The House on Blackstone Moor (The Blackstone Vampires)

by Carole Gill

  I was filled with doubts. I doubted if I ever would be well despite Dr. Bannion’s reassurance—yet I could not bear to even contemplate the alternative.

  The attendant returned. “Dr. Bannion wants to see you. Hurry up!”

  The halls seemed to stretch for miles. There were terrible smells and the unmistakable scent of disinfectant that rose over them, trying unsuccessfully to mask them.

  “These are the wards.” She startled me when she spoke, for I hadn’t expected it. “The violent cases are kept in a separate building in the back where the cemetery is.”

  Looking back on it now, I think she took great joy in telling me these things. I think she was sadistic.

  I was in time to hold that opinion about much of the staff.

  We passed many sad-faced and disturbed looking creatures. Some reached out to touch me as if greeting a long lost friend or relative. For the most part they seemed harmless, although I remained cautious lest one attack me.

  If I had any questions, the attendant’s stern manner and off-handed attitude ensured I would not pose them to her.

  At last, we stopped before a great door. Three firm knocks and the door opened to reveal Dr. Bannion. “A little talk now Rose, and then I shall take you to your room.”

  Room! That did sound promising as I thought he might have said ward otherwise.

  I took a seat. His desk was massive and filled with all manner of ledgers and papers and inkwells scattered about.

  He picked up a pen and held it mid-air as he spoke. “I do want to just get some facts. I’m afraid these questions are going to sound silly, but there are reasons for them, I assure you. Now then, do you know what year it is?”

  “1868, sir.”

  “And the month?”

  “March and—”

  “And if you would be so kind as to tell me where in London you live?”

  Live? Was he joking? I may have been distraught and muddled in my mind but truly, I did have sense enough to know I would not in all likelihood be going back there ever again!

  “Notting Hill, sir.”

  His hand moved down the page. “And the street?”

  That did it, as they say. The street! I saw them all—dead. Butchered, covered in caked blood, blood that had turned their pale colored nightclothes crimson.

  “Rose!”

  I must have fallen to the floor for I remember nothing but him leaning over me and saying, “You’ve fainted, that’s all. I shall have you taken to your room.”

  *

  The room was tiny, no bigger than a cupboard, but who was I to complain? After glancing around and smelling the place, I was more than happy to find myself alone.

  Dr. Bannion did bid me goodnight. “Rest and we shall talk more in the morning.”

  I stared at the closed door for a long time. I remember feeling so many emotions—sadness, upset, grief, fear but, most of all, dread.

  Yes, dread and fear are different. Dread is beyond fear, I think. Dread knows fear was correct in the first place and it just intends to sit and wait for the worst to happen, which will happen because dread, if nothing else, is sure of itself.

  So what did I dread? The answer is a great many things, but mostly I dreaded the future.

  Emotional pain is, I believe, worse than physical pain. No part of my body hurt, yet I was suffering more than I ever had in my life. Here I was, barely seventeen, without family. My poor Aunt Maude was soon to die, that was for certain.

  If that was the case, where would I go when I was well? I would need employment and a place to live, too.

  But who would have me? I couldn’t very well lie about my incarceration in an asylum. My father’s mad act ensured that what he did would be spoken about for a long time to come.

  But there was a daughter, dear—remember? Rose something, wasn’t she put away in a lunatic asylum? Sad that, but to be expected, wouldn’t you say?

  No point in lying, I was done for, without hope. Dr. Bannion could do as he liked but it wouldn’t matter.

  In a way this realization was calming, for hopelessness brought about resolution and closure. Perhaps there was no reason to dread anything!

  My life was as good as ended.

  With that in mind, I decided to go to sleep and if I didn’t wake up, what did it really matter?

  I fell into a heavy sleep but woke during the night. I had the distinct impression that someone had entered my room—no doubt a genuine lunatic.

  I recalled the words of the grim-faced attendant who told me about the violent ones who were kept in a separate building.

  Had they grown tired of staring at the cemetery? Had they in fact somehow escaped their ward and were now standing in my room watching me, ready to hack me to pieces?

  I did hear breathing. Not even breathing either, but heavy breathing—a man’s breathing.

  I shall just lie here and not open my eyes. Not challenge him, perhaps he’ll go out…

  I heard him move. That is, I heard a footstep, then another. The breathing became louder—he was closer.

  No! Please go away. Don’t hurt me.

  Was this lunatic holding a knife or a razor perhaps? When would I feel the slashing?

  Suddenly, I felt fingers upon my neck. Not in a grip but softly touching me. No, not me, I realized—they were touching the collar of my shift to draw it down!

  And as it was pulled down I felt the chill in the air as my body became exposed. A hand then—hot, probably with misplaced passion, touched my breast, held it and squeezed it.

  Go away! Please, I don’t want your hand there!

  But the touch grew more ardent and the breathing more labored. And then he grunted. “Mmmm!”

  No don’t, please.

  But there was more, much more. I felt his hand begin to reach under my shift.

  That was when I screamed. I screamed like I never screamed before. I yelled with all the strength I could summon and didn’t stop.

  An unending cacophony of shouts of anger and hurt, of grief and fear—all of it fueling my shrieks as if to bring the place down around me.

  Many people came in—attendants and even Dr. Bannion, disheveled and breathless, who said he was working late, came in. “What happened?”

  I told him. “Please sit with me. I cannot be alone!”

  He sat and told me how sorry he was. “I shall have a thorough search done. Now I shall give you something to calm you.”

  He did, the familiar sting and the sensation of something warm began coursing through my agitated body, calming me. It was like heaven.

  I allowed myself to smile and, I thought, at least it was a stranger. At least it wasn’t my father.

  Chapter 3

  I have shocked you. My father did more than murder my family. He murdered me slowly over many years, murdered my hopes and dreams of a normal life.

  I often wondered if my mother knew, I decided she couldn’t have. But as something appeared to have died in her too, perhaps she did know.

  Please do not judge her harshly, for it is difficult to live with madness and sin. No one can say how they would be affected.

  If she did know, she did perhaps have a final thought before she died—perhaps she was even relieved.

  As for me, I knew I would have to unburden myself to Dr. Bannion. I knew I would have to show him the horror and the terror that I had grown up with.

  An attendant woke me. “You’ve missed breakfast! Get up now. You’ll be eating with the others.”

  Why was everything said so brusquely, so uncaringly? Was it I or was this stony-faced woman nasty when there was no cause?

  I got up quickly. She flung another shift at me. “You get two for the week. Sundays you get another for chapel.”

  “Do we attend chapel then?”

  She looked at me as though I had asked her if Queen Victoria had ever been a squirrel.

  I bit my lip, determined not to speak unless spoken to, an old adage perhaps but a good one to remember in this place.


  “Well! Come along.”

  I would have wanted to wash my face but there was no chance. I knew enough now to hurry along as fast as I could.

  More sad faces and lost ones, too. If a person wasn’t crazy when they arrived they might soon become so, I thought.

  I detected the smell of food and the sound of crockery. Had I felt able to I would have asked if we were going to the dining room but I did not.

  At last we were there. She motioned with her head. “Through there.”

  It was the dining room. Huge it was with long tables lined up in perfect symmetry. There were attendants patrolling (the best word to describe it) the center and side aisles.

  “This is for women. The men are separate. Go on, march.”

  I stepped inside. “But where should I go?”

  I had the distinct feeling she would have been thrilled to tell me in no uncertain terms.

  “Over here.” I turned to see a short stout woman of early middle age. Her features were plain but her face was kind. She pointed toward a seat. “Here, I’ll serve you.”

  The vastness of the room made every sound echo. It was beginning to make me feel ill.

  I have told you already about the state I was in and how it tended to change with my moods. Sometimes I felt myself and other times not. And so, at this point, the noise and the space began to cause me to feel sick.

  “There, are you alright?”

  I wasn’t but I nodded, while trying to get my breath.

  She looked around as if to be certain she could have a word without being yelled at by someone. “I’m Grace Poole,” she said. “I am an inmate here, same as you. Don’t be afraid, lass. It’ll be better for you if you act like you don’t care.”

  My eyes filled with tears as I nodded. You see, I knew this was important advice from someone who not only knew but cared.

  She was a friend, a kind caring person and not an enemy. How lucky I was at last!

  “I shall get your meal, dumplings and bread. ’Tis luncheon but I shall give you some drippings from yesterday. Don’t worry, I’ll give you extra, lass.”

  As I watched her leave I did try so hard to get a hold of myself. But her kindness had the untoward effect of moving me so as to feel nearly out of control. This was a bad bout of nerves I was having and I was afraid I might become hysterical.

  She returned with my food. “Eat it slow, dear. So it don’t come back up.”

  She smiled then and told me she had some chores to do, but that she’d be back afterwards.

  I had been at a table by myself but then three sad-looking women came shuffling over. They moved slowly as if they hadn’t the energy to move any faster. Their eyes were blank and haunted looking. I wondered if they’d speak to me, but they didn’t. They just sat silently and waited until Grace served them.

  The dumplings were heavy but I was grateful.

  *

  Grace had come over to talk to me but suddenly Dr. Bannion appeared. He looked so serious. “I do need to talk to you again about that incident.”

  Yes, the incident, that strange and terrible occurrence that was an invasion of my privacy and would have been a nightmare even under better circumstances.

  “I know it isn’t pleasant but I really need for you to tell me whatever you can remember. It is vitally important.”

  “I was sleeping and I heard the door open and there was heavy breathing…” My voice trailed off. This was hard, impossible really, and I began to cry.

  “Rose, I understand it is terribly difficult for you, but I am turning this matter over to the police and I need as much information as possible.”

  I tried to think, recalling everything I could. “No sir, that was all. There isn’t anything else I can tell you other than what I’ve said.”

  He knew there was more. I could tell from the way he looked at me. “Are you certain there is nothing else you wish to tell me?”

  I opened my mouth to speak the truth—the sad, dirty truth, but I could not find the words so I said, “No sir, I have nothing else to say now.”

  “Well, perhaps another time.” He sighed and put the pen down. His face looked terribly serious. I knew he had something awful to tell me. “Rose, I did get some sad news this morning by special messenger, prepare yourself.”

  I knew it all at once. “My aunt?”

  He nodded. “Yes, it seems your aunt died two days ago. I am sorry.”

  I didn’t cry. I don’t think I had any tears left. All I could do was picture her little house with its rose garden overlooking the sea in Sussex. “She was all alone, there was only a charwoman. Who will bury her?”

  “Hasn’t she any other family?”

  Other family? As in, are there any other relatives aside from me, her deranged great niece, the only surviving member of her family’s carnage?

  “No sir. Just me,” I answered quietly.

  “I’d like you to read this. Feel up to it?”

  I nodded as he handed me a letter signed by Dr. Arliss. Our doctor must have been kept abreast of my aunt’s condition. It said something to the effect that her solicitor, E. Burrows, would look after her affairs and would arrange the funeral.

  “And there is sufficient remuneration for any and all cost incurred to be settled…I trust that…”

  I stopped reading for I thought of my own family lying wrapped in bloody shrouds in some awful morgue with icy water dripping on them to keep them cool. My voice broke when I asked, “My family sir—have they been…”

  “There are some examinations which are to take place first…following that they will be buried.”

  “Can I not attend, sir?”

  He sighed. “No, I am sorry. It is best for you to stay here, Rose. It would be very hard on you and there is no telling what dire effect it might have upon you.”

  I closed my eyes as I began to picture their coffins. “I wonder if my father will be buried with them.”

  He shrugged. “I should imagine he would be as there is a plot, I think. Dr. Arliss did mention something about that.”

  “Yes, but sir, he was a suicide! Will they still bury him in hallowed ground?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I am sure they will. No one bothers about that kind of thing much anymore. But I do think he will be buried apart from them because of the circumstances.”

  In a way I found that comforting and in another way, troubling, for I wondered what my mother and sisters and brother would have wanted. Surely they would not have wished their murderer to be lying even in the same cemetery.

  My thoughts unleashed so much angst in me I nearly swooned. He noticed and told me to take deep breaths.

  The feeling passed finally, and I stood to go.

  That was it. There was nothing more to say. People are born, people die and some are murdered by others or by themselves.

  I supposed it was all down to fate.

  *

  It was an attendant who told me. “Come along. You will be in the ward now. No more private rooms for you, my girl.”

  Although she wasn’t as horrid as some of the other attendants, I did find her manner offhand and almost nasty.

  I dreaded the ward and bit my lip in anticipation of seeing it. We trudged down more halls, turning here and there only to find our way down yet another corridor.

  At last, we halted in front of Ward 6.

  “This is it,” she said. “Ladies here. I shall take you to the matron.”

  The matron sat directly outside. She had a pudgy face with little eyes. I thought of raisins stuck in raw dough. But she seemed pleasant enough. “Yes, take her to bed 12.”

  If the dining room was a bit daunting, the ward was as well. It was huge. There were windows with bars on them and lines of beds with a nurse at either end. Not nurses really, more like stern-faced attendants with a smattering of medical experience as Grace would later explain it.

  Bed 12 was near a window, which pleased me as I felt less hemmed in.

  “Lights out at ni
ne and no talking. Mind the rules and you will be fine.”

  Fine? I doubted that.

  I went to sit down for I didn’t know what else to do, only to be jerked up by my collar. “The beds are for sleeping not sitting!”

  “I’m sorry, Miss.”

  She smiled. “And well you should be.” Glancing at her watch, she nodded. “Best get your dinner now. Go on.”

  I was served stew and it wasn’t that bad. I looked for Grace but didn’t see her.

  Happily she appeared just as I was finishing. “Pot cleaning. Bannion didn’t say how long you’d be here, did he?”

  “He only says I must rest.”

  “Aye. Rest is not terribly easy around here. Besides, they’ll be giving you chores to do. Something, sewing or cleaning or possibly even kitchen work. It ain’t so bad.”

  “He didn’t say anything about that. I’m hoping to leave soon.”

  She looked at me so sadly when I said that. At first I thought it was because she pitied me, but I have thought since it was more reflective of her own sadness for herself.

  She told me much about herself then and how she had come to be admitted as a two year old for nearly constant fits. “A proper mess I was, eh? I’m sure they’d have liked to drown me, only Dr. Sutton wouldn’t have had that."

  That was the first time I heard his name. I asked her about him.

  “He was here when I came over thirty years ago. Nice man. He did away with the chains. Oh, aye. They had chains when I came. I don’t remember them much because I was so little but they did have them. Proper horrid stuff they was!”

  She stopped talking and stared ahead. I knew she did that sometimes, as if she went away for a while. She had told me earlier. “Sometimes I do that when I’ve had a little fit or sometimes just before. If I do fall see if you can get something into me mouth quick...”

  I knew the reason for that; it was so that she didn’t bite through her tongue.

  At last she glanced back at me. “He ain’t here anymore, Rose. No one knows where he went. I mean some of them poor wretches don’t remember one thing to the next—and as for staff—” she paused then right in mid-sentence. “Rose, I shall tell you something, don’t ever repeat it to anyone here, especially staff. The staff what was here before Dr. Sutton disappeared ain’t here no more. They left, see? These ones came in after Dr. Bannion took over and a meaner lot of beggars I ain’t never seen.”