Vampiric: Tales of Blood and Roses from Japan by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Vampires, Horror, fantastika, Japanese literature, JLIT
ISBN: 9784909473523
Publisher: Kurodahan Press
Published: 2019-09-22T18:30:00+00:00

Vow

Sunaga Asahiko

Translated by Irit Weinberg

Moonlight is upon my brow

My dead younger brother!

Fold your beautiful long legs and sleep

Kuzuhara Taeko

Days were passing by, and the Harvest Moon season was coming round again. Just as every year, I placed the following posting in the newspapers:

On the day, nine candidates showed up. First, I narrowed them down to five based on their general appearance. Then, I selected two with delicate napes, and in the end made my decision based on the beauty of their fingers. For one week leading to the full moon, the youth was familiarizing himself with harpsichord from eight to twelve in the evening. The contract stipulated that rainy and cloudy days, that is, days on which the moon cannot be seen, would be considered as days off, and that remuneration would be paid on daily basis. It has been three years since I was able to see the mid-autumn full moon, and my lips were getting cracked. I never explained to the young men whom I hired why I asked them to play the harpsichord. Just as they were starting to grow suspicious, the day of the full moon would arrive.

The seven days passed by, and the day of the full moon arrived. Up until then, I randomly gave the young man whatever music scores I had at hand. But tonight I indicated that I was expecting guests, handed him the scores in a special crimson leather binding, guided him into a dressing room, and after having him dressed in formal attire, bade him to deliver a smooth performance.

The youth sat at the harpsichord that was waiting in the corner of the reception hall and started playing the “Capriccio on the departure of a beloved brother.” Though there were nine chairs lined up in the hall, there were no arrangements for dinner. Young men in formal dress arrived, and eight of the nine chairs became occupied one by one. The moon reflected brilliantly in the ornamental windows. Tonight I was not going to turn on the light. All the guests were young beautiful men in late teens or early twenties, clad in black.

Graceful fingers were flying back and forth on the keyboard, and shadows were swaying in the moonlight. Then came the quivering and nostalgic baroque tune of the final part. If gold could rust, beating on it would probably produce this kind of sound, splendid in its desolation. The young man gave a spectacular performance. When he finished, I placed my hand gently on his shoulder. I offered a few words of appreciation, and slowly brought my lips to the exquisite nape of his neck, created to be loved. At once, my parched lips revived and a glistening sheen was restored to them. Then, each of the young men, in turn, received their rightful share of blood. Before long they placed the body of the youth who played the harpsichord in a casket lined with crimson silk. His bloodless face reflected the moonlight, the eyelashes cast gentle bashful shadows.

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