we end this.’
“We left the pentac le and the still sleeping Mrs. Parkinson, and made our way to the kitchen. Numbly, we managed a makeshift but hearty breakfast of tea, bacon, eggs, and kippers.
“ Over breakfast I told Parkinson of my suspicions and of how we must proceed to prevent more hauntings. Above all, he must not inform Mrs. Parkinson of our conversation that morning. He agreed, and after we had completed our breakfast we made our way to the lamp outside and recovered, with all care, the buried locket. I immediately put it into a large glass tumbler for examination.
“Upo n opening the locket, under my special conditions in Parkinson’s parlour, Parkinson gasped in horror at its contents. Within the locket were two photographs of both Parkinson and his wife. Each photograph had a pearl-ended needle perforating the face of their respective portraits, under which was a small, but still living, spider that, when the daylight glinted upon its body, gave off a green metallic sheen. Also within the locket was a small parchment that had unique symbols on the like of whose archaic origins I can only speculate.
“ I informed Parkinson that from here on I would deal with this find and that he and his wife might be the receivers of bad news concerning Imogene’s stepsister, Clara.
“‘ I will check back with you this evening to see if all is well. I suggest you get your electric generator up and working again, as I believe your electric lighting saved you by postponing a horrible end for you both.’
“ All is now well with the young couple. I have stayed over a weekend with them without incident.
“ It seems that Imogene’s late stepfather had left a sizeable amount of money for her in trust. She was unaware of this as well as the stipulation that the trust would be awarded should she marry.
“ Clara, it seems, may have been jealous regarding her late father’s love for her stepsister. It is also possible that she knew about the contents of her father’s will regarding Imogene.
“ Alas, regarding Clara, we shall never know the truth. The evening after Parkinson’s last haunting, she was fatally involved in a tram accident at Brighton.
“ The local press covered the incident, in which a freak small mist had seemingly drifted up from the beach front and obscured both the driver of the tram and, indeed, Clara as to the impending danger. The driver could not be sure, but it seems that he heard the most terrifying howl prior to the fatal accident.
“ So ends, gentlemen, the haunting of the Parkinsons.”
There was , as always, the usual lull of silence as we digested Carnacki’s latest account of a world that thankfully is unknown to most.
Then , as per his custom, Carnacki would disturb our reverie by exclaiming in a friendly manner the words, “Out you go!” to which we all responded by thanking our host as we made our way out into the night.
Carnacki and
the President’s Vampire
Robert Pohle
C arnacki's usual card of invitation to have dinner and listen to a story arrived on March 4, 1909. There was a note scribbled on the back in his distinctive handwriting: “Now that Mr. Roosevelt has left office, perhaps this tale can at last be told.”
I have to admit that my interest was whetted eve n more than usual, and I made my way promptly at 427, Cheyne Walk to find that two of the three others who were always invited to these happy little times had arrived there before me: Arkright had sent a message of his own that he “abhorred political rows” and was not coming!
A few minutes later, Carnacki, Jessop, Taylor, and I were all engaged in dining on a most excellent dinner of oysters and a brace of grouse, followed by a bottle of red Beaune.
“White Beaune might have gone better with this delightful meal,” said Jessop, rather ungratefully, loosening his waistcoat buttons.
“Pefectly true,” replied Carnacki, finishing his soup, obviously nettled by Jessop’s comment—so
“We left the pentac le and the still sleeping Mrs. Parkinson, and made our way to the kitchen. Numbly, we managed a makeshift but hearty breakfast of tea, bacon, eggs, and kippers.
“ Over breakfast I told Parkinson of my suspicions and of how we must proceed to prevent more hauntings. Above all, he must not inform Mrs. Parkinson of our conversation that morning. He agreed, and after we had completed our breakfast we made our way to the lamp outside and recovered, with all care, the buried locket. I immediately put it into a large glass tumbler for examination.
“Upo n opening the locket, under my special conditions in Parkinson’s parlour, Parkinson gasped in horror at its contents. Within the locket were two photographs of both Parkinson and his wife. Each photograph had a pearl-ended needle perforating the face of their respective portraits, under which was a small, but still living, spider that, when the daylight glinted upon its body, gave off a green metallic sheen. Also within the locket was a small parchment that had unique symbols on the like of whose archaic origins I can only speculate.
“ I informed Parkinson that from here on I would deal with this find and that he and his wife might be the receivers of bad news concerning Imogene’s stepsister, Clara.
“‘ I will check back with you this evening to see if all is well. I suggest you get your electric generator up and working again, as I believe your electric lighting saved you by postponing a horrible end for you both.’
“ All is now well with the young couple. I have stayed over a weekend with them without incident.
“ It seems that Imogene’s late stepfather had left a sizeable amount of money for her in trust. She was unaware of this as well as the stipulation that the trust would be awarded should she marry.
“ Clara, it seems, may have been jealous regarding her late father’s love for her stepsister. It is also possible that she knew about the contents of her father’s will regarding Imogene.
“ Alas, regarding Clara, we shall never know the truth. The evening after Parkinson’s last haunting, she was fatally involved in a tram accident at Brighton.
“ The local press covered the incident, in which a freak small mist had seemingly drifted up from the beach front and obscured both the driver of the tram and, indeed, Clara as to the impending danger. The driver could not be sure, but it seems that he heard the most terrifying howl prior to the fatal accident.
“ So ends, gentlemen, the haunting of the Parkinsons.”
There was , as always, the usual lull of silence as we digested Carnacki’s latest account of a world that thankfully is unknown to most.
Then , as per his custom, Carnacki would disturb our reverie by exclaiming in a friendly manner the words, “Out you go!” to which we all responded by thanking our host as we made our way out into the night.
Carnacki and
the President’s Vampire
Robert Pohle
C arnacki's usual card of invitation to have dinner and listen to a story arrived on March 4, 1909. There was a note scribbled on the back in his distinctive handwriting: “Now that Mr. Roosevelt has left office, perhaps this tale can at last be told.”
I have to admit that my interest was whetted eve n more than usual, and I made my way promptly at 427, Cheyne Walk to find that two of the three others who were always invited to these happy little times had arrived there before me: Arkright had sent a message of his own that he “abhorred political rows” and was not coming!
A few minutes later, Carnacki, Jessop, Taylor, and I were all engaged in dining on a most excellent dinner of oysters and a brace of grouse, followed by a bottle of red Beaune.
“White Beaune might have gone better with this delightful meal,” said Jessop, rather ungratefully, loosening his waistcoat buttons.
“Pefectly true,” replied Carnacki, finishing his soup, obviously nettled by Jessop’s comment—so
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