19 October 2026
Monday. A family of hunters came below this weekend: two parents, an aunt and a pair of thirteen-year-olds who had read every vampire story in their school library and corrected me on several points.
I take recruits from thirteen. Younger than that I will not send into the catacombs, and the house will not let them come in to watch, either. Teenagers may be asked at the door to show how old they are, so they should carry something that says so. Those aged thirteen to fifteen pay a little less, as young adventurers, which I think only fair, since they are a little shorter.
The Count, I gather, insists on fifteen at his door. His graveyard, his rules. Mine is a training ground. Somebody must train the next generation of hunters, and he certainly will not.
The pair argued with each other for the whole hour, in fierce whispers. Promising. The best hunters I ever knew could agree on nothing except the target.
— Prof. Van Helsing
