When I "returned" in a week, she was so ill
that a few steps tired her. Her appetite all but vanished. She seemed
genuinely glad to see me. She was beset by nightmares, she said. Could I
help her get some rest? I took her to a physician who sagely prescribed
a change in climate, rest and a diet rich in blood and iron, gave her a
prescription for sedatives, and called it a day._

_You know how she looked when you saw her. The day was approaching when
she would have no more blood, when life as you know it would stop and
she would become like me. Somehow I couldn't take her with me without
some warning, but I didn't know how to do it. You see, since I was an
innocent victim myself. I could speak, could warn my intended victim,
because although my soul had all but died, there was still a spark that
evil hadn't touched. I knew she would think it a joke if I told her
about myself without warning._

_Then, happily for me, you came along. I knew you would sense something
amiss and I didn't care. I was almost certain of her love, and I decided
to seize the few minutes left me and devil take the hindmost! When you
told her to confront me, you gave me the happiest days of my life. For
this I thank you sincerely. For what I have done and will ask you to do,
forgive me!_

_Maria asked me directly, as you had known she would. I replied frankly,
sparing her nothing. I told her that the fact that this life had been
wished on me, as it were, gave me some rights, and that I could tell her
how to rid herself of me, if she wished. Then she turned to me, her
large, lovely eyes thoughtful._

_"Tod, dearest," she said softly, "I must die some day, really die, so
what difference does it make when? I only know that I love you. Why wait
until I'm decrepit and alone, with only a few memories to look back on? Why not now, with you, where life doesn't really stop? With all I've
read about this, don't you think I could free myself if I wished? "_

_I still wonder if she really believed me. We were married three days
later. I never told her what her life with me would be like--that one
day I would desert her, fearing and hating her rivalry for the very
source of my life, and the ghastly chain would continue. I couldn't. I
loved her so, Morris, can you understand that? I couldn't betray her
then and I can't now._

_On the second night of our marriage, she died as you know it, in my
arms. I don't think she knows it yet. But it won't be long until she
does discover it. We were quite alive when you found us; she was in an
hypnotic state induced by her condition. She heard and saw nothing. But
I knew. And I must keep my faith. I must, and you are the only one who
can help me._

_If you will show this to a priest, he will gladly accompany you to the
place in_ Konigstein, _where we rest during the morning in a new "bed" I
had specially constructed for us. I couldn't bring Maria to that other
bed of corruption. A map of how to get there is enclosed. There you will
perform the ancient, effective rites, and you will lay us to rest
together, as we wish. That is all I ask...._

       *       *       *       *       *

When I had finished reading I stared at nothing, trying to force myself
to think. This was "all" he asked. In substance, he wished me to murder
the girl I loved. I could refuse; I could ignore his request. I could
even doubt the verity of his statements. He might be a madman. But I
didn't doubt. I believed every word, and I knew I would do as he asked. That she had gone willingly I didn't doubt. I no longer hated him so
much; rather I pitied him, the hapless victim of a horrible chain of
circumstance. *       *       *       *       *

I found the priest, a venerable, gentle soul, after much searching. The
younger men had looked at me searchingly, laughed and told me to read
the Good Book for consolation, and to lay off the bottle. Father Kalman
was understanding, with the wisdom of the very old. "Yes, my son," he said, "I will go. Many might doubt, but I believe. Lucifer roams the earth in many guises and must be recognized and
exorcised." It was five o'clock in the morning when we approached the mausoleum. The
Good Father explained that the "creatures of darkness" had to be back in
their resting places before the cock crew. At night they drew
sustenance; during the morning they slept. There was a gleaming copper casket. Tod had not lied. We approached it
warily. In it was nothing but grisly remains, bloodstains and dust. We
drew back, fearful. Then we saw the other, newer casket in richest
mahogany, almost twice the width of the copper box: _Their bridal bed!_

They lay together, his arm about her. She wore a gown of palest blue,
but oh, that mockery of a gown! Stained it was with fresh blood which
had seeped onto it from him. Obviously she had not taken to prowling
yet. His mouth was dark, rich with blood, slightly open in a half-smile. His hand pressed her fair head close to his chest. She lay trustingly
within the circle of his arm, like a small child. The priest crossed
himself. The bodies twitched slightly. "You know what you must do," Father Kalman whispered. I nodded, the pit of my stomach churning madly. I couldn't do it! Not
Maria, the lovely. But I knew I would; I had to. She must not wake again
to see that blood-stained gown or to wonder at her husband's gory lips. She should know rest, eternal rest. Father Kalman circled the box several times, ringing his small bell, and
at one point laid a crucifix upon each of their chests. Their faces
writhed and I felt my skin creep. Then, chanting in a low, firm voice, the priest gave me the signal. Together we drove two long stakes, dipped first in Holy Water, home,
piercing their hearts simultaneously. The bodies leapt forward in the box, straining against the stake, and a
horrible, drawn-out wail shattered the stillness of the tomb. The priest
dropped to his knees and I clapped my hands over my ears, but the
dreadful shriek penetrated. My stomach turned over and I retched. The
Good Father followed suit. We were no supermen and our bodies and our
very souls revolted against this monstrous thing. "Let us finish, my son," the priest said slowly, after a time, his face
the color of ashes. "We must bury these dead, that they may sleep in
consecrated ground." I couldn't. I had to see her again before it was done. She lay, small
and fragile as ever, her face calm, only there was no trace of life now. She was still and white, as only the dead--the truly dead--are. Tod's
arm was flung across her chest, as if to protect her. I made myself move
the arm, resting her head upon his shoulder, where it belonged. Then, as
I looked, there was just Maria. Tod was gone and only a handful of dust
lay piled up around the stake. It was enough. I slammed the lid shut. *       *       *       *       *

Looking back now, I can see it was all for the best. Ria was
different--apart from other women.