The cases on this page where researched, authored and copywrited in 1999 by Mr. Rob Brautigam of the group International Vampires, you will find the link to his site in the Shops and Contacts Page. We thank him for allowing us to reprint his findings here.

A special thank you to our good friend Vampirologist Mr. John Link for his research on the BerBerlangs which he has copywrited as of 2000.

One night, when the Countess was preparing herself to go to bed, she discovered a strange brownish spot somewhere on her belly. She ordered her servants to scrub it off, first with cold water, then with hot water. But no matter how hard they tried, the spot could not be removed. The next morning, much to the Countess' annoyance, the ugly spot was still there. If anything, it looked as if it had grown a little larger. A medical man was summoned to come to the castle. He examined the Countess and had a good long look at the spot. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and solemnly declared that the lady was suffering from leprosy. On hearing this unwelcome news, the Countess grabbed the doctor's arm and hissed in his ear that she would order her servants to skin him alive if he would fail to find a cure for her disease.

Perhaps it was this threat that inspired the desperate physician to suggest the following remedy. There was only one thing, the doctor said, that could cure the Countess from her terrible infliction. One way only to get rid of her leprosy. She had to bathe herself in fresh human blood. And so she did ...

From that day on, children started to disappear throughout the region. And pretty soon it was whispered in the villages of the Valley of the Sioule that the Countess of Deux-Forts was an evil ogre who ate little children. Guillaume VIII, the Count of Auvergne, decided to report the disturbing rumors to the king, and so did the clerical authority of Clermont.

An investigation revealed the bloody crimes of the Countess. It was soon to be followed by her trial. The doctor and all the servants were duly hanged. The Countess was sentenced to be 'quartered' with the help of four horses. Afterwards a stone cross was erected to mark the place of the execution. And, in case you'd go to France, the place where it all has happened can still be seen today.
It is called: 'la Croix de Male Mort'.

The relatives were questioned by the authorities and soon confessed to their deed, claiming that 'it was uncertain but that he might be slain by some external mishap, or, if by himself, in some irresistible fit of frenzy or madness'. While the Council was still deliberating on what action they should take, the widow was making loud complaints against the malicious liars who were accusing her husband, and she made such a lot of noise about it, threatening to complain to the Emperor himself, that the Council was beginning to feel intimidated and were contemplating to leave the case alone. At the same time, however, new rumors started circulating. The dead man had come back from the grave.

'Those that were asleep it terrified with horrible visions; those that were waking it would strike, pull or press, lying heavy upon them like an Ephialtes: so that there were perpetual complaints every morning of their last night's rest through the whole town.'

The dead man's friends tried to ridicule and suppress these rumors. But things were getting worse and worse. At nightfall, people started worrying and hastened home to hide inside their houses. Not that it did them much good.

'For this terrible apparition would sometimes stand by their bed-sides, sometimes cast itself upon the midst of their beds, would lie close to them and pinch them, that not only blue marks, but plain impression of the fingers would be upon sundry parts of their bodies in the morning'.

Even when groups of men were gathering together for safety, the dead man might suddenly appear , beat up some of those who were present, and then disappear again. Things were so getting out of hand that the authorities had no other option than to disinter the corpse. And so, on April 18th, 1592, the grave was reopened, with the town's Magistrates present.

'His body was found entire, not at all putrid, no ill smell about him saving the mustiness of the Grave-cloths, his joints limber and flexible, as in those who are alive, his skin only flaccid, but a more fresh grown in the room of it, the wound of his throat gaping, but no gear nor corruption in it ...'

The corpse was kept unburied until the 24th and lots of people came to see it. Then it was buried under the Gallows, but this did not improve the situation. The dead man's attacks became more violent, and he had now started to visit his relatives as well. So this time it was his widow who went to the Magistrate and told him that she no longer objected to taking action against her dead husband.

On May the 7th they dug up the body and found that he had grown 'more sensibly fleshy' since his previous interment. They cut off the head, legs and arms of the corpse, and - through the back - cut out his heart, which looked as fresh as the heart of a newly killed calf. They burned the various parts, gathered the ashes in a sack, and poured the ashes into the river. After that, the dead man was never seen again.

But we are also told how one of the dead man's servants reappeared after her death. Sometimes in the shape of a woman, at other times as a dog, a cat, a hen or a goat. Interesting detail : at one point this undead servant was scared off by someone who crossed herself and called upon the name of Jesus. After the corpse had been burnt, she was never seen again.

That those painful visits had come to an end because a Hungarian stranger who was passing through the village, had told them that he would put an end to the appearances of the vampire. To keep his promise, he climbed on top of the tower of the church and waited to see the moment on which the vampire left from its grave, leaving behind the shroud in which he had been buried, after which he went on to the village to disturb the villagers. The Hungarian, who had seen the vampire leave its grave, immediately climbed down from the tower, grabbed the vampire's shroud and took it back with him to the top of the tower.

When the vampire came back from his round and could not find his cloths, he shouted at the Hungarian, who signaled that if he wanted his shroud back, he should come and get it. The vampire started climbing up, but the Hungarian threw him off the ladder and cut off his head with a spade. That was the end of the tragedy.

The person who told me this story had seen nothing. Nor he, nor the Canon who was sent to investigate. They only heard the report of the local villagers, who were very ignorant, very superstitious, very gullible and prejudiced on the subject of vampirism.'

Talking of fairy tales, there is a ballad which has been written by Goethe, which is called' 'Der Todtentanz'. Its plot shows a remarkable similarity to the story from Liebava:

A watchman on top of a church tower looks down on the churchyard at midnight. He sees how the dead are leaving their tombs. They take off their shrouds and join in a 'Dance of the Dead'. The watchman sneaks down, steals one of the shrouds and climbs back up. After the dance, all the dead put on their shrouds and go back to their graves. Except for the one whose shroud has been stolen. The dead man can not enter the church, because it is covered with metal crucifixes. So he starts climbing the tower wall. When he has almost reached the top, the tower clock strikes one. The witching hour is over and the dead man falls down, much to the relief of the watchman.

Faredi-Tamarzski made an attempt to convince the villagers that vampires did not exist. But after several discussions he came to the conclusion that they were not going to listen to his arguments. He therefore decided to exhume a few of the corpses. They started by digging up Miloch, who had been buried some 15 months ago. When they had removed the earth and lifted up the wooden board that covered the dead man, Miloch's corpse looked completely intact. But his eyes were wide open now, despite the fact that his widow had closed them after his death. A slow but steady trickle of blood was coming from his mouth. Blood was also found on the wooden board beneath the corpse, and likewise on the earth beneath that.

Because the villagers insisted on it, Faredi-Tamarzski ordered the corpse to be staked. After that, fearing that they might dig up the vampire again after his departure, he had the corpse covered with unslaked lime before closing the grave again.

By interrogating the relatives of the 11 victims, the doctor learned that most of them had died in 6 to 10 days by simply wasting away. During the night they had horrible nightmares and a couple of them had two bluish marks on their neck. So Faredi-Tamarzski decided to also open up the graves of the victims.

Eight of them looked like decent corpses that were properly decomposing. Two of them looked well preserved, though the arm and legs were stiff and could not be moved. And the last one, a woman, looked as if she was only sleeping. Her members were perfectly flexible. Faredi-Tamarzski declares that those three looked suspicious enough to him, so he permitted the villagers to give them the same treatment as the first vampire. Despite these measures, the villagers were still of the opinion that the vampires should be cremated.

After she had died, her husband found that he did not have the stomach to carry out the gruesome task that his late wife had put upon him. To make things worse, the local priest came around and to remind him of the fact that it were only the most depraved sinners who would bury their wives elsewhere. Well, you know how things go. Frau Doktorin, much against her wish, ended up resting in the Catholic Churchyard, and of course her head was still firmly attached to her neck and shoulders.

Fortunately for us, the story did not end there. It did not take long before strange stories started circulating. There were rumors that the 'Tyroler Doktorin' had come back from the grave as a vampire. The guilty husband had started drinking after the death of his wife. And one night, when he was very drunk, he told his terrible secret to his drinking companions in the local inn.

The next day, the whole village had heard the story, and it did not take long before the authorities had heard about it too. And thus, in 1755, the grave of the Doktorin was opened. Another thirty corpses, who were also suspected of having become vampires, were dug up as well. Ten of the corpses turned out to be in a pretty sorry state, so it was obvious that they could not be vampires. But the vampire hunters had better luck with the other ones.

Twenty-one corpses, which included the Tyroler Doktorin, looked remarkably fresh, so there could be little doubt that they were vampires. The undead monsters were staked, after which they were cremated.

And while Anton's corpse was still waiting to be buried, some of the other family members were beginning to suffer from health problems as well. All of the patients complained about horrible nightmares. The family gathered to discuss the situation. They soon came to the conclusion that old Franz had become a vampire. So they hired a local vampire expert, a man called Johann Dzigielski. This vampire hunter decided to decapitate the corpse of son Anton, so that the vampire victim could be buried with his head between his legs.

After having taken care of the son, Dzigielski went to the churchyard where he tried to bribe the undertaker to dig up old Poblocki, so that he could be decapitated as well. The undertaker, however, would not hear of such a thing and went straight to Father Block, the local priest, who quickly wrote a letter to the Poblocki family, warning them that he was not going to tolerate any vampire hunting in his churchyard. Easy for him to say, because, unlike the Poblocki's, the priest was not likely to become the victim of the vampire. Therefore, the Poblocki family decided to ignore the priest's threats and go on with their plans. That night they dug up old Franz and Dzigielski made sure that the vampire was properly taken care of.

When the meddlesome priest found out about this, he notified the authorities. And so the vampire hunters had to go on trial. The unfortunate Dzigielski received a four month sentence, but the influential Poblocki family appealed to a higher court. They pleaded that their lives had been in danger and that they had only acted out of self-defense. The judges admitted that they had a point. Consequently, on 15 May 1872, all the charges against the vampire hunters were dropped.

'The Berberlangs may be heard coming, as they make a moaning noise, which is loud at a distance and dies away to a feeble moan as they approach. When they are near you, the sound of their wings may be heard, and the flashing lights of their eyes can be seen dancing like fireflies in the dark.'

Here Skertchley seems to be repeating a local belief. He also gives an account of his personal experiences while attempting to investigate the Berberlangs. Skertchley encountered the Berberlangs on Cayagan Sulu, an island in the Philippines. According to Skertchley the natives of Cayagan Sulu lived in fear of the Berberlangs.

The natives considered the coconut pearl, a small opal which is sometimes found inside a coconut, to be the best protection from the Berberlangs. As soon as a native is old enough he starts searching for a coconut pearl. According to the belief, the coconut pearl is only protection for the person who found it. If its owner gives it away it loses its luster and dies.

Skertchley describes the Berberlangs as living on ordinary food and only needing to feed on human flesh occasionally. He describes them as living in huts of the usual native type, but closed up as to not let in the light. He describes the Berberlang village deserted with basins of steaming rice left as if the inhabitants had to leave in a hurry when they knew their location had been discovered. Apparently the Berberlangs had to leave when the location of their village was no longer secret.