The mid-1930s. Neil Penswick’s tale is a good example of how a Harry Dickson story often challenges the obvious. Here, we think that Harry has encountered yet another vampire—but has he, really?

 

Neil Penswick: The Vampire Murders

 

 

The dark haired girl looked at them, curiously. She was about twelve years old and the blood she had been drinking, from the injured man’s neck, formed an impression of thick rose-red lipstick carved diagonally across her face, ear to ear. Her white silk dress was splattered with the man’s blood but otherwise it seemed to be new on her that day. She moved the sticky hair from her face and the two men clearly saw the freckles covering her nose, confirming to them both her young age and her identity.

“It is the lost girl…” Tom Wills said to his mentor.

“I am afraid it is,” replied Harry Dickson.

“…and she has fallen under the prey of a vampire.”

Dickson grasped his pipe resting in his jacket pocket. It had only been moments before when they had been walking through South East London conversing about the hot autumnal weather and the large numbers of beautiful red admiral butterflies flying around them: Dickson had enjoyed a good smoke in the fresh air and he had thought that this had fully prepared him for the search for the missing girl. It hadn’t and, despite his years as a detective, this had genuinely shocked him.

“This is like the case of the red-eyed vampire,” said Wills. “We must stand back. She may attack us.”

“Indeed,” said Dickson.

The two detectives backed away from the girl who remained on the ground, sucking the blood from the neck of the unmoving man. They could not fully see the body of the man as a jacket lay over him.

“He must be still alive,” Wills said. “If you remember the vampire needs fresh blood from a warm body.”

Dickson nodded. Their most recent adventure, facing the heir of Dracula, Count Dragomin, had also taught them much about the evil blood-sucking vampires.

The missing girl’s mother, Madame Poincaré, had visited the detective’s office at 221B Baker Street that morning. Dickson had been reading The Times and reading out loud an article about the effect of the late summer on extending the life of the insect population and the consequent increase in sightings of, their main predator, the bat. The Madame told them that her daughter had failed to return from school the previous day. She had gone to Scotland Yard however they had shown no interest in her concerns and advised her to come back in a week. She was distraught. She was not from that sort of family. Her daughter had never strayed and, apart from the few days a week she attended the private school, she only left the house with a servant. Dickson had calmed the honest and reputable woman and promised that he and his assistant would immediately start work on the case. Dickson had asked whether the mother had a photograph of her daughter but was told that she had not.

Dickson and Wills had travelled to the school and were dismayed to discover that over the last two days, in fact, six young women had disappeared. The school had not reported this to anyone and Dickson had remonstrated with them about their moral rectitude and failure to protect these vulnerable women. Wills had interviewed the Headmistress and established a description of the girls, confirming that they were all dressed alike, wearing navy blue blazers and matching ankle length skirts.

They had found the body of one of the missing schoolgirls in a nearby orchard, apples strewn around her. She was lying, contorted and head bent to the side. As far as could be seen by the detectives, her face and body were covered in swollen livid bumps and wheals. Dickson had checked the pulse on the side of her neck and, finding no life, closed her eyes.

“What manner of monster could have done this?” demanded Wills when they had found the schoolgirl. However, having found the missing child, it was clear that they were, once again, facing a vampire.

The girl continued to suck the blood, occasionally glancing at the detectives. She did not appear to be concerned about their presence.

“We should rescue the victim,” said Wills, “we may be able to save his life.”

Wills pulled out a revolver.

“That will not kill the vampire,” said Dickson.

“No. But it will slow her down.”

Tom Wills started to move forward, revolver outstretched. “If it hadn’t been for our most recent adventures I would not have known what to do. Guv, I feel a new confidence in facing this threat to mankind. We are fully prepared.”

Dickson muttered, “there is something odd here.”

Wills took aim at the vampire, lying on the ground, and fired.

The vampire screeched and shot backwards. The shot had missed its target but she was now cowering in the corner. Wills carefully aimed the revolver and walked forward. This time he would not miss.

“This is not right,” continued Dickson.

He held out the gun and pulled the trigger. As he did, he was grabbed, on the arm. The bullet again missed. Wills spun round, expecting another vampire to be at his side. But it was Dickson.

“Stop this now,” Dickson said.

“What!” exclaimed Wills.

Dickson shook his head, “I fear we have got this wrong. What we are seeing is not what we think we are seeing.”

“I don’t understand,” Wills said.

“Put that gun away and go and look after the girl,” said Dickson.

“She is a vampire!” shouted Wills.

“This is not about vampires,” said Dickson. “We have let one hypothesis dominate our thinking. And we have risked the life on an innocent girl.”

Dickson walked over to the cowering girl. “If you will not look after her, I will.”

“Don’t do that. You are bewitched,” Wills shouted, pointing the gun at the girl.

“Nonsense,” said Dickson.

“I must protect you. You have fallen under the vampire’s spell. You are in great danger,” Wills shouted.

“The only danger I am in, is from your inability to shoot straight.”

Dickson took off his jacket and put it around the cowering girl.

The girl touched Dickson’s jacket and opened her mouth to speak.

“Get back! Get back!” shouted Wills.

The girl muttered, “you’re real,” and then began to howl with an intense and deeply emotional sound. Dickson put his arms around the girl and held her as she collapsed into sobs.

“Put that revolver away, Tom. This is hardly the behaviour of vampires,” said Dickson.

Wills looked at the hysterical girl, thought for a moment and then put the revolver back into his pocket.

“Thank you,” said Dickson.

 

Later on, as the Sun was setting over London, the two detectives sat in their Baker Street office considering the events of the day. They had returned the missing child to her distraught mother and had involved Superintendent Goodfield, from Scotland Yard, in the macabre events surrounding the death of her school friend. Dickson was relaxed and smoking his pipe.

“It is zero hour and darkness is dispelled. What first alerted me that our hypothesis was possibly wrong was the new white dress. I cannot blame you for continuing to believe that it was vampires. But the white dress offered an alternative—if somewhat bizarre—explanation. I should have given an appropriate weighting to this new evidence.”

“But what we saw?...”

“We relied too much on the evidence of only one of our senses, Tom,” said Dickson.

He relit his pipe and sat back in his chair, the smoke gently drifting around the room.

“We, ourselves, had experienced the effects of the late summer. This morning’s newspaper reported on the late crops of fruit and the subsequent bizarre behaviour of various breeds of insect. My assumption, and I have interviewed the girl and it has proved correct, is that the six friends had left the school to visit the orchard. Something extraordinary had happened to the apples. It is a rare scientific phenomenon but the fruit had matured into alcohol: the scientific journals report that the effect of consuming, such fruit, resembles that of drinking absinthe. The young girls became intoxicated and hallucinated. They entered a nightmare world. The death of their friend was an unfortunate and tragic accident, anaphylactic shock following being stung by crazed wasps.” Dickson reported.

“But the girl sucking the man’s neck?” asked Wills.

“The white dress should have made me aware. If she had been attacked by one of the creatures of the night, and had been possessed, why would the girl have changed her clothes? Such an inconsistency.” Dickson paused. “Who knows what was going on in their feverish minds. But the missing girl was trying to revive her friend and had covered her with her blazer to keep her warm. As we saw, the desperate attempts—and remember they had seen one of their friends die in front of their eyes—had resulted in the girl smearing lipstick across her face. Hallucinating: heaven knows, what monstrous things they thought they saw, what depths of despair and extraordinary terrors possessed them.”

Wills nodded. “I was so certain that this was a vampire.”

“This is a lesson for both of us,” Dickson breathed out the pipe smoke and it drifted around him, with the evening breeze. “In the future, we must not precipitously jump to conclusions but properly assess the evidence.”

“Yes, Guv,” Wills said, apologetically.

Harry Dickson walked over and looked out of the window, appreciating the final moments of the sunset over London. He turned to his assistant and smiled.

“I am sure, though, we have learnt a salutary lesson and are now better prepared for whatever monstrosity decides to unleash its evil across this beloved country.” He paused. “And those people sleeping across the city tonight are safer for it.”