This once-flourishing farm community, wasting away —

Resorting to superstitious custom.

Disgusting.

Their only physical evidence was the crazed bust that once topped her tombstone —

inexplicably smashed; curious, but insufficient.

“Gentlemen,” VanKirk declared, “since you insist, you may exhume my daughter. I sincerely doubt you will find her. . . a vampire.”

Preposterous.