Dracula The Undead Part 1

Dracula the Undead.

by Freda Warrington.

Note.

'Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured. It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy's birthday is the same day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has pa.s.sed into him. His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; but we call him Quincey.

'In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and went over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears were living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The castle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation.

'When we got home we were talking of the old time - which we could all look back on without despair, for G.o.dalming and Seward are both happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they have been ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all the ma.s.s of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one authentic doc.u.ment; nothing but a ma.s.s of type-writing, except the later notebooks of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing's memorandum.

We could hardly ask anyone, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his knee:- ' "We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is.

Already he knows her sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake."

Jonathan Harker'

From Dracula by Bram Stoker

Note.

Some of the doc.u.ments in the following account pa.s.sed into our hands only a considerable time after the events they describe. Nevertheless, in my type-written transcription, I have incorporated them in as close an approximation of chronological order as possible. In this way, we were able to piece together what had happened, and thus understand -too late, it is true - the manner in which, so soon after my husband wrote his postscript to our dreadful adventures, the disaster gathered and swept over us anew.

Mina Harker

Chapter One.

JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL.

22 June Van Helsing has proposed a journey to Transylvania. The very idea has given me such a shock that I have come into my study to turn the prospect over in my mind; to see if setting down my thoughts in my journal will help me to reach a decision.

It is nearly seven years since we made our last trip and destroyed the monster, Count Dracula. There is something significant, almost magical about the figure seven; it seems an anniversary of great meaning, coinciding as it does with the new century. It is like the crossing of a symbolic bridge. Quite irrational, yet very potent, so Van Helsing says. At least, that is how he explains the sudden dwelling of our thoughts, in recent months, on the events of seven years ago.

As I sit in my study, contemplating the garden through the tangle of pink climbing roses that droops across the window, I cannot help reflecting upon our happiness since Mina and I came to live in Exeter, in the house of my dear late friend Mr Hawkins, who was as much a father and mentor as a kind employer to me. We miss him still, and it feels wholly right that we have made his home our own. It was what he wished. Mina and I have had every reason for contentment (excepting only the frequent illnesses of our boy). Why, then, is it, that of late I have been plagued by memories and nightmares of Dracula?

Mina, I know, thinks that I have never been my old self since my ordeal at Castle Dracula. I have been happy; I thought the ghosts would slumber for ever. But several times in past months I have woken, sweating and trembling, from some oppressive dream of a smothering darkness, of dust-laden cobwebs and malevolent scarlet eyes.

Van Helsing says that it is a natural working of the mind, to submerge bad memories for a time, then to be ambushed by their sudden return to the surface. There is a lingering terror that the monster is not truly gone; that time has deceived one's memory. The good professor's solution is drastic. 'A journey back over the old ground will serve a dual purpose,' he said. 'First, to rea.s.sure ourselves that the evil was, indeed, utterly destroyed, to drive out sick imaginings with healthy reality. Second, to perform a Christian rite at the spot, to bless it and thus ensure - for the sake of that country and of Dracula himself, as much as our own - that the haunts of the monster are cleansed and his wretched soul truly at peace. To that end, all those of our little band who survived must go; that is, Mina and Jonathan, Lord G.o.dalming, Dr Seward, and myself.'

I confess, I do not want to go. The thought fills me with panic. But Mina is in accord with Van Helsing, even though it will mean her being separated from Quincey for several weeks. If she thinks it is important enough to leave the boy, then I cannot argue.

Well, I have made my decision. We must go; I must face my fears. Yet I have the gravest reservations. At the very thought of Transylvania, a darkness presses on my eyes and my heart tries to lift out of my chest in cold terror. A brandy. G.o.d help me hide these fears from Mina!

Memo: Must ask Joseph to cut away these roses from the window. They are overblown, they obscure the view and their thorns scratch at the window. If they are not pruned, I believe they will choke the whole house.

LETTER, MINA HARKER TO QUINCEY HARKER.

14 July, Buda-Pesth My darling Quincey, Did you receive our letter of yesterday? That was written on the train from Vienna, but we are now arrived in Buda- Pesth and the city is beautiful. Cities, I should say, since the River Danube divides the two parts. We showed you on the map before we left, do you remember? Papa and I have been strolling around some magnificent buildings of every imaginable style. I wish you were with us. There are delightful fountains everywhere, which you would love. One day, when you are older and stronger, you will travel with us, I promise.

We are staying here for two days, before travelling south and east to see the mountains of Transylvania. Then it will be time to begin our journey home. Pleasant as it is to travel, it will be so much more exciting to see you again!

I hope you are feeling stronger and eating well. The fresh summer air is good for you, so get plenty of it -only take care not to overtire yourself, or catch a chill. Be good for Mrs Seward and Nurse. Papa and your uncles Arthur, John and Abraham send love and kisses - as do I. I shall write again tomorrow - until then,

Your loving, Mama

MINA BARKER'S JOURNAL.

18 July How strange it feels to retrace the steps that Jonathan first took more than seven years ago, and in which I followed -in such dire circ.u.mstances, but with such loyal friends! - a few months after. By train to Munich, onwards to Vienna and Buda-Pesth. As well as Jonathan and myself, all our party is here; Abraham Van Helsing, Dr Seward, Lord G.o.dalming. All, that is, except brave Quincey Morris, who gave his life to save us. He is with us in spirit, I know.

We have time to look round this time, and Buda-Pesth is delightful, an eclectic mix of Gothic, baroque and cla.s.sical architecture, with water burgeoning everwhere in the form of fountains, springs and hot baths. We are staying two nights with a friend of Van Helsing, Professor Andre Kovacs of Pesth University. In a way I wish we could forge on with our journey, tiring as it would be, rather than interrupt it for social calls. Not that I feel unsocial, but I dearly wish this journey to be over as soon as possible. The past, and the drought of going back over the ground where the events took place, cast a shadow over my heart. However often I tell myself that it is all over and there is nothing to fear, I cannot shake it off!

I am sitting in an airy room with a most lovely view across the Danube. Professor Kovacs, a bachelor, is a delightful man, tall and energetic, with a fine intellect. His features are rather strong and heavy but his ready smile and brown eyes reveal a kind soul.

He has the most wonderful head of thick silver-grey hair! He lives in this house with his widowed brother Emil, and niece, Elena.

The brother I like less, though I know one should not go by first impressions. He is courteous enough, but seems always to be frowning and displeased by everything. He is an artist. Perhaps we should excuse his disagreeable demeanour as artistic temperament! At any rate, his daughter, Elena, seems unspoiled by it. She is eighteen and a most charming girl, quiet, demure and self-effacing. A little lacking in spirit, if anything.

They have another guest, a cheerful, blond young man named Miklos. He is one of the Professor's students and paying court, I gather, to Elena. Professor Kovacs treats him like a son.

We have not explained the reason for which we are making this journey to Transylvania. I believe Van Helsing has told them we are simply enjoying a tour. I do hate to tell untruths, and that would have been another reason to travel with speed and privacy.

Still, I must not let the others think I am ungrateful for this warm Hungarian hospitality!They are calling us now for dinner. I will continue this as soon as I may.

We have had a change of plan. It will inconvenience us hardly at all, except that we will be unable to talk freely amongst ourselves about certain matters as we travel - but perhaps that is just as well. It will make the journey seem less burdensome.

Last night at dinner, Emil was speaking of his intention to go to Transylvania with his daughter to paint a series of landscapes.

Professor Kovacs was making a joke of this. 'The peasants of Transylvania come to Buda-Pesth to find work,' he said, 'while all the artists of Buda-Pesth flock to Transylvania to paint!'

Van Helsing laughed. 'Is this considered a fair exchange?'

Emil told us that he knows a family of Szekely farmers with whom he has twice before spent the summer in order to paint. Their farm, he said, is on the edge of a village beyond Bistritz and near to the Borgo Pa.s.s. As he spoke, Jonathan looked at me, and there pa.s.sed between us a sort of mutual agreement that we would say nothing. It was Van Helsing, however, who at once exclaimed, 'But that is our destination; I mean, to explore the Carpathians from the Borgo Pa.s.s!'

Emil replied at once, 'Then we shall travel together. Elena and I can leave with you, we have no special time at which to arrive; the family are always glad to receive us. Indeed, you shall stay with us at the farm!'

'But this is excellent!' said Van Helsing. 'It will make easier our expedition, if we have not to travel from Bistritz into the mountains in one day.'

I said, 'As long as it will put the farmers to no trouble.' I was taken with Emil's outburst of friendliness and thought I had probably mistaken his sullen demeanour after all.

'No trouble,' said he. 'They delight in visitors. The kindness of Transylvanians to strangers is legendary.'

'Indeed,' I said. 'It will be only for a short time, anyway, two or three nights at most.'

So it is all decided. Emil and his daughter will join our party, and we shall convey them with their easels and paints to the farm, and there leave them when we depart again for home. Ah, how I antic.i.p.ate that time! I miss our son so much. I must stop now and write to him. Jonathan and I are preparing for bed. We left Van Helsing alone with Professor Kovacs, no doubt to talk late into the night and catch up on several years' wisdom. Kovacs is an historian with an interest in folklore ... I wish - oh, unworthy thought - that I could eavesdrop upon their conversation! Sometimes I think Van Helsing a little indiscreet, and it would surprise me not at all if he told his friend about our experience with Count Dracula.

21 July I am writing on the train to Bistritz, which seems interminably slow although the landscape through which we pa.s.s is picturesque.

We spent last night in Klausenburgh, from whence I wrote to tell Quincey of the spires, cupolas, red-tiled mansions and storks'

nests. And of our strange hotel; a double door led through a vaulted pa.s.sageway to a shrub-filled courtyard, from which a staircase curved up to the timber galleries which ran along the rows of bedrooms. The rooms were clean enough, but inferior, Jonathan said, to the hotel in which he stayed last time. He wanted to stay at a different place so that no one from last time should recognize him.

The people here are kind, but so curious and superst.i.tious! I can understand him wanting to avoid their attentions. I did not mind, but the tall courtyard with its shadowed galleries was very eerie. Once as I crossed it, I glimpsed in an alcove a tiny gypsy woman, brown and gnarled within layer upon layer of filthy clodies, a twist of black hair upon her head. She made a sign against the evil eye at me and said something in Roumanian, which I half understood. 'His blood and yours,' or something of that sort. I cannot explain it, but her feral look and her words sent a violent shiver through me. Yet when I pulled at Jonathan's sleeve to point her out, she had vanished! Whether she was a spirit, or had simply slipped away, I could not say. To think of it makes me shudder. I was very glad to leave that place!

I have talked a little to Elena on the journey. She is shy, but warming to me as we become acquainted. Her English-is excellent, and her German puts mine to shame - and my Hungarian, of course, is non-existent, so why she should be in awe of me I do not know! She asked what I was writing, and I told her that I always keep up a journal, however uneventful our domestic life may sometimes be (I thank G.o.d for those quiet times, I must confess).

I suppose I am a creature of routine. Besides, I was determined that the end of those dreadful events would not mark the end of my diary-keeping. There is Quincey's capricious health to provide drama enough, and Jonathan's work at Hawkins & Harker, of course.

I am missing Quincey terribly, though I know he is safe in the care of Mrs Seward, Mary and his nurse. I have written to him every day since we left England. He reads well and is quite the young man, as I have been telling Elena! I have always encouraged him to read. At least he will have rich compensation in life for being less vigorous than his fellows.

But let me not dwell on dial now. Very strange, as I said, that this journey should feel so familiar yet so different. The season is warm and lush, and we make our way without the urgency that so oppressed us before. This time we have leisure to enjoy the tranquil green slopes of central Transylvania. There are long gradual climbs, where brown and white sheep graze on the gra.s.sy hillsides that appear to sweep up to the very sky. We pa.s.sed a tall flour mill where horses and donkeys stood with their muzzles in nosebags, waiting for their loads to be milled. We also see many wagons drawn by oxen and buffalo, as the train makes its way past dense beech woods and along fertile valleys where red-roofed villages and ochre churches nestle. The buildings are quite beautiful, with decorative plasterwork under the eaves, pillars and wrought-iron balconies. The shepherds - who wear ankle-length fleece coats and have ferocious-looking white dogs with spiked collars - hold an honoured place here, so Emil tells us. I notice so much that I failed to see last time! I reflected then, I recall, what a pleasure it would be to fill our minds and memories with all the wonders of this beautiful wild country. Jonathan seems at peace, but sometimes he is quiet, and lines gather in his dear face. Then I know he is remembering. Dr Seward, too, often looks sombre, but Van Helsing is hearty, reminding us that the past is over, that we triumphed and must therefore retrace our steps with light hearts.

All the same, the nearer we go to Castle Dracula, the more nervous I feel. Yet I am strangely excited, too, for I know there is nothing there now to harm us. I must be cheerful, at all events. Jonathan broods enough for both of us, and it is my duty to be strong for him.

We are arriving at Bistritz. Once we are at our hotel, Dr Seward and Lord G.o.dalming will go to procure a carriage and horses to convey us to Emil's friends in the foothills of the Carpathians. That will make the last stage of our journey far less arduous, and possible to complete, we hope, in a day. That eases my anxiety considerably, most of all for Dr Van Helsing who, for all his lion- like spirit, is not a young man and tires easily.

22 July Today we travelled from Bistritz to the farm, with Jonathan, Dr Seward and Lord G.o.dalming taking it in turns to drive. We wound our way through hilly farmland, the great spruce-covered folds of the mountains drawing ever closer, and beyond them the bare peaks wreathed with cloud on the horizon. The villages have long rows of single-storey dwellings built of wood and stone or brick, wrought-iron gates leading to tidy yards with conical hayricks constructed around poles. All seems fecund, with fruit trees everywhere; apple and plum, pear, apricot and cherry.

The farm, at the far end of the village, was concealed by a stand of birch trees, their leaves and silver trunks glittering softly.

Then the trees parted and we saw the magnificent arched gateway that led to the farmyard. The moment Lord G.o.dalming checked the horses, a crowd came surging out to meet us; women and girls in striped ap.r.o.ns, full skirts and sheepskin bodices, men in homespun trousers and tunics with cowhide boots. Some of them took charge of our carriage, others ushered us into the yard.

Here were more hayricks, vines trailing over trellis, pigs rooting, geese and hens in coops, with their chicks running free. The house itself is a beautiful old building of wood, with splendid carved pillars and narrow balconies under the wide eaves. Yet the house is almost dwarfed by the great barn with double doors that stands nearby! Behind the farm, beyond its orchards and pastures, runs a high forested ridge which, Emil tells us, is badly infested with wolves. The sight of that steep dark slope reminds me that we have not far to go. A chill goes through me at the thought.

The farmer is a big man with a prodigious black moustache, his wife a rotund, merry soul with ruddy cheeks and black hair.

They welcomed us warmly and with much broken German and sign language. Their welcome for Emil and Elena was one of overwhelming friendliness, as if they were long-lost family! Dr Van Helsing explained that we shall require accommodation for two nights only. I think they would be happy for us to stay all summer, so hospitable are they! Basking in this rural life for a month or two would be pleasant, were I not so eager to see Quincey again.

Our hosts have seven children, almost grown to adulthood, three daughters and four sons, all as strong, simple and superst.i.tious as their parents. Not that I would ever mock their superst.i.tions! Emil seems more vivacious among them than I have observed him with his brother or with us, but Elena - though she is always smiling and deferential - seems ill at ease. Perhaps she prefers city life, but I sense that her father has given her no say in the matter. I will try to win her confidence tonight.

We are in a most pleasant room, simple and clean, with a view of apple and cherry trees and green pastures. I can hear birds singing and sheep bells tinkling. This all seems so cosy and pleasant, such a contrast to our last journey! We are being called down to dinner.

Later Jonathan is asleep in bed now but I am wide awake. At last I have had a good long talk with Elena! The family provided a lavish meal and we did it justice. Afterwards, Emil went for a stroll to seek vantage points from which to paint, and all our men went with him. The womenfolk were busy in the kitchen, so Elena and I were left alone by the fireplace in a tiny parlour with carved wooden tankards hanging on the walls, and many embroidered cushions scattered on the bench seats. She is a very handsome girl, with a sweet oval face, a rosy, brilliant complexion, dark smooth hair and brown eyes, and very dark, thick brows and lashes. She is slender but of no great height, so her form gives a pleasing impression of compactness and grace.

I did my best to put her at ease. Jonathan and I both know what it is to work and serve others, so we have no airs and graces. I remarked on her excellent English. Her cheeks dimpled and her eyes shone as she replied, 'Madam Harker, my uncle Andre has always insisted that I be fluent in other languages. But my father is not so eager that I speak English. I hope you forgive my impoliteness, but that is why I have spoken to you so little. I wanted to!'

'But why would your father not wish you to speak English?'

She lowered her deep lids, her lashes making long black crescents against her cheeks. 'Oh, he does not like me to learn or know too much. He does not think that education should be for women.' She looked up and spoke with sudden pa.s.sion. 'I feel there is so much you could teach me! We have so little time! If only I could come with you upon your journey tomorrow, we could talk all day!'

How I hated to refuse her! It oppresses me deeply to conceal the truth. To pretend that we are here for the sake of idle curiosity and amus.e.m.e.nt, when the true reason is so dire! I refused her as gently as possible, and she took the refusal with serenity.

But she is perceptive. She said hesitantly, in her beautifully accented English, 'Madam Harker, if you will forgive me so saying, you seem weary, and sad, as if a shadow lay on you.'

I answered, not untruthfully, 'I am missing my son.'

'Quincey,' she said, with a smile. 'Is that a usual English name?'

'It is more common in America,' I said. 'It was the name of a very dear American friend of ours, who died bravely.'

'I'm sorry. How old is your child?'

'He will be six in November.' I opened my locket and showed her the photograph of Quincey. I noticed that Elena's hands are quite large, the fingers long and well-shaped.

'Oh, he looks a beautiful, strong boy!'

'I wish he were stronger.' I told her how Quincey, since he was stricken by rheumatic fever at the age of two, has been weak and sickly. It shames me to admit it but tears came to my eyes. (Quincey needs my care, not my tears -and I will never cry for myself.) I think it was only the prospect of tomorrow's worrisome journey that so weighed on me. I mastered myself. 'He may not be strong in body, but his character and soul are the kindest that ever a child possessed.'

'I see it in his face. He has his mother's eyes,' Elena answered. 'Have you other children?'