The next morning, Callum packed his suitcase with all the letters Quinn had given him, along with his own notes, and headed downstairs for some breakfast. John served him a large plate of eggs with pork, bread, and vegetables, including potatoes.
“How is it that you have potatoes?” Callum asked between mouthfuls of eggs and bread. “I thought only the Crown could grow potatoes in the Royal Garden.”
“That’s mostly true.” John slid a cup of coffee over to him. “If there’s one thing I can say the Count has done, it’s making sure the people here are healthy and have what we need. Being allowed to grow potatoes is one of the allowances we were given by the Crown, at the request of the Count. We pay a little bit more in taxes, but we live better than most folks in this area.”
“And what does the Count have to gain from that?”
“Well… I dunno.” John shrugged and looked over at his wife, Eliza, who also shrugged. She stoked the fire under the pot of stew she was preparing for lunch, then wiped her hands clean on her apron.
“I s’pose it’s ‘cause healthy folks means less dyin’,” she said. “Less dyin’ means more folks payin’ taxes, which go straight to the Count. That’s how he’d benefit. He’s s’posed to use that money to improve the town, but nobody’s seen him ‘round here in a long time.”
“The Count doesn’t come into his own town?” Callum questioned. How could he take care of anything if he didn’t know what was going on?
“I think he got into it once with the doctor,” John explained. “I’m not sure what it was about, but the Count was real angry. That was years ago. Can’t say I blame the man… Helsing’s a real piece of work sometimes.”
Callum was quiet as he sipped his coffee. The Count hadn’t been to the town in years, and he’d ignored Van’s letters, as well. It seemed strange that an argument from so long ago would prevent him from helping the rest of the town. Was the man even still alive? If the Count had died, and had no heirs, that would explain the lack of a response.
“Where does Van Helsing live?” he asked, and John and Eliza shared a concerned glance. “What’s wrong?”
“He lives way out on the cliffs,” Eliza said, brushing a few stray gray hairs out of her face. She looked tired, and Callum wondered if it had anything to do with losing her son. Neither of them had mentioned it yet. “You gotta go through the cemetery to get to the house. He handles all the funerals and such. The cliffs are dangerous, ‘specially this time of year. They’re pretty much damp all day and night… makes ‘em real slippery.”
“May I ask you a question?” Callum lowered his voice and leaned forward so the other tavern patrons couldn’t listen in. He didn’t want to upset the couple any more than they might already be. “You know why I’m here, so why haven’t you mentioned anything about your son?”
John lowered his gaze and went to work wiping down some tankards, and Eliza sighed.
“It’s real hard for us to be talkin’ about our little Oliver,” she told him. “He was our only child, and it was real sudden. Doctor Helsing said he didn’t suffer, but seein’ his body all marked up like that… how could he not?”
She dabbed her eyes with her apron, sniffling a bit, and John put a firm arm around her and held her close.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Callum said quietly. “I’m going to do whatever I can to find out who did this, and put an end to these attacks. Hopefully, that will give you and your family some closure, and your son can rest in peace.”
“We appreciate that,” John said, still hugging his wife tightly. “I know it might seem a bit cold of us to not speak of him, but it’s the best we can do to hold ourselves in one piece and keep this place running.”
Once he was outside of the tavern, Callum let out a long breath. He pulled out his notepad and scratched out John’s name, feeling foolish for suspecting him in the first place.
As he made his way through town, the tension was almost palpable. The townsfolk avoided him, averting their gazes and rushing out of his path without acknowledging him. He wasn’t offended though—he’d be wary of newcomers too if someone in town was murdering people in the night.
On the other side of town, Callum finally got a full view of the harbor. It was strangely busy, despite the poor weather, with ships constantly moving in and out. Vendors lined the docks with freshly caught fish or vegetables and meat from their farms. No one paid Callum any mind as he headed beyond the port and out towards the hills, where the local cemetery loomed ominously above the town.
The graveyard was surrounded by tall iron fencing, and each post was topped with a holy cross. Strange artifacts and ropes of garlic were strewn across it, too.
Every stepping stone along the path was decorated with symbols… some from various religions, and others that Callum didn’t recognize. There were multiple paths that led off in different directions. One to the house, one to the mortuary, and one to a large greenhouse. Callum shuddered at the sight of the mortuary in the fog, disturbed to imagine someone living in such close proximity to a building that housed corpses.
As he reached the small cottage, he was assaulted with the all-too-familiar stench of garlic. It seemed to be above every door and window, and it was the only plant growing in a small garden out front.
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Callum shook his head with disdain as he knocked on the front door. The man was obsessed with garlic. There was no way this so-called “doctor” wasn’t going to turn out to be just some quack from the city, pushing his “all-natural” remedies on innocent townsfolk who didn’t know any better.
The man who answered the door was about what Callum expected. He was middle-aged, with flecks of gray hairs in a mess of black. He looked down on Callum with critical green eyes. Once he got a good look at him, he opened the door wider. His wide collar and rolled-up sleeves revealed many scars, and he wore a thick rope of garlic around his neck.
“Good morning,” Callum said as he nodded in acknowledgment. “Are you Doctor Helsing?”
“Call me Van. Who are you?” he asked. “Never seen you around here before.”
“I arrived just last night.” Callum took his badge out of his jacket pocket. “My name is Callum Harker. I’m a private investigator from the Capital City, and I—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” The mad threw his arms up in defeat, then gestured for Callum to follow him inside.
Every inch of the home was stacked high with papers and books. The whole place reeked of garlic, with ropes hanging from every window, doorway, and rafter. Van rushed around with an odd sense of urgency, gathering some of his papers into a disheveled stack.
“Un-fucking-believable,” Van muttered to himself. “I’ve been writing to the Capital City for months, and the send me a fucking PI.”
Callum stood awkwardly in the doorway between the kitchen and the parlor, watching Van closely. He seemed a bit unhinged. He held his breath when Van turned his attention on him with a dark, serious expression.
“You’d better be prepared for things you’ve never dealt with before, Mr. Harker. This isn’t just some scorned housewife getting revenge on her husband for fooling around with the maid.”
He tossed the stack of papers he’d collected onto the table closest to Callum. He eyed the doctor cautiously before taking out his reading glasses to have a look.
There were notes, letters, and medical documents, all mixed in between what appeared to be pages torn from old books. Many of them depicted old myths about bloodsucking creatures of the night, stalking townsfolk and bleeding cattle dry.
“You think a vampire is tormenting Umbra Harbor?” Callum asked, and when Van nodded, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Vampires aren’t real, Doctor Helsing. These are just old myths, meant to frighten the locals. What proof could you possibly have to support such an outlandish claim?”
“The proof is in the victims!” Van rapped his fingers aggressively on the papers. “Bouts of fainting in healthy adults, puncture wounds on their necks, livestock dying of blood loss with no severe injuries… Many of the citizens have claimed to have had visions of the same man, entering their room in the night to seduce them… It all points to a vampire.”
“This is such a small town.” Callum removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a sigh. He was trying to find a serial killer, and Van was ranting about vampires. “How could someone like that go around town, unnoticed and unrecognized?”
“He hasn’t.” Van dug out a large map of the county, draping it haphazardly across the piles of books in front of Callum. To the north, a few miles through the forest, there was a large estate. “The Count of Umbra Harbor. This county has only been owned by a single person for centuries. He never visits town, never responds to letters. The only name on the deed has never been changed. When someone dies or passed on ownership, it has to be recorded and stored in the library’s archives. They keep everything—deaths, births, marriages, citizens entering and leaving the commune—and not a single thing has come from the Count since the Crown appointed him, three hundred years ago.”
“Unchanged records are hardly proof of anything,” Callum noted as he pushed the map aside. “Nobles have always done whatever they wanted, regardless of the law, especially those personally backed by the Crown. It doesn’t mean the current Count is a vampire.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here, is it not? The Count and his estate need to be investigated just as much as the rest of the town.”
“Fine.” Callum sighed. Did he really want to humor this man? Then again, everyone was a suspect, and he knew would have to speak to the Count sooner or later. It was his county, after all. “I will visit the Count, when I can, but I am not going to go and make any wild assumptions or accusations with no concrete evidence. I assume we don’t even know who lives there at this point, especially if he hasn’t been to town in years.”
“Take these.” Van held out a rope of garlic and a small glass jar full of a grainy black substance. “Since you’re obviously a skeptic, I assume you have no means of protection.”
“What is that?” Callum asked, eyeing the jar and ignoring the garlic. He had to smell it often enough—he wasn’t about to wear it around his neck too. He reluctantly took the jar and turned it over in his palm. He’d never seen anything like it. “Sand?”
“Black ritual salts,” Van explained. “It will protect you from evil.”
“Salt?” He raised an eyebrow at him. “How is a jar of salt supposed to protect me?”
“Mr. Harker…” Van rested his arms against a table as he let out a heavy sigh, his brow furrowed in visible frustration. “You came here in response to my letter, did you not? And I have made no effort to hide my belief that something evil is tormenting this town. If you’re truly here to help me, I’m going to need you to be a bit more open-minded to what’s happening here. I’ve dedicated my entire adult life to hunting all manner of dark creatures, especially vampires. I’m not a quack either—I have a real medical education. Please don’t patronize me while I’m trying to help you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question about the salt.”
Van inhaled a long, deep breath through his nose, looking like he’d very much like to lose his temper on Callum, but he exhaled slowly and composed himself, speaking slowly and calmly.
“Salt is a natural preservative. Evil spirits, demons, bloodsuckers, et cetera… their nature is destruction, making them opposites. The black salt is blessed by protection rituals and mixed with holy herbs that have been burned inside the Circle. So, naturally, it can repel and even wound any evil creature that may try to harm you.”
“That’s what my pistol is for,” Callum said, but took the jar and tucked it away in his pocket. He didn’t think it would ever be useful, but he wasn’t trying to upset Van any more than he already had. “So, where would you suggest I begin my investigation?”
“I told you, go speak with the Count.”
“The Count is miles from here. I’ll speak to him when I have time, but for now, I’d like to talk to the townsfolk. Who might I get information from about this so-called ‘Bloodsucker’ who’s tormenting them?”
“Most everyone’s encountered him by now." Van grabbed a stack of papers, flipping through them quickly. “The bookshop owner would be a good place to start—he keeps the local archives. There’s the town lunatic, the old fortuneteller, a few farmhands, Wilhelmina’s husband… throw a stone in any direction and you’ll hit someone with something to say about the Bloodsucker.”