April 4th, 1941
I am weary to the very bones. The once boisterous little town that I grew up is now a skeleton plucked to the core by disease and famine. When I was a boy, I can recall recoiling at the crowds of people trying to drag me out of my introverted shell. Now, I long for those laughing people wanting to make an honest man out of me.
Every day is a struggle. The soldiers march through and we rush to their aid as if we are loyalists. Mother stays safely tucked away, huddling within our home, praying they do not stare at her too long. If they enter what is left of our hovel, she moves to give them lodging, food, drink, whatever we have. We learned long ago not to deny them anything.
Do not even act as if you would deny them anything.
We received word that the prison camps have been expanded. It is no longer just those who are labeled Jewish that are thrown away to die. We are faced with the very real possibility that someone will learn of Mother’s secret and soon. There is heaviness in this home, which pushes down upon our shoulders like the weight of a thousand dead innocents.
At dinner this evening Mother and Father quarreled. I cannot recall in all my years having ever seen the two of them fight. Mother demanded to know why my father would not contact ‘Him.’ Father countered with not being able to trust ‘their kind’ and that she should know what ‘He’ would want in return. All I could do was stare at them in wonder as they stormed through the house and ended up in Father’s study.
I could hear them continuing to shout even after they slammed the door.
Food is scarce at this juncture and so I finished my bland soup in silence and then retired to the laboratory below.
I cannot recall how long it has been since I figured out my father’s secret. I barely recall the first time I stepped into this place of wonder. It once frightened and disgusted me, but now I am filled with wonder and desire. I do not know how he still manages to get his hands upon the blood, but I can imagine it is why my parents quarreled tonight. Surely creatures with the ability to heal nearly any wound and move about in our society unseen could help us, and yet my father hesitates.
I understand my mother’s anger. There is no reason I can fathom that is worth Father leaving us in this Hell. Whether it be from a stray bomb or from the soldiers collecting us and throwing us into camps; we are going to die here. If there is any way that we can escape, why not take it? Even if it means making deals with the devils that walk the Earth.
The night was quiet and so I spent much of it going over notes and then destroying them. Father and I have decided his research is far too dangerous for the Nazis to get their hands upon. Still, we have become invested in what it could mean for the betterment of humanity. I memorize every page, every doodle, and every theory, and then burn the pages to ash. The only record of how to mingle their blood and ours rests in my mind.
One day I will unlock the secret to how their blood works. There is some sort of mechanism that gives it the regenerative properties and once I have it, then I can work towards reproducing it.
Of course, it is a long and arduous task. It may be one that outlives me. Not just because I am constantly under assault due to this terrible war, but because of my sinful secret. I suppose if I live through this, I may have to seriously consider a wife and family. I am not pleased by the idea of having to deceive a woman for the rest of my days, but maybe I can find one that an understanding can be had with.
It’s possible, isn’t it? I sincerely hope so.
I will write again when I can, Journal. Goodnight.