It was the beginning of the year 1892 and I was busy in my country
surgery, inundated with patients suffering from acute blood loss and similar
ill markings on their necks. It seemed like we had a new vicious malady
plaguing our small town but I had yet to confirm what it was. Many of the
townsfolk were claiming we had vampires in our midst however I, although I had
had my fair share of dalliances with the phantom world, thought the idea an
entirely ludicrous one.
This outbreak coincidentally occurred just
as the European nobleman Count Karloff arrived on a visit to England to stay at
my dear friend Silas’ house.
‘Hallo Smedley,’ Silas said to me, full of
energy, as he welcomed us inside one day. ‘Have you met my guest?’
From a single glance of Count Karloff I
could tell he was a man of noble birth. He had a strong face with a
powerful jaw and pristinely kept dark hair all set off by a fine black velvet
cape. I could make out an exceedingly pale complexion even in the darkened
living room. I supposed he was from a country blessed with little sunlight.
‘Wonderful to meet you, Count,’ I said,
offering my hand.
‘As it is… to meet…you,’ he said, in a
slow drawl with a thick accent. He also ignored my hand.
At that moment, Mrs Pretorius, Silas’
housekeeper, came into the room and began to draw the curtains. With a shriek,
Karloff backed against the wall, hissing like a cat.
‘Mrs Pretorius, please!’ Silas said.
‘Count Karloff, our esteemed guest, has a strict skin condition which makes
sunlight intolerable.’
Mrs Pretorius turned around to bow and
apologise to Karloff to which he once again jumped back screaming while
pointing at the crucifix hanging around her neck.
‘He’s also not very religious.’
Karloff’s behaviour struck me as very
queer. There was something about him I did not trust.
‘A drink, Karloff?’ Silas asked.
‘I am always thirsty,’ he murmured.
I glanced at Karloff once more; he smiled
at me, teeth peeping over his lips. He didn’t seem to be looking me at the
eyes, though, more like my neck.
Something clicked in my mind.
Silas’s so-called esteemed guest was in
fact a vampire!
I endeavoured to keep my calm so as to not
let the fiend know of my suspicions of him. I realised that I must be strong to
face off this creature from hell.
‘White wine for you, Karloff?’
‘Oh no. I must have something … red,’ he
said, with a smirk.
I fainted clean away on the floor.
The next thing I knew Silas was dabbing my
forehead with a damp cloth. I could not see the Count in the room so I lunged
at my friend, grabbing his lapels.
‘Silas! The Count… He is the one who has
been feeding off the locals! He is a Nosferatu! An Evil Dead!’ Silas looked at
me blankly. ‘A vampire!’
‘Now, now, Smedley. You have had a bump to
the brain, you know not what you are saying.’ Silas patted my shoulder. ‘I assure
you that Count Karloff is not the bloodsucker you seek.’
He grinned at me and through his lips I
saw two protruding canines. As sharp as fangs.
‘Now,’ he continued. ‘I do believe you
hurt your neck when you fainted. Let me have a look at that.’