Dracula the Undead: A Chilling Sequel to Dracula

by Freda Warrington

“No, the fault is not yours,” Kovacs answered. “We have much to talk about, Abraham. Do not think, because I have become what I have become, that I feel no affection or responsibility towards my friends and kin. On the contrary, the Undead love the living with a passion you cannot imagine.”

  Chapter Twelve

  MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL (Continued on notepaper)

  12 November

  I am writing this upon paper that the Count has allowed me; I did not bring my notebook, indeed I brought nothing. But he seems not to mind my writing. I fear it is only so that he might read and mock it later – but still, write I must or go mad! I work in shorthand, so it will be meaningless to him, I hope.

  When he took me from the house, I do not recall feeling afraid – rather, my fear was all for my boy, and for poor Jonathan. I was too shocked, I think, to feel anything, or to pay attention to any emotion but my need to be reunited with Quincey. The Count himself drove the caleche. He drove all night at great speed towards London, stopping twice to change horses, and to let me refresh myself. He knew that I would not try to escape him at these times. At dawn we came to an immense house, surrounded by a thick stone wall, and I knew at once where we were. He has brought me to Carfax Abbey!

  Of course, to what other place could he flee? He bought this estate through Jonathan’s agency, and since his “death” it has not, as far as I am aware, been resold. How could it be? We had no wish to notify anyone of the Count’s demise. Our only wish was to forget the matter and all connected with it. So naturally, the Count still holds the deeds to Carfax!

  The carriage passed through a huge rusted gate of oak and iron, which the Count then padlocked behind us. The high walls of the ground enclosed us in another world; a swamp-like, dripping world where trees clumped together in dense thickets and there seemed no green hues whatsoever. All was grey in the dawn; the mournful hues of slate and stone, of graves. I glimpsed deep, dark ponds among the trees, a lake like polished pewter wreathed in mist. The feeling of a horrible, brooding spirit lay on the place – a thing not alive yet not dead.

  The house itself has the look of a prison; an old fortress, rather, square and solid with high windows in the dark stone walls. Carfax – Quatre Face. My spirits, already worn down by anxiety and the journey, ebbed to their lowest.

  When the Count helped me down from the carriage, it was with a strange mixture of courtesy and coldness. He seemed distant, a thing made of marble; so that although I physically shrank from him, my fear was less acute. I wished he would speak, but he did not. He and the caleche disappeared around the side of the house. Then the double door opened, and there stood the treacherous Elena! She had a lantern in one hand; with the other, she beckoned me in. Her face looked no different; a pale oval with a pure, clear expression – but her hovering smile, that once seemed shy and mysterious, now struck me as malevolent.

  I entered; we looked at each other; neither of us spoke.

  She led me across a hall with a high, vaulted roof, up a flight of wide stone stairs, along a corridor and up a smaller, twisting staircase to a part of the house that felt cramped and ancient, with tiny windows. It made me uneasy, and deeply distressed to think of poor Quincey being kept here!

  She unlocked and opened a low door. It was small, but heavy and impenetrable, like the seal of a prison. I did not want to go through. I felt that I was being tricked, that Quincey was already dead. I felt as if I were walking into a tomb in which I was to be sealed, never to see the light of day again!

  “Come, Mina,” said Elena. “Quincey is waiting for you.”

  With the deepest misgivings, I went through. She brought me to a locked door with a small aperture cut at eye level, and bade me look through. I saw a room with a fire burning in a big grate, warming the stone walls; and there I saw my son, playing on a rug before the fire, his blond hair shining in the firelight!

  “Quincey!” I cried. “Quincey, I am here!” He looked up, and came running to the door, calling, “Mama! Mama!” How pallid was his little face, his eyes bruised with tiredness. I tried to open the door, but it was solidly locked.

  I turned in fury to Elena. “Let me in!”

  She only returned the same knowing, cat-like look. “I cannot. You see that we did not lie to you; he is here, and he is safe. Look, he is not distressed. He trusts me.”

  “Jonathan and I trusted you!” I retorted. I called gently to Quincey, “Go back and play, dear. Mama will come to you soon.” He obeyed, seeming at ease. What a mercy that he is too young to realize his plight!

  I turned to Elena. “You know how delicate his health is,” I said. “This will kill him!”

  “I love him!” she replied fiercely. “He will want for nothing here. Do you think I do not know how to look after the boy?”

  As she turned away from me, I saw the marks of fangs upon her neck. I caught my breath. “You will be allowed to see him, as long as you do the Count’s bidding,” said Elena. “Such favours must be earned.” Oh, the cruelty buried in the honey of her tone! How repellent, the idea of making these implied bargains with the Devil! But what choice have I?

  All at once my strength deserted me and my tears flowed. Elena led me away, and although I despised her touch upon my arm, I could not resist her.

  She brought me up a spiral staircase to a room above Quincey’s. This is the oldest part of the house, the keep. I am to sleep here, in a large, irregularly shaped room with a four-poster bed, a cavernous fireplace with a group of chairs set before it, and an escritoire, at which I now sit and write. Between the sparse furnishing lie great areas of bare flags. The stone walls are thick, ancient, cold and dank; the fire, though hot, does nothing to dispel this impression. There are a few faded tapestries hung upon the walls, but they add no comfort; the figures in them look like ghosts. The windows have grilles across them. Very little light creeps through; all I can see is a small section of the grounds, with dark, twisted trees, and part of the bleak outer wall. I have seen big dark dogs trotting through the undergrowth. The overall impression is one of intense gloom. I could imagine, if I do not keep myself in check, that my prison has become the whole world, that I will never see the sun again.

  After Elena had brought me here, she left me for a while. I tried the door but found it locked, and I lack the strength to break it down. She returned some minutes later with tea, and a jug of water that she set behind a screen so that I might wash.

  I said, “I believed you to be my friend, Elena. It hardly seems fitting that you should now act as my maid. Does it not concern you that the Count has brought you to this?”

  “I am still your friend, Mina,” she said coolly. “It is as your friend that I tend to your needs, and to Quincey’s. If I do not, you will both starve.”

  “I would rather starve, than give one fragment of my soul to the Devil!”

  She smiled, but there was anger in the look. What cause has she to be angry with me? She is still human... but Dracula will make her a vampire, if he feeds upon her once or twice more. Then, oh God help us, dear Quincey...

  She withdrew. I drank my tea and tried to calm myself. I lay down and rested, but was woken, some hours later, by the terrible feeling that there was someone in the room with me. I sat up and saw, sitting at the writing desk, reading through a pile of papers, Count Dracula.

  I caught my breath and got to my feet. He looked up. The cold glitter of his eyes exerted a physical force upon my heart; at once a convulsion of horror, and a desire to go towards him. Rather, a loss of will to resist. I said a silent prayer, and put my hand to the cross at my throat.

  He said, “You are rested, I hope, after an arduous journey. I will ask Elena to bring you some refreshment.”

  “I am not hungry.”

  “Nor thirsty?” he said, giving me a look at once hostile and gloating. I could see that he had not fed his vile thirst for some time; there were silver streaks in his hair once more. How terrible to see such malignancy in a face and form that otherwise would be noble! �
��Why do you look upon me with such disgust?”

  “You are keeping me prisoner!” I said angrily.

  “You are not my prisoner,” he said.

  “My door is locked!”

  “Then I will ask Elena to leave it unlocked. But I think you will not wish to leave. You are not my hostage; your son is.”

  I wanted to call him all the fiends in Christendom, but the words would not come. He would only have laughed. I tried instead to act as Jonathan and Van Helsing would expect, with dignity.

  “Why? My son is innocent, he has never done a thing to harm you! If you have one mote of humanity left–”

  “And I wish your son no harm. He was only the means to make you come to me willingly.”

  “I did not come willingly.”

  “You had a choice, therefore you exercised your will.”

  “I had no choice!” I said fiercely.

  He sat back, making a steeple of his coarse, sharp-nailed hands. “But you do have a choice, and you must make it. No harm will come to your boy – but I will let him go only when you change your mind. Mrs Harker, I must have your blood.”

  I turned away; a second later I felt him behind me, his hand falling heavily upon my shoulder. I was not entranced; would that I had been! The awareness that I was being touched by this Undead corpse, which rose again and again from a chill grave, paralysed me.

  He said softly, “You did not shudder so, the last time.”

  “That is not true!”

  He swept a hand at the papers on the desk. I recognised the transcript I had typed, of our first encounter with Dracula. He must have stolen it from Jonathan’s study. “Ah yes, in your old diaries you profess great revulsion, the natural loathing of the Christian woman for the touch of Satan. But were your true feelings contained therein – or were you not merely expressing the disgust that was expected of you, so as not to offend your husband and your companions?”

  “No. How dare you!”

  “Of the two of you,” he continued, leaning so close that I felt his cold breath upon my cheek, “was not Lucy the more honest?”

  “Lucy was pure in every way. How dare you mention her name! You defiled her only for a little while, until good men gave her spirit back to God!”

  As I said this he released me, and moved away. I thought he would laugh at my defiance; instead I heard him sigh, as if my words made him weary. “You must give me your blood, Mina. Give it freely. Even I have made mistakes, but I have learned. I will not take your life-blood by force.”

  “Then you will not take it at all.”

  His arm swept down and sent the papers on the desk flying. He glared at me, eyes gleaming red. His sudden fury alarmed me. Scooping the scattered pages off the floor, he thrust them into the fire. “This collation of lies and self-deception I consign to the flames, where it belongs!”

  “We have other copies,” I said.

  He turned to me with rage still smouldering in his hard, aquiline face. “You will give in to me, beloved Mina.” Then he withdrew, kissing his hand to me as he went.

  When he had gone, I rushed to the door and found that he had, indeed, left it unlocked. I ran down the spiral stair and looked through the door to Quincey’s room. Quincey was on the bed, asleep; I could see just a twist of gold hair, and the rise and fall of his chest. I did not want to disturb him, poor angel.

  Even if I could find the key and release him, how could we flee? We would not gain the outer walls before we were recaptured, or savaged by the dogs.

  Wearily I returned to my room. Elena brought a tray of cold meats, cheese and salad, with bread and wine. I was in need of sustenance by now. She sat down and ate with me; we did not speak, but I caught her giving me sly glances under her long dark lashes.

  When we had finished, she said, “You must hate me.”

  “I do not hate you, Elena,” I replied. “Rather, I pity you.”

  She bristled. “You – pity me?”

  “You have fallen under the spell of evil.”

  “So, you think I am under a spell. You think that I cannot make my own choice, because I am too pure and good to do so? Mina, the menfolk are not here. We need not pretend to each other.”

  “I don’t know what you mean! Do you imagine Dracula cherishes you? He will kill you!”

  “And I will live for ever, feeding on the living, never again afraid of the night. Is that so terrible?” She looked so serene and calculating, I was at a loss to reach her.

  “You will be a corpse, driven by hunger. You will lose your soul, and never find rest. You will be barred for ever from heaven.”

  “Heaven sounds exceedingly dull to me,” said Elena.

  With every word, she shocked me more. “I am surprised at you,” I said. “When we first met, you spoke to me about your desire for freedom, your horror at the idea of marrying. And yet you have made yourself a slave of this monster, who is worse than the most tyrannical of husbands! What became of your ideals?”

  Her face, for a moment, was fiery. “I am not a slave! He is my companion. I aid him because, in time, he will make me free – free to love where and when I will, and never to be tied to one man, or to society or child-bearing and old age.”

  “Only God can give eternal life!” I retorted. “The Devil gives a parody of eternal life, because all he can do is to ape God!”

  “God is sterile,” she said. “Parody at least has the virtue of being interesting. What is so commendable about your own ideals? You are expected to live without passion, in a world where nothing must ever be allowed to change. Nothing may ever be out of place, may it? And if it is, you and your kind turn your backs, and pretend it does not exist, and drive it out with prayers and self-punishment! You are so afraid of anything that may threaten your cosy existence! You are as terrified of darkness as any Transylvanian peasant. What makes your narrow, frightened ideals so superior to the Count’s noble ones? He embraces the darkness, he is one with wild animals, with storms and desires – with all that you fear. He is the one with the bravery to live as you dare not!”

  I could say nothing to this. I sat stunned for a minute or so; she went to the window and looked out at the gloom. Already she seemed a part of it! I said desperately, “Elena, it is not too late for you. You must have the key to Quincey’s room. Help us escape. When Dracula has gone to his rest–”

  “No,” she cut in. “I want to help you, but not in that way.” Her skirts rustled on the flags like the hissing of snakes as she came towards me. To my astonishment, she embraced me. “Come to us, Mina. Be one with us. We love you.”

  She felt so warm, so sisterly and loving in my arms – but I controlled myself, and pushed her away. Elena gave me a burning look, and left.

  After she had gone – once I had managed to steady myself – I opened the desk and found pens, ink and paper. So I sat down to write. At least in this way I occupy myself, and save myself from insanity.

  13 November

  Dracula came to me again last night.

  He brought my supper and sat watching as I ate – and I was determined to eat, however little appetite I have, in order to keep my strength and wits about me. His demeanour was different, quiet and thoughtful where it had been aggressive. I was very afraid, but determined that he would not see it.

  “Now we shall talk,” he said, leading me towards a chair by the fire. I noticed the mirror in its ornate frame above the mantelpiece as we approached; that it contained only my own reflection! I recalled how Jonathan had witnessed the same phenomenon at the castle, and how Dracula had destroyed the offending shaving mirror. But this time – presumably because the fact that I know the truth means he has nothing to hide – he only smiled demoniacally and paused there as if to draw my attention to the horror of it.

  “Why do you suppose I have no reflection?” he asked.

  “Because you have no soul.”

  “But I feel passionately,” he protested. “I feel loneliness. I experience love, anger, desire, ambition – h
ow then can I have no soul?” He walked up to the mirror and pressed the point of one fingernail into the centre of the glass. “If I am no more than a walking corpse, how is it that I can talk, and think, and remember? The looking glass lies. It flatters and it deceives.”

  I saw the pressure of his nail increasing. The glass bowed; I saw my own reflection distorting and sliding away. Then, as if the pressure became too great, the mirror cracked with a loud retort and shattered.

  I recoiled in shock. Shards of glass spilled and broke on the floor at our feet. Dracula smiled. He bade me sit in a chair opposite his, as if nothing had happened, while the fire glittered in fragments on the floor between us.

  I saw him look in contempt at the cross I wear, but he did not tell me to remove it. He asked, “Do I disgust you?”

  I said, as I had to Elena, “No. I pity you.”

  “Then pity me, if you must.” He gave a faint laugh, his lips drawing up over the great, sharp canine teeth. “You know quite well, Mina, that under a guise of kindness that is the most offensive remark you can make to anyone. You are not so gentle, after all.”

  “Not gentle at all, when I must fight for my child and husband.”

  “I know your strength. That is why I need you. Women and men without spirit are of no use to me at all.”

  “Is no one is of any worth, then, who is not of use to you?”

  “Why does this shock you, when you know what I am? How could it be otherwise?”

  “You must have been different once.” I was trying, in desperation, to appeal to any humanity he might have left. “When you were mortal.”

  Now his smile was not cruel, but sad. “But you know what I was, and have no doubt made your judgements. Ah, do not tell me that I am God’s to judge. I have long ceased to hold any interest in God’s opinion – or in the Devil’s. And I could tell you that all I did, I did in defence of my country and people; that it was necessary, in a fearsome world, to be the most fearsome thing in it. But I have no wish to justify myself, any more than you have to hear it.” As he went on talking I began to let go a little of the fear that had possessed me – at the same time knowing that the less I feared him, the more I might be sucked into the pit of evil and become part of it. Nevertheless it seemed possible, and a great relief for my worn nerves, that I should suspend terror for a time.