Dracula’s Brethren

by Richard Dalby

  ‘Reluctantly I obeyed, for to me there was something sacred in the bones of this unknown woman. But to beguile the time and amuse the poor fellow, I lent a hand, wondering as I worked, if this dark, ugly thing had ever been a lovely, soft-eyed Egyptian girl.

  ‘From the fibrous folds of the wrappings dropped precious gums and spices, which half intoxicated us with their potent breath, antique coins, and a curious jewel or two, which Niles eagerly examined.

  ‘All the bandages but one were cut off at last, and a small head laid bare, round which still hung great plaits of what had once been luxuriant hair. The shrivelled hands were folded on the breast, and clasped in them lay that gold box.’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Evelyn, dropping it from her rosy palm with a shudder.

  ‘Nay; don’t reject the poor little mummy’s treasure. I never have quite forgiven myself for stealing it, or for burning her,’ said Forsyth, painting rapidly, as if the recollection of that experience lent energy to his hand.

  ‘Burning her! Oh, Paul, what do you mean?’ asked the girl, sitting up with a face full of excitement.

  ‘I’ll tell you. While busied with Madame la Momie, our fire had burned low, for the dry case went like tinder. A faint, far-off sound made our hearts leap, and Niles cried out: “Pile on the wood; Jumal is tracking us; don’t let the smoke fail now or we are lost!”

  ‘“There is no more wood; the case was very small, and is all gone,” I answered, tearing off such of my garments as would burn readily, and piling them upon the embers.

  ‘Niles did the same, but the light fabrics were quickly consumed, and made no smoke.

  ‘“Burn that!” commanded the professor, pointing to the mummy.

  ‘I hesitated a moment. Again came the faint echo of a horn. Life was dear to me. A few dry bones might save us, and I obeyed him in silence.

  ‘A dull blaze sprung up, and a heavy smoke rose from the burning mummy, rolling in volumes through the low passages, and threatening to suffocate us with its fragrant mist. My brain grew dizzy, the light danced before my eyes, strange phantoms seemed to people the air, and, in the act of asking Niles why he gasped and looked so pale, I lost consciousness.’

  Evelyn drew a long breath, and put away the scented toys from her lap as if their odour oppressed her.

  Forsyth’s swarthy face was all aglow with the excitement of his story, and his black eyes glittered as he added, with a quick laugh:

  ‘That’s all; Jumal found and got us out, and we both forswore pyramids for the rest of our days.’

  ‘But the box: how came you to keep it?’ asked Evelyn, eyeing it askance as it lay gleaming in a streak of sunshine.

  ‘Oh, I brought it away as a souvenir, and Niles kept the other trinkets.’

  ‘But you said harm was foretold to the possessor of those scarlet seeds,’ persisted the girl, whose fancy was excited by the tale, and who fancied all was not told.

  ‘Among his spoils, Niles found a bit of parchment, which he deciphered, and this inscription said that the mummy we had so ungallantly burned was that of a famous sorceress who bequeathed her curse to whoever should disturb her rest. Of course I don’t believe that curse has anything to do with it, but it’s a fact that Niles never prospered from that day. He says it’s because he has never recovered from the fall and fright and I dare say it is so; but I sometimes wonder if I am to share the curse, for I’ve a vein of superstition in me, and that poor little mummy haunts my dreams still.’

  A long silence followed these words. Paul painted mechanically and Evelyn lay regarding him with a thoughtful face. But gloomy fancies were as foreign to her nature as shadows are to noonday, and presently she laughed a cheery laugh, saying as she took up the box again:

  ‘Why don’t you plant them, and see what wondrous flower they will bear?’

  ‘I doubt if they would bear anything after lying in a mummy’s hand for centuries,’ replied Forsyth, gravely.

  ‘Let me plant them and try. You know wheat has sprouted and grown that was taken from a mummy’s coffin; why should not these pretty seeds? I should so like to watch them grow; may I, Paul?’

  ‘No, I’d rather leave that experiment untried. I have a queer feeling about the matter, and don’t want to meddle myself or let anyone I love meddle with these seeds. They may be some horrible poison, or possess some evil power, for the sorceress evidently valued them, since she clutched them fast even in her tomb.’

  ‘Now, you are foolishly superstitious, and I laugh at you. Be generous; give me one seed, just to learn if it will grow. See I’ll pay for it,’ and Evelyn, who now stood beside him, dropped a kiss on his forehead as she made her request, with the most engaging air.

  But Forsyth would not yield. He smiled and returned the embrace with lover-like warmth, then flung the seeds into the fire, and gave her back the golden box, saying, tenderly:

  ‘My darling, I’ll fill it with diamonds or bonbons, if you please, but I will not let you play with that witch’s spells. You’ve enough of your own, so forget the “pretty seeds” and see what a Light of the Harem I’ve made of you.’

  Evelyn frowned, and smiled, and presently the lovers were out in the spring sunshine revelling in their own happy hopes, untroubled by one foreboding fear.

  II

  ‘I have a little surprise for you, love,’ said Forsyth, as he greeted his cousin three months later on the morning of his wedding day.

  ‘And I have one for you,’ she answered, smiling faintly.

  ‘How pale you are, and how thin you grow! All this bridal bustle is too much for you, Evelyn,’ he said, with fond anxiety, as he watched the strange pallor of her face, and pressed the wasted little hand in his.

  ‘I am so tired,’ she said, and leaned her head wearily on her lover’s breast. ‘Neither sleep, food, nor air gives me strength, and a curious mist seems to cloud my mind at times. Mamma says it is the heat, but I shiver even in the sun, while at night I burn with fever. Paul, dear, I’m glad you are going to take me away to lead a quiet, happy life with you; but I’m afraid it will be a very short one.’

  ‘My fanciful little wife! You are tired and nervous with all this worry, but a few weeks of rest in the country will give us back our blooming Eve again. Have you no curiosity to learn my surprise?’ he asked, to change her thoughts.

  The vacant look stealing over the girl’s face gave place to one of interest, but as she listened it seemed to require an effort to fix her mind on her lover’s words.

  ‘You remember the day we rummaged in the old cabinet?’

  ‘Yes,’ and a smile touched her lips for a moment.

  ‘And how you wanted to plant those queer red seeds I stole from the mummy?’

  ‘I remember,’ and her eyes kindled with sudden fire.

  ‘Well, I tossed them into the fire, as I thought, and gave you the box. But when I went back to cover up my picture, and found one of those seeds on the rug, a sudden fancy to gratify your whim led me to send it to Niles and ask him to plant and report on its progress. Today I hear from him for the first time, and he reports that the seed has grown marvellously, has budded, and that he intends to take the first flower, if it blooms in time, to a meeting of famous scientific men, after which he will send me its true name and the plant itself. From his description, it must be very curious, and I’m impatient to see it.’

  ‘You need not wait; I can show you the flower in its bloom,’ and Evelyn beckoned with the méchante smile so long a stranger to her lips.

  Much amazed, Forsyth followed her to her own little boudoir, and there, standing in the sunshine, was the unknown plant. Almost rank in their luxuriance were the vivid green leaves on the slender purple stems, and rising from the midst, one ghostly-white flower, shaped like the head of a hooded snake, with scarlet stamens like forked tongues, and on the petals glittered spots like dew.

  ‘A strange, uncanny flower! Has it any odour?’ asked Forsyth, bending to examine it, and forgetting, in his interest, to ask how it came there.


  ‘None, and that disappoints me, I am so fond of perfumes,’ answered the girl, caressing the green leaves which trembled at her touch, while the purple stems deepened their tint.

  ‘Now tell me about it,’ said Forsyth, after standing silent for several minutes.

  ‘I had been before you, and secured one of the seeds, for two fell on the rug. I planted it under a glass in the richest soil I could find, watered it faithfully, and was amazed at the rapidity with which it grew when once it appeared above the earth. I told no-one, for I meant to surprise you with it; but this bud has been so long in blooming, I have had to wait. It is a good omen that it blossoms today, and as it is nearly white, I mean to wear it, for I’ve learned to love it, having been my pet for so long.’

  ‘I would not wear it, for, in spite of its innocent colour, it is an evil-looking plant, with its adder’s tongue and unnatural dew. Wait till Niles tells us what it is, then pet it if it is harmless. Perhaps my sorceress cherished it for some symbolic beauty – those old Egyptians were full of fancies. It was very sly of you to turn the tables on me in this way. But I forgive you, since in a few hours, I shall chain this mysterious hand forever. How cold it is! Come out into the garden and get some warmth and colour for tonight, my love.’

  But when night came, no-one could reproach the girl with her pallor, for she glowed like a pomegranate flower, her eyes were full of fire, her lips scarlet, and all her old vivacity seemed to have returned. A more brilliant bride never blushed under a misty veil, and when her lover saw her, he was absolutely startled by the almost unearthly beauty which transformed the pale, languid creature of the morning into this radiant woman.

  They were married, and if love, many blessings, and all good gifts lavishly showered upon them could make them happy, then this young pair were truly blest. But even in the rapture of the moment that made her his, Forsyth observed how icy cold was the little hand he held, how feverish the deep colour on the soft cheek he kissed, and what a strange fire burned in the tender eyes that looked so wistfully at him.

  Blithe and beautiful as a spirit, the smiling bride played her part in all the festivities of that long evening, and when at last light, life and colour began to fade, the loving eyes that watched her thought it but the natural weariness of the hour. As the last guest departed, Forsyth was met by a servant, who gave him a letter marked ‘Haste.’ Tearing it open, he read these lines, from a friend of the professor’s:

  ‘DEAR SIR – Poor Niles died suddenly two days ago, while at the Scientific Club, and his last words were: “Tell Paul Forsyth to beware of the Mummy’s Curse, for this fatal flower has killed me.” The circumstances of his death were so peculiar, that I add them as a sequel to this message. For several months, as he told us, he had been watching an unknown plant, and that evening he brought us the flower to examine. Other matters of interest absorbed us till a late hour, and the plant was forgotten. The professor wore it in his buttonhole – a strange white, serpent-headed blossom, with pale glittering spots, which slowly changed to a glittering scarlet, till the leaves looked as if sprinkled with blood. It was observed that instead of the pallor and feebleness which had recently come over him, that the professor was unusually animated, and seemed in an almost unnatural state of high spirits. Near the close of the meeting, in the midst of a lively discussion, he suddenly dropped, as if smitten with apoplexy. He was conveyed home insensible, and after one lucid interval, in which he gave me the message I have recorded above, he died in great agony, raving of mummies, pyramids, serpents, and some fatal curse which had fallen upon him.

  ‘After his death, livid scarlet spots, like those on the flower, appeared upon his skin, and he shrivelled like a withered leaf. At my desire, the mysterious plant was examined, and pronounced by the best authority one of the most deadly poisons known to the Egyptian sorceresses. The plant slowly absorbs the vitality of whoever cultivates it, and the blossom, worn for two or three hours, produces either madness or death.’

  Down dropped the paper from Forsyth’s hand; he read no further, but hurried back into the room where he had left his young wife. As if worn out with fatigue, she had thrown herself upon a couch, and lay there motionless, her face half-hidden by the light folds of the veil, which had blown over it.

  ‘Evelyn, my dearest! Wake up and answer me. Did you wear that strange flower today?’ whispered Forsyth, putting the misty screen away.

  There was no need for her to answer, for there, gleaming spectrally on her bosom, was the evil blossom, its white petals spotted now with flecks of scarlet, vivid as drops of newly spilt blood.

  But the unhappy bridegroom scarcely saw it, for the face above it appalled him by its utter vacancy. Drawn and pallid, as if with some wasting malady, the young face, so lovely an hour ago, lay before him aged and blighted by the baleful influence of the plant which had drunk up her life. No recognition in the eyes, no word upon the lips, no motion of the hand – only the faint breath, the fluttering pulse, and wide-opened eyes, betrayed that she was alive.

  Alas for the young wife! The superstitious fear at which she had smiled had proved true: the curse that had bided its time for ages was fulfilled at last, and her own hand wrecked her happiness for ever. Death in life was her doom, and for years Forsyth secluded himself to tend with pathetic devotion the pale ghost, who never, by word or look, could thank him for the love that outlived even such a fate as this.

  PROFESSOR BRANKEL’S SECRET

  Fergus Hume

  Fergus Hume (1859–1932) was born in England but spent his formative years in New Zealand. In his youth he attended high school in Dunedin, and later studied law at the University of Otago. It was, however, a career as a writer that he had his heart set upon, eventually achieving success in this field when his novel The Mystery of a Hansom Cab (1886) became a worldwide sensation, selling half a million copies in the two years after its publication. Virtually unknown by comparison is the following story, which originally appeared in Dunedin’s Saturday Advertiser (November–December 1882). Four years later it was published in a cheap paperback edition specially intended for sale at railway bookstalls. Subtitled ‘A Psychological Study,’ this eerie thriller involves mesmerism, medieval chemistry, and an attempted virgin sacrifice.

  I

  (Extracts From The Diary of Professor Brankel).

  ‘Of a truth, sir, this oyster may contain a most precious jewel.’

  HEIDELBERG, August 26th, 1876. – Last night, having to prepare my lecture on chemistry for my students, I left my house and went to the library of the University in order to verify some remarks relative to the chemical discoveries of the fourteenth century. I had no difficulty in finding the books I wanted, all of them being well-known. I had finished, and was about to roll up my notes, when on glancing over them I saw that I had omitted to verify a remark as to Giraldus von Breen.

  Giraldus von Breen was a famous but somewhat obscure alchemist of the middle ages, whose life was wholly spent in searching after the philosopher’s stone. As the point I wished to elucidate was rather important, I went back to find the ‘Giraldus.’ I hunted for a long time, but was unable to discover anything of the book I wanted. In despair I consulted the librarian, and he told me that he had seen a copy of the ‘Giraldus’ in two volumes about a year ago, but had lost sight of it since. He also added that it was but little known, and that until myself no one had inquired for it, with the exception of a young Englishman, who had left Heidelberg about eight or nine months back. Under these circumstances nothing could be done, as the book was evidently not in the library; so, in despair, I took myself home in no very amiable frame of mind at my failure.

  August 27th. – I lectured today to my students, and during my discourse I mentioned how unfortunate I had been with regard to the ‘Giraldus.’ At the end of my lecture Herr Buechler, one of my students, desired to speak with me, and said he thought he could tell me where to find the ‘Giraldus.’ I asked him where, and he said he had lodged in the same house with a youn
g Englishman called Black, who had left Heidelberg about eight months ago. Of course, I immediately guessed that this was the young Englishman mentioned by the librarian. Herr Buechler also said that the young Englishman was a great admirer of the works of Giraldus von Breen, and constantly studied them. He thought it likely that Herr Black had taken them from the library to read at his lodgings, and, as he had left a number of books behind him, the two volumes might be amongst them. I immediately accompanied Herr Buechler to the late lodgings of the young Englishman, and found there a great number of old books, principally works on chemistry. Both Herr Buechler and myself hunted for a long time without success, but at last the ‘Giraldus’ was found hidden under a pile of old manuscripts. Thanking Herr Buechler for his trouble, I took the ‘Giraldus’ home with me, and spent the night in taking notes from it for my next day’s lecture on the chemistry of the fourteenth century. It was in the old blackletter type, and bound in faded yellow leather, stamped with the arms of Giraldus. It was a matter of great regret to me that I had only the first volume; doubtless the Englishman had the second, as Herr Buechler and myself had searched too thoroughly among the books to leave any doubt as to it being among them.

  August 28th. – Coming home tonight, I was smoking in my study after dinner when I caught sight of the ‘Giraldus’ lying on the table where I had thrown it the previous night. I took it up and began to turn over the leaves idly, when a piece of paper fell out on the floor. I took no notice, as it was evidently only a bookmark, but went on reading and turning over the leaves. I became so absorbed in the book that three o’clock struck before I found that I had finished the volume and had let my pipe go out. I arose, yawned, and proposed to myself to retire, when I thought that I would have one more pipe. I looked about for a piece of paper to light it, when I caught sight of the slip that had dropped out of the ‘Giraldus.’ It was lying under the table, and, bending forward, I picked it up. Twisting it into shape, I held it over the flame of the lamp. In doing so I caught sight of some writing on it, and, being of a curious turn of mind, I withdrew it and spread it out to make an examination. I found that it was not paper as I had thought, but a piece of parchment yellow with age. It was so very dirty that on close examination all I could make out was the figure V and the words erecipsa and is. I could not guess the meaning of this. I knew that the first was the Roman numeral for five, and that is was an English word, but I could not understand the meaning of erecipsa. I examined the paper more particularly in order to find out anything likely to elucidate the mystery, and saw that there were other words which I could not decipher, as the paper was so dirty and my light so dim. As this was the case, I thought it best to defer all further examination until next day.