Vampire House

by R. W. Heilig

  on the busts of Shakespeare and Balzac unmistakably pointed toward the

  new and horrible spectre that Kelly's revelation had raised in place of

  his host.

  And then, again, the other David appeared, crowned with the lyric

  wreath. From his lips golden cadences fell, sweeter than the smell of

  many flowers or the sound of a silver bell. He was once more the divine

  master, whose godlike features bore no trace of malice and who had

  raised him to a place very near his heart.

  "No," he cried, "it is impossible. It's all a dream, a horrible

  nightmare."

  "But he has himself confessed it," she interjected.

  "Perhaps he has spoken in symbols. We all absorb to some extent other

  men's ideas, without robbing them and wrecking their thought-life.

  David may be unscrupulous in the use of his power of impressing upon

  others the stamp of his master-mind. So was Shakespeare. No, no, no!

  You are mistaken; we were both deluded for the moment by his picturesque

  account of a common, not even a discreditable, fact. He may himself have

  played with the idea, but surely he cannot have been serious."

  "And your own experience, and Abel Felton's and mine--can they, too, be

  dismissed with a shrug of the shoulder?"

  "But, come to think of it, the whole theory seems absurd. It is

  unscientific. It is not even a case of mesmerism. If he had said that he

  hypnotised his victims, the matter would assume a totally different

  aspect. I admit that something is wrong somewhere, and that the home of

  David Gardner is no healthful abode for me. But you must also remember

  that probably we are both unstrung to the point of hysteria."

  But to Kelly his words carried no conviction.

  "You are still under his spell," she cried, anxiously.

  A little shaken in his confidence, Chance resumed: "David is utterly

  incapable of such an action, even granting that he possessed the

  terrible power of which you speak. A man of his splendid resources, a

  literary Midas at whose very touch every word turns into gold, is under

  no necessity to prey on the thoughts of others. Circumstances, I admit,

  are suspicious. But in the light of common day this fanciful theory

  shrivels into nothing. Any court of law would reject our evidence as

  madness. It is too utterly fantastic, utterly alien to any human

  experience."

  "Is it though?" Kelly replied with peculiar intonation.

  "Why, what do you mean?"

  "Surely," she answered, "you must know that in the legends of every

  nation we read of men and women who were called vampires. They are

  beings, not always wholly evil, whom every night some mysterious impulse

  leads to steal into unguarded bedchambers, to suck the blood of the

  sleepers and then, having waxed strong on the life of their victims,

  cautiously to retreat. Thence comes it that their lips are very red. It

  is even said that they can find no rest in the grave, but return to

  their former haunts long after they are believed to be dead. Those whom

  they visit, however, pine away for no apparent reason. The physicians

  shake their wise heads and speak of consumption. But sometimes, ancient

  chronicles assure us, the people's suspicions were aroused, and under

  the leadership of a good priest they went in solemn procession to the

  graves of the persons suspected. And on opening the tombs it was found

  that their coffins had rotted away and the flowers in their hair were

  black. But their bodies were white and whole; through no empty sockets

  crept the vermin, and their sucking lips were still moist with a little

  blood."

  Chance was carried away in spite of himself by her account, which

  vividly resembled his own experience. Still he would not give in.

  "All this is impressive. I admit it is very impressive. But you yourself

  speak of such stories as legends. They are unfounded upon any tangible

  fact, and you cannot expect a man schooled in modern sciences to admit,

  as having any possible bearing upon his life, the crude belief of the

  Middle Ages!"

  "Why not?" she responded. "Our scientists have proved true the wildest

  theories of mediæval scholars. The transmutation of metals seems to-day

  no longer an idle speculation, and radium has transformed into potential

  reality the dream of perpetual motion. The fundamental notions of

  mathematics are being undermined. One school of philosophers claims that

  the number of angles in a triangle is equal to more than two right

  angles; another propounds that it is less. Even great scientists who

  have studied the soul of nature are turning to spiritism. The world is

  overcoming the shallow scepticism of the nineteenth century. Life has

  become once more wonderful and very mysterious. But it also seems that,

  with the miracles of the old days, their terrors, their nightmares and

  their monsters have come back in a modern guise."

  Chance became even more thoughtful. "Yes," he observed, "there is

  something in what you say." Then, pacing the room nervously, he

  exclaimed: "And still I find it impossible to believe your explanation.

  David a vampire! It seems so ludicrous. If you had told me that such

  creatures exist somewhere, far away, I might have discussed the matter;

  but in this great city, in the shadow of the Flatiron Building--no!"

  She replied with warmth: "Yet they exist--always have existed. Not only

  in the Middle Ages, but at all times and in all regions. There is no

  nation but has some record of them, in one form or another. And don't

  you think if we find a thought, no matter how absurd it may seem to us,

  that has ever occupied the minds of men--if we find, I say, such a

  perennially recurrent thought, are we not justified in assuming that it

  must have some basis in the actual experience of mankind?"

  Chance's brow became very clouded, and infinite numbers of hidden

  premature wrinkles began to show. How wan he looked and how frail! He

  was as one lost in a labyrinth in which he saw no light, convinced

  against his will, or rather, against his scientific conviction, that she

  was not wholly mistaken.

  "Still," he observed triumphantly, "your vampires suck blood; but

  David, if vampire he be, preys upon the soul. How can a man suck

  from another man's brain a thing as intangible, as quintessential as

  thought?"

  "Ah," she replied, "you forget, thought is more real than blood!"

  XXV

  Only three hours had passed since Kelly had startled Chance from his

  sombre reveries, but within this brief space their love had matured as

  if each hour had been a year. The pallor had vanished from his cheeks

  and the restiveness from his eyes. The intoxication of her presence had

  rekindled the light of his countenance and given him strength to combat

  the mighty forces embodied in David Gardner. The child in him had made

  room for the man. He would not hear of surrendering without a struggle,

  and Kelly felt sure she might leave his fate in his own hand. Love had

  lent him a coat of mail. He was warned, and would not succumb. Still she

  made one more attempt to persuade him to leave the house at once with
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  her.

  "I must go now," she said. "Will you not come with me, after all? I am

  so afraid to think of you still here."

  "No, dear," he replied. "I shall not desert my post. I must solve the

  riddle of this man's life; and if, indeed, he is the thing he seems to

  be, I shall attempt to wrest from him what he has stolen from me. I

  speak of my unwritten novel."

  "Do not attempt to oppose him openly. You cannot resist him."

  "Be assured that I shall be on my guard. I have in the last few hours

  lived through so much that makes life worth living, that I would not

  wantonly expose myself to any danger. Still, I cannot go without

  certainty--cannot, if there is some truth in our fears, leave the best

  of me behind."

  "What are you planning to do?"

  "My play--I am sure now that it is mine--I cannot take from him; that is

  irretrievably lost. He has read it to his circle and prepared for its

  publication. And, no matter how firmly convinced you or I may be of his

  strange power, no one would believe our testimony. They would pronounce

  us mad. Perhaps we _are_ mad!"

  "No; we are not mad; but it is mad for you to stay here," she asserted.

  "I shall not stay here one minute longer than is absolutely essential.

  Within a week I shall have conclusive proof of his guilt or innocence."

  "How will you go about it?"

  "His writing table--"

  "Ah!"

  "Yes, perhaps I can discover some note, some indication, some proof--"

  "It's a dangerous game."

  "I have everything to gain."

  "I wish I could stay here with you," she said. "Have you no friend, no

  one whom you could trust in this delicate matter?"

  "Why, yes--Jack."

  A shadow passed over her face.

  "Do you know," she said, "I have a feeling that you care more for him

  than for me?"

  "Nonsense," he said, "he is my friend, you, you--immeasurably more."

  "Are you still as intimate with him as when I first met you?"

  "Not quite; of late a troubling something, like a thin veil, seems to

  have passed between us. But he will come when I call him. He will not

  fail me in my hour of need."

  "When can he be here?"

  "In two or three days."

  "Meanwhile be very careful. Above all, lock your door at night."

  "I will not only lock, but barricade it. I shall try with all my power

  to elucidate this mystery without, however, exposing myself to needless

  risks."

  "I will go, then. Kiss me good-bye."

  "May I not take you to the car?"

  "You had better not."

  At the door she turned back once more. "Write me every day, or call me

  up on the telephone."

  He straightened himself, as if to convince her of his strength. Yet when

  at last the door had closed behind her, his courage forsook him for a

  moment. And, if he had not been ashamed to appear a weakling before the

  woman he loved, who knows if any power on earth could have kept him in

  that house where from every corner a secret seemed to lurk!

  There was a misgiving, too, in the woman's heart as she left the boy

  behind,--a prey to the occult power that, seeking expression in multiple

  activities, has made and unmade emperors, prophets and poets.

  As she stepped into a street car she saw from afar, as in a vision, the

  face of David Gardner. It seemed very white and hungry. There was no

  human kindness in it--only a threat and a sneer.

  XXVI

  For over an hour Chance paced up and down his room, wildly excited by

  Kelly's revelations. It required an immense amount of self-control for

  him to pen the following lines to Jack: "I need you. Come."

  After he had entrusted the letter to the hall-boy, a reaction set in and

  he was able to consider the matter, if not with equanimity, at least

  with a degree of calmness. The strangest thing to him was that he could

  not bring himself to hate David, of whose evil influence upon his

  life he was now firmly convinced. Here was another shattered idol; but

  one--like the fragment of a great god-face in the desert--intensely

  fascinating, even in its ruin. Then yielding to a natural impulse,

  Chance looked over his photographs and at once laid hold upon the

  austere image of his master and friend. No--it was preposterous; there

  was no evil in this man. There was no trace of malice in this face, the

  face of a prophet or an inspired madman, a poet. And yet, as he

  scrutinised the picture closely a curious transformation seemed to take

  place in the features; a sly little line appeared insinuatingly about

  David's well-formed mouth, and the serene calm of his Jupiter-head

  seemed to turn into the sneak smile of a thief. Nevertheless, Chance was

  not afraid. His anxieties had at last assumed definite shape; it was

  possible now to be on his guard. It is only invisible, incomprehensible

  fear, crouching upon us from the night, that drives sensitive natures to

  the verge of madness and transforms stern warriors into cowards.

  Chance realised the necessity of postponing the proposed investigation

  of David's papers until the morning, as it was now near eleven, and

  he expected to hear at any moment the sound of his feet at the door.

  Before retiring he took a number of precautions. Carefully he locked the

  door to his bedroom and placed a chair in front of it. To make doubly

  sure, he fastened the handle to an exquisite Chinese vase, a gift of

  David's, that at the least attempt to force an entrance from without

  would come down with a crash.

  Then, although sleep seemed out of the question, he went to bed. He had

  hardly touched the pillow when a leaden weight seemed to fall upon his

  eyes. The day's commotion had been too much for his delicate frame. By

  force of habit he pulled the cover over his ear and fell asleep.

  All night he slept heavily, and the morning was far advanced when a

  knock at the door that, at first, seemed to come across an immeasurable

  distance, brought him back to himself. It was David's manservant

  announcing that breakfast was waiting.

  Chance got up and rubbed his eyes. The barricade at the door at once

  brought back to his mind with startling clearness the events of the

  previous evening.

  Everything was as he had left it. Evidently no one had attempted to

  enter the room while he slept. He could not help smiling at the

  arrangement which reminded him of his childhood, when he had sought by

  similar means security from burglars and bogeys. And in the broad

  daylight Kelly's tales of vampires seemed once more impossible and

  absurd. Still, he had abundant evidence of David's strange influence,

  and was determined to know the truth before nightfall. Her words, that

  thought is more real than blood, kept ringing in his ears. If such was

  the case, he would find evidence of David's intellectual burglaries,

  and possibly be able to regain a part of his lost self that had been

  snatched from him by the relentless dream-hand.

  But under no circumstances could he face David in his present state

  of mind. He was convinced that if in the fleeting vision of a moment the
r />   other man's true nature should reveal itself to him, he would be so

  terribly afraid as to shriek like a maniac. So he dressed particularly

  slowly in the hope of avoiding an encounter with his host. But fate

  thwarted this hope. David, too, lingered that morning unusually long

  over his coffee. He was just taking his last sip when Chance entered the

  room. His behaviour was of an almost bourgeois kindness. Benevolence

  fairly beamed from his face. But to the boy's eyes it had assumed a new

  and sinister expression.

  "You are late this morning, Chance," he remarked in his mildest manner.

  "Have you been about town, or writing poetry? Both occupations are

  equally unhealthy." As he said this he watched the young man with the