The Empty Coffins by John Russell Fearn

if you don’t mind, and give it to Elsie. I haven’t one of my own but I can soon buy one.”
    Meadows nodded, and when he and Peter had come beyond the cemetery the doctor removed the Cruc­ifix from his pocket and handed it over.
    â€œThere it is. Peter, and I pray heaven it will protect you. As far as George is concerned, I must make arrangements with the villagers, the police—and if possible Scotland Yard—to have him captured and slain by a stake through his heart. Tell Elsie as much as you think she should know. Now, shall I give you a lift home?”
    â€œNo thanks, Doc. I’ll walk. I can do with the fresh air to clear my head up a bit. It’s still pretty woolly— See you again. ’Night.”
    Peter shook hands, and holding the Crucifix so he could use it instantly if danger threatened he went up the lane in the moonlight, thinking as he went of the ghoulish experience through which he had passed. Somewhere at the back of his mind plain commonsense told him that the episode just could not have been real, then the pain in his head and the Crucifix in his hand convinced him otherwise.
    He re-entered the house the way he had left it, via the top landing window. Without a sound he returned to the bedroom, softly closing the door. Then as he turned into the room he stopped dead— The windows were flung wide open and the draperies were writhing gently in the night wind.
    Peter hurried forward, to the bed. Elsie was still there, but the whiteness of the pillow was defiled with dark stains. In the slanting moon­light they looked like—
    â€œElsie!” Peter whispered in horror; then he switched on the bedside lamp. Instantly the dark stains became red.
    The girl was lying motionless, her face deathly white, two vivid punctures at either side of her throat from which trickles of blood had come. It appeared to have dried now.
    â€œ Elsie !’ Peter screamed, and seized her should­ers. But for all his efforts she did not awaken. At last he lowered her back to the pillow and list­ened for her heart. It was still beating, though somewhat sluggishly.
    Peter did not waste any more time. He rushed from the room, along the landing, then down the stairs into the dark hall. Switching on the lights he whipped up the telephone and rang Dr. Meadows. After a moment or two the tired voice of the medico answered.
    â€œYes? Meadows here—”
    â€œIt’s Peter, Doc! Elsie’s been attacked by George whilst I was away. At least I suppose it was George. There are two punctures either side of her throat, blood on the pillow, the window open— I can’t revive her. She’s still alive, but only just I think. For God’s sake come over right away, will you?”
    â€œI’ll be there,” Meadows promised, his voice taking on more life. “Keep a watch on her until I arrive.”
    Peter put the ’phone down and returned up the stairs. At the top of them he met his mother-in­-law, hastily scrambled into a dressing gown, a boudoir cap over her hair-curlers.
    â€œWhat on earth is going on?” she demanded. “Peter, what are you doing fully dressed at this hour of the night?”
    â€œDon’t bother me now,” Peter answered, brushing past her. “Elsie’s been attacked by a vampire—probably George. I’ve just been ’phoning for Dr. Meadows.’
    He raced back into the bedroom to find Elsie lying just as he had left her, motionless, hardly breathing, her face as white as the pillow beside it. Mrs. Burrows followed Peter in and stood staring in horror at the defiled pillow and the wounds on her daughter’s neck. Then, when the first shock had been absorbed somewhat, she went to the windows and closed them.
    â€œDid you say—George?” she demanded, her eyes fixing on Peter as he sat at the bedside watching Elsie intently.
    â€œHe’s a vampire. Doc Meadows and I proved it tonight in