History in present

In the long alley behind the ancient house two gentlemen raised their hats in greeting. The conversation did not take long to happen and if at first the topics discussed were the most ordinary, then a little later when they crossed the middle of the alley, the conversation began to take interesting turns. The first man, Sir Sawdon, had always been interested in history, especially the history of his family. Nevertheless, the friendship between these men lasted a long time, and Sir Swadon never told Sir Rabastan his family history. The circumstances under which Sir Swadon, the heir to such a great fortune, came to live in this town were obscure, not to say dark. No one in the town where he lived knew much about him. And even those facts that were widely known were seasoned with so much rumour and speculation that it was almost impossible to distinguish truth from fiction. So when Sir Rabaston realised where this conversation was going, he quietly expressed his desire to know everything first hand, so to speak. Sir Swadon was an expert in this topic, but the most interesting part was about his grandfather. My grandfather - continued sir Swadon - was a very respected person. He, my grandma and my aunt lived in the neighbouring region. The story of his life does not stand out in any way, but the way he died, or rather was killed, is something that has been troubling me for many years. More precisely, from the moment I read his diaries.The last one, when the gentlemen my aunt fell in love with entered the scene, was the most interesting in my opinion. Would you like to hear some of its parts? I would consider it an honour, sir - With these words, Sir Swadon took the diary from his pocket and began to read aloud. "Notes for the 24th of October At dinner today my dear daughter brought the gentleman again. I think she is in love with him, but he does not seem to like her back. My wife and I are also beginning to worry about our daughter, because after each meeting with this gentleman she becomes more and more pale. It is as if life is leaving her. The other thing I noticed is that this man eats and drinks like a bird, not like a healthy adult. For dinner, a glass of wine and a slice of bread at the most. We must keep an eye on this man.” “Notes for the 31st of November Alexander is the name of the gentleman my daughter is always with, his surname I cannot remember, it starts with an “R” like Rabaton or Rotaton. Today was the ball in honour of Samhain. This gentleman danced several times with our daughter, but I still do not know what his intentions are. Maybud…. But the thing is the text further is greased and there is a drop of blood on the paper. These two pieces of evidence make me think that he was murdered and didn't die of cardiac arrest by himself, that's what the people who investigated it said. I think it should have been the last note he made not only in this diary but in his life in general. When the servants came to their room the next morning, no one opened the door. Both my grandparents were dead. And all these years I have wondered how they were murdered when there was not a drop of blood in their bodies. By that time the sun had already dropped below the horizon and it started to darken very fast, but these two gentlemen were at the very end of the alley they were walking through. If I were to investigate this case, my first guess would be - a vampire. Sir Rabastan, I would never suspect that you believe in such a thing as vampires. It is just a fairytale to scare children that do not want to go to sleep, isn't it? Then, right now a fairytale for you will come true. - this phrase sounded so relaxed and calm, like he was talking about the weather, and by that he instilled even greater fear. What do you mean? - his voice was filled with fear The next second, sir Rabastan, precipitately appeared right in front of the sir Swadon and whispered in his ear My name is neither “Rabaton” nor “Rotaton ”, - said he to the Swadon in a very deep and quiet, but not less frightening voice - my name is Alexander Rabastan. The only thing that met the sunrise next morning was the diary that was left forgotten on the alley behind the ancient house.