The nameless narrator becomes tired of city life, and when seeking solitude, he finds a cottage on a moor and falls in love with the landlady's daughter.

I expected a giant turd. Sure, there are these gems:

"[M]y city-dried brains were again becoming juicy."
(Reads like a 7-year-old's first attempt at writing.)

"Meantime Ariadne and I passed our time in a thoroughly idle and lotus-eating style."
(I'm sorry, but although I'm aware this means something similar to idle, my brain automatically turns this into dirty stuff.)

But nope, The Vampire Maid is just boring, which can be even worse than an actual badly written turd. Especially after reading the Bierce short story, Nisbet's writing just seems like a poor attempt to make a mark in vampire literature. I can imagine him getting all tingly from the vampire ladies in Dracula, and then writing his own little piece about the bloodsuckers. A piece that is uninteresting, clichéd, and flat in every sense of the words. I don't even know why I'm wasting my breath writing a review, but here you go.

Nothing to see here, just run away like the idiot did.