by Cindy Winget
What on earth was he doing here? I searched him for keys—being slow and careful so as not to wake him—but am sad to report that it didn’t take me long to give up the search. The look of hate and cruelty upon that face, even in sleep, frightened me. I admit it. I, Jonathan Harker, a grown man with no particular belief in the fantastical or supernatural, was frightened out of my wits at the thought that the Count would awaken from his unnatural slumber and find me there. I scrambled back to the tunnel, up the staircase, and back to my room as fast as I could.
I could think of no other way to leave my prison. Therefore, when my courage returned to me, I climbed once more to the Count’s room, descended that staircase, and walked down the tunnel. The shadows cast upon the stone walls by the flickering torch light made me feel jumpy and unwell. With apprehension, I entered the churchyard, the musty smell of dust and decay invading my nostrils, and found the Count in his dreaded repose. I had determined ahead of time that I would kill him.
Do not be frightened by this, my dear Mina! Under normal circumstances I could never do harm to anyone! You know this! But this man was evil. I could feel it in my bones. He was something unnatural and who knew the countless victims he had sacrificed to his base appetites? I felt that in my righteous anger, I was justified in ending his life. I grabbed up a shovel that rested nearby and prepared to stab it down across his throat. As the shovel descended down, the Count’s eyes flew open. He was awake! In my shock and horror, I widely miscalculated my aim and the shovel glanced off his forehead instead, leaving a wide gash in the pale flesh. The Count sat up, pinning me with a stare so unnerving that I was nearly catatonic and unable to move. To my further amazement, I watched as he seemingly turned to dust, or a misty fog, coalescing with the starlight around him and slipping away upon the breeze.
It was a while before I could come back to my senses. I stood in that long-abandoned graveyard and waited for dawn. I thought surely the Count would come back, seeking his revenge, but my muscles would not cooperate when I told myself to move. To run away. To escape. It made little difference. The Count did not return.
In time, I made my way back to my bedroom and waited, locking the door as though it had the power to save me from the Count. Nothing. All day, I waited for the repercussions of my actions, but none came. I had long suspected that I was alone here with the Count, having seen no evidence that his residence was ever cleaned and often wondering who it was that cooked my meals, for I never once saw a single maid, cook, or servant. Which was worse? That the Count would return to unlock that door and we would be destined to have some kind of show-down, or that he would not return at all and I would be left to slowly die here of dehydration and starvation? The latter became the more probable of the two after three days passed with no sign of the Count. A deep depression had set in. In my despondency, I thought of little else but you, sweet Mina, and hoped that one day you would meet another who could provide for you the comforts of this life.
But my luck soon changed. The gypsies were back! With the Count being away, perhaps they would help me. I hollered at them, waving my arms as much as my waning strength would allow and good fortune was indeed upon me. They saw me and to my immense relief they came to my aid. That is how I have come to write you this letter. They provided me with ink and paper, of which I had long ran out of, and I sent it out as soon as it was possible. I am even now making my way home to you. Perhaps I will even beat this letter and be by your side when you read it.
All my love,
Jonathan
Mina stood and took the letter from Victor. Closing her eyes, as though in silent prayer, she pressed the letter to her lips and then rested it upon her chest. “Oh Jonathan,” she murmured, “I am so glad to hear that you are safe and on your way home to me.”
A blood-curdling scream pierced the silent night air, shocking the group out of their quiet gratitude.
“Lucy!” cried Jack, running towards the house.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The others were right behind him as Jack barreled up the staircase to Lucy’s room. His hand trembled as it grabbed a hold of the handle, the door opening with a loud squeak of the hinges. Broken glass littered the hardwood floor, the curtains fluttering in the now gaping hole of the broken window.
Lucy knelt upon her bed, tears running freely down her porcelain face. Jack rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms. Mrs. Westenra lay sprawled faceup upon the floor next to Lucy’s bed, her limbs contorted at weird angles. Her lifeless eyes left open and staring, never to blink again. Blood ran down her wrinkled neck and pooled in the hollow of her throat, trickling from two holes pierced into her jugular vein.
“What has happened?” asked Mina, though the answer was obvious. As her eyes lit upon Mrs. Westenra’s body, she gasped, holding a hand over her mouth in shock. She lightly stepped toward Lucy, seemingly to give her comfort, but Jack was already holding her as her shoulders quivered. Lucy nestled her face into his shoulder, facing away from her deceased mother.
The familiar stab of guilt, ever present, made Victor’s stomach heave and he was worried that he was about to be sick.
Van Helsing made his presence known by stating, “I have searched the premises and there is no sign of our monstrous adversary.” He walked up to Lucy, seeking to administer his own comfort and to ascertain if any of his ministrations would be needed, but Jack was unwilling, or perhaps unable, to give her up to his scrutiny.
“They are gone!” Jack suddenly cried.
“What? What’s gone?” asked Van Helsing.
“The bites. They are finally healed,” Jack cried joyously. “How is this possible? Have we kept her away from him sufficiently? Perhaps, he is sated by the blood of Mrs. Westenra and has chosen to leave my dear Lucy alone at last.”
Van Helsing, looking concerned, glanced knowingly at Victor.
Victor looked upon Lucy more closely and was astonished by what he saw. She looked healthy. Beautiful. Like the day that he first met her. Gone were the dark circles beneath her eyes, the pallor, the gauntness of her hollow cheekbones. She was vibrant with a delicate peaches and cream complexion. There was a new luster to her hair and a twinkle to her eyes.
Jack drew back and looked upon her as well, his eyes brightening at what he saw. “You are much improved!”
Lucy smiled angelically and beckoned Jack to her. She wet her plump red lips, making her intentions clear. Jack readily leaned forward, ready to indulge in a kiss from his beloved.
Van Helsing put forth his hand and stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t.”
Confused, Jack looked at his old friend, seeking an explanation.
Lucy’s eyes had become dull and hard. In a voice wholly unlike her own, she implored Jack to come to her. “Kiss me, my love.” As she spoke, Victor could have sworn that her eye teeth looked longer and sharper than normal.
Before Jack could move toward her once more or be prevented by Van Helsing’s hand upon his shoulder, Lucy slumped down onto the bed, unmoving. Her eyes fluttered shut as she gasped one last long gulp of air and then breathed no more. They all stood there in astonishment.
Van Helsing finally made his way to the bed and pressed his fingers to Lucy’s throat and then her wrist, seeking a pulse. He shook his head sadly and Mina let out a wail of despair. Jack turned away and stalked from the room without a word.
*****
“How is Jack holding up?” Victor asked Van Helsing as he entered the parlor where the bodies of young Lucy and her mother were laid out. As prevalent as body-snatching had become in the last decade or so, it was not unusual for friends and relatives to watch over the body until burial.
“I don’t know. He is still holed up in his room, refusing to come out or speak to anyone. Maids leave food by the door, but it goes uneaten.”
“And Mina?”
“Prostrate with grief, of course, crying almost all hours of the day. But I feel that that is a healthy way of dealing with her grief. I worry for Jack far more. As
delicate as Mina may appear, I know she is strong, and she will be fine. If only Jonathan were here with her during this most difficult time.”
Guilt gnawed at Victor’s stomach.
The dimly-lit parlor, kept that way out of respect for the dead, suddenly seemed very cold and Victor was keenly aware of the presence of the two corpses that decorated the biggest space of the room. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “I am certain that Dracula must have fed upon Lucy one last time before her death, and yet there were no wounds upon her throat.”
Van Helsing did not answer right away. He gazed down upon Lucy, lying sweetly in her velvet-lined coffin. She was even more stunning in death. If Victor did not know any better, he would say that she was only asleep. Perhaps sleeping in eternal slumber as a princess in a fairy tale, set upon by a curse, and awaiting her prince to bring her back to the land of the living.
“I have a notion that she is not yet free from Dracula’s grasp,” Van Helsing confided.
“What?”
“I fear that she still may become an undead creature. That is the reason I fought so hard for the tradition to be upheld that she remain here in the parlor until her burial. I wanted to be sure that she would not rise again.”
“But you told me that if she dies while awake, she would die a natural death.”
“But was she truly awake?”
“What do you mean? Of course she was! We all saw her.”
“Lucy has been known to sleepwalk and a lot of people also talk in their sleep. Besides, for all we know, she was already dead by the time we arrived, changed forever into something else. Don’t you find it odd that even though Jack spoke freely of her being attacked, and though she must have witnessed the death of her mother, she did not inquire about what was going on?”
“But it has been three days and she has remained in her coffin,” Victor insisted.
Van Helsing nodded. “This brings my heart great solace. I hope I am wrong. But it doesn’t hurt to be certain. I wish to cut off Lucy’s head and stake her into her coffin.”
Victor was stunned at these words. Hypocritical as it may seem coming from a man who stole bodies from graves, he couldn’t help but cringe away from the very thought of it. Those others he had used in his quest to cheat death had been strangers to him, no more real than the cadavers he practiced on in his school days. But this was Lucy they were talking about. A sweet, affectionate girl that Victor had had many pleasant conversations with. To see, or even take part in, the mutilation of her corpse threatened to bring up Victor’s lunch.
“In my studies of vampyrs, I have learned that this is the only way to kill them. I would have done so already, but I fear I am a coward. I am afraid of the repercussions such an action would have upon my relationship with Jack. He would surely never forgive me for doing such a base thing to the woman he loved,” Van Helsing was saying. He turned stricken eyes upon Victor and implored, “What shall we do?”
Victor had to admit that the thought of broaching the subject with Jack left him breathless and shaken. “I say we wait. Thus far, she has remained dead, and we have no evidence to support that she wasn’t awake when she died. We shall keep an eye on her until her burial tomorrow morning, and if nothing suspicious happens between now and then, we will inter her in the crypt alongside her parents and let the dead remain at peace.”
*****
The morning of the funeral, Jack finally made an appearance. He did not eat or speak, but at least he planned to come with them as they traveled out to the family graveyard where Lucy and her mother would be eternally interred in the family mausoleum, next to her long-deceased father.
One by one, the deceased had been carried out of the house, feet first as tradition dictated, so as not to beckon any of the living to follow them in death, and placed inside a hearse bearing glass viewing windows and pulled by two magnificent black horses. The mourners walked behind, following it to the graveyard, which, in this case, was not far away. People from all around had come to hear the eulogy of these two women; Lucy having been a local beauty and long sought after by many young men, and her mother being much beloved for her charity work.
Mina trailed along with them in her black mourning dress, a black veil attached to a small feathered hat obscuring her lovely face. Even so, Victor could make out tears through the sheer fabric as they ran freely down her face. What he wouldn’t give to have been able to bring Jonathan here now, to stand by her side at the burial of her best friend.
Why had Dracula imprisoned Jonathan in his castle? Why not kill him outright as he had done to all of Victor’s other loved ones? What dastardly plan did he have cooking in his conniving mind?
Once the procession had reached the mausoleum, the bodies were then hoisted from the hearse and placed upon a table on either side of the vicar who would now eulogize them.
The cleric waited for the mourners to take their seats at the wooden chairs before beginning his speech. “Mrs. Westenra has been a widow for nigh on fifteen years now and has given much of her time in the helping of others. She doted on her daughter and made sure she had everything she needed and wanted. She was a kind, loving soul and I dare say that our maker has a special place in heaven for our dearly departed sister.
“Now, what can be said about her daughter, Lucy? She was a beauty to be sure, but even more than that, her sweetness and chastity were beyond reproach. She never spoke an ill-word about anyone. This vibrant young woman has been taken from us suddenly and at such a tender age. She shall be missed, most especially by her husband,” he indicated Jack sitting in the front row, who did not lift his gaze from the ground, “whom I am sure will mourn for her in ways we can scarcely understand. But our Lord in Heaven does know and understand the pain that this man, along with you all, suffer at this time and He is willing and waiting to comfort you in the arms of His love.”
A muscle jumped in Jack’s jaw as he clenched his teeth together.
“So, let us say goodbye to these dear ladies, if only for a short while, and wish them well on their way to loftier climbs.” The vicar then bowed his head in prayer and the others followed suit as he prayed for the souls of the deceased and wished comfort upon the mourners. When he had finished, he invited the congregation to assemble themselves into a line and gaze one last time upon the deceased. Victor was once again amazed at the beauty of Lucy, though long dead. When this ritual was complete, the bodies were taken into the tomb.
As the group slowly walked back to the house, Victor reflected on the last words that Dracula had spoken to him after Victor had destroyed what was meant to be Dracula’s bride, about how he would be there on his wedding night. As fearful for Elizabeth’s death as he had been at the time, it was nothing compared to the fear and sorrow he felt now. As he peered at the anguish written on the face of his friend, Jack, he saw himself reflected there and how he would feel knowing that he would have to live in a world that did not contain Elizabeth. Never again to see her lovely smile, lively eyes that sparkled with hidden mischief, and the girlish freckles along her nose that he found so endearing. His heart ached at the very thought.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Listen to this,” Mina said as she entered the drawing room a few weeks later. Van Helsing was absorbed in a book while Victor and Jack played a game of cards. She held in her hand the latest issue of the Westminster Gazette. “‘A Hampstead Mystery. On the night of September 25th yet another child has gone missing. The child was later discovered in the wee hours of the morning lying under a furze bush, being very weak and emaciated, with a wound to the neck, thought to be caused by either a rat or dog. Whereupon it was revealed that he had been led there by the ‘Bloofer Lady.’ Authorities are still on the lookout for the perpetrator of these crimes and urge parents to keep their children indoors at night.”
“Not another one,” groaned Jack.
“Who could possibly be callous enough to prey upon children?” Mina asked, not really seeking an answer.
Van Helsi
ng looked up from his book. “Well, at the very least, it’s a comfort to know that thus far, none of the children have shown up dead.”
They all nodded in sad agreement, small mercy though it was.
For the past fortnight, news stories about very young children being lured away at night by a person known only as the ‘Bloofer Lady’ became even more frequent. Scotland Yard could make neither heads nor tails of this until it was suggested that the Bloofer Lady was actually child-speak for ‘beautiful lady’; young children having a hard time saying the word. The recovered children always had some type of wound that resembled a bite mark.
It had gotten to be so well-known in these parts, that children were known to play a game called the Bloofer Lady. They would pretend to lure each other away, and if caught, they had to sit out the rest of the game as mere bystanders, witnessing their siblings and friends being taken in by the child playing the part of the strange, yet beautiful, lady.
“Are we certain that these crimes aren’t being perpetrated by Dracula?” Mina asked the room.
“We have gone over this. The children always claim that it is a woman that lures them away into the night,” said Jack.