Yet another Vampire story

October 13, 1859: London, England, 10:53P.M.

          Another wonderful England night, thought Dr. Arnold Hearst. He was, of course, being facetious, as the empty cobblestone streets were shrouded in a thick fog his lantern could barely penetrate. However, he had traveled this route so often, he really didn’t need to see where he was going. So when a bat knocked the lantern out of his hand, he merely shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way in darkness.

          Bloody bats, he thought as he wrapped his cloak tighter around him for warmth. He had just raised the hood over his head when he stopped. Were those footsteps he heard? After a moment of silence, he narrowed his eyes and went on his way, alert for any odd sounds. He was almost home anyway.

          As he approached the door to his house, he tripped over something and fell into the door. The fog was lifting, so he turned to see what it was some idiot had left in the street. He stopped midway because he heard it again. Those were footsteps. They were running away, then stopped altogether. Strange, thought the doctor. His son, wondering who thumped into the front door, opened it to see what was going on outside.

          Golden light illuminated the street in front of Dr. Hearst’s house, illuminating a dead body lying in the street.

          “Good God!” exclaimed the doctor. The son was speechless as he tried to fathom what he was seeing. “Johnny, help me bring this in. I need to know what he died of.” Together, the doctor and his son dragged the surprisingly light cadaver in to the house and carried it into the doctor’s study. He sent his son off to bed, then took a moment to do a cursory examination of the corpse. He found no trauma marks on the body that would indicate a struggle. In fact, there were no obvious marks on the body. Arnold’s brow furrowed as he discovered a discrepancy. There was no blood on the street, but the victim was drained of blood. The only marks on the body were two puncture wounds on his neck. These puncture wounds should not have drained an entire body of blood, and even if it did, the victim would have been lying in a pool of blood. He sighed and massaged his temples as a most bizarre explanation entered his mind. He shook his head and transferred the body onto a gurney, then pulled a white sheet over the victim’s head and rolled it into the meat locker. He would take it to the coroner’s in the morning, where he and the lovely young doctor working there would examine it more thoroughly.