LA Screams

The old man told us that his name was Bill as he pulled out and sat down in one of the two chairs that were tucked up under the scarred wooden table. 

“Well, William Shakespeare O’Brien, to be exact.” He amended with a wry smile. “Me da thought it was funny and me ma never argued with him. The sea took him, drowned before I turned 12 and I don’t guess either of us was after missing him, much. Ma came with me when I shipped out for New York at sixteen. Found herself a good fear céile – uh, sorry, husband. They’re both gone now, of course, but she was happy when she died.” He searched his pockets as he spoke. “Would either of you gentlemen happen to have a cigarette? It would appear that I’ve forgotten mine.” 

Neither Sammy nor I smoked so I went out to see what I could find. From the hall I could hear Hernandez kicking up a fuss. Whatever he was on about he didn’t care who heard him. He was carrying on in Spanish, of course. If I’d listened I probably could have understood some of it, but I had my own man to talk with. I ran down the stairs to the first floor, got a couple of cigarettes from the desk sergeant, borrowed a few matches and headed back up to Room Two. As I passed the door to Room One I heard something break, a heavy sound like a body hitting the floor and then silence. It seems that Hernandez had finally thrown a punch. Knowing Ramón I was certain that one was all he threw. I also knew it hadn’t landed. Smiling I opened the door to Room Two. 

O’Brien and Sam were staring at the table. Sammy muttered something that sounded like “impossible” as I shut the door, walked over, and handed O’Brien the cigarettes. The old man’s hands were shaking as he stuck one carefully in his shirt pocket and stuck the other one in his mouth, so I struck the match and held it while he lit up. As I shook out the flame I saw what was lying on the table. I didn’t understand why they seemed so shook up, it was only a book. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

“I think I’ll let Mr. O’Brien explain.” Sammy walked over to stare out of the window, shaking his head. He stood with his hands in his pockets, something he never did unless he was upset. I looked at O’Brien. 

“Those two men didn’t die of typhoid fever but they didn’t die easy, neither. I guess it was murder but I don’t know how you’d ever prove it.” He seemed to be searching for a way to find words that wouldn’t set me off as they’d done Sammy. “Did anyone mention that there was a woman on board this trip?” 

I looked at Sam’s rigid back. I looked back at O’Brien and shook my head. 

“Well there was. She came on board in Charleston, our first stop after we left New York. The captain didn’t want to take her on but it seems there was enough money available to help him change his mind. Officer, I believe that woman is a vampire.” If he expected a reaction from me, he was disappointed and it showed. 

“What’s a vampire?” I figured it was important enough to ask. 

“They’re terrible creatures; they feed on blood, human blood.” I stared at him. He didn’t flinch; he didn’t even blink. “It ain’t so unusual, there’s a kind of bat in New Mexico and Arizona that the Injuns call “devil bat”. They feed on the blood of whatever animal they come across, humans included.” 

“Are you trying to say there were bats on your ship?” 

“No, I am saying that woman was a vampire, feeding on the blood of those two men.” 

“That’s crazy.” He hadn’t struck me as being crazy, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

O’Brien poked at the book lying on the table. I picked it up and read the title: “Dracula”. I looked at O’Brien. “So?” 

“This ‘Bram Stoker wrote a whole story about vampires. I picked this up from a bookseller in New York. I like to read when I’m off-duty. Now I wish I’d never seen the thing but I’ve seen it and I’ve read it and his descriptions fit that woman. She came on board just before we sailed and her luggage included a long box that could have been a coffin.” 

Sammy walked over and took the book from me. He leafed through the first few pages his lips moving slightly as they did when he read stuff. It was a habit I could never break him of. After a cursory glance he shook his head again and gave the book back to me. “I don’t get it, how’d he know about this woman? He wrote that book three years ago.” 

O’Brien sat up straight. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I did not mean to imply that Mr. Stoker was writin’ about,” he stopped and swallowed, hard. “About her, but he was writin’ about vampires and God strike me dead if that woman ain’t a vampire.” 

“Ok, ok, suppose you’re right.” Sammy glared at me. “I said ‘suppose’, didn’t I? So what’s Hernandez trying to hide?” 

“Oh, him,” O’Brien snorted. “He was the one found them men dead. It shook him up is all. He’s not used to seein’ dead men unless he made them that way. He didn’t know what to make of it, them lyin’ there and not a mark on ‘em.” He chuckled. “But I’m bettin’ that doctor found a mark if he was smart enough to look close. Look, why don’t you read the book. It’s all in there: what to look for, what to do if you come across one of them monsters. It’s all there.” He suddenly seemed afraid to even look at the book as if whatever scared him would come after him for having dared to expose its secrets. 

“Ok, sir, why don’t we take you back upstairs so you can get some sleep?” I could tell that Sammy wanted to get rid of the man so that he could talk to me. 

I walked O’Brien back upstairs and saw him settle on one of the lower bunks. As I turned to go back downstairs, O’Brien grabbed my arm. “Tell the guy on duty watch not to open the door tonight. Especially if it’s a woman and she asks if she can come in.” I just looked at him. “Read the book,” he said. Then he turned on his side, away from me. I couldn’t see what he fumbled out from beneath his shirt but he clutched it tight as he drifted off to sleep. 

When I got back to Room Two Sammy was standing where I’d left him, his handsome face creased. He was smarter than me but most of his learning had come from doing. He didn’t hold with spending hours with his head buried in a book. He’d always left that up to me. 

“So what’s eating you?” I asked him. 

“Are you going crazy, too? You don’t believe that old man, do you?” He was incredulous. 

I picked up the book. “I don’t know, Sam. But he’s spooked about something and I’ve got the next two days off, wha