Midnight in the savage garden part 1

 Midnight in the savage garden 

chapter one

My name is Christian Knight I am a paranormal investigator based out of Montreal Quebec Canada, I have now five years of investigating the paranormal under my belt. I also run a nightly podcast where I recount some of what I experienced on investigations. I sometimes will interview guests in the same field as I.   I have traveled to many haunted places all over the North American continent.   I have investigated haunted cemeteries all over the USA.  Have gotten many bizarre and interesting things on tape.  I am no stranger to the strange.  It finds me.  What follows is probably one of if not the most strange story I  have ever experienced in all my years as an investigator.  It begins with a rather odd email I received one day in my inbox from someone calling themselves simply Desdemona from New Orleans.  New Orleans, Louisiana.  Not sure what she expected from someone who lives in Montreal Quebec Canada.  Thousands of miles away from  her.  Why reach out to me specifically?  How did she find out about me? How did she get my email?  I had so many questions after reading her email.  Her desperate plea for me to make the trip to New Orleans to help her with his problem. She describes being nightly harassed by “ something” that he never really sees, only hears it or senses a presence.  The presence does not feel human.  The “ thing” as she refers to it, never attempts any meaningful contact; it simply does things like tap on his bedroom window in the middle of the night waking her from sleep only to find no one there.  She has also heard strange sounds at night outside, once She heard a howling.  Like a wolf.  Yet no one ever appears.  Then it leaves her a hand written note in ancient cursive.  A photo of said note is attached to the email.   They seemed cryptic, filled with symbols and writings I did not recognize.  It was like nothing I had ever seen.  It seemed almost like some sort of gibberish in an ancient language.  I almost dismissed the email then and there as just another crazy kid, who found me via a google search.  Still just to be sure I decided to do my own bit of googling.  I found something there that caught my attention.  The language was indeed ancient.  According to google it was Sumarian in nature.  No kid could have conceived of this or  made it up.  I emailed Desdemona back saying I would make the necessary arrangements to meet her in New Orleans.  I would send another email with the times once I had everything booked and then we could agree to meet somewhere public in New Orleans to discuss things further.  

As I landed in the vibrant city of New Orleans, I was met with a wall of heat that wrapped its arms around me. I could hardly breathe. I felt a strange energy in the air, almost like the supernatural was interwoven into the very fabric of the city. I met Desdemona in a small café, in the French Quarter where she shared more about the occurrences at his home. Her fear was palpable, and I knew I had to approach this investigation with caution.

We headed to Desdemona's house, and as we walked through the charming streets of the French Quarter, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. Upon entering her home, I set up my recording equipment, preparing to document any unusual activity that might occur.

As night fell, the atmosphere became tense. Desdemona seemed anxious, anticipating the mysterious "thing" to manifest once again. We sat in silence, listening for any sounds or signs of a presence. Suddenly, a chilling howl echoed outside the window, sending shivers down our spines. Without warning, the room temperature dropped, and we could see our breaths in the air.

Moments later, a faint tapping sound started on the window. Desdemona's eyes widened, and she clutched my arm tightly. I began recording the tapping, hoping to capture any evidence of the supernatural presence. But when we looked outside, there was nothing to be seen.

Then, in the midst of the silence, we heard a whisper-like voice echoing through the room. The words were barely audible, but they sounded like a child pleading.  “ Help me.  Let me out”.  Then “ No, please.” 

The night continued with eerie incidents - objects moving on their own, unexplained shadows dancing on the walls, and the strange howling persisting outside. Desdemona showed me the note left by the entity, and it was indeed filled with arcane symbols and enigmatic writings. I needed help deciphering it.

The following day, I reached out to a local expert in ancient languages and symbols, hoping they could provide some insight into the mysterious note. The expert identified the script as a forgotten form of vampiric writing, known to be used by an ancient vampire clan.  I thanked the expert for the information and went back to my hotel.  

The child’s voice haunted me as I poured over the ancient written note, what happened to that child?  Why were they so doomed to forever haunt Desdemona’s home.  I began a search into the property where Desdemona lived.  I searched the address online and  I found this rather odd story dating back to the 1930s, the building was once owned by two brothers reportedly.  They had murdered several young children, boys and girls.  When they were caught they had several victims tied in the rooms where they had been draining their blood and drinking it apparently.  

So now I had who the ghost was that was pleading for our help but who was tapping on Desdemona’s windows nightly terrorizing her?   I decided I would go back to Desdemona's tomorrow to see if I could find out more information. 

When I got to Desdemona’s He was quite agitated and in a panic.  The “ thing” as he had taken to calling it had appeared again last night, only this time it left this rather old journal on Desdemona’s door step.  I took the book from Desdemona, and saw that it was a journal, one by a Voltaire, or that was the name on the inside front cover page.  I asked Desdemona if I could have this for a while so that I might read it and perhaps gain more insight into who or what was terrorizing her.  She agreed to let me borrow the journal if it could help in any way get rid of this thing.  

Back at my hotel that evening I took out Voltaire’s journal and began to read.  

“November 7th 1789. The Bastille” 

"  It was cold and  damp  in this stinking cell.  The smell  of human excrement and sweat saturated the air  in the Bastille. Paris, France, the center of the French Revolution.  I had been arrested for being a dirty filthy scoundrel Aristocrat.  I had only recently joined to fight against this revolution to save as many of my brother and sister noble men and women as I could from this awful revolution.  I had killed 5 citizens of the Republic, myself and wounded more fatally in battle.  There were violent riots in the streets, people hauled off to the Bastille daily, only to be killed in the public square the next day.  Madame La Guillotine was just getting started, her blade soaked in the blood of many innocent people." 

"I sat in my stinking cell awaiting my fate,  the air heavy with the scent of rotting flesh, human excrement and vomit. The stone walls of my cell  were closing in upon me.  This is Hell if there is such a place.  Forget the romance of these movie depictions this was no bloodless revolution.  I would soon be next on the guillotine.  I did not want to die here, I needed to get out of here.  I was resolved to escape.  But how?”  

November 8th 

“In the dim flickering candle light I saw her, on that fateful night in November.  She floated into Hell and pulled me from damnation.``

In my dreams memories become real again. Although distorted by experience in life. I was back in that stinking cell, the Bastille. In my dirty uniform I had worn for 2 weeks now, stinking of sweat and blood. I'd been arrested because I served in the king's guard. Revolution. It was chaos on the streets of Paris. I'd fought the men, killed maybe 5 or 6 of them. 

In the dim flickering candle light I saw her, on that fateful night in November.  She floated into Hell and pulled me from damnation.``

In my dreams memories become real again. Although distorted by experience in life. I was back in that stinking cell, the Bastille. In my dirty uniform I had worn for 2 weeks now, stinking of sweat and blood. I'd been arrested because I served in the king's guard. Revolution. It was chaos on the streets of Paris. I'd fought the men, killed maybe 5 or 6 of them. 

She came bathed in light. Beautiful. All silk and softness. An angel. She told me she was the daughter of a rich republican merchant.  Dark ebony hair, pale skin and blue sapphire eyes. I asked her how she got past the guards, I was not allowed visitors. She mumbled something about money buying anything. She unlocked the door of my cell and moved closer to me.  

" How did you-get the key to the cell?" I asked

She laughed. 

" I told you before, monsieur money can buy anything."

She moved closer to me and put her hand on my cheek. Her cold hand. Deathly cold. 

"So cold." 

"Yessss" 

As she drew nearer, her ethereal presence engulfing the dimly lit cell, I felt a surge of anticipation mixed with trepidation coursing through my  veins. My heart, weighed down by the burden of my captivity, trembled within my chest. The flickering candlelight cast shadows upon her face, accentuating her otherworldly beauty. Her eyes flashed with hunger. Hunger for me. For my flesh, and my very soul.  

Lilith's voice, as soft and delicate as the flutter of a butterfly's wings, broke the silence that had settled like a heavy fog in the narrow confines of the prison cell. "Voltaire," she whispered to me, her words tinged with a seductive pull, "I can offer you a life unlike anything you have ever known.

Lilith's words hung heavy in the stale air of the cell, like an enchanting melody that promised both liberation and damnation. The weight of her proposition settled upon my weary shoulders like a cloak of uncertainty, wrapping around me tightly as I grappled with the ramifications of her offer.

I was filled with a cocktail of hope and fear,as my eyes remained fixed upon Lilith's mesmerizing figure.

Lilith's eyes, aglow with a haunting luminescence, bore into my soul, their gaze piercing through the thick layers of despair that had settled upon me like a suffocating shroud. As I searched her enigmatic face, I could not help but become lost in the depths of her captivating eyes, like twin pools of obsidian reflecting my own inner turmoil and longing.

"Who are you?" My voice emerged, trembling with both curiosity and trepidation.

As my quivering voice filled the dimly lit cell, it hung in the air like a delicate wisp of smoke, lingering between us as if hesitant to disturb the fragile balance that held our fates in suspension. The weight of my question bore upon Lilith, causing a flicker of something unreadable to pass fleetingly across her enigmatic countenance. She paused, her eyes never leaving mine, before finally answering, her voice still suffused with a beguiling allure.

Lilith's lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile, her eyes revealing only a fraction of the secrets they held. "My dear Voltaire, I am a creature of the night, a being that transcends the confines of mortality," she whispered, her voice as alluring as the siren's call. "I offer you eternal life, a release from the shackles of your mortal existence. With me, you shall never feel pain, never experience loss. We shall wander through the ages, companions in the darkness."

She kissed me hard on the lips then. I felt something sharp with my tongue as we kissed. Realizing it was her teeth, then I tasted blood in my mouth. I panicked and tried to pull away but she had an iron grip on my arms and would not let me go. I kicked her then, she laughed, never letting me go. Then I felt her teeth on my neck. I screamed for help but none came. Then I blacked out. 

I woke after what seemed an eternity, her sapphire eyes looking at me. "Drink," she said. She held a bloodied wrist to my lips. "Drink and come with me"