Diary of a Forgotten Vampire

Diary of a Forgotten Vampire
When You Read It, He Wakes.

It was supposed to be a simple thesis.

Emily Karr, a folklore graduate student, had been researching 17th-century vampire myths in Eastern Europe. Most of it was academic filler—plague hysteria, buried bodies, ancient rituals. But when she came across the legend of Valen the Pale, something clicked.

He was different.

The records called him The Silent One—a vampire so ancient, he no longer fed to live, but to remember. Every drop of blood restored part of his forgotten self. His victims didn’t just die; they vanished from memory, erased from photographs, from journals, even from their family’s minds.

And then there was the diary.

According to a forgotten priest’s letter buried in a monastery archive, Valen kept a book—a diary that chronicled his centuries of hunger, isolation, and madness. The letter ended with a warning:

“When the final page is read, so too is his name remembered. And when his name is remembered, he wakes.”

Emily was hooked.

She traced the diary to a private collector in Romania—an eccentric recluse named Daciana Ionescu. Daciana lived alone in a fog-shrouded manor, guarded by rusted iron gates and aggressive dogs. Emily pleaded, argued, begged. Finally, Daciana agreed—but only for one night, and under strict conditions:

Do not read the last page aloud. Do not copy it. Do not stay past midnight.

Emily nodded. She had no intention of reading the final page. She just wanted a glance. Maybe a few photos for her thesis.

She had no idea what she was really opening.


---

The diary was smaller than she expected. Bound in cracked leather, it bore a symbol on its cover: a circle of thorns surrounding a single vertical eye.

Inside, the pages were brittle, written in ancient ink that shimmered faintly under candlelight. The writing changed over time—centuries of scrawl growing increasingly wild, fragmented, and desperate.

Some entries were horrifying:

“I drank a mother and child together. I do not recall their names. But I recall their warmth.”

“The stars blink now. I think I have eaten too many souls.”

“The silence is louder than screams. It calls me by a name I no longer know.”

But others… others were heartbreakingly human:

“I remember snow. I remember music. I remember love, and it sickens me.”

Emily was shaking by the time she reached the second-to-last page.

She knew she should stop.

But curiosity is a louder predator than fear.

The final page was blank—at first. Then, as she stared at it, the ink began to rise, like blood surfacing through paper veins.

“He waits for the reader. The one who dares speak the end. For the end is the beginning. Speak, and he remembers.”

Emily didn’t speak.

But she whispered.

And that was enough.


---

The candle blew out.

The room grew impossibly cold.

Emily looked up—and saw her breath hanging in the air.

Behind her, the sound of parchment tearing echoed. She turned.

The diary had flipped itself shut.

A drop of blood fell from its spine.

Then another.

From the shadows near the bookcase, a shape began to emerge.

Tall. Bone-thin. Wrapped in a tattered cloak that moved as if underwater. His face was pale, featureless—except for the mouth. Too wide, too full of blackened teeth.

His eyes were hollow, yet they saw her. They remembered her.

"Emily," he whispered, in a voice like crumbling paper. "You gave me my name."

She tried to run. But her legs didn’t move.

"You read me. So now, I write you."

He opened his hand.

A blank page appeared.

Her name scrawled itself across the top in crimson.

"Chapter One," he said.


---

Emily was never found.

Daciana claimed she never arrived. The footage from the front gate security camera was mysteriously corrupted. Her apartment was untouched. Her university laptop deleted every file related to the vampire research.

The only thing left behind was a journal, sitting on the library desk she used every day.

It had no title.

Inside, every page was blank.

Except the last one.

It read:

“When you read it, he wakes.”

And underneath, a name slowly appeared—your name.