“I ain’t so sure of that,” said Joe. “Some of the farmers are takin’ it mighty serious. One of the Langdon boys, first farm north of here, was took sick this mornin’. Doctor don’t know what’s the matter of him. Folks say it looks mighty queer.”
Mrs. Rhodes appeared on the front porch.
“A telephone call for you, sir,” she said.
I hastened to the ’phone. A woman was speaking.
“This is Mrs. Newberry,” she said. “My husband is dreadfully ill, and asked me to tell you that he cannot come to sit up with you tonight.”
I thanked the lady, offered my condolences, and tendered my sincere wishes for her husband’s speedy recovery. This done, I wrote a note of sympathy to Mr. Glitch, and dispatched Joe with it.
Here, indeed, was a pretty situation. Glitch’s wife dead, Newberry seriously ill, and the whole countryside frightened by this impossible vampire story! I knew it would be useless to ask any of the other neighbors to keep watch with me. Obviously, I was destined to face the terrors of the coming night alone. Was I equal to the task? Could my nerves, already unstrung by the previous night’s experience, withstand the ordeal?
I must confess, and not without a feeling of shame, that at this juncture I felt impelled to flee, anywhere, and leave my deceased uncle’s affairs to shape themselves as they would.
With this idea in mind, I repaired to my room and started to pack my grip. Something fell to the floor. It was my uncle’s last letter, received only the day before the telegram arrived announcing his death. I hesitated—then picked it up and opened it. The last paragraph held my attention:
“And, Billy, my boy, don’t worry any more about the money I advanced you. It was, as you say, a considerable drain on my resources, but I gave it willingly, gladly, for the education of my sister’s son. My only regret is that I could not have done more.
Affectionately,
Uncle Jim.”