Sherlock Holmes and the Lyme Regis Horror, page 10
“I choose to call her undead because that is precisely what she is. Believe me, gentlemen before the next few days are out we will all have to be prepared to question some very fundamental truths that we may formally have held dear.”
“Please forgive me, Mr. Holmes, but I must reserve my judgment on that. I am of the opinion that any evils abroad in Lyme at this present time are more to do with human villainy than any supernatural sort.”
I put a question to Holmes, “Do you say then, that this Rose creature was responsible for the fatal attack on the beach?”
“The footprints we found would point another way I believe, firmly in the direction of the Count. Besides if my facts are correct, then the undead creature that was formerly Rose has not yet attained the enormous strength that these beings can possess,” Holmes replied, “if you remember, Victor Selby was able to repel her attack, albeit with a struggle.”
“How is it you know about these being’s strength, Holmes?”
“All will be revealed in this volume, Watson,” said he, tapping the book with his long bony fingers.
“Then, Orlana, too, is one of these blood devouring creatures, vampires I believe you called them just now, hence his own strength displayed in hurling that poor soul off the harbour wall.”
“Yes, in fact I believe him to be what you might call a Lord among vampires, if that does not sound too fanciful.”
“My dear Holmes, the whole thing is fanciful and grotesque,” I laughed, although the laugh belied my growing fear.
Jacobs had gone quiet, deep in thought, so I put a further question to Holmes, “The episode that these events here put you in mind of, where did it take place? Did the occurrences there follow a similar pattern?”
“It happened in Norway some ten years ago. As you know my correspondence is extremely varied and I had a letter or two on the subject by a learned friend of mine on the continent. Originally I came across it in a journal of sorts and promptly forgot all about it, but yes things happened there as they have done here, a mysterious vessel arriving in the harbour, a stranger then appearing followed by outbreaks of an inexplicable illness, also a violent death. I found the journal in question in the excellent library in Exeter, but it gave me no more details than I have just given you, other than the rumours which abounded of a visitation by the Devil himself upon that quiet Norwegian fishing village.”
“But why this talk of these vampire creatures?” I asked.
“Those were the views expressed by my friend. He had made a special study of these creatures and ignoramus that I am, they had completely shifted from my mind,” he replied, “at the time I have to say, I was every bit as incredulous as you are now.”
“Does the volume you have with you, that you require Jacobs and me to read, contain the journal then?”
“No, Watson, this is something different altogether, something you will not easily forget. This will be your introduction to the vampire.”
I knew not entirely at that time what that word meant, but I shuddered again. He put the book on the dining table behind his chair and motioned us to join him there. He turned the tome towards us so we could see the title clearly;
‘The Mythology and Folklore of Eastern Europe’ (1891)
By Professor Trelawney West
“Do not worry gentlemen, you are not required to read all of it, let me turn the pages to the relevant section... ah yes... here we are.”
Transylvania:
Vampires Goblins and Spirits
The people of Transylvania as a whole are extremely superstitious and believe devoutly in all manner of spirits, elves and goblins. I found many customs which involved appeasing wicked spirits by means of sacrifice prevalent, even when such traditions have long died out in other parts of Eastern Europe. In general, they would never approach a cemetery without first crossing themselves for it is believed that even in consecrated ground Evil Ones lurk ready to trap unsuspecting souls. Their most morbid fear is of the vampire, an undead, unclean malevolent being. The vampire is feared throughout the region as a collector of souls, this is easily accomplished by the drinking of blood which is a life preservative for the vampire. The victim falls prey to this evil without being aware of the fact, often when they sleep. The vampire sinks his very pronounced canine teeth into the victim’s neck and drinks freely of the victim’s blood. When seven days have elapsed, the poor unfortunate soul dies of an apparent wasting disease and in turn becomes one of these unclean creatures, the undead. His perverted taste is for young girls to become his so called brides.
The vampire is compelled to sleep during the day for bright sunlight will turn him back to the dust from whence he came. He rests in his coffin or in his native soil and becomes re-animated with nightfall when his blood lust compels him to seek out new victims. He has prodigious strength and the ability, it is said, to change shape at will, be it a dog, a bat or another beast of the night. The vampire will employ mortal helpers, either under duress or with promise of reward, to ensure the vampire’s resting place during the day goes undiscovered.
Although all the accounts I have uncovered describe the vampire as being immortal, there are ways listed in which to effect the destruction of this profane being. There were I found, localised differences, but the common ways noted were, the driving of a stake through the vampire’s heart while he is at rest, the exposure to sunlight and a silver bullet fired directly into his heart.
As protection in the first instance from these parasites the locals would employ a crucifix, preferably fashioned from silver. Holy water was also used to ward off vampires as was a simple Bible. I heard many tell of garlic being employed around doors and windows to stop the creature gaining entry. I collated reports of these creatures throughout Eastern Europe, but they were of a sporadic nature. Nowhere was the fear so inbuilt in the people as it was in the region of Transylvania.
“There you have it, gentlemen, I believe that what you have read there perfectly reflects what has been occurring here,” Holmes declared.
Even with all my trust in Holmes’s judgment, I still had great difficulty in believing that one of these foul creatures was here in Lyme Regis and I could see Jacobs was grappling with the same problem. “Perhaps, Holmes,” I ventured, “Count Orlana is masquerading as one of these vampires for some nefarious reason, or to perpetuate some occult group.”
“No, Watson. I believe he is one of these creatures, to suggest otherwise ignores the evidence we have both seen and heard.”
“Do I understand then, that Elizabeth was to be his next victim, his ‘bride’ as this book describes it, in the same way Rose is now his ‘bride’?” I asked, still mystified.
“Yes, hence my scribbled note to Mrs. Hannington outlining all the precautions that were to be taken to ward off the Count”
Jacobs seemed reluctantly to be coming around to the view that maybe this vampire was indeed a reality, “But how, Mr. Holmes did he gain admittance to the bedroom of Elizabeth, or, indeed Rose for that matter? Elizabeth’s bedroom is on the third floor with no nearby piping or ivy to assist an ascent to the balcony outside her window.”
“The article we have just read mentioned his ability to change shape and I think the key lies in this. For instance, turning himself into a bat would certainly ensure an easy and novel passage to the balcony,” Holmes replied matter of factly as though he were talking about the most commonplace of actions.
My mind was racing with a hundred and one questions...”Is it your belief that the Count arrived here on the schooner in spite of the protestations that he knew nothing about the shipping arrangements?”
“Yes, it seems the most likely happenstance. I assume the crew would have been despatched to their Maker in much the same way as our friend on the beach and then thrown overboard to a watery grave.”
“The paragraphs we have just read implied the vampire goes about his murderous business slowly and surely over the course of seven days, why then the savagery meted out to the body on the sand?” I inquired.
“I think there we are in the realms of conjecture, Watson, but a servant who had possibly seen or heard too much, or had asked for more than the Count was willing to give him. It may be simply that he had outlived his usefulness or the Count’s blood lust was at its apex.”
“How then, in God’s name are we to defeat this malignance?”
“By employing the methods we have learned about tonight, thanks to the diligence of Professor Trelawney West.”
“But surely all of this is just folklore, Holmes, how can we be sure these methods work?” I asked.
“At the moment, Watson, it is all we have to work with.”
“But we have no silver bullets, neither can we force the Count into daylight. That only leaves the stake through the heart and to do that we have to find his resting place, it seems an impossible task, particularly as we have no real idea that any of these methods will actually work.”
“You forget my visit to the silversmith, Watson. Alas, my credit is not as good in Devon as it is in London, but I managed to come up with sufficient funds to enable a silver bullet to be fashioned which will sit admirably in the chamber of your service revolver, my old friend.”
“And if we fail?” interjected Jacobs.
“We must not fail, gentlemen,” Holmes said fervently.
“Can we not involve Inspector Baddeley and the official force in this, Holmes?” I asked.
“I fear we would be locked up as madmen. No, we must act alone in this; involving officialdom would also mean the affair would become public knowledge with the resulting panic that would bring. Besides, my friends, I believe that we three are the best equipped to deal with this, with what we have gleaned from this volume this evening.”
There was a desperate silence in the room, a silence which spoke volumes which grew as we all contemplated the dark deed we had set ourselves, what chance had we against an enemy such as he? Yet the article had clearly stated that these vampires, these abominable creatures though seemingly immortal, can be destroyed and destroyed they must have been in the past, otherwise what or who could possibly have stopped them from dominating the earth?
A loud knocking at the door brought us all back from our thoughts and yes, fears too.
“It is most probably a patient, as a rule they show scant regard to confining their visits to those hours when the surgery is officially open,” said Jacobs.
Mrs. Jacobs called out that she would attend to it and send them away if the call proved to be not urgent. There followed a few moments of conversation in the hall, during which we could hear Sarah laughing and then she ushered the visitor in. A tall man, clad all in black with a gleaming bald head and eyes which bore straight into my very soul it seemed. Even before he spoke, we knew of course, who and what he was.
“Gentlemen, my name is Count Orlana,” he said in a voice that chilled my very existence.
Chapter Thirteen
The air around the Count gave the impression it was in constant motion, swirling around him as though it were part of the man, rendering him almost ethereal. It was as though all the molecules in his body were busily re-assembling themselves because a few seconds later solidity seemed to return to him. For a long, long moment not a word was spoken by anyone, we were taking stock of him in much the same way as he was with us. That we were in the presence of evil was undeniable; it was a tangible thing which we all felt. Orlana’s base self was readily apparent and I believe even without the foreknowledge we had acquired that evening, we would still have felt and recognised it. Turning to Mrs. Jacobs, he bowed extravagantly, “Thank you for the most cordial welcome into your household,” as he said this in a measured accent less tone he lightly brushed her long hair away from her face so it revealed her neck briefly. He smiled lasciviously.
Both Jacobs and I sprung up from our chairs, Jacobs started for the Count, “Sir, I must ask you...”
In the blink of an eye, Orlana had covered the yard or two between the two men, gazing straight into Jacob’s eyes with peculiar, protuberant, staring eyes of his own. He said, “Do not alarm yourself Doctor, my needs are fulfilled... for now.”
Jacobs visibly blanched at these words and obviously greatly distressed, spoke a few kindly words to Sarah. She was reluctant to leave us with this out of the ordinary character, but she did so and we were left alone with the Count.
The Count had an expression on his face which was both triumphant and condescending, it seemed to say to me, ‘I will win, do not tamper with me, you are just puny fools’. Once again, it led me to ponder how this evil creature could be defeated. As Holmes had done so many times in the past, so Orlana did now, cutting into my thoughts, “You are correct in what you are thinking, I cannot be defeated by the likes of you, you have no conception of what you are up against,” he said directly to me, his words seemed to reach me in a cloud of icy vapour which emanated from his mouth.
“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” my friend said, “the gentleman you have just addressed so expressively is Dr. Watson. Pray, take a seat, Count.”
“Thank you, I prefer to remain standing,” the Count retorted.
“As you wish,” said Holmes.
We all settled back into our chairs and I, for one, was struck by the incongruity of the situation. We were observing the niceties of polite conversation with an inhuman beast, who according to Holmes and from what we had comprehended ourselves, was a being who killed mercilessly and claimed souls as his own, to do with as he wished.
Holmes spoke first, “What may we do for you, pray, tell us the purpose of your visit?”
“I have a simple request for you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes as I have already intimated to your friend Dr. Watson here, do not tamper further with my plans or obstruct me in any way at all.”
“I am very much afraid that I can give you no such assurance, I am equally sure the same applies to my good friends here.”
We gave our affirmations to Holmes and were the recipients of our visitor’s malevolent gaze.
“Mr. Holmes,” said the Count slowly, “it may surprise you to know that you are known to me. You are a meddler, but if you persist in this course, there can only be one outcome. I strongly urge you to reconsider.”
“Our view of the outcome is of course, entirely different, I am sure you can see that.”
“Tonight, already, you have interfered with my plans, thinking yourself so clever to have done so, but you may find it is the only victory allotted to you. I will not be crossed again. You know not who you deal with.”
Holmes pointed towards the volume where it still lay on the table, “On the contrary, I believe we have a fairly good idea of who and what we deal with and the methods we can also employ against you.”
“Mere fairy tales, Mr. Holmes, fairy tales. Do not believe that I can be stopped by the methods the peasants of my country would have you believe. Many men have tried their hands at my destruction through the centuries... and yet, as you see, I survive.”
“Centuries?” I exclaimed incredulously.
“Yes, Dr. Watson, centuries! I was born into a noble family in a remote area of Transylvania in the year 1384.”
“Are you asking me to believe that you are over five hundred years old? My eyes tell me otherwise.”
“I tell you it is so. The blood I drink preserves me in the state you see now. So you see; I am truly immortal. Compared with myself and those of my kind you are detestable, you are nothing. Now tell me, would you not wish for eternal life for yourself, Doctor?” the Count asked of me.
Holmes responded for me before I had a chance to open my mouth, perhaps he feared my rashness would result in God knows what for me. “An eternal life of what? Spreading fear and misery? Of cowering in the shadows?”
“No, Mr. Holmes. A life of supreme power, of illimitable control. I have ranged across this continent seeing history being made, at times you might say, I have created some of that history as my empire has grown,” he said expansively.
“And in five hundred years, just where has your empire stretched? To Dorsetshire. To a small town sited obscurely on the coast. Not much of an empire I am sure you agree, Count. And the power you speak of is not supreme. The control you think you possess is far from illimitable. You are bound by the laws of nature, the pure and natural daylight, the power of the sun, these things can destroy you,” Holmes said, goading him dangerously I thought.
“More fairy tales that you choose to believe because the truth is too much for you to comprehend. It is how I have stated it, Mr. Holmes, only a blind, despairing fool would think otherwise.”
“I obviously belong in that category then, Count,” responded Holmes.
“Not for long I assure you. If you continue on your present course, your worthless existence will come to an end. Perhaps then and only then you will acknowledge my words are true.”
“It may be so that my existence could be said to be worthless, indeed I have often thought it myself, but believe me Count, effecting your destruction will be the culmination of my efforts on this earth and I fancy that I can then retire, knowing that my life at last had some permanent worth.”
“Retirement, Mr. Holmes will not be an option for you; your outspokenness has sealed your fate, your destruction at my hands will give me the greatest of pleasure. I promise you death, Mr. Holmes.”
“I have been promised that particular state many times before, Count Orlana... and yet as you see, I survive,” Holmes said, flinging the Count’s own words back at him.
The Count turned to Jacobs and me, “You have much to lose gentlemen, ask yourselves, do you really want to die in this way, a fool’s death, on a fool’s errand?”
