This story has a rating of T.
It may not be appropriate for very young readers.
Open Office 2.0 has been used for its composition.

Disclaimer – The Castlevania franchise – all twenty years of it – is the property of Konami Computer Entertainment. The story itself is the property of the Samuraiter and may not be posted on any web site but his private web page and FFN without his permission. This fanfic has not been posted for gain or profit in any way, shape, or form. Special thanks to Gunlord 500 for being a very active source of information on all things Castlevania and the chief reason this story has gone from inspiration to full production.

Note – It has been officially stated that certain games in the Castlevania franchise are non-canon. Circle Of The Moon is one of the titles on the list. Please be advised that this story assumes that COTM, as well as at least one of the other games on the list, does belong in canon. Any glitches arising from the changes to continuity are being researched by the poster.

I Abibde / Samuraiter Presents
A Sankakukei Studio Production
Dedicated To The Castlevania Dungeon
And Formatted For FFN

The Graves Papers
A Circle Of The Moon Gaiden

2037

There's a message in my inbox. I get a feeling that I don't like. No one sends e-mail to that account unless it's serious. I don't want to open it, but I do. What's it going to be? Is there a ghost ship in Tokyo Bay again? ... No, it doesn't look like a local problem. Miss Yoko'd put a big header on it if it was. “A Present.” What does she mean by that? Let's see.

'Soma C. – J. has returned from his trip to the Alexandria excavation. He found more than he expected. Don't worry. If what he says is true, this will shed a little light on our problem. Please open the attached DOC file and read it carefully. It's large, so I recommend printing it out first. – Yoko B.'

It's a good thing Mina picked up a new ink cartridge the other day. You'd think that they'd make printers better over time, but there are things about life that don't change. ... This is going to take a while. I've got time to warm up that take-out and fix the green tea, assuming Mina didn't drink it all. She's not a big girl. How does she hold all that ... ? I guess it's true what they say about young girls in Japan. They can wolf down everything.

All right, rice in the microwave, water boiling on the stove, paper loaded in the printer, good. I suppose I could use a little of the ol' black magic to cook, but ... no. There's no need to be handling that stuff if it's not necessary. Mr. Arikado'd be here in about two seconds if I tried it, anyway. It's hard not to live under a microscope when you've been where I've been.

Now, what does the first page say ... ? Oh, wait, it's a memo from Julius. I hate these. His handwriting's awful. I'm not about to forgive him for the unreadable directions he gave me on my last trip to Hokkaido with Mina. Did Miss Yoko have to scan it directly? She could've typed up a translation.

'Mr. Cruz – As you know, I've been tracing the Belmont lineage in hopes of finding any relatives I might have. It's murky work. In Alexandria, where they've been puzzling out what really happened to the great library, I found this journal, all wrapped up in cloth in one of the warehouses on the Nile. It turns out that it explains a few things that I didn't know about my family, and quite a few things about yours, too. I haven't found any relatives yet, but I think this will more than make up for it. Happy reading. – J. Belmont.'

I have a headache just from looking at that. I hope his ancestors have better penmanship than he does. ... There's the microwave and the kettle. I'd better see to those before I get started. Wait, what's this? Another memo? This one looks older. Well, rice and tea are good for reading, I suppose. I'll set the table before I get to the meat of this. It'll help my concentration.

'John – I received your telegram. If you're lucky, you'll be getting this parcel during your stay in the Sudan. I want you to take it to Cairo. My family has friends there who can hide it for us and make sure that no one can find it. It's too soon. The enemy's too close to wiping out the Belmont line, and this will lead them right to it if they find it. I'm heading to Bulgaria. Supposedly, the treaty's setting up a new government there, so I might be able to go in and out unnoticed. Best of luck, and Godspeed. – Eric Alcarde.'

The date's 1919. If I'm remembering it the right way, Dracula was reborn in 1899, just like in the book, but I've read about occult disturbances that date to the middle of the First World War. I guess that's what Mr. Alcarde means. What's in this journal that's so important? Why did they want to hide it if Dracula wasn't expected again 'til 1999? It's the usual. I've got questions, and I'm going to have to work hard to find the answers.

Okay, now it looks like I have the beginning, no more memos. 1830. “From the Desk of Nathan Graves.” Who's Nathan Graves? It looks like I'll have to see for myself. I've got my rice, I've got my tea. Might as well set to reading. If I'm lucky, I'll get through the better part of this before Mina gets back from the shrine. I'm sure she'll be a little curious about it.

1830

1 November 1830

My name is Nathan Graves. I was born in the County of Wessex in the Year of Our Lord 1812. Of my birth family, I know very little. For as long as I can remember, I have been the apprentice of Sir Morris Baldwin. From what he tells me, my mother was forced to give me up – a question of being born out of infidelity, I suppose – when I was only a baby, and he adopted me as a second son. Thus, he is both my master and my father. He is stern, and I do not think I have seen him smile once, but he has been just and kind.

I have been trained by my master, almost from birth, in the art of the occult, not for the purpose of raising the dead or summoning evil spirits, but for doing battle with the supernatural. The world into which I was born was a place of darkness, secrecy, and uncertainty, of humanity struggling against things that no longer belong on mortal soil. It never once occurred to me that the world could be anything other than what I was taught, never mind that the occult was supposedly long dead on English soil. That is what the public believes, even today. I know it to be the complete opposite.

This journal is a gift from Hugh Baldwin, the proper son of my master and a brother to me in all but name. He suggested that I keep a record of what has come to pass in recent days, and I cannot help but agree. As of this writing, he and I, as well as my master, have just returned from the Castle Dracula and the sealing of its Count, the very same Dracula who, according to the legends, resurfaces every century to reassert the rule of the damned over Europe. Of that adventure, I can say very little. It is almost unbelievable.

Dracula poisoned the mind of my brother and very nearly sacrificed the life of my master before he was stopped. In saving them both from the enemy, I had to push myself past my limits and discover a strength that I did not know I possessed. I have seen things that no human being ought to see, and I have been to places that the living do not dare to visit. That I have survived is testimony to my faith. A man alone could not have done what I have done. God Himself must have been watching me closely from on high.

I can barely remember the journey back to England. I know that I was awake and on my feet for most of it, but it was like I was numb, insensate, as if in a dream. Hugh has told me that I seemed like a man dead. I attribute it to exhaustion. One does not go to the fringes of Hell and back and stay unaffected. I do not know if I slept at all during the trip. It feels as though as I should have, that I must have, but ... my memory does not serve me.

We arrived at the Baldwin estate – home, in effect – as of yesterday night. It was dilapidated, to say the least, and Sir Morris has been gone for most of today in order to guarantee that the deed to the land has not been forcibly removed from his name. It is true that the Baldwin family has never been rich, and it is true that the three of us had been on the Continent for years prior to our return, but it still made my heart heavy to see the estate in such a sorry way. With luck, it will not be necessary to leave it again for a while.

Dracula is gone. I find that difficult to believe, though I know it to be true. For the first time in my life, I am going to find it necessary to lay down my arms and attempt to live as a normal man – a fine word, normal – might. I do not know what to make of that, honestly. I have spent my entire youth preparing for war, and, now, the war is over and done. Thankfully, I have a few days to consider the matter before I have to take any action.

I do recall one incident from the journey home, now that I sit and think about it. It must have been at Nice. Hugh was booking passage for all of us on a boat back to England, and Sir Morris was talking to certain individuals in order to make the officials look the other way as regards our arsenal, which must have left me – it is not easy to remember, but I am fairly certain – to mind our supplies while I waited for the others to return. As it was, my French was never very good, and it was for the best that I kept to myself.

There was a crowd of people at the port. There had been rumors of unrest throughout the country, and, as was natural for the hinterland, many wished to take leave until certain questions of rulership had been settled. The strange thing is that, though they were milling around me and talking to each other, I did not see them or hear them. It was, as I have said, strange and dream-like. Now, I think that I might simply have been dozing.

All color and sound drained from my surroundings for that instant. In the midst of the crowd, I saw a single figure who did have color. It was a woman, rather short, the top of her head rising, perhaps, only as high as my chest. Her dress, cut in the manner that a French noblewoman might wear, was a very bright red, a scandalous color. Her lips had been painted the same color. I do not know why I noticed them over all the other details of her person. It might have been because she was smiling. Whether or not she was smiling at me, I could not determine. She had a wide-brimmed hat, also red, and her head – auburn-haired – was bowed to keep her eyes concealed.

I blinked, and she was gone. I must have been dozing, dreaming, pulled in odd directions by fancies left over from the time I spent inside Castle Dracula. Nonetheless, the woman seemed very familiar to me. It goes without saying that there are evil spirits that assume pleasing shapes, and I have read volumes about them, but I did not feel threatened by the apparition I saw at Nice. Truly, I said nothing of it to Hugh and Morris when they rejoined me, though I now question the wisdom of that.

There is a great deal for me to do in coming days, and those tasks must come first. I cannot remain at the Baldwin estate as a hermit, not when the family needs money and the semblance of a normal life. I must find work, and I must make a serious effort towards taking a place in everyday society. With Dracula gone, who shall have dire need of a hunter of the supernatural? ... I suppose that I shall write of these things in this journal. There are many pages to fill, and I can only hope that I fill them with mundane things.

– N. Graves, Baldwin House

To Be Continued