Varney the Vampire; Or, the Feast of Blood, Page 3

  CHAPTER I.

  ----"How graves give up their dead. And how the night air hideous grows With shrieks!"

  MIDNIGHT.--THE HAIL-STORM.--THE DREADFUL VISITOR.--THE VAMPYRE.

  The solemn tones of an old cathedral clock have announced midnight--theair is thick and heavy--a strange, death like stillness pervades allnature. Like the ominous calm which precedes some more than usuallyterrific outbreak of the elements, they seem to have paused even intheir ordinary fluctuations, to gather a terrific strength for the greateffort. A faint peal of thunder now comes from far off. Like a signalgun for the battle of the winds to begin, it appeared to awaken themfrom their lethargy, and one awful, warring hurricane swept over a wholecity, producing more devastation in the four or five minutes it lasted,than would a half century of ordinary phenomena.

  It was as if some giant had blown upon some toy town, and scattered manyof the buildings before the hot blast of his terrific breath; for assuddenly as that blast of wind had come did it cease, and all was asstill and calm as before.

  Sleepers awakened, and thought that what they had heard must be theconfused chimera of a dream. They trembled and turned to sleep again.

  All is still--still as the very grave. Not a sound breaks the magic ofrepose. What is that--a strange, pattering noise, as of a million offairy feet? It is hail--yes, a hail-storm has burst over the city.Leaves are dashed from the trees, mingled with small boughs; windowsthat lie most opposed to the direct fury of the pelting particles of iceare broken, and the rapt repose that before was so remarkable in itsintensity, is exchanged for a noise which, in its accumulation, drownsevery cry of surprise or consternation which here and there arose frompersons who found their houses invaded by the storm.

  Now and then, too, there would come a sudden gust of wind that in itsstrength, as it blew laterally, would, for a moment, hold millions ofthe hailstones suspended in mid air, but it was only to dash them withredoubled force in some new direction, where more mischief was to bedone.

  Oh, how the storm raged! Hail--rain--wind. It was, in very truth, anawful night.

  * * * * *

  There is an antique chamber in an ancient house. Curious and quaintcarvings adorn the walls, and the large chimney-piece is a curiosity ofitself. The ceiling is low, and a large bay window, from roof to floor,looks to the west. The window is latticed, and filled with curiouslypainted glass and rich stained pieces, which send in a strange, yetbeautiful light, when sun or moon shines into the apartment. There isbut one portrait in that room, although the walls seem panelled for theexpress purpose of containing a series of pictures. That portrait is ofa young man, with a pale face, a stately brow, and a strange expressionabout the eyes, which no one cared to look on twice.

  There is a stately bed in that chamber, of carved walnut-wood is itmade, rich in design and elaborate in execution; one of those works ofart which owe their existence to the Elizabethan era. It is hung withheavy silken and damask furnishing; nodding feathers are at itscorners--covered with dust are they, and they lend a funereal aspect tothe room. The floor is of polished oak.

  God! how the hail dashes on the old bay window! Like an occasionaldischarge of mimic musketry, it comes clashing, beating, and crackingupon the small panes; but they resist it--their small size saves them;the wind, the hail, the rain, expend their fury in vain.

  The bed in that old chamber is occupied. A creature formed in allfashions of loveliness lies in a half sleep upon that ancient couch--agirl young and beautiful as a spring morning. Her long hair has escapedfrom its confinement and streams over the blackened coverings of thebedstead; she has been restless in her sleep, for the clothing of thebed is in much confusion. One arm is over her head, the other hangsnearly off the side of the bed near to which she lies. A neck and bosomthat would have formed a study for the rarest sculptor that everProvidence gave genius to, were half disclosed. She moaned slightly inher sleep, and once or twice the lips moved as if in prayer--at leastone might judge so, for the name of Him who suffered for all came oncefaintly from them.

  She has endured much fatigue, and the storm does not awaken her; but itcan disturb the slumbers it does not possess the power to destroyentirely. The turmoil of the elements wakes the senses, although itcannot entirely break the repose they have lapsed into.

  Oh, what a world of witchery was in that mouth, slightly parted, andexhibiting within the pearly teeth that glistened even in the faintlight that came from that bay window. How sweetly the long silkeneyelashes lay upon the cheek. Now she moves, and one shoulder isentirely visible--whiter, fairer than the spotless clothing of the bedon which she lies, is the smooth skin of that fair creature, justbudding into womanhood, and in that transition state which presents tous all the charms of the girl--almost of the child, with the morematured beauty and gentleness of advancing years.

  Was that lightning? Yes--an awful, vivid, terrifying flash--then aroaring peal of thunder, as if a thousand mountains were rolling oneover the other in the blue vault of Heaven! Who sleeps now in thatancient city? Not one living soul. The dread trumpet of eternity couldnot more effectually have awakened any one.

  The hail continues. The wind continues. The uproar of the elements seemsat its height. Now she awakens--that beautiful girl on the antique bed;she opens those eyes of celestial blue, and a faint cry of alarm burstsfrom her lips. At least it is a cry which, amid the noise and turmoilwithout, sounds but faint and weak. She sits upon the bed and pressesher hands upon her eyes. Heavens! what a wild torrent of wind, and rain,and hail! The thunder likewise seems intent upon awakening sufficientechoes to last until the next flash of forked lightning should againproduce the wild concussion of the air. She murmurs a prayer--a prayerfor those she loves best; the names of those dear to her gentle heartcome from her lips; she weeps and prays; she thinks then of whatdevastation the storm must surely produce, and to the great God ofHeaven she prays for all living things. Another flash--a wild, blue,bewildering flash of lightning streams across that bay window, for aninstant bringing out every colour in it with terrible distinctness. Ashriek bursts from the lips of the young girl, and then, with eyes fixedupon that window, which, in another moment, is all darkness, and withsuch an expression of terror upon her face as it had never before known,she trembled, and the perspiration of intense fear stood upon her brow.

  "What--what was it?" she gasped; "real, or a delusion? Oh, God, what wasit? A figure tall and gaunt, endeavouring from the outside to unclaspthe window. I saw it. That flash of lightning revealed it to me. Itstood the whole length of the window."

  There was a lull of the wind. The hail was not falling sothickly--moreover, it now fell, what there was of it, straight, and yeta strange clattering sound came upon the glass of that long window. Itcould not be a delusion--she is awake, and she hears it. What canproduce it? Another flash of lightning--another shriek--there could benow no delusion.

  A tall figure is standing on the ledge immediately outside the longwindow. It is its finger-nails upon the glass that produces the sound solike the hail, now that the hail has ceased. Intense fear paralysed thelimbs of that beautiful girl. That one shriek is all she can utter--withhands clasped, a face of marble, a heart beating so wildly in her bosom,that each moment it seems as if it would break its confines, eyesdistended and fixed upon the window, she waits, froze with horror. Thepattering and clattering of the nails continue. No word is spoken, andnow she fancies she can trace the darker form of that figure against thewindow, and she can see the long arms moving to and fro, feeling forsome mode of entrance. What strange light is that which now graduallycreeps up into the air? red and terrible--brighter and brighter itgrows. The lightning has set fire to a mill, and the reflection of therapidly consuming building falls upon that long window. There can be nomistake. The figure is there, still feeling for an entrance, andclattering against the glass with its long nails, that appear as if thegrowth of many years had been untouched. She tries to scream again but achoking sensation comes
over her, and she cannot. It is toodreadful--she tries to move--each limb seems weighed down by tons oflead--she can but in a hoarse faint whisper cry,--

  "Help--help--help--help!"

  And that one word she repeats like a person in a dream. The red glare ofthe fire continues. It throws up the tall gaunt figure in hideous reliefagainst the long window. It shows, too, upon the one portrait that is inthe chamber, and that portrait appears to fix its eyes upon theattempting intruder, while the flickering light from the fire makes itlook fearfully life-like. A small pane of glass is broken, and the formfrom without introduces a long gaunt hand, which seems utterly destituteof flesh. The fastening is removed, and one-half of the window, whichopens like folding doors, is swung wide open upon its hinges.

  And yet now she could not scream--she could not move."Help!--help!--help!" was all she could say. But, oh, that look ofterror that sat upon her face, it was dreadful--a look to haunt thememory for a lifetime--a look to obtrude itself upon the happiestmoments, and turn them to bitterness.

  The figure turns half round, and the light falls upon the face. It isperfectly white--perfectly bloodless. The eyes look like polished tin;the lips are drawn back, and the principal feature next to thosedreadful eyes is the teeth--the fearful looking teeth--projecting likethose of some wild animal, hideously, glaringly white, and fang-like. Itapproaches the bed with a strange, gliding movement. It clashes togetherthe long nails that literally appear to hang from the finger ends. Nosound comes from its lips. Is she going mad--that young and beautifulgirl exposed to so much terror? she has drawn up all her limbs; shecannot even now say help. The power of articulation is gone, but thepower of movement has returned to her; she can draw herself slowly alongto the other side of the bed from that towards which the hideousappearance is coming.

  But her eyes are fascinated. The glance of a serpent could not haveproduced a greater effect upon her than did the fixed gaze of thoseawful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent on her face. Crouching downso that the gigantic height was lost, and the horrible, protruding,white face was the most prominent object, came on the figure. What wasit?--what did it want there?--what made it look so hideous--so unlike aninhabitant of the earth, and yet to be on it?

  Now she has got to the verge of the bed, and the figure pauses. Itseemed as if when it paused she lost the power to proceed. The clothingof the bed was now clutched in her hands with unconscious power. Shedrew her breath short and thick. Her bosom heaves, and her limbstremble, yet she cannot withdraw her eyes from that marble-looking face.He holds her with his glittering eye.

  The storm has ceased--all is still. The winds are hushed; the churchclock proclaims the hour of one: a hissing sound comes from the throatof the hideous being, and he raises his long, gaunt arms--the lips move.He advances. The girl places one small foot from the bed on to thefloor. She is unconsciously dragging the clothing with her. The door ofthe room is in that direction--can she reach it? Has she power towalk?--can she withdraw her eyes from the face of the intruder, and sobreak the hideous charm? God of Heaven! is it real, or some dream solike reality as to nearly overturn the judgment for ever?

  The figure has paused again, and half on the bed and half out of it thatyoung girl lies trembling. Her long hair streams across the entire widthof the bed. As she has slowly moved along she has left it streamingacross the pillows. The pause lasted about a minute--oh, what an age ofagony. That minute was, indeed, enough for madness to do its full workin.

  With a sudden rush that could not be foreseen--with a strange howlingcry that was enough to awaken terror in every breast, the figure seizedthe long tresses of her hair, and twining them round his bony hands heheld her to the bed. Then she screamed--Heaven granted her then power toscream. Shriek followed shriek in rapid succession. The bed-clothes fellin a heap by the side of the bed--she was dragged by her long silkenhair completely on to it again. Her beautifully rounded limbs quiveredwith the agony of her soul. The glassy, horrible eyes of the figure ranover that angelic form with a hideous satisfaction--horribleprofanation. He drags her head to the bed's edge. He forces it back bythe long hair still entwined in his grasp. With a plunge he seizes herneck in his fang-like teeth--a gush of blood, and a hideous suckingnoise follows. _The girl has swooned, and the vampyre is at his hideousrepast!_