the church, on my way to or my way back from. Every little helps, right?
By now, that cold wind has eaten through to my bone and left me as a shivering mass. It was time to get back to my house. Considering I wasn't sure which cemetery I was buried in, this was going to prove difficult.
May I remind you how pissed off I am about my clothes and hair? Good.
Pushing myself carefully up onto my feet, with dignity I brushed as much of the mess off as I could, and proceeded with cautious steps out of the cemetery.
In the darkness I found the idea of walking rather difficult; not to mention the fact I was scared shitless. With little idea of the time, walking around at night in cemeteries where they buried dead people (in some cases still alive people) was considered more than a stupid idea. Laden with stories of vampyres, werewolves, ghouls and zombies, adult or none, I was still trembling as I managed to tread onto living ground.
The street was empty, save for the few carriages that littered the road side, waiting impatiently for their passengers to drag themselves from the warmth of the party to be driven home. I could only wonder just how warm those homes were; the sweet aroma of alcohol and the lingering scent of the meal a few hours past, a freshly lit cigar. My mouth had already begun to water at the very idea.
As I walked along the pavement, heels clicking softly on the brickwork, I could only cuddle my arms together and avoid the darker alleyways were not even the lights of heaven could reach - basically, the street lamps stayed to the nicer areas, and so did I. The idea of being caught in an alleyway and mercilessly slaughtered having previously made it out alive from Ghoul City, did not seem like a very promising event as I'm sure you will agree.
Slipping in through the door to my beautiful mansion, which wasn't too far from were I was buried, thank god, I closed the door behind me and slipped the long black coat from my shoulders to reveal a black shirt beneath. My figure was still as shapely.
Running a hand through my hair I sighed a breath of relief and called my maid via the small, bronze bell on the cabinet in the hallway. Besides the bell, there were a few sheets of cheap paper and quill, ink for writing. It was now that I noticed the scribbled note on the paper. I remained completely unimpressed at the poor handwriting, as I squinted, bending slightly to try to decipher the letters. Of course, I had figured by now it could only have been from the maid, Margarita.
She was a Czech lady, given an English name. A slave, of course. In my spare time I had tried to teach her how to write and read. She already spoke a fair amount of the language. Enough so that we could understand each other.
Despite her inability to master handwriting and spelling, she was a pretty faced woman of…seventeen. A little young, perhaps, but not too young. I do believe she was fairly skinny, of good height with long, deep brown hair. Big green eyes. Large, pouting lips…
Back to the note.
She had attempted to write something that I could only guess was getting some groceries. With no time or anything, I could only presume it had been before my burial. My next guess was she was staying at another residence, presumably one of my acquaintances.
Discarding the note out of my mind completely, I climbed up the stairs and into the bathroom. I was not at all happy about running my own bath, but need be. My maid obviously wasn't here to do it for me.
Due to my extreme wealth, my bathroom was properly tiled, had a spacious tub that was more than big enough for myself, and with plumbing. Hot and cold water could be pumped out of either tap or both at my desire. Already I had the water running, and was fumbling around in the cabinet for the bubble stuff Margarita often used. I was very fond of those bubbles, too. You haven't lived until you've had a bubble bath. It is one hell of an experience, especially when you have someone else sitting opposite.
By now the tub was full and I had to return to the tub, no bubbles tonight. I was disappointed as it was rare I never had the luxury of bubbles. Undressing, I came slowly back to the tub and bent down. Switching off the water, I sunk my body, long and lithe, beautiful, below the surface of the water. I didn't even have someone to share the tub with, either. My face was curved into that of a pout, as I stared down at my naked body.
What was I supposed to do with myself now? Up until this point I had been occupied with getting home – now here, I was left alone to think about the situation once more. Memories of waking up to the darkness, and the instinct, the burning need to get out; the constant digging through the mud flooded my mind, so dream like.
It comes down to one question again. Why was I buried in the first place?
Earlier I presumed they had found me unconscious, and hurried to burry me in case I was actually dead. It happens often; the newspapers are often covered with stories about 'The Living Dead – Woman actually alive'. That's why they started tying bells to fingers. But I didn't have a bell. Why didn't I have a bell? I should have had a bell. I am no poor person. I am rich. My clothes obviously displayed my wealth. I am not sure whether or not I am supposed to be insulted or worried. Could it have been murder? Who would possibly want to murder me?
Picking up the yellow sponge from the side of the tub, I sat upright and dribbled water down my back, staring at the bronze taps.
I could look at my situation in two ways. I squeezed harder on the sponge and scrubbed my shoulders towards the front. I could look at it as though I should be scared. Someone is out to murder me. Go to the police.
Or.
Refilling the sponge with water, I scrubbed down my legs, right to the toes. I didn't want to smell of the graveyard anymore. That mouldy, decaying smell. Ew.
I could have some fun with my situation. My arm stopped halfway up my abdomen. My eyes remained fixated to the taps, as though they might suddenly appear to have mouths and start talking to me. "Nobody has to know I am actually alive…"