Free Lifeforce by Colin Wilson

tanks. “This is an ordinary computer. It has been registering the fluctuations in the life fields of both creatures. Let’s have a look at the eel’s.” He touched several buttons in guide succession; a slip of paper emerged from a slot in the computer. Fallada said: “You see, the average is 4.8573.” He handed Carlsen the paper. “Now the octopus’s.” He pulled out the slip of paper. “This is only 2.956. It has little more than half the vitality of the eel.” He handed Carlsen a pen. “Would you add those figures together?”
    After a moment, Carlsen said: “It’s 7.8133.”
    “Good. Now let us check the reading of the moray during the past few minutes.”
    He pressed more buttons, and handed Carlsen the paper without even looking at it. Carlsen read the figure aloud: “Seven point eight one three three. That’s astonishing. You mean the moray’s actually absorbed the life field of the… Christ…” He felt the hair on his scalp prickle as he understood. He stared down at Fallada, who was smiling happily.
    Fallada said: “Precisely. The moray is a vampire.”
    Carlsen was so excited that he could hardly speak consecutively. “That’s incredible. But how long does it last? I mean, how long will its field be so high? And how can you be sure that it’s really absorbed the life field of the octopus? I mean, perhaps the triumph of getting food sends its vitality shooting upwards.”
    “That is what I thought at first — until I saw the figures. It always happens. For a short period, the life force of the aggressor increases by precisely the amount it has taken from the victim.” He looked into his glass, saw that it contained nothing but melting ice cubes, and said: “I think we deserve another drink.” He led the way back into the office.
    “And does it apply to all living creatures? Or only to predators like the moray? Are we all vampires?”
    Fallada chuckled. “It would take hours to tell you all the results of my researches. Look.” He unlocked a metal cabinet and took out a book. Carlsen saw it was a bound typescript. The Anatomy and Pathology of Vampirism, by Hans V. Fallada, F.R.S. “You are looking at the result of five years of research. More whisky?”
    Carlsen accepted it gratefully. He dropped into the chair, turning over the pages of the typescript. “This is Nobel Prize stuff.”
    Fallada shrugged. “Of course. I knew that when I first stumbled on this phenomenon of vampirism six years ago. In fact, my dear Carlsen, there is no point in being modest about it. This is one of the most important discoveries in the history of biological science. It places me in the same category as Newton and Darwin. Your health.”
    Carlsen raised his glass. “To your discovery.”
    “Thank you. So you see why I am so fascinated by your discovery — these space vampires? It follows logically from my theory that there must be certain creatures who can completely drain the lifeblood of fellow creatures — or rather, their vital forces. I am convinced that is the meaning of the old legends of the vampire — Dracula and so forth. And you must have noticed very often that certain people seem to drain your vitality — usually rather dreary, self-pitying people. They are also vampires.”
    “But does this apply to all creatures? Are we all vampires?”
    “Ah, there you have asked the most fascinating question of all. You observed the rabbits — how their life fields vibrated in sympathy? This is because there is a sexual attachment. When this happens, one life field can actually reinforce another. And yet my researches prove beyond all doubt that the sexual relation also contains a strong element of vampirism. This is something I first came to suspect when I studied the case of Joshua Pike, the Bradford sadist. You remember — some of the newspapers actually called him a vampire. Well, it was true, literally. He drank the blood and ate parts of the flesh of his victims. I examined him in