As usually happens, I can't get through three pages of literature without being taken by the need to discuss it for the remainder of my lunch.
I have finally got "The Vampyre" by Polidori, which is only 167 pages on my Treo, and so can't possibly be more than 30 in fact. This story was written on that sojourn in Italy of the Shelleys and their friends, when they had a gothic story-writing competition. Mary Shelley won, without question, but also written was The Vampyre, the earliest fiction of its kind I know, by John Polidori.
Cameos thus far have included the "magnificent" Byron and Shelley, which amuses me muchly since they were both of the party-- reminds me of writing stories with my friends and including one another in them. That is so much, and imagining that story-writing party in Italy with this added amusement is so pleasant.
It is hard for me to imagine that they existed in the same world I do.