It was almost a week ago since our parents had uprooted our lives and moved me and my brother with them to Scotland so that our Dad could build a golf course of all things for a wealthy man named Lord McCashton or something like that. We now lived in what could only be described as a small castle though that was one of the few things I enjoyed about this move that and there was a cemetery not too far now from our home and I could visit it anytime I wanted as I did back in America.
I had picked the attic as my room despite my parents trying to persuade me to chose an actual bedroom. My little brother Toni didn't even try, he understood to an extent that I couldn't be normal the dark of night and strange things I did and said were just a part of me and would not and could not be changed.
So with a little persuading, and with Toni's help, my parents finally gave in and let me have the attic, but I could only move into it after it was properly cleaned. A few days ago I had gotten started on cleaning out the cobwebs, the dust, and things I would rather never speak of again and finally I was able to move my things in from a temporary room next to Toni's, though I caught my mother more than once trying to unpack my things into that room so that I would find it too much of a bother to move my things. My floor was made out of a dark wood now with a soft shaggy rug depicting Van Gogh's Starry Night and the walls were a dark red almost black color after Dad had helped me paint it. The large window had thick red velvet curtains completely blocking out the sunlight during the day. I had a large armoire of dark mahogany and a small desk against the wall next to the window and a large set of bookshelves. My bed was a large four poster made of dark cherry wood and on it were my favorite black silk sheets and dark navy comforter with slivery grey embroidery.
I had moved all of my boxes into the attic and was putting all of the contents in them in their rightful places. My books went onto the shelves in alphabetical order and then by series. My laptop now sat on the desk as well as my sketchbooks except for the largest one which I used for the headstone etchings I would take at the cemetery. My clothes went into the armoire and all my previous drawings, sketches, and etchings were posted on the same wall as my door. They were of old tombstones, night creatures, and landscapes some drawn during the day and some at night. Finally I had my room how I wanted to my only problem now was fitting in at school.
Nobody here wanted to befriend the strange foreigner who dressed in dark clothes, was pale as moonlight, and who spoke strangely and said weird things that even disturbed some of them, mostly the teachers. Unfortunately my little brother wasn't having much luck either, after having nightmares of vampires every night since moving here he had become frightened often coming into my room first before seeking my parents out if I had already gone to sleep rare as it was. He would tell me what his dream was about and then we'd talk about it. I tried making him see it from the vampires point of view, tried to assure him that they couldn't and wouldn't hurt him. I told him how so many things and people were misunderstood just because they seemed scary, using myself as an example. It seemed to help him, though I knew that he talked about his dreams of the vampires in school and it was one of the reasons that he had no friends, but he was still afraid to some degree and so continued to come to me or wake our parents in the middle of the night after another nightmare would wake him.
As school was in session I was only allowed at the cemetery on Friday and Saturday nights and only if I told my parents where I was going or at least left a note as they knew nothing would stop me either way. I had set up an agreement between me and the owner of the nearby cemetery, I would be allowed to visit so long as I came alone and would clean off any of the graves that I stopped at and leave flowers when I could.
Even though I had no friends I wasn't lonely at least not in the sense most would be in my position. I didn't crave others company in the same way as you might think. I didn't want a friend that would only talk to me of gossip, boys, clothes, and the like. No I wanted someone who understood me, who understood the darkness in my soul and did not shy from it, who respects and honors the dead as I do, and loved the night and moonlight as much I. Some one to talk of deeper things and meanings of the world and beyond, to sit in silence and not feel the need to fill it with mindless chatter, to walk threw the cemetery and not be afraid, someone who was like me.