The Origin of Dracula

by Irving Belateche

“I don’t think Drakho is just going to show up like he did in The Forest,” I said. Actually, I couldn’t be sure if he’d ever showed up for Edna either, since that part of the story had been Harker’s addition.

  “If you tell him that you got his real name,” Harry said, “then he’s got to show up to collect it, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  Harry touched the D-Guard’s blade. “The varnish is dry,” he said, then sheathed the knife. “So there you go: he shows up, you stab him, and everything’s hunky-dory.”

  “Too easy?”

  “Not that it’s got to be hard, but it still seems like we’re getting too far away from The Forest.”

  I didn’t have a response for that, because I hadn’t been able to latch on to anything else in the story. To take the pastor analogy one step further, my Bible verses weren’t offering up any new lessons.

  As soon as I drove past the Front Royal city limits sign, housing developments once again reared their ugly heads. But at least they were small, and few in number. We entered the town, where many blocks had been redeveloped, another indication of just how far south the D.C. suburbs had sprawled into Virginia. We were seventy miles from the nation’s capital, but based on some of the boutiques we passed, we could just as easily have been driving through Georgetown or Old Town Alexandria. There were still a few country stores with rundown wooden facades and hand-painted logos, but they were overwhelmed by the far more numerous faux-quaint shops and retail chains.

  On the other side of Front Royal, we hit Skyline Drive, the gateway to the Blue Ridge Mountains. After a dozen more miles or so, I pulled in at a state visitors center, where I hoped to get more information on the ancient limestone caves—the landmarks that connected Edna’s story to whatever sacred land might be in these parts.

  Harry stayed in the car and skimmed The Forest while I headed inside. The center was empty of tourists except for an elderly couple checking out a giant map of hiking trails that covered an entire wall.

  A gray-haired docent sat behind an information counter. She flashed a grandmotherly smile at me, which I returned before walking over to a rack of pamphlets. The pamphlets advertised the various attractions along Skyline Drive, and it was clear at a glance that Skyline Caverns was the main attraction.

  I plucked a few pamphlets from the rack and started to peruse them, looking for a clue. A clue about the caves. Maybe a Native American name, or a reference to colonial times, or a description of a supernatural monster—a local legend—that haunted the Shenandoah Valley, or something that hinted at Dracula or The Forest or Dante’s Inferno.

  But nothing jumped out at me except the ancient caves themselves. The pamphlets went into the history of the limestone caves—the caverns—and the highlight was the discovery of a rare geological formation there, a six-sided crystal called an anthodite. But since the pamphlets weren’t giving up any clues, I walked over to the giant map and located Skyline Caverns. I wanted to see if the map revealed anything about the caverns that indicated they were sacred land. Although if tourists were going in and out of the caverns all day long, I doubted Drakho considered them untouched.

  As I looked over other parts of the map, checking more remote areas in the Blue Ridge Mountains, out of the corner of my eye I saw the docent get up from her chair and walk out from behind the counter. She made her way over to me and said, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Her face lit up with enthusiasm. “Fantastic. Nowadays we don’t get much traffic in here because of the Internet. Everybody just goes online.”

  “I know what you mean—I’m a librarian.” But my life had changed so much in the last twenty-four hours that claiming I was a librarian seemed like a lie. It was fiction, and my quest to kill Drakho was fact.

  She motioned to the map. “What are you looking to do today?”

  “I was thinking of exploring the caverns.”

  “A great choice! I’ve been working here for forty years and it’s still my favorite part of the Shenandoah.”

  “Which cavern is the oldest?” I hoped that would make it sacred land.

  “Even though it’s called Skyline Caverns, it’s really just one big cavern with multiple sections.” She motioned to it on the map. “The entire site is fifty to sixty million years old. And that’s even more amazing when you consider it was untouched until 1937.”

  “Untouched?” She’d used the right word.

  “Yes—it wasn’t discovered until then. When the state of Virginia was building Skyline Drive, they hired a retired geologist to look for caves along the route. They wanted to find tourist attractions to get people out this way. Well, boy did that work out. The geologist came across a sinkhole and decided to dig it out. Next thing he knew, he’d made one of the greatest geological discoveries of all time.”

  My thought right then was that it had been sacred land. It hadn’t been polluted by humans until 1937. Until then, Drakho would’ve loved it. A Dracula-type lair, underground, and pristine. But when this geologist discovered it, when it became a tourist attraction, had it become spoiled? Contaminated by humans?

  “Are there other sections?” I said. “Sections that weren’t opened up to the public?”

  “No, but believe me, there’s plenty for you to enjoy there. You’ll love Mirror Lake and Rainbow Falls.” She pointed to one of the pamphlets in my hand. “You can find all the tour times listed in there, but you can explore on your own, too.”

  This was a dead end. Though the caves had been untouched decades ago, I couldn’t buy the idea that Drakho was going to show up in the heart of a tourist attraction.

  “Are there any other caves?” I said, knowing that there must be. Buck had said that soldiers had hidden in caves in these parts during the Civil War, and that was well before the discovery of the caverns. “I mean, caves that aren’t part of Skyline Caverns?”

  “There are a few others. But they’re hard to get to.”

  “That’s okay. I’m ready for an adventure. And to be honest, I’m looking for something less touristy.”

  “I understand,” she said, and smiled sympathetically. “Some people come out here for a little peace and quiet. I don’t blame you.”

  She stepped over to another part of the map. “Here we have Briggs Cave. But you have to hike in quite a ways to get to it. And it’s not nearly as beautiful as Skyline Caverns.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. “Anything else?”

  She pointed to another part of the map. “Allegheny Roughs. Three caves. But not many tourists get out that far. They’re mostly visited by campers.”

  Then she looked over the map as if she was making sure she hadn’t forgotten any other caves. I noticed her eyes stop on one spot, and her smile disappeared a second later. Then she quickly turned away from the map.

  “That’s really about it,” she said. Her smile was back. “But I can tell you about some of our other terrific attractions.” She headed toward the information counter.

  “No other caves, huh?” I knew she was withholding information.

  She glanced at me and shook her head no, but her smile was waning.

  “I’m pretty sure I heard or read about another cave.” I wasn’t letting her off the hook. “I guess I can just check online.”

  She circled around to her side of the information counter and nestled back into her seat. I stepped up to the counter.

  “But I’m sure you know more than some random website.”

  That got her. She glanced at the elderly couple, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. “Well, if you’re talking about Hadley Cave, I don’t recommend it. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “It’s under Paspahegh Falls.”

  My heart almost leapt out of my chest. I could’ve jumped across the counter and kissed her. She’d made an unmistakable connection. She’d resurrected the slaughtered Paspahegh so they could guide me, just as they had guided Edna.

&nb
sp; “Paspahegh,” I said. “Sounds like a Native American name.”

  “Yes—it is.” She quickly looked down at the counter, at a visitors’ registry, which had only a few names in it. She straightened the pen next to the registry as if she was anxious. “Would you like to sign the registry?” she said.

  “Sure.” I grabbed the pen and started to sign my name. I had no doubt she was withholding more information about Hadley Cave. “So climbing under Paspahegh Falls is dangerous? That’s why you don’t recommend Hadley Cave.”

  She looked back up at me. Her smile was gone and her lips were pursed as if she was trying to keep her mouth shut.

  “But it sounds like it’s far from the beaten path,” I said. “No tourists. It may be worth a trip.”

  “It’s not,” she said, and lowered her voice again. “The entrance to the cave is sealed.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “It’s just too dangerous climbing down under the falls.”

  I weighed whether to press her with another question, but I opted instead to just meet her eyes and wait. My bet was that she’d fill the awkward silence with more details. My bet was right.

  “… Two boys died there in the fifties,” she said in a quiet, conspiratorial voice, “so the entrance was sealed. But a few years ago some troublemakers went down there and opened it up again without permission.” She leaned forward a little closer. “You know, when I first started working here, my boss called it ‘Hades’ Cave, and you know what ‘Hades’ means.”

  I nodded. It meant “hell.” As in Dante’s Inferno. As in Dan T.’s Firegrill. It meant that this was the next clue and the place to go. But did it mean it was sacred land? It wasn’t completely untouched—at least not if the docent’s story was true—but at least it was relatively untouched.

  The docent let out a breath, smiled again, and dropped the conspiratorial tone. “I recommend sticking with Skyline Caverns. They really are amazing—‘awesome,’ as the kids say. Then if you really want to try something less crowded, and don’t mind a long hike, check out Briggs.”

  I thanked her for the suggestions, checked the pamphlets I’d picked up to see if one of them showed the way to Paspahegh Falls—it did—and then headed back out to the car.

  I filled Harry in on what I’d learned, then got on my cell to see what else I could dig up about the two boys who’d been killed in the fifties. I wanted to see if there was a connection to Drakho. I tried combining different kinds of deaths—accidents, homicides, suicides, et cetera—with different locations—Hadley’s Cave, Shenandoah Valley, Skyline Drive, Front Royal. I finally came up with an article that had appeared in the Richmond Times-Dispatch. It didn’t contain many details, but one stuck out.

  The boys had been playing hide-and-seek, the same game we’d been playing as kids in Cold Falls when we’d first come across Drakho. Games were Drakho’s domain, and hide-and-seek was apparently one of his favorites. And though there was already no doubt in my mind that Paspahegh Falls was the new breadcrumb and Hadley’s Cave—Hades—was our new destination, this detail was extra confirmation.

  The pamphlet showed that Deer Hill Trail was the fastest way to get to the falls, so thirty minutes later I was turning off Skyline Drive and onto a dirt service road headed toward Deer Hill Trail. What followed was a bumpy ten-mile stretch where the underbrush had crept over the road. The park rangers, or whoever had once maintained this road, had apparently long ago abandoned it. At last it dead-ended without fanfare at the head of the trail. The dirt parking spaces and turnaround lane were completely covered with vegetation.

  I cut the engine and Harry said, “Guess this is where you go it alone, huh?”

  I hadn’t even thought about that. Of course hiking was out of the question for Harry. Nevertheless, I said, “Let me check it out.”

  “Why? You ain’t gonna be pushing a wheelchair for—how long is it?”

  “Three and half miles—”

  “Uphill,” he continued, “on a trail that probably ain’t been cleared in thirty years.” Harry grinned. “But this is just the way Drakho wants it.”

  “How?”

  “You, alone. You’re the one who got the letter. You’re the one he’s playing the game with.”

  I’m the one who’s “it,” I thought.

  Harry grabbed the sheath and thrust it toward me, but I knew he wanted to be part of this. He’d been waiting decades to confront the monster who’d crushed his legs.

  “Just hang on to it for a sec,” I said, then got out of the car.

  I starting hiking up the trail to get a better look at it. For about thirty yards, the trail was fairly wide and the dirt was packed down and smooth, as if inviting hikers in. But then the trail narrowed and the dirt turned pockmarked and wildly uneven. Even farther ahead, vegetation encroached from the forest.

  Pushing a wheelchair up Deer Hill Trail would be impossible.

  I hiked back down to the head of the trail, and Harry swung open the passenger door. “Not gonna happen,” he said. “Right?”

  “Not with the wheelchair,” I said.

  “You want me to fly?”

  “How about a piggyback ride?”

  “You think you can swing that?” He looked doubtful.

  “I’m up for trying. But we’re going to have to take breaks along the way.”

  Harry checked his watch. “Can’t take too many or we’ll be hiking in the dark.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  I took the sheathed knife, dropped it into the Home Depot bag, which had the flashlights in it, and gave the bag to Harry. Then I maneuvered him onto my back—and immediately slumped under the weight.

  “You sure you can make it?” he said.

  “Yeah.” But I wasn’t sure at all. Harry could only wrap himself around me with his arms, so his body weight wasn’t evenly distributed. That made the heavy load hanging from my shoulders even harder to bear.

  We started up the trail, and it wasn’t long before the path became even more ragged than what I’d scouted out earlier. There were pitfalls every step of the way—dips, cavities, vines, roots. I took it one step at a time, breathing evenly, trying to fall into some kind of rhythm, hoping that that would keep me going. But the footing was so uneven that every step felt like I’d gone a mile. My legs were sore, and my lower back was aching under the strain.

  Harry must have felt my body weakening because he asked, “Why are you doing this? You don’t gotta have me around to pull this off.”

  Why was I doing this? Was he actually going to be of any help? He’d brought his gun, but I didn’t believe for a second it was an effective weapon in our battle. I turned the question over in my mind, and just as the burden of carrying him turned almost unbearable, a sudden epiphany hit me and lightened my load.

  “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” I said. His stories had led me through Drakho’s maze of clues just as much as Dracula, The Forest, and the Allegory of the Cave had. And that led to another reason I needed him. “Besides,” I said, “I might need another story, and you’ve got thousands of them.”

  “More,” he said.

  The hike became more treacherous, and at one point, after fighting through a long stretch of vegetation, I lost the trail completely. Or more precisely, the forest took the trail into its clutches and hid it from me.

  I put Harry down and scouted up ahead until I found it again. After another mile and a half and four stops for rest, I heard water and knew we were on course. According to the pamphlet, the Shenandoah River was just ahead of us.

  The trail started to parallel the river, but the forest was so thick here we couldn’t actually see the water. The hike became steeper, so I had to take more breaks. I was drenched in sweat, the muscles in my legs were burning, and my lower back felt like it was about to give out. But I forced myself forward and into a routine: travel roughly twenty-five yards, stop and slide Harry to the ground, reboot myself, then start up again.

  The river gr
ew louder, its waters thrashing downstream, fast and wild, propelled by the Paspahegh Falls above.

  “You’re getting the workout of a lifetime, ain’t ya?” Harry said.

  “I might be dead before we get there.”

  “Then leave me here. ’Cause if you’re dead, you ain’t gonna stand a chance against Drakho.”

  That made me laugh. “Nah, I can’t give up now.”

  And I didn’t. The final stretch, though a short distance, took a hell of a long time. I stopped five more times before I got to the top of the trail. There I was greeted with a familiar sight—so familiar it gave me the confidence that we’d come to the right place. Giant gray boulders, just like those that bordered the Potomac at Cold Falls, also surrounded Paspahegh Falls.

  However, that’s where the similarity ended. Despite its name, there were no falls at Cold Falls; here, the water plunged down a hundred and fifty feet in a vertical drop.

  I slid Harry off onto one of the larger boulders. Then I scanned the falls, letting the spray of its waters cool me down. I was trying to spot the entrance to Hadley’s Cave, but it quickly became obvious that there wasn’t a clear view from our perch up here.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, and I started climbing down the rocks, angling for a better look. It took a while to spot something, but finally I did. About forty feet or so above the foot of the falls, I saw a narrow ledge, wet and uneven, running behind the cascading water.

  If there was any way to get to the cave, that had to be it. But just to make sure, I climbed all the way down to the foot, where the waters raged and churned in a mad maelstrom. From what I could see, there was no other way to get behind the falls.

  On the way back up, I resigned myself to the fact that Harry wasn’t going to be accompanying me on the final leg of this journey. If getting to Hadley Cave meant navigating that narrow ledge, there’d be no piggyback ride. It looked like Harry had been right: I’d be facing Drakho alone.

  When I made it back to him, he must’ve seen the disappointment on my face because he said, “Let me guess: it ain’t handicapped accessible.”

  “Good guess.”