A cry from Glitch brought me to my feet. “Vake up and help catch der cat!”
“What cat?” demanded Newberry, also awakening.
“Der big vite cat,” said Glitch, visibly excited. “Chust now he came der door through and yumped der coffin in.”
The three of us rushed to the coffin, but there was no sign of a cat, and everything seemed undisturbed.
“Dot’s funny,” said Glitch. “Maybe it’s hiding someveres in der room.”
We searched the room, without result.
“You’ve been seeing things,” said Newberry.
“What did the animal look like?” I asked.
“Vite, und big as a dog. It kommt der door in, so, und galloped across der floor, so, und yumped in der casket chust like dot. _Ach!_ It vos a fierce-looking beast.”
Glitch was very much in earnest and gesticulated rapidly as he described the appearance and movements of the feline. Perhaps I should have felt inclined to laugh, had it not been for my own experience that night. I noticed, too, that Newberry’s expression was anything but jocular.
It was now nearly four o’clock, time for Newberry to watch, but Glitch protested that he could not sleep another wink, so the three of us drew chairs up close to the fire. On each side of the fireplace was a large window. The shades were completely drawn and the windows were draped with heavy lace curtains. Happening to look up at the window to the left, I noticed something of a mouse-gray color hanging near the top of one of the curtains. As I looked, I fancied I saw a slight movement as of a wing being stretched a bit and then folded, and the thing took on the appearance of a large vampire bat, hanging upside down.
I called the attention of my companions to our singular visitor, and both saw it as plainly as I.
“How do you suppose he got in?” asked Newberry.
“Funny ve didn’t see him before,” said Glitch.
I picked up the fire tongs and Newberry seized the poker. Creeping softly up to the curtain, I stood on tiptoe and reached up to seize the animal with the tongs. It was too quick for me, however, and fluttered out of my reach. There followed a chase around the room, which lasted several minutes. Seeing that it would be impossible for us to capture the creature by this method, we gave up the chase, whereupon it calmed down and suspended itself from the picture molding, upside down.
On seeing this, Glitch, who had taken a heavy book from the table, hurled it at our unwelcome visitor. His aim was good, and the thing uttered a _squeak_ as it was crushed against the wall.
At this moment I thought I heard a moan from the direction of the casket, but could not be certain.
Newberry and I rushed over to where the book had fallen, intent on dispatching the thing with poker and tongs, but only the book lay on the floor. The creature had _completely disappeared_.
I picked up the book, and noticed, as I did so, a grayish smear on the back cover. Taking this over to the light, we saw that it had a soapy appearance. As we looked, the substance apparently became absorbed, either by the atmosphere or into the cloth cover of the book. There remained, however, a dry, white, faintly-defined splotch on the book cover.
“What do you make of it?” I asked them.
“Strange!” said Newberry.
I turned to Glitch, and noticed for the first time that his eyes were wide with fear. He shook his head and cast furtive glances toward the casket.
“What do _you_ think it is?” I asked.
“A vampire, maybe. A _real_ vampire.”
“What do you mean by a real vampire?”
Glitch then described how, in the folk lore of his native land, there were stories current of corpses which lived on in the grave. It was believed that the spirits of these corpses assumed the form of huge vampire bats at night, and went about sucking the blood of living persons, with which they would return to the grave from time to time and nourish the corpse. This proceeding was kept up indefinitely, unless the corpse were exhumed and a stake driven through the heart.
He related, in particular, the story of a Hungarian named Arnold Paul, whose body was dug up after it had been buried forty days. It was found that his cheeks were flushed with blood, and that his hair, beard and nails had grown in the grave. When the stake was driven through his heart, he had uttered a frightful shriek and a torrent of blood gushed from his mouth.
This vampire story seized on my imagination in a peculiar way. I thought again of my uncle’s strange request regarding the disposition of his body, and of the strange apparitions I had seen. For the moment I was a convert to the vampire theory.
My better judgment, however, soon convinced me that there could not be such a thing as a vampire, and, even if there were, a man whose character had been so noble as that of my deceased uncle would most certainly never resort to such hideous and revolting practices.
We sat together in silence as the first faint streaks of dawn showed in the east. A few minutes later the welcome aroma of coffee and frying bacon greeted our nostrils, and Mrs. Rhodes came in to announce that breakfast was ready.
After breakfast, my newly-made friends departed for their homes, both assuring me that they would be glad to come and watch with me again that night.
However, I read something in the uneasy manner of Glitch which led me to believe that I could not count on him, and I was, therefore, not greatly surprised when he telephoned me an hour later, stating that his wife was ill, and that he would not be able to come.
_II._
I strolled outdoors to enjoy a cigar, comforted by the rays of the morning sun after my night’s experience.
It was pleasant, I reflected, to be once more in the realm of the natural, to see the trees attired in the autumn foliage, to feel the rustle of fallen leaves underfoot, to fill my lungs with the spicy, invigorating October air.
A gray squirrel scampered across my pathway, his cheek pouches bulging with acorns. A flock of blackbirds, migrating southward, stopped for a few moments in the trees above my head, chattering vociferously; then resumed their journey with a sudden _whirr_ of wings and a few hoarse notes of farewell.
“It is but a step,” I reflected, “from the natural to the supernatural.”
This observation started a new line of thought. After all, could anything be supernatural--above nature? Nature, according to my belief, was only another name for God, eternal mind, omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient ruler of the universe. If He were omnipotent, could anything take place contrary to His laws? Obviously not.
The word “supernatural” was, after all, only an expression invented by man in his finite ignorance, to define those things which he did not understand. Telegraphy, telephony, the phonograph, the moving picture--all would have been regarded with superstition by an age less advanced than ours. Man had only to become familiar with the laws governing them, in order to discard the word “supernatural” as applied to their manifestations.
What right, then, had I to term the phenomena, which I had just witnessed, supernatural? I might call them supernormal, but to think of them as supernatural would be to believe the impossible; namely, that that which is all-powerful had been overpowered.
I resolved, then and there, that if further phenomena manifested themselves that night, I would, as far as it were possible, curb my superstition and fear, regard them with the eye of a philosopher, and endeavor to learn their cause, which must necessarily be governed by natural law.
A gray cloud of dust and the whirring of a motor announced the coming of an automobile. The next minute an ancient flivver, with whose bumps of eccentricity I had gained some acquaintance, turned into the driveway and stopped opposite me. Joe Severs, older son of my uncle’s tenant, stepped out and came running toward me.
“Glitch’s wife died this morning,” he panted, “and he swears Mr. Braddock is a vampire and sucked her blood.”
“What rot!” I replied. “Nobody believes him, of course?”
“I ain’t so sure of that,” said Joe. “Some of the farmers are takin’ it mighty serious. One of the Langdon boys, first farm north of here, was took sick this mornin’. Doctor don’t know what’s the matter of him. Folks say it looks mighty queer.”
Mrs. Rhodes appeared on the front porch.
“A telephone call for you, sir,” she said.
I hastened to the ’phone. A woman was speaking.
“This is Mrs. Newberry,” she said. “My husband is dreadfully ill, and asked me to tell you that he cannot come to sit up with you tonight.”
I thanked the lady, offered my condolences, and tendered my sincere wishes for her husband’s speedy recovery. This done, I wrote a note of sympathy to Mr. Glitch, and dispatched Joe with it.
Here, indeed, was a pretty situation. Glitch’s wife dead, Newberry seriously ill, and the whole countryside frightened by this impossible vampire story! I knew it would be useless to ask any of the other neighbors to keep watch with me. Obviously, I was destined to face the terrors of the coming night alone. Was I equal to the task? Could my nerves, already unstrung by the previous night’s experience, withstand the ordeal?