While an exchange student in London, I fell obsessed with the idea to see all of its romantic old cemeteries; of all things considered Gothic, I enjoyed them most. However, loads of work and the hours spent at the library (back then, I was too poor and too introvert to party in this wickedly expensive metropolis) left me little time to complete this quest. As my stay approached its end, I strongly decided to catch up.
The month of June was in its full bloom, and the warm sunny days favored to graveyard exploration: it was a pleasure to fall out of the everyday hustle and bustle. What seemed an unattainable goal, was the famous Western Highgate Cemetery which was closed to the visitors most of the time. It was exactly the place which inspired Bram Stoker to write his “Dracula”, with the largest and the oldest graves. Some of the newer ones could also be of interest - the one of George Michael, for example.
Of course, they organize excursions to that part of the cemetery. Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen every day, and you have to be a lucky bastard to get on the list on the day you need (and my stay was running out). Besides, I hated the idea of walking around this mysterious place within a group of people I didn’t know at all. I was sure the guide would not show me the most precious parts, and when something is hidden from me, I feel obliged to “unlock the achievement”.
By that time I had known that there was no fence without a backdoor. Having explored the Eastern Highgate Cemetery, I started looking for the place where I could penetrate the Western Cemetery unseen. Lining the perimeter step by step, I thoroughly scanned the silent area with my eyes. I discovered a convenient place in the garden of a 17-century living house not far from St. Michael’s church. Luckily, there was a nursery school on the ground floor, and the gate was open all day long.
A thick row of bushes and trees separated the cemetery wall from the curious eyes; even the dwellers of the house could hardly see anything if they had no such intention. However, I wasn’t ready to climb over the fence right away: I was not properly dressed for this kind of adventure and didn’t want to run into a guide with a group if there was any. What if I had to run from someone? I could hardly imagine this kind of situation, but anyway, safe is better than sorry. Besides, my return plane was the next day, and it would be better to fill my suitcase in advance.
Distances in London are huge: when I changed and returned, the sun had already started going down. Making sure there was nobody in the garden and no one observed the area from the window, I used an apple-tree to climb over the cemetery wall and jumped into the softness of the fallen leaves, welcomed by a grey ivy-clad angel. Highgate has always been a calm district. Now it was silent: one only could hear the light motion of the birds between the thick branches. You could tell at once that people were rare guests in the corner where I started my journey. The grass reached my thighs, sometimes small climbing roses clung to my jeans. More than once the unkempt branches were about to scratch my face, but I was too excited to care.
Slowly, I strode towards the center of the cemetery, always trying to stay away from large avenues. If caught, I probably risked a fine and, what was worse, my current and future visas, so I had to keep vigilant every second. Fortunately, the soil was covered in such thick moss that my steps were like those of a cat.
The golden and pink flames of sunset streamed between the trees, gloriously reflecting on the marble statues and walls, on the leaves and the grass, on the white flower petals. When I found myself in the magnificent Egyptian Avenue, the setting sun grew to its full splendor, painting the crypts bright red and casting deep violet shadows. This sight did not, however, last long: as the sun hid from me behind the trees, I soon found myself immersed in the deep blue dusk. But I had no doubt that I would find the way back without a hitch: in a city like London, it never gets really dark. Besides, I had a fully-charged smartphone and know how to use GPS.
Suddenly I saw someone move in the far end of the avenue. It was neither a cat nor a dog. An undoubtedly human shape, quite a tall one… “Gosh, it’s about time,” I thought, stepping back to hide behind a massive mausoleum. Looking from the other side of the cracked wall, I saw a bush in front of me move, but it was nothing more than a bird disturbed by my presence.
Or someone else’s?
Stumbling on the thick roots and trying to avoid hitting broken tombstones which protrude from the Earth like corroded teeth, I made my way towards the grey angel but soon the path brought me to a wrong place: behind the fence, there was a road with no possibility to climb over. I moaned with disappointment: a guard must be walking about the cemetery, and they may already know about an intruder…
“Hey, have you lost your path, girl?” I heard, shuddering at the sudden human speech.
The somewhat sarcastic voice belonged to a petite young lady. She wore a uniform which slightly resembled that of the police - I had seen the same outfit on the guards at the Eastern Cemetery.
“How did you make it in the first place?” she continued. “Nobody’s allowed to stay here after six.”
“I… Somehow I fell asleep, when I woke up, there was nobody,” I awkwardly lied, “Seems I must be going…”
“Brought any friends?”
“No.”
The woman stepped forward, and a streak of moonlight fell on to her face - young and fine. She had wavy dark hair, an hourglass waist and a face which strongly reminded of the numerous angels I had met on the way.
“Or do you seek soil for magic rituals?” the girl asked, broadly smiling. “Relax, you’ve got nothing to fear, I am not gonna call the police. I just wanna help you get out of here intact.”
“Intact?.. What’s wrong?”
“There’s some freak lurking about the cemetery. I saw him some minutes ago, and I did not like the way he looked. Then a text on my mobile distracted me, and the next moment, he disappeared. But I feel him around.”
“Don’t you guard the graveyard?..”
“I do, but as far as you can see, I am completely weaponless… So we’d better stick together until the gate,” she said approaching me.
“Have you been long working here?” I asked.
“Too long. So long that I need a change. Let’s go. There will be a gorgeous crypt on our way,” the girl said, turning her head to see if the scary man was somewhere near. “You must certainly see it from inside before you leave.”
“You are too kind,” I answered.
“I've got a weakness for people like you who study things profoundly. I myself, I wanted to be a historian when I was younger. I was not allowed”.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I murmured. "And who rests there, in the crypt?”
“Me,” she said and burst into laughter on seeing my eyebrows soar. “No. Of course, it was a whole family, several generations of it. At the end of the last century, some occultists came there to perform rituals. I will show you the sigil they painted on the wall”.
“The man!” I hissed, seeing again the large figure in a space between two large trees. The stranger wore an ample overcoat hiding his shape and a hat. There was something in his hand… A gun? Looked so…
“Just don’t move,” Ivy said, pressing me to the wall. “Don’t speak, and he will not notice us”.
The light was faint, however, I noticed her features sharpen in a strange way. Her eyes gleamed in the way the eyes of a cat do. It was seemed more scary than beautiful.
“Over there…” she said, nodding at the tall structure decorated with four small spires and a round window. “We should creep and hide from him”.
The man did not seem to go. Though not seeing him, I felt his presence. Ivy stood still, attempting to locate the sound of his steps, and I could see her transformation go on. Between the half-open lips gleamed a wet white pointed fang.
I used to know people who had sharp canines, too. They were totally normal, and one of them would even become my husband. But those protruding fangs combined with the gleaming eyes now scared me more than the big unfriendly guy. Without saying anything, I bolted to the direction, opposed to the crypt Ivy was luring me in. She reacted immediately by grabbing my wrist - so fiercely that I nearly fell.
Fearful, I screamed. In the surrounding stillness, my loud ugly shriek might scare the shit out of anyone, but it would certainly attract the guards if there still were any… I did not think what would happen if both the people on the graveyard were dangerous.
Forcefully, Ivy crushed me into the mossy wall. Her fangs clicked, seeking my neck, but luckily, she was so much shorter than me, that she missed. Yelping (I would say - roaring) once again, I kicked her as hard as I could. Ivy was strong, but not overwhelmingly strong; pushed back, she tripped over an exposed root and fell into the strong arms of the “scary guy” who stepped out of the dark just at the right moment. In his right hand, the man held something shiny - seconds later I understood it was a crucifix. On feeling it so close, Ivy writhed in horrible agony and gave a long, blood-curdling wail. Her face now resembled a repugnant ghoulish snout.
My nerves that I naively believed to be steady, failed. I made a step to move away from the wretched place, but everything got dark in a heartbeat. I didn’t even feel my own fall.
My awake was not a nice one: someone gave me a series of heavy slaps on the face. I cursed.
“Rise, silly girl! You were in a step from infestation or death, I hardly know what’s worse… If access is prohibited without a guide, it’s for good reason, and not to piss you off…” a husky voice growled.
I sat upright and focused on a gloomy figure in front of me. It was a man in his late forties, tall and broad in shoulders. He wore a smoky overcoat and a dark brown hat: one could hardly see anything but his sharply lined chin and narrow mouth.
“Ivy…” I recalled the girl’s dreadful transformation. “Then was she… A vampire?”
“You may say so… The poor thing was born in the late 19 century. Wanted to dedicate herself to history, as her uncle Roderic did. But you know the ways of that age. A girl had no chance to become academic, no chance to even sell books in a bookshop. Ivy’s family was not well off either. Devastating work or an arranged marriage, followed by a possible death in childbirth - this was her destiny. One night, on the verge of suicide Ivy came here and ran into an older vampire. With no doubts, she opened up her collar to be bitten…”
“And then you must be… A vampire hunter?..”
“Ha-ha, no… Just a supervisor. Making sure that no one harms the vampires and the vampires damage no one else…”
“You mean they cannot leave the cemetery?”
“They cannot: the perimeter is magically sealed to keep the vampires inside. You saw Ivy, she has such strong blood cravings that she isn’t always able to contain them. A vampire can be good-hearted and honestly treat you as their friend, however, some of them are too unstable.”
“Ivy’s alive, isn’t she?”
“Safe and sound. I carried her to her family crypt… We are sitting right on its steps, by the way. I need to get Ivy some pig blood. Can’t let her roam about like a wolf and attack fools like you.” Explained the man, making a gulp of brandy from his flask. “Want some?”
“So kind of you,” I said, accepting the drink. Perhaps, it wasn’t right. But I just had to relax in any possible way. “Thanks for saving my life.”
“I didn’t want this vampire to get killed in case of a human-connected incident. Vampire hunters, as you called me, are as real as vampires themselves.”
Moonlight was now showing a larger part of his face, disfigured by a terrifying scar; you could think someone had torn off one-third of his cheek. I couldn’t contain a gasp.
“It’s not a vampire’s work: it’s a car crash. Unfortunately, I can’t afford plastic surgery right away. Fortunately, I don’t go to office,” the care-taker chuckled.
“So, you state there’s a whole vampire reservation in the most prestigious part of London, and nobody knows?.. Everyone is in danger, and the authorities don’t know?”
“Some of them do. My duty is to prevent any possible fatalities.”
“Why are you telling me all this story in the first place?”
“Why not? Your story will only be acceptable on Halloween; no one will believe you anyway. And you should remember to never poke your nose to the place where you’re not welcome. Let’s move, it’s getting chilly… I will take you to the exit, and here’s the advice: forget the path to the reservation.”
“Sure,” I exhaled, and all the way to the gate I was unable to pronounce anything more. What troubled me most apart from the possible danger of the vampire's escape, was the thought that if something nasty happens in my life leaving me no hope, I'll have a strong temptation to return and then forever abide the place that inspired me so much.
Picture credits: Darell Godliman, Shutterstock, my very self
a surprise treat :)=
A fine tale told, I still tend to walk through my local old cemetery to think things over from time to time. I've mellowed out since my crazy Goth days.
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Nice to hear. More stories like this are yet to come.
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