At the time, I was a thirty-five-year-old man who knew nothing about the world of the supernatural. I genuinely believed that science had uncovered all there was to know. I was naïve, of course.
I had traveled to Britain to attend a hematology conference — an event that brought together the top experts in the field from all over the world. But as is well known, the lectures weren't exactly thrilling. That day, I endured four of the darkest, most miserable hours of my life, listening to endless talks about leukemia and thalassemia...
The doctors in the hall had succumbed to a particular kind of boredom, misery, and mental numbness that I like to call conference stupor. They had all lost feeling in their backs and limbs, as though their bodies had fused with the seats. Some tried to pass the time by whispering to one another with hands cupped over their mouths like schoolchildren.
"Thank you..."
For a moment, those poor souls couldn't believe their ears — but the man had indeed finished his long lectures — and so, grateful sighs rose from the crowd, followed by enthusiastic applause in thanks!
The speaker was a handsome, middle-aged man named Richard Cummings, whom I had met several times before in Egypt and deeply admired. He was tall, dignified, intense — a man with a passion for history and art, particularly the history of the Pharaohs. That shared interest was the foundation of our connection.
After the lecture, I approached him. He greeted me warmly, his face lighting up with joy. In fact, he even shook my hand — something rather unusual for the English. Then he asked me what I thought of the lecture, and I politely lied, telling him it was wonderful.
He invited me to his countryside home in Yorkshire, saying — in his words — that I was a civilized man, truly devoted to science.
And so, following the strict English traditions I had learned…
I found myself stepping through the entrance of his beautiful English garden at precisely seven in the evening. The moon cast a soft, gentle light over the ivy vines hanging from the sloped rooftop. The garden was filled with strange, unfamiliar floral scents from flowers I couldn't name.
Inside, the house was elegant and simple — the home of a devout Catholic family. In the sitting room, there was
A large collection of antique crucifixes adorned the room, along with a grand painting of The Last Supper. His wife, a refined and soft-spoken woman in her mid-years, greeted me politely. As for his daughter, Catherine, she was a teenager — but far more mature than her age would suggest.
I quickly realized how devout the family was when they recited grace before dinner. This made me feel slightly ashamed, having forgotten to say "Bismillah" before eating. I quietly whispered, "In the name of God, at its beginning and its end," then began filling my stomach with the beautifully presented yet horrid-tasting dishes that have made English cuisine infamous across Europe.
After dinner — in the cozy living room — Dr. Richard sat by the fireplace, smoking his pipe and sipping coffee in quiet satisfaction. For both of us, it seemed life could not possibly get any more serene than this.
Dr. Richard asked, "How does it feel to be descended from the Pharaohs — those geniuses of history?"
I smiled, unsure how to respond. I murmured,
"With regret… and sorrow that I haven't preserved their civilization or all they discovered.
Sometimes I feel there's nothing left to uncover — that everything worth discovering has already been found."
"I believe the age of discovery has passed, and the age of refinement has begun."
And here, the role of a man of science like myself becomes important — a man who believes in the science of the supernatural, who believes that every legend has some origin the ancients never dared to question. In this way, we open new doors...
He glanced around the empty room, then leaned in and whispered:
"Take the legend of Count Dracula, for example. No one ever tried to truly reflect on it. They were too busy studying electricity, electromagnetic waves, nuclear fission, and antibiotics. They never paused to consider that legend.
That's where a man of science like me comes in — someone who believes that such legends do not emerge from nothing, and who dares to stop and examine them..."
"There are many strange and suspicious historical traces… Blood — that mysterious red fluid, the symbol of both life and death…
Take the ancient blood-drinking rituals in India… the mummified corpses with fangs discovered in China… the Spartans' feasts where they drank blood mixed with vinegar and spices… or the sea turtle blood drunk in Jamaica as a remedy for rheumatism...
And then the medieval books of magic — all of them speak of driving out vampires as if it were an unquestioned reality."