Vampires–they can take many forms: a wolf, a bat, even a tendril of mist curling through a crack in the window. But those are just the shapes we see. The truth is, vampires have always been more than what meets the eye.

Today, we picture the vampire as the refined predator—immortal, elegant, morally conflicted, sinking his teeth into the necks of the innocent… and the willing. But this polished version is just the latest installment in a much older horror story.

Before the vampire became Count Dracula—or for my fellow Twihards, Edward Cullen–this creature haunted the ancient world. He stalked the deserts of Mesopotamia, drained life in the shadowed temples of Egypt, and devoured chi in the misty mountains of China.

His face changed from place to place and throughout time–but his hunger never ceased.

For centuries, the vampire has followed us—shifting into fog and fur, yes—but also into something far more chilling. The deeper you sink your teeth into the story of the vampire, the more you realize his true shape is impossible to pin down.

Scholars like Raymond McNally and Radu Florescu traced the vampire’s many transformations—from the wild animals of the Carpathian Mountains to the fine-featured aristocrat stepping off a ship into the heart of London. He slides between definitions just as easily as he slips between the living and the dead.

What is it about the vampire we can’t seem to escape? Why does he keep coming back, century after century, crossing continents, and finding us through the pages of our novels, across our screens, and deep in our collective nightmares and fantasies?

To understand why the vampire endures, we must trace the lineage of its mythos, beginning with the earliest vampiric figures and continuing with the Slavic legends that established the foundation for the archetype we recognize today.

But here's the rub: whose reflection is actually appearing and changing in the mirror? The vampire’s…or our own?

I’m Kate Naglieri. Welcome to The Bygone Society Show.

Research, writing and hosting by Kate Naglieri
Production and sound by Jamie Eichhorn

Follow The Bygone Society Show on Instagram @thebygonesocietyshow and on Substack @thebygonesocietyshowpod

Let’s set the scene: Strasbourg, Alsace — now modern-day France — July 1518. At this time, Strasbourg was part of the Holy Roman Empire and a bustling, thriving city located on the Rhine River.

The city was a significant center for trade and commerce, with a population of around 20,000 people. Its streets were narrow and winding, flanked by half-timbered houses with steeply pitched roofs.

On any given day, the city would be filled with merchants selling their wares, craftsmen working in their shops, and townsfolk going about their daily business.

But on July 14th, 1518, something extraordinary started to unfold. In a narrow-cobbled street outside her home, a woman named Frau Troffea began to dance.

Not the kind of dancing you might imagine—no music, no rhythm, no joy. Instead, she moved frantically, her body possessed by an unseen force. Her deeply concerned husband tried to intervene, begging her to stop.

But she wouldn’t…. or couldn’t. She danced on, her feet pounding the pavement without pause, for hours, then days.

By the second and third days, crowds began to gather. Neighbors, porters, beggars, even nuns and priests—everyone came to witness this bizarre spectacle.

Was she bewitched? Cursed? Or simply mad? These were the questions we can imagine were on everyone’s lips as they watched Frau Troffea dance without rest, neither eating nor drinking.

By the fourth day, the city council decided to intervene, fearing that this unnatural display might be a sign of something more sinister. They ordered Frau Troffea to be taken to the shrine of St. Vitus, located some thirty miles away near Zabern, now known as Saverne.

St. Vitus was the patron saint of epileptics and dancers, and it was believed that his intercession might cure her of this madness. But as Frau Troffea was whisked away, something remarkable and terrifying happened.

Others joined in the dance.

I’m Kate Naglieri. Welcome to The Bygone Society Show.

Research, writing and hosting by Kate Naglieri
Production and sound by Jamie Eichhorn

Follow The Bygone Society Show on Instagram @thebygonesocietyshow and on Substack @thebygonesocietyshowpod

When you take a look at our longstanding history, mankind can point to endless examples of our march towards progress and daring endeavors.

We’ve risen from the ashes like a Phoenix, emerged from the depths of oppression, and brought in new dawns upon vast empires. The rise of great people and civilizations makes for an uplifting and even ego-affirming tale.

But what of their inevitable downfall?

On the flip side of our ancient coin, we see just as many examples of when humankind couldn’t hack it, for lack of a better term. It’s curious that our retellings of our own declines are distilled into one metaphorical reasoning.

Whether stabbed in the back by a friend, or wiped out by foreign diseases, it would seem that every civilization, every community and every person has their own achilles heel.

Including one of America’s oldest colonies.

The colony of Roanoke, which predates the English settlement at Jamestown, Virginia in 1607, took root on an island off the eastern seaboard of North America, in modern day North Carolina.

This settlement would have become the inaugural English colony in the New World. But it never did.

‘Why?’ You ask. ‘What led them to their end?’

Well, that’s the thing. We don’t know.

I’m Kate Naglieri. Welcome to The Bygone Society Show.

Research, writing and hosting by Kate Naglieri
Production and sound by Jamie Eichhorn

Follow The Bygone Society Show on Instagram @thebygonesocietyshow and on Substack @thebygonesocietyshowpod