Lusia

 

Another victim of the Highgate Vampire case was a young woman identified only by her first name, Lusia. Much like Elżbieta, she suffered from various disturbances in her daily life. Lusia’s sister, Anne, contacted me in 1970. Anne explained that her sister had begun sleep-walking, among other strange problems. During one evening when I was present, I found Lusia “with a vacant expression – staring out of her bedroom window […] Half an hour passed before she returned to her bed, totally unaware of our presence” (The Highgate Vampire). In one of Lusia’s sleep-walking episodes she went to Highgate cemetery. Unlike Elżbieta who merely went as far as the north gate, Lusia entered the cemetery itself. Anne explained that Lusia never had such problems as sleep-walking in the past. This suggested that she was being compelled by something other than her own free will.

The similarities between Lusia and Elżbieta were many. Lusia also had an aversion to crosses and crucifixes. During her sleep-walk into the cemetery, she tore the cross from around her neck. There were also the “complaints of being suffocated while she slept” (The Highgate Vampire). She also bore two marks on her neck, like those found on Elżbieta. Here, the two women suffering from similar conditions – conditions comparable to demonic activity – demonstrate that their experiences were not isolated incidents. It would be easy to rationalise the experiences through psychology had there only been one victim. However, two women who did not know each other, fell victim to similar, almost identical, circumstances, and somehow they were connected by Highgate Cemetery.

Lusia is someone who is identified photographically for the first time on this page. A model who was a close friend, and later still an actress, portrayed Lusia in public representations of her. This was due to the outcome, and a need to preserve her identity. After all this time, I now release two images of Lusia.

“Among the many people who contacted me,” I recounted in the first complete account of the case, “was the sister of a beautiful twenty-two-year-old woman, whom I shall call Lusia.” [The Highgate Vampire (British Occult Society, 1985) pages 45-46]

The picture (below) shows the actress who represented Lusia in some of the publicity for the 1991 enlarged and revised with fresh photographs hardback book, and pre-production stills of the cinema film that was doomed following one of its directors meeting with an horrific and untimely death. 

Below is the model and close personal friend who portrayed Lusia in the first edition of The Highgate Vampire (1985), appearing seductively on its front cover. She was perfect for the part.

 

There is no denying that Lusia was special. There has been a great deal of speculation about her because, in the aftermath of the Highgate exorcism, her story evolved into one of the more extreme metaphysical outcomes that will not surprise the seasoned demonologist, but it is still a difficult area.

My initial discovery of her was one of sheer delight tinged with a terrible sadness that grew stronger until it finally eclipsed her. Within the sombre tones of an apt piece of music she became enshrouded. I wrote: “Her cascading flaxen tresses caught the dull illumination of the moonlight in their pale reflection. Somewhere, in the background, I could hear the dying pulses of Strauss’ solemn orchestral work, Metamorphosen. It haunts me to this day.” [The Highgate Vampire (Gothic Press, 1991, pages70-71)]

Lusia entered my life as an attractive young virgin of Nordic extraction, living in north London, who, being touched by what lies beyond earthly confines, became part of the nightmare of nightmarish visions and visitations associated with Highgate at that time. I glimpsed an indistinct figure toward the end, a figure swathed in a white cerement, her face the colour of marble save for her mouth, which seemed full and wanton. This was not the Lusia I had first known. It was something else. A shade of something sucked almost dry of life.

The seventeenth century alchemist, Michael Sendivogius, wrote some fitting words: “All these things happen, and the eyes of ordinary men do not see them, but the eyes of the mind and of the imagination perceive them with the true and the truest vision.”