HAUNTED WIRRAL: Vampire salvation

In this latest tale, Tom tells a tale of vampire salvation ...

I'VE changed a few names for legal reasons in this strange story.

On the Monday night of August 30, 1965 at 10.30pm, a 72-year-old bachelor named Peter Gibbins lay alone on what was virtually his deathbed at the newly-opened home for single elderly people on Liscard's Serpentine Road.

Next door he could hear the incessant tweets of Billie, the budgerigar of resident Mrs May, and to distract himself from the bird's chirruping, Peter switched on his bedside Dansette radio and listened to a show called Jazz Club on the BBC's Light Programme.

As it was a warm night, Peter lifted open the hung window of his second floor room, then got back into bed.

He turned on the bedside lamp, listened to the jazz music on 89.1 megacycles and his gaze fell upon the rooftops of Crescent Road, which ran at right angles to Serpentine Road.

A terrible disease was playing havoc with his lungs, making him weak, and he averted his gaze from the window for a moment to look at his bedside cabinet; the blue and brown bottles of bitter medicine and pills, the Milk of Magnesia, the Lucozade in its amber cellophane wrapper, the Vicks vapour rub, the open pack of spearmint gum, and the Zane Grey western paperback The Arizona Clan.

He looked back out the window into the starry sky and in his little diary, Peter wrote about his present life and recollections; lost chances in love, broken engagements, deflated dreams and so many things he should have done, but now it was too late.

His lung condition was terminal and yet Peter could not accept what was inevitable.

"Marriage in haste, repent at leisure", his mother would say to warn him whenever he told her about a girl he was getting serious with.

She was always off-putting, and then, when he had turned 40, started to quote the pro-marriage proverbs: "Single long, shame at length," and "A man without a wife is but half a man.’

And now, here he was, with no one, and he knew death was due to call on him at any moment, but at least it would be a remedy for all of his ills; something he often told his doctor.

Peter Gibbins dozed off to the radio's jazz music, but something awoke him around three in the morning; it was a man's voice calling his name.

As Peter opened his eyes he heard the voice say: "Peter Gibbins - is that you? It is, isn't it?"

Peter rubbed his bleary eyes and looked over to the open window and there was a man looking in at him.

At first, Peter assumed the man was standing on a ladder, but then this figure floated upwards and came into the room and Peter froze in terror.

The supernatural visitor looked about 30, dark-haired, pale-faced and he wore an emerald velvet jacket and a black dicky bow.

In a flash, Peter recognized him and believed he was still dreaming, because the night visitor was a close friend named Gerald Temple.

But he had died from consumption 40 years ago.

"Gerry? Why am I seeing you?" Peter asked, levering himself up in the bed.

"Because I am here, Peter," said Gerald, and he came down gently at the foot of the bed and smiled.

"I'm not a ghost, Peter and I'm not a figment of your mind.

"I do this of a night - I go on the prowl to steal people's life-energy."

"I don't understand," Peter admitted. He reached for his spectacles, put them on and had a good look at the 'ghost'.

"I suppose I am what you'd call a vampire," said Gerald, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Age is a terrible thing, Peter; you look dreadful. I can make you young again."

"It really is you", gasped Peter. "How did you come back?"

Gerald raised his eyebrows and said: "I can’t tell you, but someone brought me back - someone who loved me.

"Do you want to be young again? I can make it happen."

"How would you do that?" Peter asked.

Gerald said: "I'd just lay my hand on your head for a while and you will become like me."

"Are you in league with the Devil, Gerald?" Peter wanted to know.

Gerald stood up and raised his voice.

"Look, the thing with Christianity is that it's always jam tomorrow and never jam today!

"It's always paradise in the next world and never this one.

"You can have a second chance and live - and love - again!"

"Very well old friend, do it!" said Peter, and the vampire laid his hand on Peter's head.

A quarter of an hour later, Peter Gibbins looked like a raven-haired man in his 20ss.

There was a knock at his door.

"Who's that?" Peter asked.

The voice of a resident named Murphy said: "I overheard everything, and I have seen the devil’s work through the keyhole Mr Gibbins, and I've telephoned a priest!"

The priest never turned up so Murphy went to visit him at first light but when the holy man arrived,

Peter Gibbins had fled.

Murphy saw the rejuvenated Mr Gibbins later that year on New Year’s Eve with a young lady in his arms in a local pub.

I wonder if Gibbins and his vampiric friend are still about today ..

* Haunted Liverpool 33 is out soon on Amazon.