In brightest day, in blackest night...
an excerpt

Prologue

I was told that all hunters keep a journal. It’s where they record their knowledge of the hunts they’ve done, the things they’ve killed, and the roads they’ve walked. Well, bully for them, but this is my journal and there’ll be days when I don’t feel like talking about how I pulled out my .45, put a whole round of silver bullets into a werewolf’s skull and then salted and burned its human remains afterwards. I’m not that much of a bastard or maybe I am and just don’t care to admit it. It’s my job; it’s necessary; someone’s gotta do it or the world goes ta hell in a hand basket. There are a lot of us, upholders of the peace; we’re hunters by choice or sometimes by upbringing, but those raised hunters are rare today.
Me, personally, I’m a hunter by choice. Plain and simple, I choose this way of life and I’m fine with it or as fine with it as I’m gonna be… Who am I? You may ask. Well, I’m your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Nah, actually I think I’m more like Batman, except minus the costume. Tights aren’t really my thing. I prefer blue jeans. Name’s William Alucard and I’m twenty-three years old and probably not your type. Sorry, but, hey, if you’re reading this, that should count for something or maybe you’ve got nothing better to do… Oh, well, potato, patata, same thing, right?
You’re here, for whatever reason and as long as someone’s listening, I don’t think I mind the reason… Unless of course, it turns out the only reason why you’re listening is because you wanna eat me later, but, uh, you try to eat me and I ain’t exactly gonna hesitate putting a silver bullet into your skull. I’ve done it before; don’t think for one fucking second I won’t do it again. I have a violent set of tendencies and I’m sure as hell not gonna tolerate something trying to turn me into a William sandwich. Last time I checked, I don’t look good on a roll, though I guess I’d probably taste like chicken… What do people taste like anyway? Not that I’d wanna know, I’m just curious, I guess… Cristo, my first shot at writing a diary and I’m already rambling. I’ve never tried to keep a diary before; I bet I’ll end up never writing in it again or the next time you hear from me’ll be a month from now. I’m not very good at sitting down to write. I don’t usually have the time. Cristo, and speaking of time, I forgot to put the date. Who does that? You’re supposed ta put the date at the top of dairy entries, right? Everyone knows that, except for me, I guess. Damn, you probably think I’m an idiot by now, a crazy idiot that believes there are things out there in the night… What is the date, anyway? I never keep track of those things. Uh, last time I checked there was a full moon last night, but that doesn’t help me come up with the date. I think it might be a Tuesday… Hmmm… Uh, September… September 14, 1962, that’s the date, I think. My first diary entry officially has a date, that’s good, that’s progress and speaking of progress…