Vintage Vampire Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

horse put in the stable for a bit.
    â€œI’m going to have a peep at your madhouse,” I said, “do you think I shall find old Mat about?”
    â€œYes, doctor; I saw him at work in the churchyard not half an hour ago, but at any rate he won’t be farther off than his cottage, and it lies just against the yard wall.”
    The church was an old, ivy-wreathed structure, with a square Norman belfry, and a large surrounding of grey and grass-grown old headstones. It was essentially a country church, and a country church-yard; and one wondered to find it so close to the borders of a mighty city, until they remembered that the mighty city had crept into the country, year by year, until it had covered with stone and mortar the lowly site of many a cottage home, and swallowed up many an acre of green meadow and golden corn. Old Mat was sitting in the middle of the graves; one tombstone forming his seat, and he was engaged in scraping the moss from a headstone that seemed inclined to tumble over, the inscription on which was tin but obliterated by a growth of green slimy-looking moss.
    â€œGood-day, friend, you are busy,” I said. “One would fancy that stone so old now, that the living had entirely forgotten their loss. But I suppose they have not, or you would not be cleaning it.”
    â€œIt’s only a notion of my own, sir; I’m idle, and when I was a lad I had it sort o’ likin’ for this stone, Lord only knows why. But you see I’ve clean forgotten what name was on it, and I thought I’d like to see.”
    â€œWell, I want to have a look at these ‘white mad folk’ of yours, Mat, will you let me into the belfry? Mr Tanning tells me you can see something queer up there.”
    â€œBy jove you can, sir!” he replied, rising with alacrity, “I often spend an hour watching the mad folk; faith if they had my old church and yard they’d whitewash ‘em, belfry and all!” and the old man led the way into the tower.
    Of course my first look on reaching the summit was in the direction of the strange house, and I must confess to an ejaculation of astonishment as I peeped through one of the crevices. The belfry was elevated considerably above the premises in which I was interested, and not at a very great distance, so that grounds and house lay spread beneath me like a map.
    I scarcely know how to commence describing it to you, it was something I had never seen or imagined. The mansion itself was a square and handsome building of two stories, built in the Corinthian, style, with pillared portico, and pointed windows. But the style attracted my attention but little, it was the universal white, white everywhere, that drew from me the ejaculation to which I have alluded.
    From the extreme top of the chimneys to the basement, roof, windows, everything was pure white; not a shade lurked even inside a window; the windows themselves were painted white, and the curtains were of white muslin that fell over every one of them. Every yard of the broad space that one might reasonably have exported to see decorated with flowers and grass and shrubberies, was covered with a glaring and sparkling white gravel, the effect of which, even in the hot brilliant sun of a London afternoon, was to dazzle, and blind, and aggravate. And if this was not enough, the inside of the very brick walls was whitewashed like snow, and at intervals, here and there, were placed a host of white marble statues and urns that only increased the, to me, horrible aspect of the place.
    â€œI don’t wonder they are mad!” I exclaimed, “I should soon become mad in such a place myself.”
    â€œLike enough, sir,” replied old Mat, stolidly, “but you see it didn’t make they mad, for they did it theirselves, so they must ‘a been mad afore.”
    An incontrovertible fact, according to the old man’s way of putting it; and as I had no answer for it, I went down