Suggested by The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Shelly and I have had many different cases over the years. Some were exciting, some were dangerous, and some were just plain weird.
Which brings me to the case we solved on Halloween night of 1998.
Now, normally, when I say “we” solved a case, I really mean that Shelly solved the case and I was sort of…next to her when she did. But this time, I actually think I’m entitled to claim some of the credit for the solving.
That night, I had gone over to Shelly’s house for a scary movie marathon. All four of our parents were at a costume party across town so we’d have the house to ourselves. The plan was to sit on the couch, watch bad horror movies and eat the candy we were supposed to be giving to trick-or-treaters.
But, as is usually the case with these stories, that’s not exactly how it turned out.
About halfway into our first movie there was a knock on the door. We had the porchlight out, so we weren’t expecting trick-or-treaters. With a groan, Shelly hit pause, picked up the bowl of candy and carried it to the door. I heard her talking to whoever it was:
“Really? Tonight? I can’t have one night off?”
“Er, what?” said a voice that was clearly not trick-or-treaters.
“Fine, come in.”
Shelly came back into the living room with a kid a few years older than us who was not wearing a Halloween costume and who looked very bewildered.
“Shelly, what’s going on?” I asked.
“We have a client, Warren,” said Shelly.
“We do? How do you…?”
“One, he isn’t a trick-or-treater, because, a, he isn’t wearing a costume and, b, he’s too old. Two, he’s not a friend because I only have one friend and he’s sitting on this sofa next to me. Three, based on his age he probably goes to our school which means he’s probably heard of me. Four, it’s Halloween night and he’s not at home, like us, or at a party, like normal teenagers. Balance of probability: He’s a client.”
“Right, got it.”
“Well,” said our client, “that answers my first question.”
“Which was?” Shelly asked.
“Is this where Shelly Hobbes lives?”
“And that leads us to my first question.”
“Which is?”
“Who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“The girl you’ve come to see me about.”
“How did you know?”
“When a guy comes to me for help, it almost always has something to do with a girl. Guys are very simple that way.”
“Well, wait a minute,” I said. “That's not true.”
“Isn't it?”
“No! Guys think about other things besides girls.”
“You spend ninety percent of your time with a girl, following her around and doing whatever she says even if you don't know why.”
“Well, I...it's just...yeah, okay.”
“Good. Now we’ve settled that,” she said, turning to our guest, “who is she?”
“My sister, Mabel. My name is Clark, in case anyone’s interested.”
“Sorry, I got carried away. What’s going on with Mabel?”
Clark seemed hesitant to say. His eyes kept darting back and forth between us, as if he was trying to make up his mind about us. Then he took a big breath and said, “She’s a vampire.”
“Good night, Clark,” said Shelly getting up and going to the front door. “Have a happy Halloween.”
“Aren’t you even going to listen to me?”
“Not if you’re going to waste my time with nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense!”
“This agency stands flat-footed upon the ground, and there it must remain. Good night.”
“If you would just listen—”
“There’s no such thing as vampires!”
“I know that!” said Clark, testily. “I didn’t say that my sister is a walking corpse that can only be kept in her coffin by a stake through her heart. But she is a vampire. She’s been drinking blood!”
The room filled with an uncomfortable silence. I was sure I had misunderstood Clark. How could such a thing be true? Shelly seemed less concerned and more intrigued. She sat back down on the sofa with me and bid Clark tell her everything.
“It started a few weeks ago,” he said. “She’s not the same. She used to be really upbeat and happy all the time. Now she’s sort of…I don’t know, gloomy. She used to sit outside on the back porch, reading or just lying in the sun. Now she hates to go outside. And even when she’s inside she prefers to be in the dark. She’s actually started wearing sunglasses all the time. Then, just yesterday…” He was clearly having a hard time telling us. “I don’t even know how to…”
“Just tell me exactly what happened as you saw it happen,” said Shelly, sternly.
“Right. Well, she was…she was drinking our dog’s blood!”
I looked over at Shelly and she didn’t seem to have been affected at all by this bizarre statement. She simply said, clearly and firmly, “Exactly what happened. Exactly as you saw it happen.”
Clark sighed. “I got home from school and I was looking for Mabel. I had gotten an A on my history test and I wanted to tell her. She knew I had been worrying about that and…well, I couldn’t find her anywhere in the house. I was surprised to see her in the backyard. But when I saw what she was doing…”
“What was she doing?” I asked.
“She was kneeling on the grass, bent over. I couldn’t see what she was doing at first. Then I went outside and called to her. She turned around. She had blood on her mouth and hands. And I saw she was kneeling over our dog, Fergus. He was whimpering, in a lot of pain, and I saw he had blood in his fur. I ran over, pushed Mabel out of the way and saw a big wound in Fergus’s neck. I didn’t want to believe it, but there it was, right before my eyes. My sister was drinking my dog’s blood!”
Again, I was more than a little concerned when Shelly seemed to register no emotional response to this horrifying pronouncement. I mean, yeah, we’d been through a lot together, but I thought for sure this would be too much for her. But, no. She was still in Sherlock-mode. Sitting—hands tented, eyes lowered—thinking hard.
“What did she say?” I asked when I realized Shelly wasn’t going to ask.
“Nothing. I asked her what she was doing and she refused to tell me. I told her to go inside while I took Fergus inside and got him cleaned up. The cut wasn’t deep, and it was actually pretty easy to take care of it myself. Of course, I thought about taking him to the vet at first. But then I’d have to tell them what happened. Then our parents would find out and…”
“You didn’t tell your parents?”
“They’re out of town on business. But even if they weren’t, I don’t think I would have. That’s why I came to you. I thought you could give me some advice. What am I supposed to do about this?”
For a while nobody said anything. Shelly was still deep in thought, I was shocked, and Clark was just anxious for Shelly’s answer. Finally, it came.
“Today’s incident notwithstanding,” she said at last, “have your sister and the dog gotten along?”
“Yes. Of course. She loves that dog. That’s why this whole thing is so…awful! I mean, you’d know if you met Fergus. He’s the most lovable dog in the world. And Mabel was…she was…”
“Clark, I need you to calm down.”
“Calm down? Calm down? How can I be calm? My sister is—”
“Probably going through something difficult and the last thing she needs is her brother jumping to conclusions.” As she said this she took out a chocolate bar from the bowl, unwrapped it and handed it to Clark. He was confused, but he took it with a muttered word of thanks and was about to bite into it, but Shelly said, “No, just hold it for a minute.”
“What? Why?”
“Just indulge me, please.”
“You don’t think she was drinking the dog’s blood?” I asked.
“I don’t want to shock you completely, Warren, but, no, I do not believe that a suburban teenager has suddenly decided to indulge in ritualistic bloodletting with a beloved family pet.”
Here she snatched the chocolate out of Clark’s hand and threw it in a nearby trashcan.
“You have something on your face. Right here.” Shelly touched her upper lip with her finger. Clark rubbed his own lip. “That’s good.”
“Sorry, what was all that about?” asked Clark. I admit I was a little confused too.
“Did you enjoy the chocolate?” she asked.
“I didn’t eat any chocolate.”
“Are you sure? Cuz there’s some on your lip right now.”
Clark again rubbed his lip and realized that not only was there chocolate on his face, but also on the fingers of both his hands.
“It melted while you were holding it,” Shelly explained, “and you transferred it to your mouth when you rubbed your lip.”
“I still don’t get it,” said Clark.
But I did. “What she means is that just because there was blood on your sister’s mouth, that doesn’t mean that she was drinking it. You’ve got chocolate on your mouth but you haven’t eaten any…actually, would you like some? For real, this time. We’ve got plenty, you might as well…”
“Never mind, Warren,” said Shelly, handing Clark a tissue to wipe his mouth with. “The point is that I need you to tell me what you saw and let me draw the conclusions. You provide the evidence, I provide the solution. Fair?”
“Okay, fine,” said Clark. “I get it. But if she wasn’t drinking his blood, what was she doing?”
“Probably trying to help the poor animal. Blood gets on her hands, she absent-mindedly touches her mouth, and the next thing she knows her brother is calling for Van Helsing.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Your sister’s not a vampire, Clark. That’s the point that I cannot believe I’ve had to put so much effort into making.”
“But what about her weird behavior? Staying inside? The dark glasses?”
“At the risk of sounding like a guidance counselor, changes in habit are fairly common symptoms of being a teenager. It’s got nothing to do with the dog.”
“But, wait,” I said. “Something still doesn’t add up.”
“You’re right,” said Clark. “If she was just trying to help Fergus, why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she say anything?”
“That is a little peculiar. But I won’t be able to figure anything out from here.”
Which is how we ended up in Clark’s car on our way to his house to meet his allegedly vampiric sister.
•••
The streets were filled with trick-or-treaters and their parents. Everywhere I looked there were monsters, superheroes, cartoon characters and even a few examples of the traditional bedsheet ghost. The sun had long since set, but the neighborhood was illuminated by streetlamps, flashlights and glowsticks.
After waiting for a gaggle of kids to pass by, Clark pulled his car into the driveway and we all got out. Almost immediately, I could hear heavy metal music. It was coming from inside Clark’s house. As if this wasn’t enough of a deterrent for candy-seeking visitors, the porchlight was also turned off.
“Mabel’s been locked in her room since it happened,” said Clark as we walked up to his front door. “The two of us have just been hanging out downstairs. Then I got the idea to talk to you, and…”
“Wait, wait,” said Shelly. “Two of us? Is there someone else here besides you and Mabel?”
“Yeah. Jack. Friend of mine. He comes over all the time. What?”
Shelly was scowling at him. “This is information you should have given me earlier.”
“Why? Jack had nothing to do with this…wait, do you think he did?”
“I don’t know! This is the first I’m hearing about him. I asked you to tell me everything, Clark. An entire extra human is a pretty big thing to leave out.”
We met Jack as soon as we got inside. He was a year older than Clark, which meant he was already out of high school. No college, no job, he just sort of…hung around. It was he who had turned up the heavy metal to ear-bleed volume. He had clearly made himself very much at home in his friend’s house and I shuddered to think what Clark and Mabel’s parents would think when they got home.
But what really put me off was the pocket knife he kept playing with. Flicking it open, closing it, opening, closing, over and over again. And, maybe it was my imagination (which, admittedly, was sort of in high gear, this being Halloween and me being at the home of a supposed vampire), but I was pretty sure I saw a dark stain on the blade.
“Is this about that stupid dog again?” he asked. “Who cares?”
“I do,” said Clark.
“Whatever,” said Jack, and he went back into the den.
“Sorry about that,” said Clark, once Jack was gone. “He didn’t think it was a good idea for me to ask you for help. I think he’s just…”
“Where’s Fergus?” Shelly asked, not really interested in what excuse Clark was about to make for his friend.
“Probably in the backyard,” said Clark. He took us through the kitchen and into the yard and, a moment later, Fergus the Dog was among us.
Fergus was a Norwich terrier. He had long brown hair and one of those adorable “teddy bear” faces. Despite his recent ordeal, he seemed to be in very high spirits, and he greeted Shelly and me enthusiastically, as if we were old friends.
I remember thinking that Clark had been right on the money: It seemed incredible to me that anyone would want to hurt such a sweet dog.
“Warren,” said Shelly, “will take Fergus into the kitchen and give him a thorough examination. His dad is a veterinarian,” she added when Clark looked quizzically at this suggestion. “Meanwhile, I was hoping you could introduce me to your sister.”
“She won’t come out of her room,” Clark repeated. “She won’t even talk to me.”
“No, but she might talk to me.”
So, we split up. Clark led Shelly upstairs to try and get his sister to submit to an interview and I took Fergus into the kitchen.
Lacking my dad’s experience and qualifications, it was a pretty cursory examination. But, I concluded that Fergus was in good shape. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. Clark had done a good job of bandaging the wound, which was healing nicely. What made the examination harder was Fergus’s friskiness. He seemed to think we were playing and I had a hard time getting him to hold still.
“Hey,” said Jack, entering the kitchen. He opened the fridge to get a can of what I really hoped was soda, then he looked at me and Fergus. “Who are you? Doctor Dolittle?”
“Doctor Watson, actually,” I answered, distractedly. What was distracting me was Fergus’ sudden change of mood. As soon as he was aware that Jack was nearby, he seemed like a totally different animal. I still couldn’t get him to hold still, but this time it was because he was trying to get away.
“Oh, what is it now?” said Jack to Fergus, impatiently. “That dumb dog is always freaking out about something.”
“I take it you’re not a dog person?”
“No way.”
“Do you have any pets of your own?”
“I used to have a rabbit. When I was little.”
“Oh? What happened to it?”
“It…had an accident.”
He had gotten his knife out while we were talking and was flicking it open and closed again. Fergus began to whimper at the sight of it.
“Stupid dog!” said Jack, coldly. And he went back into the living room with his beverage.
It was then that I remembered the stain on Jack’s knife.
“Shelly!” I cried, as I tucked Fergus under my arm and ran for the stairs.
•••
The three of us—me, Shelly and Fergus—stepped outside to the backyard to compare notes…That is, Shelly and I compared notes. Fergus didn’t contribute much to the discussion, and the two of us took turns tossing an old tennis ball for him as I told Shelly all about what had happened in the kitchen.
“You’re improving every day, Warren,” said Shelly, tossing the ball again. “I mean, I saw the stain on Jack’s knife, too, but I couldn’t be sure what it was. That’s the thing about bloodstains, you know. Once they dry, they look just like juice or tomato sauce or rust or…well, all sorts of things. I once developed a chemical test for bloodstains, but all of my gear is back at home and I doubt Jack would let me test the knife anyway.”
“Fergus was terrified when Jack came in the room,” I said, taking the ball from Fergus and tossing it away, absent-mindedly. “Scared out of his wits.”
“Yes, that makes sense.” And she told me about what she and Mabel had talked about upstairs in her bedroom.
Clark had pointed out which door was Mabel’s then went back downstairs to hang out with Jack. Shelly knocked and introduced herself through the closed door. Fortunately, Mabel had also heard of Shelly’s detective work and let her come in.
“I don’t think you hurt Fergus,” Shelly had said.
“I didn’t!” Mabel had replied. “I would never hurt Fergus. I love him. He’s the sweetest dog in the world.”
“But you have to see how strange all this must look to your brother.”
Mabel had agreed, but hadn’t volunteered any more information.
“I want to help,” Shelly had told her. “But I can’t unless you talk to me.”
But Mabel still hadn’t explained.
“So,” said Shelly, “it’s something bad. Something so bad, you’d rather your brother think the worst of you than tell him the truth…possibly you’d rather he think badly of you…than think badly of someone else. Tell me…how long have your brother and Jack been friends?”
Mabel had seemed surprised by the question, but answered it. “When Clark was a freshman,” she began, “Jack was a sophomore. He sort of took Clark under his wings, showed him the ropes, helped him make friends.”
“Clark told us that Jack comes here a lot. Is that true?”
“Yes. He…his home situation isn’t great.”
That’s when I’d called out for Shelly.
•••
Before leaving Mabel’s room, Shelly had asked her to wait five minutes then come out to the backyard. She had given the same instruction to Clark before joining me out there. Sure enough, brother and sister appeared right on cue, leaving Jack inside with his video games, his terrible music and his pocket knife.
“I’m so sorry, Fergus,” said Mabel, picking up her beloved pet and cuddling him like the living teddy bear he resembled.
Fergus, for his part, seemed not to bear her any grudge and licked her face affectionately.
“What’s going on?” demanded Clark. “Have you figured out what happened yet?”
“I have,” said Shelly. “This whole thing never did strike me as being terribly complex. It has been a case for intellectual deduction, but when this original deduction is confirmed point by point by quite a number of independent incidents, then the subjective becomes objective and we can say confidently that we have reached our goal.”
There was a long silence.
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Clark.
“It was Jack,” said Shelly, apparently deciding that the swiftest cut would be the least painful. And she went through what had really happened:
Jack—who clearly had some issues of his own to work out—had, for reasons best known to himself, cut poor little Fergus’ throat (possibly, he’d once done the same to his pet rabbit. The one he’d told me had had an “accident”). Mabel had seen it happen, tried to stop the bleeding and, just as Shelly had suggested back at her house, inadvertently transferred the blood to her own mouth. Clark had just come in at the wrong time. But Mabel had shrunk from telling her brother the truth, knowing how much he liked Jack.
“I thought if I told you what he’d done,” Mabel said, and I think she was close to tears, “you’d get mad. Or you’d say I was lying.”
“But there’s no doubt about it,” said Shelly. “He’s shown nothing but animosity toward Fergus since we got here.”
“And Fergus was petrified at the sight of him,” I added.
“You know he always has that knife with him.”
“And didn’t you say he tried to talk you out of asking us for help?”
Clark didn’t answer. But I could read his thoughts clearly in his face. He had been given a lot of information to process all at once.
“I think it’s time for us to go, Warren,” said Shelly to me, in a whisper. And we left them to settle the rest among themselves.
•••
We saw Mabel at school a few days later and she told us what had happened after we’d left. She and Clark had fallen all over themselves apologizing to one another, then they confronted Jack, Clark making it very clear that he never wanted to see him again as long as he lived.
About a year later, Jack was arrested for once again trying to hurt an animal. Last I heard he had joined the navy or something.
“In a way,” I said to Shelly, “it would have been less upsetting if she had been a vampire.”
“Yes,” she replied, “unfortunately, reality is often much more terrifying than monsters.”
“Did you really not think…I mean, even for a minute…”
“What? That Mabel really was a vampire?” Shelly laughed. “The world is big enough for me, Warren. No ghosts need apply.”
Shelly Hobbes-Morton currently lives in Vermissa Valley, California with her husband, Dr. Warren J. Morton, and their two children, Arthur and Irene. Ms. Hobbes-Morton is a consulting detective with the Vermissa Police Department.
Read more about Shelly and Warren's adventures in Shelly Hobbes: Master Detective and Plenty of Thread, now available from most online booksellers.
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