It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: Part One of "The Vampyre" by John Polidori

Episode Date: March 17, 2024

Margaret reads you the first modern vampire, a parable about the dangers of the libertine royalty,See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into tech's elite and how they've turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech brought to you by an industry veteran with nothing to lose. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts from. Curious about queer sexuality, cruising, and expanding your horizons? Hit play on the sex-positive and deeply entertaining podcast, Sniffy's Cruising Confessions. Join hosts Gabe Gonzalez and Chris Patterson Rosso

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Submit your podcast today at iHeart.com slash podcast awards. That's iHeart.com slash podcast awards. Calls on media. Book club, book club, book club. Hello, and welcome to Calls on Media Book Club. I'm your host, Margaret Kiljoy. Every week, I read you fiction. Sometimes those stories are looking ahead into possible futures or to analyze the present. Sometimes they take us into the past. This week and next,

we're doing that, the thing where we go into the past. I'm convinced the past matters, that understanding how humans have thought and behaved in various times and places and contexts is incredibly useful when it comes to understanding how we behave now. Also, I just like weird old shit, especially gothic stuff. So this week, we're talking about the vampire. Not just a vampire, but a story old enough that it was a bestseller under the name The Vampire, but with a Y instead of an I in vampire. Before this story, which the story is from 1819, vampires were rarely aristocratic. They were Eastern European folklore, not the heroes and villains of romantic and

gothic literature we know them as today. So this is the story that all of that comes from. And it was written by a man who is absolutely not famous named John Polidori, who was the personal physician to a man who is famous, Lord Byron. There's a famous tale about the summer of 1816 and how it birthed modern speculative fiction. There's these three far left rich British people, Mary Shelley, her husband, Percy Shelley, and their friend and maybe polycule member, Lord Byron. They spent the summer of 1816 in Switzerland. And 1816 was the year without a summer because some volcanoes and shit. It was super cold that year. We're going to miss that year coming up. Anyway, so they're in

this villa in Switzerland and they stayed up late telling each other ghost stories. Then they challenged one another to write ghost stories. Percy wrote something kind of forgettable. Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, what's often called the first work of science fiction. Lord Byron, he wrote a story that never quite went anywhere. He didn't finish his homework. And it was called Fragment of a Novel, which is obviously if you're... I don't think he called it that. I just, that's what they had to call it when they published it because Lord Byron's famous enough that everything he wrote eventually got published. It's about a nobleman traveling to the East with the intention of eventually throwing a vampire into the story.

But there was a fourth person there in Switzerland. Actually, there was probably a ton of people there, but who cares about servants, am I right? John Polidori, the physician, he had been traveling with Lord Byron. Some suggest the two were sleeping together. Lord Byron, at least, was quite openly, well, he was quite bisexual. That was repressed and hidden by history for a long time, but he was pretty open about it. Gay sex between men was a capital crime in England at the time,

just part of why he stayed away from England. If the two were dating, it was a tempestuous relationship, if not, honestly, an abusive one, it sounds like. Lord Byron did not treat Polidori well, often mocking him and keeping him out of things and complaining about his like, you know, oh, Polidori is so vain. And all historians are like, oh, Polidori is like so vain.

What a terrible and annoying person. And I'm like, he was under the employ of this man who was negging him constantly and they were possibly sleeping together. I'm going to give John a lot of leeway here, but I've only read so much about that relationship, so who knows. I mean, the people who wrote more about it know more, although still, it's all conjecture. So, John Polidori, he wrote his own story, and it was his own version of lord byron's story this time it was about two men traveling east one is a charming seductive man who drains the

energy from everyone around him the other effectively his thrall spoiler alert the charming man is a vampire it's in the title of story. I don't think I'm ruining anything too much. And the thing is, the vampire, Lord Ruthven, is 100% based on Lord Byron. It's not subtle. It's not subtle to anyone at the time either. Because an ex-lover, a woman this time, had actually written a book about how shitty it was to date Lord Byron already. And used the name Ruthven for Lord Byron's character his like stand-in character this is like how you be like i don't know like salty to your exes at the time if you're all

in the nobility of england it's kind of fun. Polidori finished his story though, and to hear him tell it, he never intended to publish it anywhere. Somehow it wound up on the desk of a disreputable publisher who put it out with Lord Byron as the byline, which was almost certainly not the plan. It took a long time to set the record straight, and the fallout destroyed Polidori's reputation and functionally destroyed his life. He was accused of plagiarism when he tried to claim authorship of his own best-selling book, and later when he, a devout Catholic, tried to join a monastery, he was turned away because of his authorship of the sordid and bloody vampire story. because of his authorship of the sordid and bloody vampire story. Within two years, Polidori was dead, most likely by suicide,

at the age of only 25 years old. So, his parable about having the life sucked out of him was proven true, and the metaphorical vampire, Lord Byron, might not have been so metaphorical after all. This is part of my Lord Byron was the first vampire theory. See the two-part series that comes out, I guess tomorrow if you're listening to this when it first comes out, about the Luddites in England who are happening around this time and how Lord Byron the vampire was the only one who defended them. So if you want to hear good stuff about Lord Byron, you should listen to that episode. Anyway, now you can listen to the story itself. So prepare your ears for The Vampire. The Vampire by John Polidori.

Vampire. The Vampire by John Polidori. It happened that in the midst of the dissipations attendant upon London winter, there appeared at the various parties of the leaders of the ton a nobleman more remarkable for his singularities than his rank. He gazed upon the mirth around him as if he could not participate therein. Apparently, the light laughter of the fair only attracted his attention, that he might by a look quell it, and throw fear into those breasts where thoughtlessness reigned. Those who felt the sensation of awe could not explain whence it arose. Some attributed it to the dead gray eye, which, fixing upon the object's face, did not seem to penetrate, and at one glance to pierce through to the inward workings of the heart

but fell upon the cheek with a leaden ray that weighed upon the skin it could not pass. His peculiarities caused him to be invited to every house. All wished to see him and those who had been accustomed to violent excitement and now felt the weight of ennui, were pleased at having something in their presence capable of engaging their attention. In spite of the deadly hue of his face, which never gained a warmer tint, either from the blush of modesty or from the strong passion of emotion, though its form and outline were beautiful,

many of the female hunters after notoriety attempted to win his attentions and gain, at least, some marks of what they might term affection. Lady Mercer, who had been the mockery of every monster shoon and drawing room since her marriage, threw herself in this way, and did all but put on the dress of a mountebank to attract his notice. Though in vain, when she stood before him, though his eyes were apparently fixed upon hers, still seemed as if they were unperceived. Even her unappalled impotence was baffled, and she left the field. But though the common adulteress could not influence even the guidance of his eyes, it was not that the female sex was indifferent to him. Yet such was the apparent

caution with which he spoke to the virtuous wife and innocent daughter that few knew he ever addressed himself to females. He had, however, the reputation of a winning tongue, and whether it was that he even overcame the dread of his singular character, or that they were moved by his apparent hatred of vice, he was as often among those females who formed the boast of their sex from their domestic virtues as among those who sully it by their vices. About the same time, there came to London a young gentleman of the name of Aubrey, who was an orphan left with an only sister in the possession of great wealth by parents who died when he was yet in childhood. Left also to himself by guardians, who thought it their duty merely to take care of his

fortune, while they relinquished the more important charge of his mind to the care of mercenary subalterns, he cultivated more of his imagination than his judgment. He had, hence, that high romantic feeling of honor and candor, which daily ruins so many milliners' apprentices. He believed all to sympathize with virtue, and thought that vice was thrown in by providence merely for the picturesque effect of the scene, as we see in romances. He thought that the misery of a cottage merely consisted in the vesting of clothes, which were as warm, but which were better adapted to the painter's eye by their irregular folds and various colored patches. He thought, in fine, that the

dreams of poets were the realities of life. He was handsome, frank, and rich. For these reasons, upon his entering into the gay circles, many mothers surrounded him, striving which should describe with least truth their languishing or romping favorites. The daughters, at the same time, by their brightening countenances when he approached, and by their sparkling eyes when he opened his lips, soon led him into false notions of his talents and his merit. Attached as he was to the romance of his solitary hours, he was startled at finding that, except in the tallow and wax candles that flickered, not from the presence of a ghost, but from the want of snuffing, there was no foundation in real life for any of that congeries of pleasing pictures and

descriptions contained in those volumes from which he had formed his study. Finding, however, some compensation in its grafted vanity, he was about to relinquish his dreams when the extraordinary being we have described crossed him in his career. He watched him, and the very impossibility of forming an idea of the character of a man entirely absorbed in himself, who gave few other signs of his observation of external objects than the tacit assent to their existence, implied by the avoidance of their contact. Allowing his imagination to picture everything that flattered its propensity to extravagant ideas, he soon formed this object into the hero of a romance and determined to observe the offspring of his fancy

rather than the person before him. He became acquainted with him, paid him attentions, and so far advanced upon his notice that his presence was always recognized. He gradually learned that Lord Ruthven's affairs were embarrassed and soon found from the notes of preparation in blank street. there's this thing where old-timey stories will like use a series of dashes instead of giving a specific name, that's what's happening, that he was about to travel. Desirous of gaining some information respecting his singular character who, till now, had only whetted his curiosity, he hinted to his guardians that it was time for him to perform the

tour, which for many generations had been thought necessary to engage the young to take some rapid steps in their career of vice, towards putting themselves upon an equality with the aged, and not allowing them to appear as if fallen from the skies, whenever scandalous intrigues are mentioned as the subjects of pleasantry or of praise according to the degree of skill shewn in carrying them on. They consented, and Aubrey, immediately mentioning his intentions to Lord Ruthven, was surprised to receive from him a proposal to join him. Flattered by such a mark of esteem from him, who apparently had nothing in common with other men, he gladly accepted it, and in a few days, they had passed the circling waters.

But you know what else passed the circling waters, which I think means they went overseas to mainland Europe? All of our advertisers. They are worldly. They too have been to Europe, done a little bit of time backpacking around. In fact, some of them might be vampires. If corporations have personhood and survive after the death of individuals, are they not? The vampire. I don't know.

Here's some ads. Hola, mi gente. It's Honey German, and I'm bringing you Gracias, Come Again, the podcast where we dive deep into the world of Latin culture, musica, peliculas, and entertainment with some of the biggest names in the game. If you love hearing real conversations with your favorite Latin celebrities, artists, and culture shifters, this is the podcast for you. We're talking real conversations with our Latin stars, from actors and artists to musicians and creators,

sharing their stories, struggles, and successes. You know it's going to be filled with chisme laughs and all the vibes that you love. Each week, we'll explore everything from music and pop culture to deeper topics like identity, community, and breaking down barriers in all sorts of industries. Don't miss out on the fun, el té caliente and life stories. Join me for Gracias Come Again, a podcast by Honey German, where we get into todo lo actual y viral.

Listen to Gracias Come Again on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into how tech's elite has turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech from an industry veteran with nothing to lose. This season, I'm going to be joined by everyone

from Nobel winning economists to leading journalists in season, I'm going to be joined by everyone from Nobel-winning economists to leading journalists in the field. And I'll be digging into why the products you love keep getting worse and naming and shaming those responsible. Don't get me wrong, though. I love technology. I just hate the people in charge

and want them to get back to building things that actually do things to help real people. I swear to God, things can change if we're loud enough. So join me every week to understand what's happening in the tech industry and what could be done to make real people. I swear to God things can change if we're loud enough. So join me every week to understand what's happening in the tech industry and what could be done to make things better. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts. Check out betteroffline.com. On Thanksgiving Day, 1999, a five-year-old boy floated alone in the ocean.

He had lost his mother trying to reach Florida from Cuba. He looked like a little angel. I mean, he looked so fresh. And his name, Elian Gonzalez, will make headlines everywhere. Elian Gonzalez. Elian Gonzalez. Elian. Elian. Elian Gonzalez.

At the heart of the story is a young boy and the question of who he belongs with. His father in Cuba. Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him. Or his relatives in Miami. Imagine that your mother died trying to get you to freedom. At the heart of it all is still this painful family separation. Something that as a Cuban, I know all too well. Listen to Chess Peace, the Elian Gonzalez story, as part of the My Cultura podcast network,

available on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And we're back. Hitherto, Aubrey had had no opportunity of studying Lord Ruthven's character. And now he found that though many more of his actions were exposed to his view, the results offered different conclusions from the apparent motives to his conduct. His companion was profuse in his liberality. The idol, the vagabond, and the beggar received from his hand more than enough to relieve their immediate wants. But Aubrey could not avoid remarking that it was not upon the virtuous, reduced to indigence by the misfortunes attendant upon every virtue, that he bestowed his alms. These were sent from the door with hardly suppressed sneers. But when the prolificate came to ask

something, not to relieve his wants, but to allow him to wallow in his lust or to sink him still deeper in his inequity, he was sent away with rich charity. This was, however, attributed by him to the greater importunity of the vicious, which generally prevails of the retiring bashfulness of the virtuous indigent. There was one circumstance about the charity of his lordship, which was still more impressed upon his mind. All those upon whom it was bestowed inevitably found that there was a curse upon it, for they were all either led to the scaffold or sunk to the lowest and most abject misery. At Brussels and other towns through which

they passed, Aubrey was surprised at the apparent eagerness with which his companion sought for the centers of all fashionable vice. There he entered into all the spirit of the farrow table. He bedded and always gambled with success. Except where the known sharper was his antagonist. And then he lost even more than he gained. But it was always with the same unchanging face with which he generally watched society around. It was not, however, so when he encountered the wrath youthful novice, or the luckless father of a numerous family. Then his very wish seemed fortune's law. This apparent abstractedness of mind was laid aside and his eyes sparkled with more fire than that of the cat whilst dallying with the half-dead mouse.

left the formerly affluent youth, torn from the circle he adorned, cursing, in the solitude of a dungeon, the fate that had drawn him within the reach of this fiend, while many a father, sat frantic amidst the speaking looks of mute, hungry children, without a single farthing of his late immense wealth, wherewith to buy even sufficient to satisfy their present craving. Yet he took no money from the gambling table, but immediately lost, to the ruiner of many, the last gilder he had just snatched from the convulsive grasp of the innocent. This might be but the result of a certain degree of knowledge, which was not, however, capable of combating the cunning of the more experienced. Aubrey often wished to represent this to his friend and beg him to

resign that charity and pleasure which proved the ruin of all and did not tend to his own profit. But he delayed it, for each day he hoped his friend would give him some opportunity of speaking frankly and openly to him. However, this never occurred. Lord Ruthven in his carriage and amidst the various wild and rich scenes of nature, was always the same. His eye spoke less than his lip, and though Aubrey was near the object of his curiosity, he obtained no greater gratification from it than the constant excitement of vainly wishing to break that mystery, which to his exalted imagination began to assume the appearance of something supernatural. They soon arrived at Rome and Aubrey, for a time, lost sight of his companion. He left him in daily attendance upon the morning

circle of an Italian countess, whilst he went in search of the memorials of another almost deserted city. While he was thus engaged, letters arrived from England, which he opened with eager impatience. The first was from his sister, breathing nothing but affection. The others were from his guardians. The latter astonished him. If it had before entered into his imagination that there was an evil power resident in his companion, these seemed to give him sufficient reason for the belief. His guardians insisted upon his immediately leaving his friend

and urged that his character was dreadfully vicious, for that the possession of irresistible powers of seduction rendered his licentious habits more dangerous to society. It had been discovered that his contempt for the adulteress had not originated in hatred of her character, but that he had required to enhance his gratification that his victim, the partner of his guilt, should be hurled from the pinnacle of unsullied virtue down to the lowest abyss of infamy and degradation. In fine, that all those females whom he had sought, apparently on account

of their virtue, had, since his departure, thrown every mask aside and had not scrupled to expose the whole deformity of their vices to the public gaze. Aubrey determined upon leaving one whose character had not yet shown a single bright point on which to rest the eye. He resolved to invent some plausible pretext for abandoning him altogether, purposing, in the meanwhile, to watch him more closely and to let no slight circumstances pass by unnoticed. He entered into the same circle and soon perceived that his lordship was endeavoring to work upon the inexperience of the daughter of the lady of whose house he chiefly frequented. In Italy, it is seldom that an

unmarried female is met within society. He was therefore obliged to carry on his plans in secret, but Aubrey's eye followed him in all his windings and soon discovered that an assignation had been appointed, which would most likely end in the ruin of an innocent, though thoughtless girl. Losing no time, he entered the apartment of Lord Ruthven and abruptly asked his intentions with respect to the lady, informing him at the same time that he was aware of his being about to meet her that very night. Lord Ruthven answered that his intentions were such as he supposed all would have upon such an occasion, and upon being pressed whether he intended to marry her, merely laughed.

Aubrey retired, and immediately writing a note to say that from the moment he must decline accompanying his lordship in the remainder of their proposed tour, he ordered his servant to seek other apartments, and calling upon the mother of the lady, informed her of all he knew, not only with regard to her daughter, but also concerning the character of his lordship. The assignation was prevented. Lord Ruthven next day merely sent his servant to notify his complete assent to a separation, but did not hint any suspicion of his plans having been foiled by Aubrey's interposition. Having left Rome, Auber directed his steps towards Greece and crossing the peninsula soon found himself in Athens. He then fixed his residence in the house of a Greek and soon

occupied himself in trading the faded records of ancient glory upon monuments that apparently, ashamed of chronicling the deeds of freemen only before slaves, had hidden themselves beneath the sheltering soil of many-colored lichen. Under the same roof as himself existed a being so beautiful and delicate that she might have formed the model for a painter wishing to portray on canvas the promised hope of the faithful in Mahomet's paradise, save that her eyes spoke too much mind for anyone to think she could belong to those who had no souls. As she danced upon the plain or tripped along the mountainside, one would have thought that the gazelle a poor type of her beauties.

For one would have exchanged her eye, and apparently the eye of animated nature, for that sleepy, luxurious look of the animal suited but to the taste of an epicure. The light step of Aionthe often accompanied Aubrey in his search after antiquities, and often, with the unconscious girl engaged in the pursuit of a cashmere butterfly, show the whole beauty of her form, floating as it were upon the wind, to the eager gaze of him, who forgot the letters he had just deciphered upon an almost effaced tablet, in the contemplation of her sylph-like figure. Often were her tresses falling as she flitted abound, exhibiting the sun's ray such delicately brilliant and swiftly fading hues.

It might well excuse the forgetfulness of the antiquary, who let escape from his mind the very object he had before thought of vital importance to the proper interpretation of a passage in the Pausanias. But why attempt to describe charms which all feel but none can appreciate? It was innocence, youth, and beauty unaffected by crowding drawing rooms and stifling balls. Whilst he drew those remains of which he wished to preserve a memorial for his future hours, she would stand by and watch the magic effects of his pencil in tracing the scenes of her native place. She would then describe to him the circling dance upon the open plain, would paint to him in all the glowing colors of youthful memory, the marriage pump she remembered viewing in her infancy, and then, turning to subjects that had

evidently made a greater impression upon her mind, would tell him all the supernatural tales of her nurse. Her earnestness and apparent belief of what she narrated excited the interest even of Aubrey, and often as she told him the tale of the living vampire, who had passed years amidst his friends and dearest ties forced every year by feeding upon the life of a lovely female to prolong his existence for the ensuing months. His blood would run cold whilst he attempted to laugh her out of such idle and horrible fantasies. But Aionthe cited to him the names of old men who at last detected one living among themselves, after several of their near relatives and children had been found marked with the stamp of the fiend's appetite.

And when she found him so incredulous, she begged of him to believe her. For it had been remarked that those who had dared to question their existence always had some proof given which obliged them with grief and heartbreak to confess it was true. She detailed to him the traditional appearance of these monsters,

and his horror was increased by hearing a pretty accurate description of Lord Ruthven. He, however, still persisted in persuading her that there could be no truth in her fears, though at the same time he wondered at the many coincidences which had all tended to excite a belief in the supernatural power of Lord Ruthven, who is capable of one of his superpowers, vampires of the superpowers of seamless ad transitions like this one. Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into how tech's elite

has turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech from an industry veteran with nothing to lose. This season, I'm going to be joined by everyone from Nobel-winning economists to leading journalists in the field, and I'll be digging into why the products you love keep getting worse and naming and shaming those responsible. Don't get me wrong, though. I love technology. I just hate the people in charge and want them to get back to building

things that actually do things to help real people. I swear to God things can change if we're loud enough. So join me every week to understand what's happening in the tech industry and what could be done to make things better. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts. Check out betteroffline.com. Hola mi gente, it's Honey German and I'm bringing you Gracias, Come Again. The podcast where we dive deep into the world of Latin culture,

musica, peliculas, and entertainment with some of the biggest names in the game. If you love hearing real conversations with your favorite Latin celebrities, artists, and culture shifters, this is the podcast for you. We're talking real conversations with our Latin stars, from actors and artists to musicians and creators, sharing their stories, struggles, and successes. You know it's going to be filled with chisme laughs and all the vibes that you love. Each week we'll explore everything from music and pop culture to deeper topics like identity, community, and breaking down barriers in all sorts of industries. Don't miss

out on the fun, el té caliente, and life stories. Join me for Gracias Come Again, a podcast by Honey German, where we get into todo lo actual y viral. Listen to Gracias Come Again on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. On Thanksgiving Day, 1999, a five-year-old boy floated alone in the ocean. He had lost his mother, trying to reach Florida from Cuba. He looked like a little angel. I mean, he looked so fresh. And his name, Elian Gonzalez, will make headlines everywhere.

Elian Gonzalez. Elian. Elian. Elian. Elian. Elian. Elian Gonzalez. At the heart of the story is a young boy and the question of who he belongs with.

His father in Cuba. Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him. Or his relatives in Miami. Imagine that your mother died trying to get you to freedom. At the heart of it all is still this painful family separation. Something that as a Cuban, I know all too well. Listen to Chess Peace, the Elian Gonzalez story, as part of the My Cultura podcast network,

available on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And we're back. Aubrey began to attach himself more and more to Ayante. Her innocence, so contrasted with all the affected virtues of the women among whom he had sought for his vision of romance, won his heart. And while he ridiculed the idea of a young man of English habits marrying an uneducated Greek girl, still he found himself more and more attached to the almost fairy form before him. He would tear himself at times from her, and, forming a plan for some antiquarian research, he would depart, determined not to return until his object was

attained. But he always found it impossible to fix his attention upon the ruins around him, whilst in his mind he retained an image that seemed alone the rightful possessor of his thoughts. Ayante was unconscious of his love, and was ever the same frank, infantile being he had first known. She always seemed to part from him with reluctance, but it was because she had no longer anyone with whom she could visit her favorite haunts, whilst her guardian was occupied in sketching or uncovering some fragment which had yet escaped the destructive hand of time. She had appealed to her parents on the subject of vampires, and they both, with several present, affirmed their existence, pale with horror at the very name. Soon after, Aubrey determined to proceed upon one of his excursions, which was to detain him for a few hours. When they heard the name of the place, they all at once begged of him to not return at night,

as he must necessarily pass through a wood where no Greek would ever remain after the day had closed upon any consideration. They described it as the resort of the vampires in their nocturnal orgies and denounced the most heavily evils as impending upon him who dared to cross their path. Aubrey made light of their representations and tried to laugh them out of the idea. But when he saw them shudder at his daring thus to mock a superior, infernal power, the very name of which apparently made their blood freeze, he was silent. Next morning, Aubrey set off upon his excursion unattended. He was surprised to observe the melancholy face of his host, and was concerned to find that his words, mocking the belief of those horrible fiends, had inspired them with such horror. When he was about to depart,

Aionthe came to the side of his horse, and earnestly begged of him to return ere night allowed the power of those beings to be put into action. He promised. He was, however, so occupied in his research that he did not perceive the daylight would soon end, and that in the horizon there was one of those specks which in the warmer climates so rapidly gather into a tremendous mass and pour all their rage upon the devoted country. He at last, however, mounted his horse, determined to make up by speed for his delay. But it was too late. Twilight in these southern climates is almost unknown. Immediately the sun sets, night begins, and ere he had advanced far, the power of the

storm was above. Its echoing thunders had scarcely an interval of rest. Its thick, heavy rain forced its way through the canopy and foliage, whilst the blue-forked lightning seemed to fall and radiate at his very feet. Suddenly, his horse took fright, and he was carried with dreadful rapidity through the entangled forest. The animal, at last, through fatigue, stopped, and he found, by the glare of lightning, that he was in the neighborhood of a hovel that had hardly lifted itself up from the masses of dead leaves and brushwood which surrounded it. Dismounting, he approached, hoping to find someone to guide him to the town, or at least trusting to obtain shelter from the pelting of the storm.

As he approached, the thunders, for a moment silent, allowed him to hear the dreadful shrieks of a woman mingling with the stifled, exultant mockery of a laugh, continued in one almost unbroken sound. He was startled, but roused by the thunder which again rolled over his head, he, with a sudden effort, forced open the door of the hut. He found himself in utter darkness. The sound, however, guided him. He was apparently unperceived, for though he called, still the sounds continued, and no notice was taken of him. He found himself in contact with someone, whom he immediately seized, when a voice cried, Again baffled! To which a loud laugh seceded.

And he felt himself grappled by one whose strength seemed superhuman. Determined to sell his life as dearly as he could, he struggled, but it was in vain. He was lifted from his feet and hurled with enormous force against the ground. His enemy threw himself upon him, and kneeling upon his breast, had placed his hands upon his throat. When the glare of many torches penetrating through the hole gave light in the day, disturbed him. He instantly rose and, leaving his prey, rushed through the door, and a moment the crashing of the branches, as he broke through the wood, was no longer heard. The storm was now still,

and Aubrey, incapable of moving, was soon heard by those without. They entered, the light of their torches fell upon the mud walls, and thatch loaded on every individual straw with heavy flakes of soot. At the desire of Aubrey, they searched for her who had attracted him by her cries. He was again left in darkness. But what was his horror when the light of those torches once again burst upon him, to perceive the airy form of his fair conductress brought in in a lifeless course? He shut his eyes, hoping that it was but a vision arising from his disturbed imagination. But again he saw the same form when he unclosed them, stretched by his side. There was no color upon her cheek, not even upon

her lip. Yet there was a stillness about her face that seemed almost as attaching as the life that once dwelt there. Upon her neck and breast was blood, and upon her throat were the marks of teeth having opened the vein. To this, the men pointed, crying, simultaneously struck with horror. To this the men pointed crying Simultaneously struck with horror A vampire, a vampire A litter was quickly formed And Aubrey was laid by the side of her Who had lately been to him the object

Of so many bright and fairy visions Now fallen with the flower of life That had died within her He knew not what his thoughts were His mind was benumbed And seemed to shun reflection and take refuge in vacancy. He had almost unconsciously in his hand a naked dagger of particular construction, which had been found in the hut. They were soon met by different parties

who had been engaged in the search of her, of her whom a mother had missed. Their lamentable cries as they approached to the city forewarned the parents of some dreadful catastrophe. To describe their grief would be impossible, but when they ascertained the cause of their child's death, they looked at Aubrey and pointed to the course. They were inconsolable. Both died brokenhearted. insoluble. Both died brokenhearted. And that's the end of part one. In part two, what'll happen? Okay. I will say though, I'm reading this for probably the fourth time or something and just thinking about what caused this story to be written and like what just happened. All right. Here's my money. I bet that John Polidari had a threesome with some with lord byron and some girl that he liked and then was like i have sullied her i have ruined her i am so guilty you know

i have a feeling that it's just kind of like someone who uh is not a libertine being really upset by the actions of libertines and it really you know this idea that the vampire is this figure that is going to like destroy the beautiful, innocent young girl is like, well, it's such like groomer rhetoric, right? It's so reflected in modern, you know, destroying the virtue of whatever. And I don't know. It's just interesting to me. I hope it's interesting to you too. And what will happen? What's going to happen? His lady love lies dead. The woman that he was objectifying for her beauty is now dead. What will happen? Find out next week on Cool Zone Media Book Club. It Could Happen Here is a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media, visit our website, coolzonemedia.com, or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources for It Could Happen Here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com slash sources.

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