Dracula’s Brethren

by Richard Dalby

  While I spoke I had been hastily cramming what loose money I had in the house into his pocket. He roused himself with an effort, and extended his hand.

  ‘Goodbye, Ward, old friend!’ he said huskily.

  There was a desolate sadness – a hopelessness – in his face and voice that appalled me. He was as a man to whom an impending doom had shown itself clear and strong.

  I grasped his hand, gulping down a lump that had risen in my throat.

  ‘Goodbye!’ I said. ‘Now go, there is not a moment to lose! We shall meet again.’

  But he turned to me once more.

  ‘Never! Ward, you do believe that I did not murder her, do you not? I have been a brute, but say you believe me innocent of that.’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ I cried eagerly, pushing him toward the open window. ‘Quick! Get out on the sill!’

  He stood on the windowsill and climbed up on to the wire, swinging himself out with an agility that showed me he had lost little of his old form.

  I stood at the window watching him with a feeling of thankfulness swing lightly along, when – I saw the ‘Thing’ sail swiftly out from under the overhanging eaves and flap toward him.

  He did not see it at first as it circled round his head, while I stood there rooted to the spot, unable to stir a finger. Suddenly it swooped down, down, until I could see the blackness of it dimly outlined against his shoulders.

  I could not see clearly what happened during those ten awful seconds, but his face was hidden from view – covered by the ‘Thing.’ I heard him give a stifled scream of horror that sounded far away, as though a blanket was being pressed firmly over mouth and nose, and he had stopped clambering. Then he let go one hand to try to tear the bat from his face and draw a breath; but he swung half round on the other arm, and had to clutch the wire again with both hands to save himself from falling.

  He turned in frantic terror, trying to regain the window ledge, and as he came on I, with the cold sweat standing thick on my brow, could see the frightful form pressed close to his face. Three steps he took like that; then he stopped, and his body swayed helplessly, as, with another muffled scream, his hold of the wire relaxed, and he went crashing down to the courtyard beneath.

  I heard his skull crush in like an eggshell as his head struck the stone flags thirty feet below, and while I yet gazed, sick at heart, with the blood frozen in my veins, the horrible ‘Thing’ rose from where he had fallen and fluttered up toward me.

  Still, I could not stir, only gaze horrified at the monster as it flapped to the wire, and, hooking on its hinder claws about six feet from the window, hung suspended head down.

  A ray of light from the lamp at my back fell upon It, as It turned Its hideous head toward me, and I could see the malignant, beady eyes looking piercingly into mine; I saw, too, the triangular piece of erect cartilage on the end of the nose that distinguishes the vampire.

  And as I sank to the floor in merciful oblivion the handle of the door rattled, as it swung open, disclosing Major Barnes with four constables at his back.

  For an instant I saw him standing there, peering anxiously about the room. Then, as the darkness swept down and engulfed my failing spirit, the little clock within chimed out merrily, paused for a moment, and tolled – One!

  THE ELECTRIC VAMPIRE

  F. H. Power

  Nothing is known about the author of ‘The Electric Vampire,’ but there has been speculation that ‘F. H. Power’ could be a pseudonym. When this story made its first appearance in the October 1910 issue of The London Magazine, a note preceding the story claimed that, although it was but a figment of the author’s imagination, it was based on fact, explaining that it drew its inspiration from experiments conducted by the eccentric British scientist Andrew Crosse (1784–1855), who was an early pioneer and experimenter in the use of electricity. It is thought that a lecture he gave on the subject in the early 1800s may have influenced Mary Shelley’s choice of electricity as the agent for animating the man-made monster in her 1818 novel, Frankenstein, but the main link to Crosse that this story has is that in 1836 he achieved unwanted notoriety by claiming he had unintentionally created microscopic insects from a lifeless chemical compound by means of a process known as electrocrystallisation.

  I WAS at breakfast when the note reached me. ‘My dear Charles,’ it ran – ‘I shall be glad if you can come round to my place tonight, as I have something to show you, which I think will interest you. I have also asked Vane.’

  It did not take a moment for me to make up my mind to go. Dr Vane and I often spent an evening at George Vickers’s house. We were bachelors, and as we were all fond of things scientific, the time passed very pleasantly – so pleasantly that very often it was two or three o’clock in the morning before he saw us off his premises.

  During the day I found myself speculating as to what our friend intended to show us. I recalled some of the weird and fascinating electrical experiments he had performed in his laboratory. ‘I bet it’s another experiment with electricity,’ I said to myself, but I was only partly correct.

  I arrived at the house about six o’clock, and found Vane had already arrived, and, as usual, had taken the easiest armchair in which to rest his lean body. Our host, with his ruddy, smiling face, stood with his back to the fireplace.

  ‘I’m glad you have come, Charlie,’ he said. ‘You will be able to relieve me from that living mark of interrogation.’ And he nodded towards the doctor, who sat twirling an imaginary moustache.

  ‘Well, why can’t he indicate what he has dragged us round here for?’ the doctor asked plaintively. ‘And fancy having as an excuse that he doesn’t want to spoil my appetite for dinner!’

  ‘Eh, what?’ I ejaculated.

  ‘Oh, now you are going to start. For goodness’ sake find something else to talk about until we have had something to eat,’ said Vickers, and he suggested aeroplanes.

  We let him have his own way, and very soon after sat down to dinner. Our conversation during the meal would have been dry to many, but it was after our own hearts, and never flagged for a moment. The doctor’s speciality was biology. My hobby is chemistry, and it was through an explosion which nearly blinded me that I first made his acquaintance, and subsequently introduced him to George Vickers.

  At last George leaned back in his chair, and, lighting a cigar, said:

  ‘You fellows, of course, want to know what on earth I am keeping up my sleeve. Before I show you, I want you to listen to this short extract from a series of lectures given by a man named Noad, and published in 1844.’

  He fetched the book, and read:

  ‘“It was in the course of his experiments in electrocrystallisation that that extraordinary insect about which so much public curiousity has been expended, was first noticed by Mr Crosse.”’

  Here Vickers looked up from the volume, and remarked:

  ‘Mr Crosse I might say, was a gentleman who stood foremost as one of the individuals in this country who have distinguished themselves by their researches in atmospheric electricity.’

  He turned to the book again:

  ‘“In justice to this talented individual, who was most shamefully and absurdly assailed by some ignorant people on account of this insect, and who underwent much calumny and misrepresentation in consequence of experiments ‘which in this nineteenth century it seems a crime to have made,’ I shall give a detailed account of that experiment in which the Acarus first made its appearance.”’

  ‘Here follows,’ said George, ‘a minute description of the apparatus Crosse used. Briefly a basin containing practically a saturated solution of soluble silica is placed in a funnel, and a piece of flannel hangs over the side of the basin and acts as a syphon. The liquid falls in drops on a piece of porous red oxide of iron from Vesuvius, kept constantly electrified by a voltaic battery.’

  Again he turned to the book and read:

  ‘“On the fourteenth day from the commencement of the experiment, Mr Crosse observed through a lens a few
small whitish excrescences or nipples projecting from about the middle of the electrified iron, and nearly under the dropping of the fluid above. On the eighteenth day these projections enlarged, and seven or eight filaments, each of them longer than the excrescence from which it grew, made their appearance on each of the nipples. On the twenty-second day, these appearances were more elevated and distinct; and on the twenty-sixth day each figure assumed the form of a perfect insect standing erect on a few bristles which formed its tail. Till this period Mr Crosse had no notion that these appearances were any other than an incipient mineral formation, but it was not until the twenty-eighth day, when he plainly perceived these little creatures move their legs, that he felt any surprise. In a few days they separated themselves from the stone, and moved about at pleasure. They appeared to feed by suction.” … Mr Crosse adds: “I have never ventured an opinion as to the cause of their birth; and for a very good reason – I was unable to form one.”’

  Vickers shut the book up.

  ‘There’s a lot more about it, but I think I have read all that is necessary. If either of you would like some more information on those early experiments, you will find it in the “Transactions of the Electrical Society”.’

  There was silence whilst we puffed at our cigars. At length, Dr Vane said:

  ‘I was under the impression that subsequent experimentalists were not so successful as Mr Crosse?’

  Vickers smiled enigmatically.

  ‘If you will just come this way, I fancy I shall be able to prove to you that at least one other experimentalist has been fairly successful.’ And beckoned us to follow him.

  I had often been in his laboratory, but to my surprise he led us to a room at the top of the house, and, as he inserted the key, drew our attention to the Yale lock.

  ‘I rely on you chaps to keep to yourselves what I am going to show you, because I am preparing a paper on this experiment, and I want to surprise ’em,’ he said, and pushed the door open.

  Dr Vane, with an eager look on his face, entered boldly. I followed close behind, and I remembered wondering why George, usually so unemotional, appeared to be in a state of suppressed excitement.

  And then I saw what it was. May I, a man, be forgiven if I trembled from head to foot!

  On a low plain wood table was a sheet of some metal about four feet square. From a cistern fixed above, and pierced by many minute holes, some liquid dropped on the slab incessantly. But these things I barely noticed, for my attention was riveted to the centre of that slab, on which sprawled a creature which I can only liken to an immense spider, its length being about two feet.

  Two legs appeared from behind each side of the head, and four longer ones – they must have been nearly as long as the body – at the back. Projecting from its head, where you would expect to find the mouth, was a trunk-like object which went in and out like the trunk of a fly. All over the body about an inch apart long filaments stood out. Its colour was drab, and it was apparently covered with slime. Its eyes were like the eyes of an owl, and never blinked.

  We stared at the fearsome object in dead silence.

  Vickers was the first to speak.

  ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ he said, with a laugh, but the laugh seemed strangely out of place.

  I glanced at the doctor. His hands were clenched, and his eyes so wide open that the whites could be seen all round.

  ‘My God, George, what is that thing?’ he whispered.

  ‘That, my dear doctor, is the result of years of experimenting. It first became visible to the naked eye five years ago today, but it does not appear to have grown during the last six months. It vindicates Crosse absolutely. Don’t you think it is superb?’

  ‘Superb? Oh, yes, it’s superb!’ said the doctor. He kept muttering to himself as he walked round the table, glaring at the thing on it, but from the few words I caught he was not calling it superb or anything like it.

  At last his love of biology overcame his repugnance.

  ‘I should like to feel one of those filaments,’ he said, and stretched out his hand.

  Like a flash of lightning Vickers seized his wrist, and his face was the colour of chalk. Dr Vane looked astonished and hurt.

  ‘I am sorry, doctor, but I forgot to tell you it can give a terrific electric shock,’ he said apologetically.

  Vane looked somewhat scared, but his interest was plainly increased.

  ‘Then it is some sort of relation to the Gymnotus, or electric eel of Venezuela?’ he asked.

  ‘Or the Torpedo of the Mediterranean,’ I suggested.

  Vickers shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I only know that poor old Tippoo’ – a splendid collie and great favourite of us all – ‘happened to accompany me to this room yesterday, and poked his nose a bit too near, when he suddenly toppled over dead as a doornail. He was horribly burnt down one side.’

  Our friend spoke quietly, but it was easy to see he was deeply affected as he related the tragedy.

  ‘That must have startled you,’ I said.

  ‘Well, no, I cannot say it was a surprise. I received a very nasty shock when it was quite small – perhaps I was not handling it as carefully as I might have. But’ – here he turned to that monstrous creature, and actually passed his hand down one of its hairy legs – ‘but you know who feeds you, don’t you, my beauty?’

  The thing evidently did know, for that trunk-like object went in and out rapidly. And I might say here that was the only movement we noticed in it that evening.

  The startled look on our faces seemed to amuse Vickers.

  ‘It’s all right; it knows me. I have watched it grow day by day, and—’

  Here the doctor cut in with a question.

  ‘What do you feed the brute on?’ he asked.

  Vickers hesitated a moment, and looked at us. Then he walked to the other side of the room, and opened a box which had airholes pierced in it.

  ‘The trunk,’ he explained, ‘is fitted with two small pointed teeth at the end, and the blood of the victim is gradually sucked out.’ He anticipated our next question. ‘No. It does not kill it first,’ he said, and shut the lid.

  The box contained live mice.

  It was exactly ten days later that I was sitting with Vane in his study over a game of chess. At least, we were supposed to be playing chess. As a matter of fact, the doctor was again telling me what he thought of our friend’s experiment, and the game had languished.

  ‘I tell you it’s the greatest discovery ever made – the greatest!’ And his fist thumped the table, making the pieces on the board dance again. His eyes shone with excitement, but this died away as his thoughts travelled in a different channel. ‘But of all the ugly things God ever created—’

  He stopped abruptly.

  ‘Do you know,’ he continued presently, ‘that Vickers’s interesting pet belongs to the family of mites – ticks, as they are popularly called – notwithstanding its extraordinary size? All these creatures are furnished with suckers through which they can draw the juices of the animals on which they are parasitic, and in tropical countries – well, I will just say they are considerably more than annoying, and leave the rest to your imagination. They are small and flat when they first settle themselves on their victim, but they gradually swell and redden, until at last, when they are fully gorged, they are as large as broad-beans, and as easily crushed as ripe gooseberries.

  ‘It seems to me from its mode of formation that George has discovered the link between the inorganic world and the world of life – the link which is indispensable to a complete scheme of evolution; but the great objection to this idea is the creature’s obvious complexity—’

  My further remarks were interrupted by a knock at the door, and the doctor’s maid Emily entered.

  ‘Mr Vickers’s housekeeper would like to speak to you, sir.’

  I heard Vane’s ‘Ah!’ although it was said very softly. I remember my heart was beating at a ridiculous rate, and I tried hard to calm myself as I re
flected that probably the old lady had come about her ‘screws,’ as she called her rheumatism, and which I knew had been troubling her more than usual.

  But Dr Vane went down the two flights of stairs to his surgery two steps at a time. At the door he turned round and simply nodded to me, and we entered together.

  Mrs Jones, Vickers’s housekeeper, was waiting, with her veil pushed up until it looked like a black bandage across her forehead.

  ‘Is it Mr Vickers?’ Vane asked abruptly.

  Mrs Jones never spoke quickly, and she did not intend to be hurried that day. Her reply came slowly, so deliberately that I thought my supply of patience would ebb away long before that simple question was answered.

  ‘Well, sir, I don’t know as there is anything the matter with Mr Vickers, but he ain’t had a bite since one o’clock yesterday, and yet I feel certain as he is in the house. He went upstairs—’

  I think Mrs Jones had reason to look astonished, for Dr Vane, noted for his precise ways and highly professional manner, dashed to the house-telephone and shouted into the mouthpiece: ‘Tell John to bring the car round at once! You understand? He is not to delay one moment!’ Then he turned to the housekeeper, who stood with her mouth half open, and said rapidly: ‘You will come with us, and give us further particulars on the road.’

  What had happened? I dreaded to think of what that upstairs room would reveal to us. The doctor and I looked at each other. Then he placed his hand on my arm.

  ‘Charlie,’ he whispered, ‘you can depend on it George has got foul of that monster. I have felt something would happen, ever since he showed it to us, and it looks very much as if that something has happened.’

  ‘I pray God we shall not be too late!’ I said fervently, but I thought of that Thing, with the never-winking eyes, and shuddered.

  ‘Have you a revolver?’ I asked.

  He nodded, and left the surgery.