Woodstock-1830

Vermont’s cold winter wind whistles and howls through the cracks and crevasses of Jubal Craven’s farmhouse windows. His brother, Jethro, places another log on the fire, but Jubal shivers and quakes. He has an extremely high fever and coughs up blood. He has consumption. After a week of diligent care, Jubal passes away at sixty-eight.   In 1830, there is no medical cure for this disease.

 The undertaker informs Jethro that he won’t be able to bury Jubal until spring due to frozen ground. Jethro nods his head while taking his brother’s hand. Looking down upon Jubal, Jethro is saddened by how emaciated he looks. The consumption has ravaged his body. He’s nothing but skin and bones.

Behind the funeral home is a rock cavern. It holds slabs of ice that the natural insulation will keep from melting. It is kept closed by locked iron doors with openings shaped like crucifixes.

The undertaker, Mr. Bowlins, asks if Jethro would like to view his brother one last time before the burial in April. Jethro sees that they have entwined a set of rosary beads between Jubal’s interlocked fingers and smiles. Father Martin is also here to give a blessing. When Father Martin finishes, Jethro bends down and kisses his older brother on the forehead. As they leave the cavern, Jethro hears the loud clang of the iron doors as they close. “They sound so final,” he thinks.

Six months later, Jethro starts showing symptoms as well. Dr. Joseph Morse is not surprised because it is not uncommon for this disease to go through entire families. Dr. Morse will follow Jethro’s progress and provide as much comfort as possible.

As Jethro’s illness progresses, his mind becomes more muddled. One day he tells the doctor an unbelievable story of a man who comes to visit him every night.  Jethro wheezes, “I don’t know who he is. He stands there by the window and stares at me. Please tell him I’m sick and don’t want company.”  Morse gently pats Jethro’s hand, saying he will.  He also takes some blood samples.

Back in his office, Dr. Morse examines Jethro’s blood under his microscope and finds what could be anemia. Though microscopes are not considered reliable sources, Morse thinks it is truly anemia. And if his assumption is correct, it is strange because anemia is not a symptom of consumption. He ponders, “I’ll need to investigate this matter further. I’ll return tomorrow and look for more physical evidence.”

The doctor’s black buggy stops at Carven’s farmhouse.  He has asked Mrs. Goodwin from the neighboring farm to meet him there.  “My dear Mrs. Goodwin, I was wondering if you would assist me in caring for Jethro for a small financial fee.” Mrs. Goodwin is a good Christian lady who is always willing to put herself out for others. Folding her hands across her ample tummy, she chuckles, “I’d be delighted to help, Dr. Morse.”

He informs her always to wear a mask and to wash her hands thoroughly with soap and water after each visit. Most importantly, she is never to eat or drink from any of the items used by Carven but to merely set them aside. They will be disposed of later by throwing them down the outhouse.

 Morse walks into the sparsely furnished bedroom. He sees Mrs. Goodwin pouring water into the nightstand basin. “I’m afraid Jethro has had a bad case of night sweats. I thought I might bath him and then change the bed clothing.”

“Very good,” Morse responds, bending to open his weathered black medical bag.

Mrs. Goodwin opens Carven’s evening shirt and gasps. “Oh my goodness, Dr. Morse! I fear a rat has bitten poor Jethro!”

Morse lifts his eyebrows and turns toward the bed. “A rat? Let me see.” Retrieving the pinch glasses hanging from his neck, he places them on his nose.   He sees two puncture wounds on Jethro’s neck just above his collarbone.   His eyebrows knit together, and his lips tighten. “Hmm. It’s definitely a bite, though I can’t be sure what caused it.” He cleanses the wound with alcohol and applies a bandage.  Morse is perplexed. He’s never seen these kind of wounds before. He decides to stay the night to see if he can learn more about this mysterious bite.   He asks Mrs. Goodwin for a chair and blanket, then settles in for the evening.

 Morse wraps the blanket around his shoulders, for the night’s wind has chilled the room. He watches Jethro’s chest rise and fall as he sleeps. As the night wears on, his eyes grow heavy.  Yawning, he decides to rest them for just a minute.   As he sleeps, he is unaware of the mist forming in the bright moonlight. It twists and swirls until it finally takes the shape of a man wearing a cape and silk top hat. From beneath the brim of his hat, a pair of red, hungry, glowing eyes stare at Jethro. The creature hears Morse stir in the shadows to its right and smiles. Reaching out a bent bony finger, he impresses upon the doctor to sleep, sleep deeply, very deeply.

           At dawn, the crowing of the Carven’s rooster wakes Dr. Morse. He rubs his stiff neck and straightens himself in the chair. Glancing across the room, he sees Jethro’s limp body hanging off the bed. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, sending the chair skidding across the oak floor.  Mrs. Goodwin rushes in. “What in the world!” Her hand flies to her bosom at the sight of Jethro. Morse commands, “Quickly, Mrs. Goodwin, help me get him back in bed!”   The doctor reexamines the wounds. There is fresh blood trickling down Jethro’s neck. He tells Mrs. Goodwin to stay with Carven and to watch him closely.  He informs her that he will return in an hour.  The doctor rushes to his buggy and cracks his whip.

Once at his office, he sends a message to his associate, Dr. John Nettleton, at the Vermont Medical College.  He tells him that he needs to consult with him on a most urgent matter.  Then he heads for the town library.

                                                                …

    Nettleton abruptly stops packing his pipe, “Vampirism? Oh, come now, Joseph. Isn’t that a bit of an extreme conclusion, if not downright absurd?”

“I know I sound ridiculous, John. That’s why I would like you to come with me to Carven’s farm and see for yourself. Superficial evidence as it may be, I still believe it is evidence just the same. Please won’t you humor me and come?”

Eyebrows knitted tightly together, he puffs his pipe and snarls, “ Oh, Alright.”.

 Hearing their carriage, Mrs. Goodwin rushes to the open door, wringing her hands. Tears brim her eyes, threatening to escape down her cheeks.

“Oh, Dr. Morse, I’m so sad to tell you that poor Mr. Carven has just now passed away.” Reaching into his vest pocket, Morse extracts two silver coins and presses them gently into Mrs. Goodwin’s hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Goodwin, you’ve been a great help to me. You may go home now. Please try to get some rest.”

The doctors proceed to the bedroom and are stunned by what they see.  They look at one another with questioning eyes. Carven’s corpse looks surprisingly restored and peaceful.   Morse brings Nettleton around the bed to show him the wounds. However, when he loosens the nightshirt, the marks are gone.

“Well.” huffs Nettleton. “All I see here is a man who appears to have died of natural causes. Explain, please.”

Morse reaches across the bed, retrieves his bag, and removes a book.  He holds it up before Nettleton.  “This is a book about vampirism. It explains what a vampire is, what it does, and its effects on the victims. But more importantly, it tells how to kill them!”

Removing his pipe and pointing it at the dead man, Nettleton chuckles. “It appears that this victim, if that is indeed who he is, is, in fact, dead already.”

“But he’s not,” insists Morse. “The bite marks are gone because the vampire has drained all of Corven’s blood. Tonight, as the moon rises, Carven will transition into a vampire and roam the countryside in search of blood.”

His pipe poised in the air, Nettleton ponders. “If that is true, which I sincerely doubt, then what in God’s name are we to do about it?”

According to this book, we are to separate the infected’s head from its body and then fill the mouth with garlic.” To slay the vampire itself, we must drive a wooden stake through its heart.” Morse slams the book shut. “Come, John, we have much work ahead of us before nightfall.”

Pursing his lips, Nettleton raises one eyebrow. “I believe I’ll humor you, for now, Morse. Then perhaps you’ll forget this ridiculous theory of yours.

                                                                 …

As evening approaches, the two men hide in the bedroom’s darkest corners. Morse has explained the situation to Father Martin about the terror stalking their little village.  The priest hides around the corner of the farmhouse, awaiting a signal. The now decapitated corpse of Carven is returned to the bed, a sheet pulled high over the body.

The hushed voice of Nettleton floats across the room. “Are you sure the creature will come here tonight?”

“Yes. The book states that vampires like to keep their minions with them. Therefore, we can assume that this fellow will do the same. We must wait patiently until the time comes, around midnight.”

Like the previous night, the moon shines brightly through the window.  The swirling mist reappears and solidifies into its human shape.  Morse shouts, “Now!” Both men leap from their hiding places and fall upon the monster but swiftly realize they are no match for its incredible strength.  The two men are tossed like ragdolls across the room.  The creature turns to escape through the window but is met by a wild-eyed priest holding a large silver cross in his trembling hands, who hears Morse’s signal. Its red eyes burn with fury as it hisses like a cornered animal. Seizing this opportunity, Dr. Morse rushes up behind the vampire, wraps his arm around the monster’s neck, and pulls it to the floor.

“Now! Stake it now!”

Nettleton drops to his knees and tries to place the stake precisely over its heart. But the vampire thrashes so violently that it is difficult for Nettleton to keep it in place.  It must be exact.

“Quickly, I’m losing my grip!”Morse gasps. “He’s too strong for me to hold on to much  longer!”

Nettleton lies across the vampire and delivers a mighty blow with the hammer. In the struggle, he only manages to pierce its chest but not its heart. Snaring and howling in anger, the vampire breaks Morse’s grip and flies to its feet. It grabs Nettleton by his throat and easily lifts him off the floor. Eyes glaring, it opens its mouth, exposing its long, sharp fangs. Morse realizes that this is the only chance to save his friend.  Jumping to his feet, he runs full speed into Nettleton from behind, thus pushing him into the vampire, which drives the stake into the monster’s heart.  Eyes wide and mouth open, the vampire releases a nearly unconscious Nettleton.  It sinks to the floor and writhes in pain until it finally lies still.

“John!  Are you alright? We’ve done it, John, we’ve done it!”

Nettleton sits up, rubs his throat, and looks toward the body. He is shocked, for he no longer sees the evil creature but the face of a handsome young man. He seems at peace.

 Father Martin quietly enters the room and places his crucifix on the man’s chest beside the stake. “May God grant you forgiveness.” Bending down to get a better look at the man’s face, Father Martin begins to speak in hushed tones, almost as if he is speaking to himself.

“Around twenty-odd years ago, when I first started my service here in Woodstock, a young college student from Dartmouth arrived in town. Shortly after, three small children went missing. A search party was organized, but they only found one of the children. She was a five-year-old whose throat was ripped out and completely drained of her blood. I suppose the natural thing to do was to suspect the newcomer. When the constable went to question him, the man from Dartmouth was nowhere to be found.  It’s as if he vanished into thin air. I saw the man once, and as memory recalls, he looked a lot like this man.”

Dr. Morse nods. “He may be the same man. Vampires can live forever if not caught and killed.”

Turning to Nettleton, Morse notices that he seems pensive. What is it, John? It looks as though something is troubling you.”

“I wonder if we may have been too hasty. You said the vampire would return to gather Jethro to his lair. Well, if that’s true, perhaps there are more of these creatures out there that the vampire could have led us to, but now he’s gone.”

 Morse glances towards the window. Returning his gaze once more to Nettleton, he nods.

“If you are correct, Dr. Nettleton, I fear we have more work to do.”