The first chapter of the Thomas Mann novel, in mostly his own words.
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Every word of this book is the truth.
I have painstakingly written out all of the experiences I can recall from my marvellous journey, using my memory and notes I took carefully during my entire adventure.
Some parts are written in a style contrary to mine; those were the work of my assistant, who witnessed some things I did not. In some instances, he merely insisted on writing about a particular incident, convincing me that he could tell it in a superior way to mine. He can be very persuasive. I hope you do not feel his work is too feeble.
Some of what follows may seem wholly unbelievable. Some of it may shake your beliefs to their very core. Some of it seems almost comical, but was truly of great importance to myself – nay, to existence itself!
Yet, I assure you again it is real; all of it witnessed with my eyes, or those of my companion. Certain parts... I cannot say with certainty if they were entirely perceived accurately, for at times my perception was not entirely clear. But this is my story, unaltered and unedited.
I attest this on my life.
Chapter 1
I have always been a curious fellow.
By that I do not mean I myself am unusual. No, I am an extremely ordinary and boring person, as common as a sparrow or green blade of grass. Few, if any would wish to read about me, or be interested in me in the slightest, as many people have told me directly to my face (in the spirit of the Lord's teachings I bear them no ill will, for though I am not pious, I am certainly religious, in the way that I believe in God and Jesus and salvation, even if I tend to not always agree with the so-called authorities on these subjects).
However, I am not the true subject of this book. What this book is about is actually the marvellous adventure I was lucky enough to be a part of. My name is Thomas Mann, and this is my story.
You see, I have one peculiarity, and just one. I am interested - obsessed, some might say - with the strange and exotic.
Not merely those small bits of minutia that are regularly discovered in the Dark Continent or in the Far East. New species of lizards and plants hold my fascination for no time.
No, I am preoccupied by those things that are not of this earth.
If I am to be found on a starry night, it is outside in my yard, glasses in hand peering into the depths of space. How many times have I seen the movements of great bodies and unknown objects there?
Too many to count, for no one who knows me believes a word I say on these matters. I have few friends, only acquaintances. Those who would call me friend I have chased off in my relentless pursuit of the unknown. Yet, I miss them not, for they lacked that vital spark, the wonder to discover the extraordinary. So wrapped up in the mundane details of their own lives they could never look beyond them to see the vast wonders of the universe.
Yet even extra-terrestrial life takes a backseat to something in my heart. I find studies of the occult and strange spiritual beings even more fascinating, and have spent many hours searching for elusive proof of their existence.
I do this not for accolades or to place my name in some book of famous scientists. I do it purely out of the love my heart has for the search, and my desire to meet something inhuman.
If rumours of an occult ritual were heard of a few counties away, there I would head, lamp in hand, to try to find them. Any word that a fantastic being had been sighted, or born in the wilds of the countryside would send me scrambling in a hastily rented cart to seek it.
How many times did I find myself nearly trapped in a peat bog, or gone astray in a forest long after night had fallen? Numberless times I found myself so completely lost that I had been forced to wait the entire night through, shivering, until a bright ray of sunlight had shown me the path to civilization.
Never once did I come close to finding a fantastic being. Only small signs that kept my hope alive on a roiling sea of doubt.
My passion (or mania, as some have called it) is so great that it has cost me many friends, acquaintances and even employment. Too many times have I been nearly dead with exhaustion, or not appeared for my duties at all with no explanation. Few understand me.
Too many times I stopped ‘friends’ or even people I barely knew, to expound on my latest near-discovery.
Words from a mind, however genius, grow tiresome to those who will not believe them.
All over this world I have wandered and wondered. My life’s fortune, sadly inherited and not earned, was squandered in my passion, until I lost all material goods that were precious to me and dear to life itself.
My own dear home in London town was taken from my by those tax-men, surely the most terrible beasts to plague our land! I was forced to the streets, and even then did I not give up in my desire to meet a fabulous being, for even if I starved to the point of death, if I could only lay my eyes once on an otherworldly creature, I could die happy!
Perhaps that is an exaggeration...
I believe I did glimpse a strange hairy being, at one point, but was unfortunately slowed and stopped by a vagabond, a dark-skinned person who I had never laid eyes on before.
Had it not been for his interference, surely I would have caught up to that beast.
I digress from my story, however! Homeless and distraught, I was saved by my one true friend. I had known him for many years, a young man I knew when I was only a boy. While five years my senior, he had had a childhood fascination like mine. It is unfortunate he ‘outgrew’ his sense of curiosity, but I am blessed that he was one of the few, if not the only one, people who called me a friend.
Invited into the home of this fellow bachelor, I was nursed back to health. I was rather shocked by how much he had changed over the years, his mind turning from mysticism to economics, from demons and angels to alcohol and women!
While regrettably normal, at least he tolerated my eccentricities. To an extent.
It was while I was living with this true friend that my story begins.
Only by sheer chance was I was lucky enough to meet the marvellous fellow I’ve known only as Ed. He is just as important to this tale as I, if not more so.
My story starts on a day like many others, as I was preparing to leave my (current) place of employment. It was a rather famous library whose name I shall not divulge. I doubt they would want my connection to them being widely known!
As I was saying... I was leaving the Library of Antiquities, my mind entirely focused on my own concerns. Only my manager left after me, to ensure I did not leave the door unlocked, as I often did.
My friend and beneficiary, Thomas Grave, was nowhere to be seen. I had managed to procure him a job here, but his interest primarily lay in horse racing and the opposite sex. O, and alcohol as well – great amounts of it.
I presume he was, on that day, scratching one of those various itches, rather than labouring as he was duty-obliged to do. Duty meant very little to my friend.
His lack of work ethic had caused what little reputation I had great harm, as it had taken much pleading and coercion on my part to secure the position. He was liable to be unemployed soon enough, and I hoped not myself with him.
My manager, Mr. Keithson, gave me a long-suffering sigh as he locked the door. He waved me away, and free I was.
Down the darkened London street, I heard a man singing about the city as if she were a lady. I found nothing lady-like about the city, however... It was only a dark abyss to me, one I did not like.
It was as if I was a rat in a maze – at various intervals were the cloying scent of delicious cheeses, or just enough of a taste to arouse my appetite, but never enough to satisfy it.
As I passed a shadowy alley, I tensed – for gangs of youths and toughs were ever-present in such places, and I knew not if I was in danger from them.
I saw no one, but my eyes must have been failing me, as a hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the alley.
‘Help, help!’ I cried. ‘Murderers! Thieves! Unhand me now, I tell you!’
‘Be silent, ya wee blagger. Is an ol’ bag like me gonna do you in?’ The speaker’s voice was cracked and dry, decidedly that of an old woman’s.
She continued to hold my hand in a cold and hard grip. I pulled away, but despite the thinness of her arms, she was quite strong, not even seeming to notice my struggles.
“Please un-hand me, madam,” I said with all the sternness I could manage.
She was so old as to appear ancient, her eyes glazed over as if in death, not a tooth in her head, her skin the most wrinkled I had ever seen a human be, but from the cackles that emanated from her open mouth, she was very much alive.
‘I know ya. Yer the one who’s caught up with demons!’ She poked a pale, wrinkled finger into her breast hard, enough to bend the finger back in a painful-looking way. ‘Come with me, Béarla-babbler. Show ya all ya want, I will.’
‘I... really am very busy!’ Again I pulled, but it seemed to have no effect. The old woman scuttled back further into the alley, taking me with her.
What did this woman wish to show me? My curiosity was beginning to overcome my worry, and I started walking.
That is, until I saw the body – a street tough, strong and young, yet slumped against the wall bonelessly, his eyes rolled up. I swear on my mother’s grave his head was dented in and broken like an egg dashed against a rock!
Fear returned to me, and I knew in an instant that this old woman was responsible for this. Panic lent me strength, and I braced my foot against the brick wall, pulling as hard as I could.
There was a sickening cracking sound, and I found myself falling backwards. I wasted no time, scrambling back to my feet and running like a madman from the alley.
My heart raced faster than my feet hitting the street as I moved as fast as I could away from the insane old woman.
Murderer!
Due to my habits, I was not as fast as my fear would have wished, nor as strong. Before I had run more than a block, I was panting heavily, forced to stop and catch my breath, lest I faint straight away.
A bright light hit me, and I looked up. A person was holding a lantern, watching me with concern.
‘You all right, guv?’ the person asked. From his accent I knew immediately that he was from the lower-class areas, probably a street worker.
I would not appear foolish in front of such a person. I stood up straight and dusted my jacket. ‘Yes, of course I am fine. Go about your work, my good sir.’
The man shook his head and started off, heading where I had just been. I watched and waited – would the old woman grab him as she had grabbed me?
But no, the workman continued on, unmolested, whistling to himself.
Feeling almost disappointed, I knew I needed some answers. I found the opportunity half-way home, along a route I rarely, if ever, took.
Seeing a store I did not recognize, but whose front – full of incense, old books and various paraphernalia of the occult - seemed to draw my attention, I stopped to read the name.
‘Divine Kaulo Camlo’s Shoppe of Mystery,’ I intoned slowly, peering at the hand-painted sign. Hm, this deserved a look. The memory of my previous frightening encounter was already forgotten, shoved aside by my insatiable curiosity!
Inside, I heard the tinkling of bells and the smell of incense, strong enough to irritate my nostrils. Resisting the urge to sneeze, I looked about, taking in the atmosphere. Red cloth draped everywhere, along with stacks of books and objects. A skull, not human in shape caught my attention until I realized it was merely from a great ape, and my interest died down. I realized that the place was not what I imagined; it was a knick-knackery store masquerading as an occultist's - designed to appeal to those who were normal, but took an interest in the strange for a thrill.
Trinkets I had no care for lined the shelves, and I turned, admitting disappointment, when a voice called to me.
‘You look like you wish to know great secrets, good sir.’
I peered closer, seeing a woman, heavily draped in shawls and beaded jewellery. She had a large nose, almost hooked, and peered at me with an intense, eerie gaze. Clearly she was one of the Romany folk.
‘Yes...’ I said cautiously. This seemed more like what I was expecting. ‘Perhaps you can help me...’
Beckoning, she disappeared into a doorway replete with beads and what appeared to be the bones of small animals. Stepping to the door, I hesitated just a moment before stepping through. My heart was beating heavily in my breast, but whether it residual from my last encounter or from this new one, I could not determine.
I approached, and she gestured me into the chair across from her. Sitting obligingly, I stared at her and the room around. It was dark, with things crammed all over; tarot cards, crystal balls, bags of what I could only assume to be bones for telling the future. She had every kind of method for divinitation I knew of around her. Yet I did not have the same disturbing feelings about her as I did about the old woman.
Continuing to watch her, she spoke first slowly, then quickly, and I realized it was not a woman, but a man dressed as a woman, which was rather unusual. I remained silent, until he asked me what I wished to know.
I admit, by then I was so caught up with this new mystery I had entirely forgotten the events of only a few minutes ago. Instead, I decided to ask him to interpret a dream.
This dream I have had for many, many years now, relentlessly. I have always wondered what it meant – on some nights it consumed me, pondering it.
I began to describe to him, or her, whichever gender term is most appropriate. In the dream, I always spy a creature totally alien to me; it is just as tall as me (which is to say not particularly tall nor short), thin, just shy of looking starved. Thinning brown hair of a short length with a receding line. Arms, legs, just like mine. Hazel eyes, normal ears and nose are all in locations similar to mine.
I begin to realize it is dressed similarly to me, this alien creature – though it is obviously all-but unknown to me. There is something ghastly about it that makes my stomach turn, but at the same time, I find myself drawn to it.
In my dream, it watches me with sorrow, and I have always wondered; does this alien being pity my then-fruitless search for the supernatural? Is it merely looking down on a lower life-form than it?
Then, all at once, at the end of the dream, an epiphany reaches my brain. The thing I am staring at is me. That is when I always wake up.
Finishing my description, the old Romany being stared at me, looking unnerved. Twice, his mouth opened as if to speak, but then shut. My gaze, intense it is said to be, bored into his, and finally the man spoke in a completely different voice than before.
‘I don’t have the foggiest what is wrong with you, but I am trying to make a living here; get out and on your way.’
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