VROLOK (57 page)

“Sir, have you been drinking?” The police man asked.

“Yes, but…”

“Sir, I suggest you go home and stop wasting my time.” With this abrupt reply the officer left and Polidori began looking around the riverbank completely puzzled. He started to walk home. It was just an hour before daylight and the streets were silent. All Polidori could hear was the sound of his own footsteps; he did not like this eerie silence. The events of this evening had unnerved him and he ran the rest of the way. He was frightened and he was right to be. Vlad had been watching him, deciding whether to kill him or not. He had eventually decided that this man had saved his life or at least he had tried to. Could Vlad really kill a man who had almost killed himself trying to save him? No, he would let him live for now, he thought.

A few years passed and Polidori had worked hard at becoming a friend and confident of Lord Byron. Lord Byron had taken Polidori with him on a trip across Europe. They were travelling through France together and were invited to a house in which Byron was supposed to display his talent. Polidori as in all such occasions disappeared into the background of the party. He wandered through the building while Byron was entertaining the masses. These performances of Byron had lost some of their appeal for Polidori, for they had grown monotonous; the originality which he had seen in England was somehow lost in these bloated and arrogant exhibitions. However, what he had lost in respect for Byron’s literary talent, he had gained in friendship. He heard uproarious applause. It was obviously all over for another evening. Polidori headed back into recital hall and Byron called him over.

“Polidori…come over here, I want to introduce you to someone.” Polidori walked swiftly over to Byron and smiled. “You may have met him before in England,” Byron continued. The man who was standing with his back towards Polidori started to turn slowly around. Polidori’s blood chilled to ice as the man he thought was dead was revealed to him. “Lord Ruthven,” Byron stated. “Do you remember him? We saw him at several parties I think, in London.”

“Yes, I remember,” he stuttered.

Polidori was sick with fear the rest of the night; he knew this man had been dead. He had no heartbeat, how was he still alive. Polidori kept trying to steal a glimpse of Ruthven without him knowing but every time he looked over at him Ruthven was staring back and smiling menacingly. Eventually Polidori could not stand it any longer. He had to get out of this place. He went over to Byron and begged his leave.

“Go if you want Polidori, I will not be leaving for some time yet.” He knew this would be Byron’s response. He was not one to leave any place that he was receiving such high praise. Polidori went outside and got into the coach that was waiting for him. As he stepped up into the coach there was a sudden change in the weather. A mighty storm stirred in the sky and Polidori said to the coach driver.

“Hurry, please I want to be home before this storm becomes destructive.”

“Yes, sir.” Polidori heard the coach driver lash the horses with the reins and they sped off. Within a few minutes, lightning stabbed down from the sky to the earth below. Polidori remembered the weather of that other night in London. He dismissed these ideas trying to blank out these thoughts, but he couldn’t.

Polidori’s mind was racing with thoughts that were only adding to his fear. When they were within a mile from where he was staying one last fork of lightening struck the earth. It split a tree in half and the tree collapsed in front of the galloping horses. The coach grounded to a halt.

“I am afraid I cannot go any further,” the coach driver yelled down.

“What?” Polidori retorted. “Nonsense, carry on,” Polidori said, scared out of his wits.

“I can’t sir, the horses will not move another step… you will have to walk.”

“I can’t walk,” Polidori said now completely distressed.

“It is only about half a mile down the road, sir. You will find it easily.”

“I am not worried about finding it,” Polidori said underneath his breath. “I am worried about getting there alive.”

“What was that, sir?”

“Nothing. Will you go back for Lord Byron?”

“Yes sir, when the storm eases over.” Polidori looked up at the sky and the wind seemed to be settling. The lightning had stopped. “It seems to be calming down, sir.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I will return now for Lord Byron, or do you want me to take you the rest of the way?”

“No, I have a feeling the storm would start again if I got back in that coach.” The coach driver looked at him without comprehension.

“Never mind. Go back for Lord Byron.” The coach rushed away and Polidori was left to walk on his own back to his lodgings. He walked down the road, but unlike London, there was not complete silence this time: his footsteps now had an echo. With each step that that he took the echo got louder and faster. Polidori now surrendered to it; whatever this creature was he could not escape it, for it wanted him.

He stopped, turned and shouted, “Ruthven, come out and face me!”

Vlad thought to himself how brave this man was and he came out from the shadows to face him. Vlad’s face was now emotionless, his black eyes cold and hollow. Polidori watched him coming closer and closer to him. Vlad’s black eyes looked through him as if he was a fly to be swatted. Polidori thought it was death itself coming for him, but he stood his ground and watched as this pernicious creature approached.

“You have come for me, then?” Polidori began.

“I have.”

“I was always told I would die young,” Polidori answered.

“Walk with me a stretch,” Vlad answered.

“And delay the inevitable?”

“Are you in a hurry to get to your grave?”

“I suppose not.” The Vampire and Polidori started to walk along the road together.

“If I made a bargain with you, would you keep it?”

“It would depend on what the bargain was.”

“Say I offered you your life for something in return. Would you do anything to save yourself?”

“No, I would not.”

Vlad laughed. “I believe you would. Life is a precious thing to a mortal—I have found that they usually do anything to negotiate for a little more of it… I will let you live, but I ask for someone else to die in your place.”

“I would not let anyone take my place,” Polidori said with determined resolve.

“Not even that pompous travel companion of yours?”

“Especially not him.”

“What about someone that I could guarantee deserved to die? A murderer, perhaps a malevolent soul?”

“No, life has dealt me this hand and I would not put anyone else in my sorry position.”

Vlad smiled again and Polidori noticed they were standing outside the inn where he was staying.

“Well, John Polidori, you have saved yourself, but I will ask you one thing.” Polidori looked up at Vlad. Relief had not entered his mind yet; he was still sure that he would die by this creature’s hand. “Do not be frightened of me anymore. What I ask in return for your life is very little.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to never tell anyone about me. If you keep this secret, I will let you live.” Polidori thought this was an easy promise to make and he readily agreed.

“Of course.”

“Do not be hasty. Keeping this secret may be the hardest thing you have ever had to do.”

“I give you my oath, I will never mention Lord Ruthven to anyone.”

“Very well.” Vlad clasped his icy hand around Polidori. He felt his strength and power and he knew from that moment on if he did not keep this oath he would be sure to die by his hand.

Before Vlad let go he said one more thing to Polidori, “That man you travel with, he is not your friend. Mark my words, he will cast you aside if he sees even a glimmer of anything creative within you.”

“You are wrong,” Polidori said.

“Am I? We shall see,” Vlad answered and with this Vlad turned his back and walked away. Polidori ran to his room hoping that Ruthven would not change his mind. He ran upstairs and looked out the window. When he studied the street below, Ruthven had gone. Polidori hoped it was forever, but something in his heart told him he would see him again.

Sometime later Polidori was indeed travelling with Byron again. This time they had two further travelling companions, Percy Shelley and his wife Mary. They were travelling to Italy but the storms had stopped them dead in their tracks. They took a house on Lake Geneva and waited for the storms to pass.

Shelley and Byron had been almost intolerable on this trip, both of them trying to out do the other. Polidori was becoming increasingly more and more tired of their constant rivalry, while his own talent was never even considered. One evening the storms seemed to have dispersed completely but they were staying another few days just to make sure. That evening Byron and Shelley proposed a contest.

“We should write a ghost story,” Byron said. “At the end of the evening when we are done we should compare our stories to each other’s.”

“Are we all eligible to enter the competition?” Mary asked. Byron laughed at Mary’s request.

“Of course, my dear, you can play along if you want too; I doubt you will have anything too much to offer, but you can certainly try,” Percy said. Polidori tapped Mary on the hand and whispered, “Don’t listen to him Mary. I am sure our stories will be far better than theirs.”

Polidori had never spoken a truer word. Byron heard his words but did not say anything; he simply scoffed at them for the moment. The four got to work and Polidori looked out at the bright sky outside his window. This time he was determined to tell a story that would be far better than anything Byron or Shelley could produce. Polidori searched his mind for a place to start and he was suddenly reminded of the dark stranger that had entered his life and he knew what his story was going to be about. The four sat down and each, in turn, started to relate their stories. Polidori was third to tell his tale.

“It happened in the midst of the dissipations attendant upon a London winter….” As Polidori began his tale the bright sky outside his window darkened and a storm began again. It was exactly a year and a day after he had made his oath to Vlad.

Polidori had managed to stun the whole room with his tale of Lord Ruthven, The Vampyre. Shelly and Byron were speechless and they had more to come as Mary began to speak.

“I busied myself to think of a story
,
a story to rival those which had excited us to this task. One which would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and awaken thrilling horror one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart….”

The room had been stunned into silence again this evening. Shelley and Byron had been outplayed and outmatched. They were shown to seem like amateurs in this room by a Doctor and a nineteen-year-old girl. Shelley was stunned by the story Mary had related and he turned to Byron and said.

“Do you see what I have, George?” Shelly said to Byron. “She is a goddess.” Percy picked up his wife’s hand and kissed it. “I will never belittle you again, Mary—you will always be able to impress me.”

Byron’s reaction to his friend’s literary prowess was quite different. The raucous laughter that had preceded the storytelling was no longer there. After Percy and Mary had gone to bed, Byron had a talk with Polidori.

“I think it is time we parted company,” Byron began.

“What did you say?”

“I think you heard me.”

“I can’t believe you are saying this to me. Just because Mary and I embarrassed you this evening…”

“Embarrassed me! How dare you, you could never embarrass me. I want you to pack up your bags and leave.”

“I was warned you would do this, but I defended you—I said it would never happen.”

“I don’t want to see your face again.” These were Byron’s last words to Polidori.

Polidori packed his bags and returned to England. He watched over his shoulder for months waiting for Vlad to appear. He waited for him to bark at him, “
Remember your oath,
” as Polidori had stated in his story, but it did not happen.

Polidori thought he was free from Ruthven and decided to publish the story. He wanted to get some acclaim as a writer just to show Byron he could. He published the story and it was well received and still there was no sign of Lord Ruthven. After five years had drifted by Polidori thought he was free from the creature, but he was wrong. One night in his apartments Lord Ruthven made one final visit.