FOUR WOODEN STAKES
by Victor Rowan.
There it lay on the desk in front of me, that
missive so simple in wording, yet so perplexing, so urgent in tone:
Jack:
Come
at once for old-time's sake. Am all alone. Will explain upon arrival,
Remson.
Having spent the past three weeks in bringing to a
successful termination a case that had puzzled the police and two of the best
detective agencies in the city, I decided I was entitled to a rest; so I
ordered two grips packed and went in search of a time-table. It was several
years since I had seen Remson Holroyd; in fact, I had not seen him since we had
matriculated from college together. I was curious to know how he was getting
along, to say nothing of the little diversion he promised me in the way of a
mystery.
The following
afternoon found me standing on the station platform of the little town of
Charing, a village of about fifteen hundred souls. Remson's place was about ten
miles from there; so I stepped forward to the driver of a shay and asked if he
would kindly take me to the Holroyd estate. He clasped his hands in what seemed
to be a silent prayer, shuddered slightly, then looked at me with an air of
wonder, mingled with suspicion.
"I dun't
know what ye wants to go out there fer, stranger, but if yell take the advice
of a God-fearin' man ye'll turn back where ye come from. There be some mighty
fearful tales concernin' that place floatin' around, and more'n one tramp's
been found near there so weak from loss of blood and fear he could hardly
crawl. They's somethin' there. Be it man or beast I dun't know, but as fer me,
I wouldn't drive ye out there for a hundred dollars—cash."
This was not at
all encouraging, but I ' was not to be influenced by the talk of a
superstitious old gossip; so I cast about for a less impressionable rustic who
would undertake the trip to earn the ample reward I promised at the end of the
ride. To my chagrin, they all acted like the first; some crossed themselves
fervently, while others gave me one wild look and ran, as if I were in alliance
with the devil.
By now my curiosity
was thoroughly aroused, and I was determined to see the thing through to a
finish if it cost me my life. So, casting a last, contemptuous look on those
poor, misguided souls, I stepped out briskly in the direction pointed out to
me. However, I had gone but a scant two miles when the weight of the valises
began to tell, and I slackened pace considerably.
The sun was just
disappearing beneath the treetops when I caught my first glimpse of the old
homestead, now deserted but for its one occupant. Time and the elements had
laid heavy hands upon it, for there was hardly a window that could boast its
full quota of panes, while the shutters banged and creaked with a noise dismal
enough to daunt even the strong of heart.
About one hundred
yards back I discerned a small building built of gray stone, pieces of which
seemed to be lying all around it, partly covered by the dense growth of
vegetation that overran the entire countryside. On closer observation I
realized that the building was a crypt, while what I had taken to be pieces of
the material scattered around were really tombstones. Evidently this was the
family burying-ground. But why had certain members been interred in a mausoleum
while the remainder of the family had been buried in the ground in the usual
manner?
Having observed
thus much, I turned my steps toward the house, for I had no intention of
spending the night with naught but the dead for company. Indeed, I began to
realize just why those simple country folk had refused to aid me, and a
hesitant doubt began to assert itself as to the expediency of my being here,
when I might have been at the shore or at the country club enjoying life to the
full.
By now the sun
had completely slid from view, and in the semi-darkness the place presented an
even drearier aspect than before. With a great display of bravado I stepped
upon the veranda, slammed my grips upon a seat very much the worse for wear,
and pulled lustily at the knob.
Peal after peal
reverberated throughout the house, echoing and re-echoing from room to room,
till the whole structure rang. Then all was still once more, save for the
sighing of the wind and the creaking of the shutters.
A few minutes
passed, and the sound of footsteps approaching the door reached my ears.
Another interval, and the door was cautiously opened a few inches, while a head
shrouded by the darkness scrutinized me closely. Then the door was flung wide,
and Remson (I hardly knew him, so changed was he) rushed forward and, throwing
his arms around me, thanked me again and again for heeding his plea, till I
thought he would go into hysterics.
I begged him to
brace up, and the sound of my voice seemed to help him, for he apologized
rather shamefacedly for his discourtesy and led the way along the wide hall.
There was a fire blazing merrily in the sitting-room, and after partaking
generously of a repast, for I was famished after my long walk, I was seated in
front of it, facing Remson and waiting to hear his story.
"Jack,"
he began, "I'll start at the beginning and try to give you the facts in
their proper sequence. Five years ago my family circle consisted of five
persons: my grandfather, my father, two brothers, and myself, the baby of the
family. My mother died, you know, when I was a baby. Now—"
His voice broke
and for a moment he was unable to continue.
"There's
only myself left," he went on, "and so help me God, I'm going, too,
unless you can solve the damnable mystery that hovers over this house, and put
an end to that something which took my kin and is gradually taking me.
"Granddad
was the first to go. He spent the last few years of his life in South America.
Just before leaving there he was attacked while asleep by one of those huge
bats. Next morning he was so weak he couldn't walk. That awful thing had sucked
his life-blood away. He arrived here, but was sickly until his death, a few
weeks later. The medicos couldn't agree as to the cause of death; so they laid
it to old age and let it go at that. But I knew better. It was his experience
in the south that had done for him. In his will he asked that a crypt be built
immediately and his body interred therein. His wish was carried out, and his
remains lie in that little gray vault that you may have noticed if you cut
around behind the house.
"Then my dad
began failing and just pined away until he died. What puzzled the doctors was
the fact that right up until the end he consumed enough food to sustain three
men, yet he was so weak he lacked the strength to drag his legs over the floor.
He was buried, or rather interred, with granddad. The same symptoms were in
evidence in the cases of George and Fred. They are both lying in the vault. And
now, Jack, I'm going, too, for of late my appetite has increased to alarming
proportions, yet I am as weak as a kitten."
"Nonsense!"
I chided. "We'll just leave this place for a while and take a trip
somewhere, and when you return you'll laugh at your fears. It's all a case of
overwrought nerves, and there is certainly nothing strange about the deaths you
speak of. They are probably due to some hereditary disease. More than one
family has passed out in a hurry just on that account."
"Jack, I
only wish I could think so, but somehow I know better. And as for leaving here,
I just can't get away. There is a morbid fascination about the place which holds
me. If you want to be a real friend, just stick around for a couple of days,
and if you don't find anything I'm sure the sight of you and the sound of your
voice will do wonders for me."
I agreed to do my
best, although I was hard put to keep from smiling at his fears, so apparently
groundless were they. We talked on other subjects for several hours; then I
proposed bed, saying that I was very tired after my journey and subsequent
walk. Remson showed me to my room, and, after seeing that everything was as
comfortable as possible, he bade me good-night.
As he turned to
leave the room, the flickering light from the lamp fell on his neck and I
noticed two small punctures in the skin. I questioned him regarding them, but
he replied that he must have beheaded a pimple and that he hadn't noticed them
before. He again said goodnight and left the room.
I undressed and
tumbled into bed. During the night I was conscious of an overpowering feeling
of suffocation—as if some great burden was lying on my chest which I could not
dislodge; and in the morning, when I awoke, I experienced a curious sensation
of weakness. I arose, not without an effort, and began divesting myself of my
sleeping-suit.
As I folded the
jacket I noticed a thin line of blood on the collar. I felt my neck, a terrible
fear overwhelming me. It pained slightly at the touch. I rushed to examine it
in the mirror. Two tiny dots rimmed with blood—my blood—and on my neck! No
longer did I chuckle at Remson's fears, for it, the thing, had attacked me as I
slept!
I dressed as
quickly as my condition would permit and went downstairs, thinking to find my
friend there. He was not about, so I looked about outside, but he was not in
evidence. There was but one answer to the question. He had not yet arisen. It
was nine o'clock, so I resolved to awaken him.
Not knowing which
room he occupied, I entered one after another in a fruitless search. They were
all in various stages of disorder, and the thick coating of dust on the
furniture showed that they had been untenanted for some time. At last, in a
bedroom on the north side of the third floor, I found him.
He was lying
spread-eagle fashion across the bed, still in his pajamas, and as I leaned forward
to shake him my eyes fell on two drops of blood, spattered on the coverlet. I
crushed back a wild desire to scream and shook Remson rather roughly. His head
rolled to one side, and the hellish perforations on his throat showed up
vividly. They looked fresh and raw, and had increased to much greater
dimensions. I shook him with increased vigor, and at last he opened his eyes
stupidly and looked around. Then, seeing me, he said in a voice loaded with
anguish, resignation, and despair:
"It's been
here again, Jack. I can't hold out much longer. May God take my soul when I
go!"
So saying, he
fell back again from sheer weakness. I left him and went about preparing myself
some breakfast. I had thought it best not to destroy his faith in me by telling
him that I, too, had suffered at the hands of his persecutor.
A walk brought me
some peace of mind, if not a solution, and when I returned about noon to the
big house Remson was up and around. Together we prepared a really excellent
meal. I was hungry and did justice to my share; but after I had finished, my
friend continued eating until I thought he must either disgorge or burst. Then,
after putting things to rights, we strolled about the long hall, looking at the
oil paintings, many of which were very valuable.
At one end of the
hall I discovered a portrait of an old gentleman, evidently a Beau Brummel in
his day. He wore his hair in the long flowing fashion adopted by the old
school, and sported a carefully trimmed mustache and Vandyke beard. Remson
noticed my interest in the painting and came forward.
"I don't
wonder that picture holds your interest, Jack. It has a great fascination for
me, also. At times I sit for hours studying the expression on that face. I
sometimes think he has something to tell me, but of course that's all tommyrot.
But I beg your pardon, I haven't introduced the old gent yet, have I? This is
my granddad. He was a great old boy in his day, and he might be living yet but
for that cursed bloodsucker. Perhaps it is such a creature that's doing for me;
what do you think?"
"I wouldn't
like to venture an opinion, Remson, but unless I'm badly mistaken we must dig
deeper for an explanation. We'll know tonight, however. You retire as usual and
I'll keep a close watch and we'll solve the riddle or die in the attempt."
Remson said not a
word, but silently extended his hand. I clasped it in a firm embrace, and in
each other's eyes we read complete understanding. To change the trend of
thought I questioned him on the servant problem.
"I've tried time
and again to get servants that would stay," he replied, "but about
the third day they would begin acting queer, and the first thing I'd know
they'd have skipped, bag and baggage."
That night I
accompanied my friend to his room and remained until he had disrobed and was
ready to retire. Several of the window-panes were cracked, and one was entirely
missing. I suggested boarding up the aperture, but he declined, saying that he
rather enjoyed the night air; so I dropped the matter.
As it was still
early, I sat by the fire in the sitting-room and read for an hour or two. I
confess that there were many times when my mind wandered from the printed page
before me and chills raced up and down my spine as some new sound was borne to
my ears. The wind had risen, and was whistling through the trees with a
peculiar whining sound. The creaking of the shutters tended to further the eery
effect, and in the distance could be heard the hooting of numerous owls,
mingled with the cries of miscellaneous night fowl and other nocturnal
creatures.
As I ascended the
two flights of steps, the candle in my hand casting grotesque shadows on the
walls and ceiling, I had little liking for my job. Many times in the course of
duty I had been called upon to display courage, but it took more than mere
courage to keep me going now.
I extinguished
the candle and crept forward to Remson's room, the door of which was closed.
Being careful to make no noise, I knelt and looked in at the keyhole. It
afforded me a clear view of the bed and two of the windows in the opposite
wall. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the darkness and I noticed a faint
reddish glow outside one of the windows. It apparently emanated from nowhere.
Hundreds of little specks danced and whirled in the spot of light, and as I
watched them, fascinated, they seemed to take on the form of a human face. The
features were masculine, as was also the arrangement of the hair. Then the
mysterious glow disappeared.
So great had the
strain been on me that I was wet from perspiration, although the night was
cool. For a moment I was undecided whether to enter the room or to stay where I
was and use the keyhole as a means of observation. I concluded that to remain
where I was would be the better plan; so I once more placed my eye to the hole.
Immediately my
attention was drawn to something moving where the light had been. At first,
owing to the poor light, I was unable to distinguish the general outline and
form of the thing; then I saw. It was a man's head.
So help me God,
it was the exact reproduction of that picture I had seen in the hall that very
morning. But oh, the difference in expression! The lips were drawn back in a
snarl, disclosing two sets of pearly white teeth, the canines overdeveloped and
remarkably sharp. The eyes, an emerald green in color, stared in a look of
consuming hate. The hair was sadly disarranged, while on the beard was a large
clot of what seemed to be congealed blood.
I noticed thus
much; then the head melted from my sight and I transferred my attention to a
great bat that circled round and round, his huge wings beating a tattoo on the
panes. Finally he circled around the broken pane and flew straight through the
hole made by the missing glass. For a few moments he was shut off from my view;
then he reappeared and began circling around my friend, who lay sound asleep,
blissfully ignorant of all that was occurring. Nearer and nearer it drew, then
swooped down and fastened itself on Remson's throat, just over the jugular
vein.
At this I rushed
into the room and made a wild dash for the thing that had come night after
night to gorge itself on my friend; but to no avail. It flew out of the window
and away, and I turned my attention to the sleeper.
"Remson, old
man, get up."
He sat up like a
shot.
"What's the
matter, Jack? Has it been here?"
"Never mind
just now," I replied.
"Just dress
as hurriedly as possible. We have a little work before us this evening."
He glanced
questioningly toward me, but followed my command without argument. I turned and
cast my eye about the room for a suitable weapon. There was a stout stick lying
in the corner and I made toward it.
"Jack!"
I wheeled about.
"What is it?
Damn it all, haven't you any sense, almost scaring a man to death?"
He pointed a
shaking finger toward the window.
"There! I
swear I saw him. It was my granddad, but oh, how disfigured!"
He threw himself
upon the bed and began sobbing. The shock had completely unnerved him.
"Forgive me,
old man," I pleaded; "I was too quick. Pull yourself together and we
may yet get to the bottom of things tonight."
When he had
finished dressing we left the house. There was no moon out, and it was
pitch-dark.
I led the way,
and soon we came to within ten yards of the little gray crypt. I stationed
Remson behind a tree with instructions to just use his eyes, and I took up my
stand on the other side of the vault, after making sure that the door into it
was closed and locked. For the greater part of an hour we waited without
results, and I was about ready to call it off when I perceived a white figure
flitting between the trees about fifty feet away.
Slowly it
advanced, straight toward us, and as it drew closer I looked, not at it, but
through it. The wind was blowing strongly, yet not a fold in the long shroud
quivered. Just outside the vault it paused and looked around. Even knowing as I
did about what to expect, it was a decided shock when I looked into the eyes of
the old Holroyd, deceased these past five years. I heard a gasp and knew that
Remson had seen, too, and recognized. Then the spirit, ghost, or whatever it
was, passed into the crypt through the crack between the door and the jamb, a
space not one-sixteenth of an inch wide.
As it
disappeared, Remson came running forward, his face wholly drawn of color.
"What was
it, Jack? What was it? I know it resembled granddad, but it couldn't have been
he. He's been dead five years!"
"Let us go
back to the house," I answered, "and I'll explain things to the best
of my ability. I may be wrong, of course, but it won't hurt to try my remedy.
Remson, what we are up against is a vampire. Not the female species usually
spoken of today, but the real thing. I noticed you had an old edition of the
Encyclopedia Brittanica. If you'll bring me volume XXIV I'll be able to explain
more fully the meaning of the word."
He left the room
and returned, carrying the desired book. Turning to page 52, I read:
"Vampire. A
term apparently of Servian origin originally applied in eastern Europe to
blood-sucking ghosts, but in modem usage transferred to one or more species of
blood-sucking bats inhabiting South America.... In the first mentioned meaning
a vampire is usually supposed to be the soul of a dead man which quits the
buried body by night to suck the blood of living persons. Hence, when the
vampire's grave is opened his corpse is found to be fresh and rosy from the
blood thus absorbed.... They are accredited with the power of assuming any form
they may so desire, and often fly about as specks or dust, pieces of down or
straw, etc.... To put an end to his ravages a stake is driven through him, or
his head cut off, or his heart torn out, or boiling water and vinegar poured
over the grave.... The persons who turn vampires are wizards, witches,
suicides, and those who have come to a violent end. Also, the death of any one
resulting from these vampires will cause that person to join their hellish
throng.... See Calumet's Dissertation on the Vampires of Hungary."
I looked at
Remson, He was staring straight into the fire. I knew that he realized the task
before us and was steeling himself to it. Then he turned to me.
"Jack, we'll
wait until morning."
That was all. I
understood, and he knew. There we sat, each struggling with his own thoughts,
until the first faint glimmers of light came struggling, through the trees and
warned us of approaching dawn.
Remson left to
fetch a sledge-hammer and a large knife with its edge honed to a razor-like
keenness. I busied myself making four wooden stakes, shaped like wedges. He
returned bearing the horrible tools, and we struck out toward the crypt. We
walked rapidly, for had either of us hesitated an instant I verily believe both
would have fled incontinently. However, our duty lay clearly before us.
Remson unlocked
the door and swung it outward. With a prayer on our lips, we entered.
As if by mutual
understanding, we both turned toward the coffin on our left. It belonged to the
grandfather. We displaced the lid, and there lay the old Holroyd. He appeared
to be sleeping; his face was full of color, and he had none of the stiffness of
death. The hair was matted, the mustache untrimmed, and on the beard were stains
of a dull brownish hue.
But it was his
eyes that attracted me. They were greenish, and they glowed with an expression
of fiendish malevolence such as I had never seen before. The look of baffled
rage on the face might well have adorned the features of the devil in his hell.
Remson swayed and
would have fallen, bu I forced some whisky down his throat and he took a grip
on himself. He placed one of the stakes directly over its heart, then shut his
eyes and prayed that the good God above take this soul that was to be delivered
unto Him.
I took a step
backward, aimed carefully, and swung the sledge with all my strength. It hit
the wedge squarely, and a terrible scream filled the place, while the blood
gushed out of the open wound, up, and over us, staining the walls and our
clothes. Without hesitating, I swung again, and again, and again, while it
struggled vainly to rid itself of that awful instrument of death. Another swing
and the stake was driven through.
The thing
squirmed about in the narrow confines of the coffin, much after the manner of a
dismembered worm, and Remson proceeded to sever the head from the body, making
a rather crude but effectual job of it. As the final stroke of the knife cut
the connection a scream issued from the mouth; and the whole corpse fell away
into dust, leaving nothing but a wooden stake lying in a bed of bones.
This finished, we
dispatched the remaining three. Simultaneously, as if struck by the same
thought, we felt our throats. The slight pain was gone from mine, and the wounds
had entirely disappeared from my friend's, leaving not even a scar.
I wished to place
before the world the whole facts contingent upon the mystery and the solution,
but Remson prevailed upon me to hold my peace.
Some years later
Remson died a Christian death, and with him went the only confirmation of my
tale. However, ten miles from the little town of Charing there sits an old
house, forgotten these many years, and near it is a little gray crypt. Within
are four coffins; and in each lies a wooden stake stained a brownish hue, and
bearing the finger prints of the deceased Remson Holroyd.
