THE MIDNIGHT CRY OF ALARM.—THE VAMPYRE’S MEAL.—THE CHASE ACROSS THE
FIELDS.—THE DEATH OF THE LANDLORD’S DAUGHTER.
The old inn was in a state of repose; its various parts were no longer
vexed by the busy tramp of men, the noisy voice of the toper, or the
untiring hands of the housewife, who does not spare any part of its
edifice from her ablutions. The brush and the broom are sad intruders
and disturbers, and yet they are in perpetual requisition. However, the
inhabitants were all steeped in slumber.
Among those who lay in that house, there was not one, except one,
indeed, who did not lie down to rest, and fall into a deep sleep; but
that one exception was the stranger, who appeared to have other views.
He threw himself into a chair, and there appeared to meditate upon the
clouds which passed across the sky, in endless variety of shape and
form. He sat motionless, and still his large, lustreless eyes were
fully opened, and he was gazing earnestly for nearly an hour without
motion.
At length, as if his attention was of itself wearying to continue so
long, he moved, then sighed deeply, or rather groaned.
“How long is this hated life to last?” he muttered. “When shall I cease
to be the loathsome creature I am?”
There was some reflection in this that was very bitter to him. He
shuddered, and buried his face in his hands, and remained in that state
for some minutes; but then he lifted his head up again, and turned
towards the moon’s rays, muttering,—
“But I am faint; I feel the want of my natural slumbers. Blood alone
will restore me my strength. There is no resisting the dreadful
appetite that goads me on. I must—I must—I will satisfy it.”
He arose suddenly, and drew himself up to his full height, and threw
aloft his arms, as he growled out these words with frantic energy; but
in a few seconds he became more calm, and said,—
“I saw the maiden enter the room next to mine. I can enter it by the
same door, for I have the key, and that will place her at my mercy.
Good fortune for once avail me, and then my wants will be satisfied.”
He walked softly to his own door, and undid it stealthily, and listened
for some minutes.
“They are all asleep,” he said—“all, save one. I alone walk through the
place. All are in peaceful slumbers, while I, like the creatures of
prey, seek those whom I may devour. I must on.”
He crept into the passage, and advanced to the door of the young girl,
who lay soundly sleeping in innocence and peace, little dreaming of the
fate that awaited her—much less did she think that the destroyer was so
close at hand.
She might, indeed, have dreamed that there was some one in the house
who was scarcely of her nature—one that was loathsome and dreadful—one
who, in fact, lived upon the blood of the innocent and fairest.
“She sleeps,” he muttered—“she sleeps!”
He listened again, and then he gently put the key into the door, and
found that it was not locked, and then, turning the handle, he found
there was some impediment to its opening; but of what character he
could not tell.
“’Tis unlucky; but this must be removed.”
He place his hand and foot close to the door, and pressed it gradually
and hardly against it, and he found that it gradually gave way, and
that the impediment gave by degrees, and that, too, with hardly any
noise.
“Fortune favours me,” he muttered; “she does not hear me. I shall win
the chamber, and shall, before she can wake up, seize upon the dear
life-stream that is no less precious to me than to herself.”
He now had succeeded in effecting an entrance into the room, and found
that it was only an easy chair that had been placed against the door,
because there was no other means of securing it, the key having
unaccountably disappeared, and left her without any other means of
securing her door.
“I will lock it,” he muttered; “if I be disturbed, I shall be better
able to escape, and I shall be safe. My meal will be undisturbed; at
least not before so much has been taken as will revive my strength.”
He now approached the bed, and with eager eyes devoured the fair form
of the youthful and innocent sleeper.
“How calm, and how unsuspicious she lies,” he muttered; “’twere a pity,
but I must, I must—there is no help.”
He leaned over her. He bent his head till his ear almost touched the
lips of the sleeper, as though he were listening to the breathing of
the young girl.
Something caused her to start. She opened her eyes, and endeavoured to
rise up, but she was immediately thrust back, and the vampire seized
her fair flesh with his fanged teeth, and having fleshed them, he was
drawing that life current from her which ensanguined them both.
Horror and fright for a moment deprived her of strength, or the power
of uttering a sound of any kind; but when she did do so, it was one
wild unearthly shriek, that was heard throughout the whole house, and
awakened every human being within it in a moment.
“Help! murder, murder!” she shrieked out, as soon as the first scream
subsided, and she regained breath.
These cries she uttered rapidly, as well as attempting a desperate
resistance to her persecutor; but she was growing gradually more and
more faint.
• • • • •
The landlord had just got out of an uncomfortable dream about some
strange adventure he was having with some excisemen when he was young,
when the heart-piercing shriek of Mary came upon him.
“God bless me,” he muttered, “what’s that? I never heard anything so
horrible in all my life. What can it be?”
He sat up in bed, and pulled his night-cap off, while he listened, when
he heard the cries of help issuing from his daughter’s room.
“Good God! it’s Mary,” he muttered, “What can be the matter?”
He did not pause a moment, but huddled on his clothes, and then rushed
out of his room with a light, to his daughter’s bedroom.
“What is the matter?” inquired one of the highwaymen, who had been
disturbed by the dreadful shriek.
“I don’t know; but—but help me.”
“Help you to what?”
“To burst open this door; ’tis my daughter’s room, and the noise comes
from that place. Hark!”
“Help, help!” said a faint voice.
“Damnation!” said the highwayman, “something’s wrong there; somebody’s
sucking; surely the stranger is not there?”
“Burst the door open.”
“Then lend a hand; it must give,” said Ned; and they all three made
a rush at the door, and in it went, for their weight carried it all
before them, and they all three went into the apartment without
any hindrance, for the frail lock gave immediately, and the other
impediment only served to add to the noise.
Though they went in easily, yet they did not do so quickly enough,
for they all rolled over each other, and before they could rise they
distinctly saw the figure of the stranger start up and rush out of the
room with Mary in his arms.
“Help! help! mercy!” she shrieked out.
“’Tis she,” said the landlord.
“Mary——”
“Yes, after her boys—after her; for Heaven’s sake, after her.”
“We will not leave her,” said the highwaymen in concert, and at the
same moment all three rushed after her.
“The stranger has made his way down into the kitchen, and I think he
has her with him,” said the landlord.
“I will after him,” said Ned; “I saw her in his arms. She was all over
blood. Good Heavens! what can he mean? does he want to murder her?”
“Help! help! murder!” shouted the girl, and at that moment they heard
the stranger attempting the kitchen door below. In a moment they all
three ran down stairs as fast as they could, to seize the villain
before he could escape; but they had hardly got into the kitchen before
they saw the door swing to after him.
“He’s gone,” said the landlord; “he’s gone.”
“We’ll after them; come on, never mind a chase; she’s in white, and the
moon’s up, so we shall have them in sight.”
“Away after them, lads; save my girl—save my Mary!”
Away they went with great speed, but the stranger somehow or other kept
ahead of them; his great height gave him an advantage in length of
stride; but then he bore the landlord’s daughter in his arms, which was
more than enough to balance their powers; for though she was not heavy,
comparatively speaking, yet she was heavy to be borne along in this
manner; but the stranger appeared to possess superhuman strength, and
moved along safely until they lost sight of him among some hay-stacks,
for which they made.
“There, he’s gone into Jackson’s rick-yard,” said the landlord; “get
up; push on; we may be yet in time to prevent mischief.”
The highwaymen ran hard; they had been out of breath for some time, and
could hardly move their feet, but they made a sudden effort, or spirt,
and away they ran, and, in less than a minute, came up to the rick-yard.
They rushed into the yard, and then beheld the stranger seated upon
some partially cut hay with the helpless maiden on his lap, but his
fanged teeth were fleshed in her fair neck, and he was exerting himself
in drawing the life stream from her veins.
As soon as he saw the highwaymen he arose, and the unfortunate girl
rolled to the earth, and he started up and fled, the highwaymen firing
a parting shot after him, with pretty good aim, yet it took no effect.
The landlord’s daughter was picked up warm, but lifeless. Whether it
was in consequence of her wound and loss of blood, which was doubted,
or from sheer fright, is not known, but the latter was considered most
probable.