“Something sat on my chest. It was heavy and I couldn’t breathe. Then it sank its teeth into my throat and began to drain my blood. I could hear it sucking and snarling. Its eyes were red. It wore a long coat like a man’s, but it was definitely some kind of animal, because its arms were hairy and it had a long tail.”

I listened in astonishment to her description. This was completely outside my experience—I had never even heard of such a creature—but I tried not to reveal anything in my expression. I wanted Miriam to remain calm so that I could get as much information as possible from her.

The doctor had found no wounds on her body, including her throat . . . so could it be that what she was describing was really a nightmare she’d experienced alongside some sort of physical pain?

“It had happened before,” she continued. “I’d felt that weight on my chest and woken up sweating and weak. And when I got out of bed, I felt dizzy. But this was far worse. I could see its red eyes. The creature seemed to be in a frenzy—it kept on drinking my blood until my heart faltered and stopped.”

“Think carefully, Miriam. I want you to remember all you can about the creature. How big was it?”

“No! No!” She covered her face with her hands. Her whole outline began to shake as she sobbed.

“Try, please, Miriam,” I persisted. “The information you give me might help to save other girls in the future.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I can’t bear to think about my death again. You said that you were going to help me. So please, please, help me now!”

I’d heard enough. It was time to give her peace from this torment.

“Listen carefully,” I told her, coming slowly to my feet and smiling at her. “I want you to think of the happiest moment you ever experienced.”

She fell silent, and a puzzled expression came onto her face.

“Think hard,” I said. “Was it when you were a child?” Quite often the happiest memories the dead retained were moments in their childhood; a time when they felt safe, protected by their parents; when life hadn’t yet had a chance to hurt them.

“No! No!” she cried out in some agitation. “My childhood was unhappy.” She gave a shudder but didn’t explain why this was so. Then, suddenly, the sides of her mouth curled up in a smile. “It was when I came here to work. I had a room all to myself, and on the very first morning I saw the sun rise, bathing the hills in its warm glow. The graveyard directly beneath the window had seemed creepy the previous night. But now I saw that it was a peaceful place, well tended, and flowers had been left by relatives who loved those they had lost. And beyond it was that wonderful view, with the valley rising up toward those hills in the distance. I felt lucky to be in such a nice place. I was really happy then.”