Vampire Books Online / The Vampire - Sioux City register (Sioux City, Iowa)

Many changes have taken place in education as well as in other departments—perhaps I should say more particularly in education, since it was my lot to be usher in N— Grammar School, a position that the reader will not be disposed to question when I state that some twenty years have elapsed since the time I allude to.

I visited N— last summer, and of course renewed at once my acquaintance with the old Grammar School. There it was, as well I remembered it of old, rearing its weather beaten front on high street and as I sat in the coffee room of the White Heart, immediately opposite, its external features seemed to recall to me the various events that had taken place during my sojourn there. There was the old gateway and the massive oaken door, through which the boys trooped daily at the summons of the shrill but not unmelodious bell above. Hark, it is ringing now. After all these years, what a thrill of memory that once familiar sound awakens in me! That heavy mullioned window to the right is, or was, the doctor's study, and the black patch in the center of the window, when viewed from within, resolves itself into the armorial bearings of the Grammar School—a shield argent, charged with a cross vert, the crest of an eagle preying, and for a motto, "En plein jour."

For the life of me I cannot recall the founder's name—memory is a treacherous jade but if you feel any curiosity on the subject, I have no doubt that by forwarding the above particulars to the College of Heralds, you may satisfy it. There were few of the boys who had not cause to remember the device in question, though I doubt if many could have described it in heraldic language, for the study was the scene of the doctor's private birchings, public 'executions' being reserved for greater offences. The large window to the left belongs to the school room, and through a corresponding one at the opposite end I catch a glimpse of the play-ground, and tall fir trees peopled by a flourishing colony of rooks, the climbing of which was interdicted under severe penalties. Well do I remember them. They recall a moonlight summer's night, and a young boy rising from his bed, noiselessly slipping on his trousers and socks, and as noiselessly creeping down the oak staircase, and emerging through a window I believe into the playground. I see him now crossing the lawn and commencing his perilous ascent up the very highest of the forbidden trees. Now he is hidden in the deep shade—now he comes out again into the deep moonlight, and each time higher and higher his white figure shows against the dark foliage, till he seems to be poised on the very summit, and then grasping something in his right hand, he slowly and cautiously descends.

I don't know to this day if I did right but masters are human, after all, and liable to err. I kept the boy's secret he never knew that an eye but those of his dormitory companions saw him. He won his wager and the applause of his fellows, but he paid the penalty. Some small footprints beneath the sacred tree, a very soiled pair of socks, and a night shirt decidedly more "green" than such habiliments are wont to be, told a tale of cause and effect only too plain. The boy was birched, and laid up with a violent cold as well.

Poor Tom Burke! I don't know whether he showed most bravery in his midnight expedition or in the fortitude with which he bore its consequences. We argued a bright future for him in his chosen calling, but Providence ordained otherwise. Tom was one of the earliest victims of the Indian mutiny. Peace to his memory.

The low wing connecting the school room with the chapel had, too, its reminiscences. The upper story is a low pitched room, called the "washing gallery," from being the scene of the boy's ablutions. There is a trap door in the centre leading from the rafters, and easily reached by the judicious piling of two or three boxes. We had in my time an idle, eccentric boy whom I will call Arthur Williams. He always seemed to live in an ideal world of his own, from the regions of which it was impossible to dislodge him, and he was consequently very frequently in trouble. He once concocted a scheme with a boon companion, in whose face mischief reigned supreme, to pay a stolen visit one half holiday to the "washing gallery," and explore the rafters. They put their plan in operation, lighted a candle, and started on their journey. All went well for a time, till the vicinage of numerous cobwebs warned them of the danger of a lighted candle. The "glim was doused" and the next step Arthur took his foot went through the ceiling.

Not a whit dismayed by this calamity, or else rendered reckless by it, they visited the clock tower, set the clock wrong, and altered the weights. These misdemeanors proved so engrossing that the summons of the four o'clock muster bell was disregarded, and the whole proceedings were discovered. Wanton destruction of property was a very heinous crime in the doctor's estimation, and Arthur's companion was a marplot anywise, so we did not feel surprised that the expulsion of both was the consequence.

They were not publicly expelled, but their respective parents were requested to remove them. Arthur turned out very well, as I always predicted he would, and is now one of our most popular literary men.

But in these reminiscences I am forgetting the especial subject of this paper. If I found the school list changed, I found plenty of change elsewhere. Now, the Great Western Railway carried me swiftly and comfortably to within a mile or two of N— and two hours after I left the Paddington station found me ensconced in the coffee room of the White Heart. Then, it used to be a long journey by coach, and altogether about as disagreeable a journey as I have had occasion to make.

It was in February, 18—. So that having obtained the appointment through the interest of a friend, I started on my way to N— for the first time. I occupied myself a great deal, as may be imagined, in speculating on my future kind of life, and once or twice I fell asleep. At length the coach drew up in the old market place, and I at once alighted.

I was accosted by a pale-faced boy, with a peculiar expression of countenance that seemed to haunt me with its singularity of expression. "Was I for N— Grammar School?" I was. Then the doctor had commissioned him to show me the way and he went with me accordingly.

My companion was taciturn beyond anything that my experience of boys had hitherto encountered. I asked some questions as to the school. He would answer monosyllabically, and then relapse into silence apparently regarding his shoe string with the most intense interest. Had he not been so young a boy, I should have said his spirit was crushed out of him by the possession of a deadly secret, although his manner puzzled me.

My speculations, however, were cut short by our arrival at the school, and in the occupation of making the doctor's acquaintance and arranging my room, I had little time to think of my recent companion. At supper I noticed him among the rest of the boys, but as soon as he caught my eye he turned his head away abruptly. A mysterious boy.

After supper and prayers, the doctor called me aside.

"Mr. Merton," he said, "the dormitory attached to your room is under your supervision. Be so good as to keep a sharp lookout on it. There is something wrong," he added, in a lower voice "about that dormitory, and I should be only too glad if your vigilance could discover it. It is a most mysterious circumstance. The ventilation appears to me to be most efficient. In fact, I am assured by competent authorities it is, and yet if I put the most healthy boy there in three or four days he becomes poor and haggard. It is a very extraordinary thing, and most annoying. Saunderson," he added, pointing to the mysterious boy, who was looking into the fire with the strange, abstracted look I had noticed before, "is the prefect of your dormitory, and will initiate you into any of our customs. Good night."

In a quarter of an hour all the boys were safely in bed, and the lights out. I should have mentioned that my bed room commanded a view of the dormitory, by means of a window which I could open and shut at pleasure. The doctor's parting words had connected themselves in my mind with the mysterious boy. I felt disinclined for sleep, so shading my lamp, I stationed myself at the window, and took up a book. I heard the clock strike eleven—twelve—one. By a restless impulse which I could not account for, I felt constrained to go round the dormitory, at the risk of disturbing the occupants. All was quiet. The twenty five boys were all slumbering peacefully on, and as I looked at each one in turn, I became witness to the truth of the doctor's assertion as to the pallor and haggardness of the inmates of my dormitory. They might have been scholars of Dotheboys Hall.

Nearest my window slept Saunderson. The old impression that had attracted my notice seemed to have given place in sleep to an expression of peaceful innocence more befitting his years, and as he lay with one arm stretched over his quilt, I thought him even nice looking.

I had not been in my room five minutes before I was attracted by a sound in the dormitory, and looking out through the window, I saw Saunderson rise from his bed and approach that of his nearest neighbor. He leant over him, and—oh, heaven!—the sight seemed to paralyze me. I saw him with some sharp instrument open a vein in the boy's neck, and applying his lips, he drank a very long draught of blood!

In a moment all was explained the pallor of his companions, and his own strange manner. Saunderson was a vampire!

I had read of those monsters, and had regarded them as the creations merely of a popular superstition. I now, at the midnight hour, found myself face to face with one—one who was destined to be my companion, perhaps for years.

Meanwhile, the vampire-boy had quitted his first victim, and, to my inexpressible horror, was smacking his lips and rubbing his stomach after the manner of a drunkard who has taken a draught of more than usually generous wine. He passed on to the next bed, and repeated his loathsome operation.

Five beds did I see him visit in this manner, while the power of motion seemed dried up in me with very horror. I essayed to shout, but the sound died upon my lips. I struggled to leap through the window and fall upon the monster, but, luckily for me, or murder might have been the result, an unseen power seemed to rivet me to the spot. Suddenly I turned and fled down the corridor like a maniac.

To arouse the doctor was the work of a moment. I tried to explain it to him in a few hurried words, but my agitation was so great, and my speech so incoherent, that I must have appeared to be wandering. I dragged him into my room, and pointing to the open window, I left the terrible facts to speak for themselves.

A moment afterwards I saw him leap through the window and alight at Saunderson's feet. I saw the boy raise his lips from the sixth victim, and meet the gaze of the doctor. I saw him fling himself at his feet, and heard him crave in piteous accents for mercy.

"The impulse was upon me," said he, "and I could not resist it. Doctor, I loathe, I hate myself more than you can loathe or hate me but I cannot resist it. Oh, I am miserable—miserable!"

His wail was so piteous that I felt my loathing fast turning into commiseration. Yes, I pitied this monster. This was the terrible secret he had borne about him this was the curse, more surely than the leprosy of old, which separated him from his fellow beings, and made his inmost soul cry out, "Unclean! unclean!" Surely he was to be pitied.

I looked into the doctor's eye to read there if his feelings were akin to mine but he was little accustomed to allow his face to be an index to the soul within. I could see naught. He merely said, "This must be seen to." Then he added "Mr. Merton, you are agitated you had better retire." He left the room with Saunderson, and I heard the key of the turret chamber turned.

The vampire was in solitary confinement, with no blood to prey upon but his own!

I turned into bed, and tried to compose myself to sleep but it was not to be. I felt a shock of an earthquake, and the next moment I woke up in the coach, which was jogging over the rough stones of High street.

"I fear you have been dreaming, sir," said an opposite neighbor.

I had indeed. But the most curious part is yet to come.

In due time I really did reach N—. The coach put up at the White Heart, so I had no need of a boy, vampire or otherwise, to show me the way to the Grammar School. I met with a kind welcome, and supped with him and his wife in private. In the pleasures of the social meal I could afford to laugh at my strange dream, merely noting that the doctor was singularly like the doctor my fertile brain had conjured up, and that what I saw of the school on alighting bore an equal resemblance to its phantom counterpart but then I had had a very minute description both of the one and the other, so no great wonder after all.

"The boys are gone to bed," said the doctor, rising and lighting my candle, "and I dare say you will not be sorry to follow their example. I have had a bed prepared in my dressing room, so that you may not be disturbed. Tomorrow night you can take charge of your dormitory. There are twenty five boys under your supervision."

"What a singular coincidence," I thought as I retired, and cudgeled my brains in vain to recall if any one could have revealed to me this item of the internal economy of N— Grammar School. In this process I fell into a profound and dreamless sleep, from which I was recalled in the morning by the six o'clock bell.

After prayers I took my class, and there, sure enough, straight before me, was Saunderson, the vampire. I never was so utterly and hopelessly confused in my life. There was no mistake at all about it, only he appeared to be nervous and shy, rather than burdened with conscious guilt.

"Saunderson, construe."

I could not take my eyes off him. I fairly stared him out of countenance. He took refuge in a scrutiny of his shoe string, and then the likeness was complete!

"Who, sir?" asked a dozen voices.

"That boy," I said, indicating the vampire.

"Oh, sir, Norris."

The difference of the name seemed to remove an incubus from me. Norris, alias Saunderson, alias the vampire, essayed to construe, but broke down hopelessly, and took refuge in the shoe-string. It was Saunderson there was no denying it. To-night I should see him tapping the dormitory boys, and smacking his horrid lips over the loathsome draught. I hated Norris religiously.

"Norris," said the doctor in the afternoon, "show Mr. Merton the town." I was obliged to submit. "One of my best boys," he whispered, as we passed out. I shrugged my shoulders.

Norris showed me everything N— could boast of, and, to do him justice, he evidently strove hard to please but I found him as taciturn and monosyllabic as my dream had foreshadowed, and, as you may suppose, I took no trouble to draw out a vampire.

At night, I had some business to transact with the doctor, and when I sought my chamber, the boys were in bed and asleep—twenty five boys and Norris just under my window! Before putting out the lamp I looked at each. They were as healthy looking a set as one could desire to see. I almost resented their good condition. What business had five-and-twenty boys to look fat and well liking when they slept with a vampire?

I visited Norris last. There he lay, just as I had pictured him, one hand on the quilt, and the look of peaceful innocence on his face. One thing was certain, Norris was very handsome. I may add, at this time, that the arrangement of the dormitory and of my own room were precisely similar to that portrayed in my dream. I should have felt the same uncertainty as to whether I had heard of it beforehand, as I did with regard to the number of boys in the dormitory, were it not for the utterly inexplicable resemblance between Saunderson and Norris.

I worked myself into such a fit of nervousness that I added yet another coincidence by sitting up to the window, whence I fully expected to see Norris arise and practice his blood-sucking. But though I heard the clock strike not only eleven, twelve, and one, but all the hours up to six, nothing of the kind happened. After a while, though a settled aversion to Norris remained, out of which I found it impossible to release myself, I ceased endeavoring to catch him in overt acts of vampirism. I desired, at least once in the course of the day, in addressing him as Saunderson, and the strange dislike which I bore him, and which was only too apparent to all, at length ceased to cause any speculation.

Months passed on, and brought with various changes. I was comfortably settled at N— and had still from my dormitory the supervision of the North Dormitory but Norris' place knew him no more. He had not gone into solitary confinement in the turret chamber as a convicted vampire. He was dying of a deep decline, and I, as a religious duty, was battling strongfully and manfully with my aversion. One day he sent for me. I found him in his favorite position, one arm thrown over the coverlet. It was the well known position of my dream.

"Oh, thank you," he said, bursting into tears. "Oh, Mr. Merton, why have you disliked me so, when I have always prayed that you should like me? Why have you shunned me as you would a vampire?"

What could I say? I could only blubber like a child.

"When I get well, will you promise to like me?"

Of course I promised, and did bitter penance in spirit for my injustice. But I never had the power of fulfilling my word. He died in a few days. His simple cross in N— churchyard—I visited it the other day—bears the inscription:

WALTER NORRIS,
In Peace.
AGED TWELVE YEARS.
SEPT. 6TH, 184-.

I begged his mother, to whom I related all the circumstances, to allow me to erect it to his memory, and for years my hands planted and tended the flowers at its base. In an old desk, among the relics of the past, such as the coldest of us hoard up, one of my dearest treasures is a lock of light curling hair and a boy's necktie, the paper attached to which is labelled with the suggestive word "Saunderson."

I should not have recorded this dream were it not for the strange coincidence connected with it. I must leave to scientific men the explanation of the mystery. Can it be that my unkindness was a necessary discipline for Norris, and that the dream was permitted for his good? Who can say?