In the Footsteps of Dracula

by Stephen Jones

  ENTER DRACULA.

  DRACULA: Posts are few and uncertain, and your writing now would ensure ease of mind to your friends. Your letters will be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of your prolonging your stay.

  HARKER: (Aside) To oppose him would be to create new suspicion. (Aloud) What dates shall I put on the letters?

  DRACULA: The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June 29.

  EXIT DRACULA.

  HARKER: (Aside) I know now the span of my life, God help me!

  There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able to send word home. A band of Szagany have come to the castle, and are encamped in the courtyard.

  I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have them posted. I have already spoken to them through my window to begin an acquaintanceship. They take their hats off and make obeisance and many signs, which, however, I cannot understand any more than I can their spoken language . . . I have written the letters. Mina’s is in shorthand, and I simply ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my secret or the extent of my knowledge . . . I give the letters; I throw them through the bars of my window with a gold piece, and make what signs I can to have them posted. The man who takes them puts them to his heart and bows, and then presses them in his cap. I can do no more.

  ENTER DRACULA.

  HARKER: Steady, the Count has come.

  DRACULA: The Szagany has given me two letters, of which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!—One is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other—(Sees shorthand—anger) other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not named. Well! so it cannot matter to us. The letter to Hawkins—that I shall, of course, send on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?

  HARKER WRITES ENVELOPE.

  DRACULA: So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there are many labors to me; but you will sleep!

  EXIT DRACULA.

  HARKER: I hear without, a cracking of whips and pounding and scraping of horses’ feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard. I must hurry to the window. I see drive into the yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each pair a Slovak. I shall go to them. (Tries door).

  My door is fastened on the outside. I run to the window and cry to them. They look up at me stupidly and point, but the “hetman” of the Szagany comes out and seeing them pointing to my window, says something, at which they laugh. They turn away. The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick rope; these are evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks handle them and by their resonance as they are roughly moved. They are all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner of the yard; the Slovaks are given some money by the Szagany, and spitting on it for luck, lazily go each to his horse’s head. The cracking of their whips die away in the distance. The Szagany are quartered somewhere in the castle, and are doing work of some kind. I know it, for now and then I hear a far-away, muffled sound as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be to the end of some ruthless villainy.

  I see something coming out of the Count’s window. He has on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst travelling here and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen the women take away. There can be no doubt as to his quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: he will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the local people be attributed to me.

  I shall watch for the Count’s return. What are these quaint little flecks floating in the rays of the moonlight? They are like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirl round and gather in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watch them with a sense of soothing, and a sort of calm steals over me.

  Hark. What is that low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far below in the valley? Thank God I did not fall asleep. There is something stirring in the Count’s room, and a sound like a sharp wail quickly suppressed:

  (Runs to window) A woman with disheveled hair, holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She leans against a corner of the gateway. When she sees my face at the window she throws herself forward and shouts in a voice laden with menace:—“Monster, give me my child!”

  She throws herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cries the same again and again.

  I can hear the beating of her naked hands against the door.

  High overhead, probably on the tower, I hear the voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves.

  A pack of them pour like a pent-up dam when liberated through the wide entrance into the courtyard.

  There is no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves stops. Before long they stream away singly, licking their lips.

  I can not pity her, for I know what has become of her child, and she is better dead!

  What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful thrall of night and gloom and fear? To-night goes to post, the first of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the earth.

  Let me not think of it. Action! If I could only get into his room! But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me.

  Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his window; why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk it. At the worse it can only be death; and a man’s death is not a calf’s, and the dreaded hereafter may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and second father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!

  SCENE 7

  SAME SCENE.

  HARKER: (Writing) I have made the effort, and, God helping me, have come safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in order. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on the south side, and at once got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which runs round the building on this side. The stones were big and roughly cut, and the mortar had by process of time been washed away between them. I took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth would not overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I know pretty well the direction and distance of the Count’s window, and made for it as well I could, having regard for the opportunities available. I did not feel dizzy—I suppose I was too excited—and the time seemed ridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window-sill and trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, however, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in through the window. Then I looked around for the Count, but, with surprise and gladness, made a discovery. The room was empty! It was barely furnished with odd things, which seemed to have never been used; the furniture was something the same style as that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked for the key, but it was not in the lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I found was a great heap of gold in one corner, gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian, and Hungarian, Greek and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, as though it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed was less than three hundred years old. There were also chains and ornaments, some jeweled, but all of them old and stained.

  At one corner of the ro
om was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since I could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, which was the main object of my search, I must make further examination, or all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a stone passage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended, minding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark, being only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sick odor, the odor of old earth newly turned. As I passed through the passage the smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which stood ajar, and found myself in an old, ruined chapel, which had evidently been used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places were steps leading to vaults, but the place had recently been dug over, and the earth placed in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been brought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about the place, and I made search for any further outlet, but there was none. Then I went over every inch of the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even into the vaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so was a dread to my very soul. Into these I went, but now nothing but fragments of old coffins and piles of dust; but in the third I made a discovery.

  There in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or asleep, I could not say which—for the eyes were open and stony, but without the glassiness of death—and the cheeks had the warmth of life through all their pallor, and the lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I bent over him, and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lain there long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in a few hours. By the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and there. I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the Count’s room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall, and regaining my own chamber, threw myself panting upon the bed and tried to think . . .

  To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him, but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man’s hand would have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell asleep.

  DRACULA APPEARS.

  DRACULA: To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been dispatched; tomorrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szagany, who have some labors of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.

  HARKER: Why may I not go to-night?

  DRACULA: Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a mission.

  HARKER: But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once.

  DRACULA: And your baggage?

  HARKER: I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time.

  DRACULA: You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit is that which rules our boyars: “Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.” Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house against your will, though sad am I at your going, and that you so suddenly desire it. Come.—Hark!

  HOWLING OF WOLVES HEARD AS THE COUNT RAISES HIS HAND.

  HARKER: I shall wait till morning.

  EXIT DRACULA.

  SOUND OF VOICES AND WOMEN LAUGHING OUTSIDE DOOR.

  DRACULA: (Outside) Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait. Have patience. To-morrow night, to-morrow night, is yours!

  HARKER: To-morrow! To-morrow! Lord, help me and those to whom I am dear!

  I shall scale the wall again and gain the Count’s room. He may kill me, but death now seems the happier choice of evils.

  SCENE 8

  THE CHAPEL VAULT.

  HARKER DESCENDS BY WALL AND PEERS AROUND.

  HARKER: The great box is in the same place, close against the wall. The lid laid on it; not fastened down, the nails ready in their places to be hammered home. I must search the body for the key. (Raises lid and lays it back against wall)

  Ah! Something which filled my very soul with horror. The Count, looking as if his youth had been half-renewed, for the white hair and moustache are changed to dark iron-gray; the cheeks are fuller, and the white skin seems ruby-red underneath; the mouth is redder than ever, for on the lips are gouts of fresh blood, which trickle from the corners of the mouth and run over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seem set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath are bloated. It seems as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood like a filthy leech. I must search, or I am lost. The coming night may see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those horrid three.

  This was the being I am helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he may amongst its teeming millions satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to fatten on the helpless. The very thought drives me mad. I shall rid the world of such a monster. There is no lethal weapon at hand, but with this . . . (Seizes shovel and strikes at Count, head turns and he sees eyes. Shovel strikes wide and gashes forehead and, as he pulls it away flange catches lid and pulls it over chest. Distant roll of wheels and cracking of whips) I shall rush out when they open the hall door.

  CLIMBS WALL AND DISAPPEARS.

  SCENE 9

  THE LIBRARY.

  AS HARKER ENTERS BY WINDOW DOOR SLAMS AND SHUTS.

  HARKER: I am still a prisoner, and the net of doom is closing round me more closely.

  I hear the sound of many tramping feet and the sound of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. There is a sound of hammering; it is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping again along the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind them.

  The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of the key in the lock; I can hear the key withdrawn: then another door opens and shuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.

  Hark! In the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szagany as they pass into the distance.

  I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is naught in common. They are devils of the pit.

  I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle farther than I have yet attempted. (Takes gold from table)

  I may find a way from this dreadful place. And then away for home! Away to the quickest and nearest train! Away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!

  At least God’s mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!

  CLIMBS OUT BY WINDOW.

  CHRISTOPHER FOWLER was born in Greenwich, London. He is the award-winning author of more than forty novels—including sixteen featuring the detectives Bryant and May and the Peculiar Crimes Unit—and short-story collections.

  The recipient of the coveted CWA “Dagger in the Library” Award for 2015, The author’s most recent books are the Ballard-esque thriller The Sand Men and Bryant & May: Strange Tide. His other work includes screenplays, video games, graphic novels, audio plays and two critically acclaimed me
moirs, Paperboy and Film Freak.

  His weekly newpaper column, “Invisible Ink,” was a highlight of the Independent on Sunday’s arts pages. He lives in King’s Cross, London, and Barcelona, Spain.

  Dracula’s Library

  Christopher Fowler

  Jonathan Harker stays on at Dracula’s Castle, but at what cost to his immortal soul . . .?

  Being a diary chronicle of the true and hitherto unrevealed fate of Jonathan Harker, discovered within the pages of an ancient book.

  From The Journal of Jonathan Harker, 2 July—.

  I have always believed that a building can be imbued with the personality of its owner, but never have I felt such a dread ache of melancholy as I experienced upon entering that terrible, desolate place. The castle itself—less a chateau than a fortress, much like the one that dominates the skyline of Salzburg—is very old, 13th century by my reckoning, and a veritable masterpiece of unadorned ugliness. Little has been added across the years to make the interior more bearable for human habitation. There is now glass in many of the windows and moldering tapestries adorn the walls, but at night the noise of their flapping reveals the structure’s inadequate protection from the elements. The ramparts are unchanged from times when hot oil was poured on disgruntled villagers who came to complain about their murderous taxes. There is one entrance only, sealed by a portcullis and a pair of enormous studded doors. Water is drawn up from a great central well by a complicated wooden pump contraption. Gargoyles sprout like toadstools in every exposed corner. The battlements turn back the bitter gales that forever sweep the Carpathian mountains, creating a chill oasis within, so that one may cross the bailey—that is, the central courtyard of the castle—without being blasted away into the sky.