Tales of terror
went to my room, put on a thicker pair of boots, and armed myself with
a revolver which I had brought with me. During my extensive travelling
about America a revolver was a necessity, and by force of habit I
put it up with my clothes when packing my things in London for my
Continental journey.
Holding the weapon between my knees, I put a cartridge in each barrel,
and, providing myself with a stick in addition, I went forth again
and began to climb the mountain path. I was by no means a sanguinary
man; even my pugnacity could only be aroused after much irritation.
Nevertheless, I knew how to defend myself, and in this instance,
knowing that I had to deal with a woman who was capable of any crime,
and who, I felt sure, would not hesitate to take my life if she got the
chance, I deemed it advisable to be on my guard against any emergency
that might arise. As regards Redcar, he had already given me forcible
and painful evidence that he could be dangerous; but I did not hold
him responsible for his actions. I regarded him as being temporarily
insane owing to the infernal influence the awful woman exercised over
him. Therefore it would only have been in the very last extremity that
I should have resorted to lethal weapons as a defence against him. My
one sole aim, hope, desire, prayer, was to rescue him from the spell
that held him in thrall and restore him to his wife, his honour, his
sanity. With respect to Annette, it was different. She was a blot on
nature, a disgrace to humankind, and, rather than let her gain complete
ascendency over me and my friend, I would have shot her if I had reason
to believe she contemplated taking my life. It might have involved me
in serious trouble with the authorities at first, for in Spain the
foreigner can hope but for little justice. I was convinced, however,
that ultimately I should be exonerated.
Such were the thoughts that filled my mind as I painfully made my way
up the steep mountain side. My fractured arm was exceedingly painful.
Every limb in my body ached, and I was so languid, so weak that it was
with difficulty I dragged myself along. But worse than all this was an
all but irresistible desire to sleep, the result, I was certain, of the
poison that had been administered to me. But it would have been fatal
to have slept. I knew that, and so I fought against the inclination
with all my might and main, and allowed my thoughts to dwell on poor
little Maude Redcar, waiting desolate and heartbroken in London for
news. This supplied me with the necessary spur and kept me going.
The trees were nearly all entirely bare of snow. It had, I was
informed, been an unusually mild season, and at that time the sun’s
rays were very powerful. The path I was pursuing was nothing more than
a rough track worn by the peasants passing between the valley and their
hay chalets dotted about the mountain. Snow lay on the path where it
was screened from the sun by the trees. I heard no sound, saw no sign
of those I was seeking save here and there footprints in the snow. I
frequently paused and listened, but the stillness was unbroken save for
the subdued murmur of falling water afar off.
In my weakened condition the exertion I had endured had greatly
distressed me; my heart beat tumultuously, my pulses throbbed
violently, and my breathing was stertorous. I was compelled at last to
sit down and rest. I was far above the valley now, and the pine trees
were straggling and sparse. The track had become very indistinct, but I
still detected the footsteps of the people I was following. Above the
trees I could discern the snow-capped Picos de Europa glittering in
the brilliant sun. It was a perfect Alpine scene, which, under other
circumstances, I might have revelled in. But I felt strangely ill,
weak, and miserable, and drowsiness began to steal upon me, so that
I made a sudden effort of will and sprang up again, and resumed the
ascent.
In a little time the forest ended, and before me stretched a sloping
plateau which, owing to its being exposed to the full glare of the sun,
as well as to all the winds that blew, was bare of snow. The plateau
sloped down for probably four hundred feet, then ended abruptly at the
edge of a precipice. How far the precipice descended I could not tell
from where I was, but far far below I could see a stream meandering
through a thickly wooded gorge. I took the details of the scene in with
a sudden glance of the eye, for another sight attracted and riveted my
attention, and froze me with horror to the spot. Beneath a huge boulder
which had fallen from the mountain above, and lodged on the slope,
were Annette and Redcar. He was lying on his back, she was stretched
out beside him, and her face was buried in his neck. Even from where
I stood I could see that he was ghastly pale, his features drawn and
pinched, his eyes closed. Incredible as it may seem, horrible as it
sounds, it is nevertheless true that that hellish woman was sucking
away his life blood. She was a human vampire, and my worst fears were
confirmed.
I am aware that an astounding statement of this kind should not be made
lightly by a man in my position. But I take all the responsibility of
it, and I declare solemnly that it is true. Moreover, the sequel which
I am able to give to this story more than corroborates me, and proves
Annette to have been one of those human problems which, happily for the
world, are very rare, but of which there are several well authenticated
cases.
As soon as I fully realised what was happening I drew my revolver from
the side pocket of my jacket and fired, not at Annette, but in the air;
my object being to startle her so that she would release her victim.
It had the desired effect. She sprang up, livid with rage. Blood--his
blood--was oozing from the sides of her mouth. Her extraordinary
eyes had assumed that strange violet appearance which I had seen once
before. Her whole aspect was repulsive, revolting, horrible beyond
words. Rooted to the spot I stood and gazed at her, fascinated by the
weird, ghastly sight. In my hand I still held the smoking revolver,
levelled at her now, and resolved if she rushed towards me to shoot
her, for I felt that the world would be well rid of such a hideous
monster. But suddenly she stooped, seized her unfortunate victim in her
arms, and tore down the slope, and when the edge of the precipice was
reached they both disappeared into space.
The whole of this remarkable scene was enacted in the course of a few
seconds. It was to me a maddening nightmare. I fell where I stood, and
remembered no more until, hours afterwards, I found myself lying in
bed at the hotel, and the old surgeon and the priest sitting beside
me. Gradually I learnt that the sound of the shot from the revolver,
echoing and re-echoing in that Alpine region, had been heard in the
village, and some peasants had set off for the mountain to ascertain
the cause of the firing. They found me lying on the ground still
grasping the weapon, and thinking I had shot myself they carried me
down to the hotel.
Naturally I was asked for explanations when I was able to talk, and I
recounted the whole of the ghastly story. At first my listeners, the
priest and the doctor, seemed to think I was raving in delirium, as
well they might, but I persisted in my statements, and I urged the
sending out of a party to search for the bodies. If they were found my
story would be corroborated.
In a short time a party of peasants started for the gorge, which was
a wild, almost inaccessible, ravine through which flowed a mountain
torrent amongst the débris and boulders that from time to time had
fallen from the rocky heights. After some hours of searching the party
discovered the crushed remains of Jack Redcar. His head had been
battered to pieces against the rocks as he fell, and every bone in his
body was broken. The precipice over which he had fallen was a jagged,
scarred, and irregular wall of rock at least four thousand feet in
height. The search for Annette’s body was continued until darkness
compelled the searchers to return to the village, which they did
bringing with them my poor friend’s remains. Next day the search was
resumed, and the day after, and for many days, but with no result. The
woman’s corpse was never found. The theory was that somewhere on that
frightful rock face she had been caught by a projecting pinnacle, or
had got jammed in a crevice, where her unhallowed remains would moulder
into dust. It was a fitting end for so frightful a life.
Of course an official inquiry was held--and officialism in Spain is
appalling. It was weeks and weeks before the inevitable conclusion of
the tribunal was arrived at, and I was exonerated from all blame. In
the meantime Redcar’s remains were committed to their eternal rest in
the picturesque little Alpine village churchyard, and for all time
Potes will be associated with that grim and awful tragedy. Why Annette
took her victim to that out-of-the-way spot can only be guessed at. She
knew that the death of her victim was only a question of weeks, and
in that primitive and secluded hamlet it would arouse no suspicion,
she being a native of Spain. It would be easy for her to say that she
had taken her invalid husband there for the benefit of his health,
but unhappily the splendid and bracing air had failed to save his
life. In this instance, as in many others, her fiendish cunning would
have enabled her to score another triumph had not destiny made me its
instrument to encompass her destruction.
For long after my return to England I was very ill. The fearful
ordeal I had gone through, coupled with the poison which Annette had
administered to me, shattered my health; but the unremitting care and
attention bestowed upon me by my old friend’s widow pulled me through.
And when at last I was restored to strength and vigour, beautiful Maude
Redcar became my wife.
NOTE BY THE AUTHOR.--The foregoing story was suggested by a tradition
current in the Pyrenees, where a belief in ghouls and vampires is
still common. The same belief is no less common throughout Styria,
in some parts of Turkey, in Russia, and in India. Sir Richard Burton
deals with the subject in his ‘Vikram and the Vampire.’ Years ago,
when the author was in India, a poor woman was beaten to death one
night in the village by a number of young men armed with cudgels.
Their excuse for the crime was that the woman was a vampire, and had
sucked the blood of many of their companions, whom she had first
lured to her by depriving them of their will power by mesmeric
influence.
II
SEQUEL TO THE WOMAN WITH THE ‘OILY EYES’
THE STORY OF ANNETTE
FROM OFFICIAL RECORDS
At the time the inquiry was held into the circumstances of Jack
Redcar’s death, the authorities deemed it their duty to find out
something of Annette’s past history. In this they were aided by certain
documents discovered amongst her belongings, and, by dint of astute and
patient investigation, they elicited the following remarkable facts.
Her real name was Isabella Ribera, and she was born in a little village
in the Sierra Nevada, of Andalusia. Her mother was a highly respectable
peasantwoman, of a peculiarly romantic disposition, and fond of
listening to and reading weird and supernatural stories. Her father
was also a peasant, but intellectual beyond his class. By dint of hard
work, he acquired a considerable amount of land and large numbers of
cattle, and ultimately became the mayor of his village.
There were two peculiarities noticed about Isabella Ribera when she was
born. She had an extraordinary amount of back hair, and the lids of
her eyes remained fast sealed until she was a year old. An operation
was at first talked about, but the child was examined by a doctor of