by Hans De Roos
I thought no more of it and began readying myself to go, for had I started to recall the memories of what I’d witnessed down there, I would never have had the courage to go back again.
I checked whether my revolver was loaded, stepped into the octagonal room, and pressed the button—the door opened suddenly and silently. Then I lit my lamp and cautiously went down the stairs. It wasn’t as dark now as it had been that night, because this time a dull light shone through two windows.
I paused while going down the stairs, not sure where to go. I had reached some sort of arched vestibule with tunnels leading to both sides, east and west. I decided to take the tunnel to the west, as it lies in the direction of the window I hoped to climb through to get onto the wall ridge.
At the end of the tunnel a closed door appeared before me; I opened it hesitantly …
I practically yelped with joy, for I saw that I’d now come to the staircase I’d scaled during my long journey through the castle, when I’d climbed from the chapel up to the Count’s room—and in this staircase was the window I was hoping to get out from, should I try to escape.
Warily, I walked up the stairs to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. I saw the sun shining through the window and felt a clean, refreshing breeze on my cheek. I saw that the ridge on the wall was broad enough to walk on, although from a distance it seemed to be very narrow. But one need only to be startled or skid a bit on the stone—and death would be inevitable. I shuddered at the thought of having to go this way, but I felt as though a weight had been lifted from me now that I’d discovered a possible escape route. As a safety measure, I took the key from the lock and put it in my pocket. The door was so heavy and its hinges so rusty that it stayed in place even when unlocked; and those who pass through it—whoever they may be—may not notice that the key is missing.
Then it occurred to me that I might look around the chapel and the crypt below for a while.
Everything looked the same as before, except that the floor had been dug up and everything was scattered around. Iron picks, shovels and rakes were still lying about, revealing a job that had been left unfinished.
It seemed to me that the Tatar group had been at work here.
Deep in the dungeon, where it faced the courtyard,268 I saw two or three boxes reinforced with iron. On two of them the lids had been fastened, but one was left half open.
I became curious, so I climbed over the unearthed stones and dirt heaps, noticing that this cellar was in fact a graveyard—and not a very old one, as a human skull, barely decayed, happened to roll before my feet.
Each of the boxes was made of thick pine planks and had rope handles. The third box had been manufactured with the most care; it also had a few holes drilled into the lid. I expected to find some costly items in it; I remembered well the treasure up in the tower, so I assumed these boxes were also filled with such gold and shiny jewels.
I was shocked when I looked under the lid! The box was filled halfway with soil, and in it, a man was lying lengthwise—an old man with white hair and a white moustache. It was none other than the Count himself.
Fjallkonan #51 | 19 December 1900
I WINCED AND HID BEHIND THE BOX IN A CROUCHING position, but after a few moments I got the courage to stand and lean over him and have another look. There could be no mistake. It was the Count, wearing the same clothes as the evening before.269 He looked stone dead; I couldn’t imagine anyone outlandish enough to rest there willingly. The Tatars—who had left earlier today—sprung to mind. Could it be that those wretches had killed my client and run away with as much of his fortune as they could gather? One couldn’t deny they’d make good suspects … But from my perspective the Count had been a prison guard for the last few weeks, so I could only feel relief at being free of his custody.
Was he dead or was he just sleeping heavily, as though he were dead? And if the latter, why had he chosen this place to rest?
He didn’t look as if he were truly dead, though. His features were as impressive and harsh-looking as usual, and although he was pale, it didn’t seem like a deathly pallor but merely the usual color of his complexion. I didn’t dare touch him, for I assumed he wouldn’t let me off unpunished for roaming around the castle without his permission.
After a short while I decided to go back to my bedroom and wait there until morning. If the Count had not returned by then, I would have a definite opportunity to try to escape from here.
If the Count were dead, I hoped I could find another way to flee the castle than take the more daring route I’d already found.
Before turning back, I noticed that the box lid had six strong iron hasps that could be hooked over staples on the inside of the box, closing it from within, so that it would appear as if the lid had been screwed on. This way it could be locked and opened from the inside. I was quite sure that this casket had been designed to conceal a person who wanted to stay hidden.
I went back up to my room but was ill at ease for the rest of the day.
Once twilight arrived I had finished preparing the books, but I’d become restless and unable to sit still. So I walked nervously across the floor, on pins and needles.
“Will he come or won’t he?” I thought to myself.
The clock was ticking: eight—, nine—, ten o’clock; nothing was heard.
I was just about to go down to the basement to check on the old man when suddenly the door opened and the Count entered. He was unusually high-spirited and looked as if he’d grown younger.
“Here I am, my friend,” he said cheerfully. “I hope you have not been bored today. I myself have been very busy. I am tired now and in need of rest, but first I wanted to find you to see how you are doing, and if you have come along nicely with your work. No—you are done. I thank you very much. If you could do me a favor tomorrow, by making an inventory of everything in that closet over there,” he said, “I’d really appreciate it.” He pointed out the middle compartments in the closet, where all kinds of tools were stored that seemed to be used for physical experiments. He said he couldn’t do the job himself as he had other obligations.
I stared at him, so stunned, in fact, that I didn’t answer. He seemed so unusually youthful to me now; it was as if fire itself sparked from his eyes270—or more accurately—they flashed with the ferocity of a beast that knows it has found its prey.
Then, with a deep sigh, I replied that I had no idea what most of the things in the closet were called, and thus could hardly make a list of them.
“Tools, my friend, nothing but tools a scientist uses to bring dead nature to life under his command,” he said. “You men from the West still have much to learn; you haven’t gotten much further than the antechamber to the sciences,271 where life and death are still unsolved mysteries.272 Well then, I shall do it myself, but I still bid you a good night for now. I need to rest. I also have plenty to do tomorrow and probably cannot come to you again until nightfall. May you be blessed—until next time,” he said, giving me his hand.
When he left he was still as energetic as when he’d entered. He was more like a young man running off to a rendezvous with his sweetheart than an old man going off to bed after finishing a day’s work. – – –
20 JUNE
I WENT DOWN TO THE CRYPT ONCE MORE.
The Count was there again, and I thought he looked even younger and more alive than he had before, but nevertheless when he came home late that evening I was staggered to see him and found him more terrifying than ever.
He still remains polite in his manners towards me, but I clearly sense the ridicule and contempt lying underneath.
Today he told me,
“Time passes, my friend, and soon the moment will come when we must part ways. You shall return to your beautiful England”—this he said in a strange tone—“and I shall return to my work, which is laid out in such a way that it’s very unlikely I shall see you again. It may also happen that I leave here before you do, but even when I am not at home, my calèche can pick
you up whenever you please and drive you to Bistritz. I truly owe you for your company.”
At first I was beside myself with joy when I heard him say this, for here at least I had his promise that I would get out of this imprisonment, which has almost been the death of me. But something in his words and expression kept me from believing him.
I cannot help but feel that he won’t let me leave here alive. I know too much.
I said something polite but meaningless in return, but added that, should he leave, I would have to go too—so why not today or tomorrow, if he no longer had use for me?
“No, that’s not possible, my friend,” he said. “My driver and horses are not present at the moment.”
“That doesn’t matter, I can go on foot and my luggage can be sent for later.”
“On foot, my dear friend? Are you in such a hurry?” He stared at me with a scoffing grin, sending chills throughout my entire body. “You do not know the Carpathians; even if I allowed my guests to leave here on foot, that walk would be your last—there are wolves here in the forest.” He went to the window and opened it. “Listen to them,” he said.
I heard the wolves howling in the woods outside.
“It’s not child’s play.273 It is safer for you to wait here at home.”274
Fjallkonan #1 | 11 January 1901
23 JUNE
THE TATARS CAME BACKYESTERDAY AND TOOK UP THEIR work again, which seems to be nearly finished, as most of the boxes are full. The Count has also paid me a brief visit; he seems to be very uneasy and his appearance has changed even more. My eyes don’t deceive me—he looks a few years younger than when I first arrived here. It’s as if the blood in his veins runs more freely; the color of his skin isn’t as waxen as before, his cheeks have acquired a copper-red hue, his eyes are livelier and even have a certain glow … and sometimes a strange tinge of red appears in them suddenly. He is impressive to behold, and I find myself shivering upon meeting his gaze.
24 JUNE
GOD HELP ME – – – WITH COURAGE AND ARTIFICE, IT’S possible for man to defend himself against threats from the outside, but those dangers that come from within—from man himself—are far more difficult to keep at bay. A bastion that has traitors in its garrison is exposed to risk, no matter how fortified it is, and I—I have been struggling against a power too great to fight. – – –
I don’t know who she is, but I’m now convinced that what the Count has told me about her cannot be true. When I recall everything I’ve seen and experienced, I’m at a loss and I cannot come to any conclusion, unless I decide to give up on logic and believe things no one else would.
I shudder at the thought of her, yet I crave to see her. She is like one of the Elven Ladies who enchant men to follow them into their rocky ravines.275
For three days now I have been determined to escape from this place. Even though it’s dangerous, I now know the way out, and I’ve had opportunities. Time and again, I’ve been on the verge of leaving, but then an irresistible desire overwhelms me and I cannot control myself any longer—I have to see her once more.
It’s incomprehensible—I cannot believe it, but there’s no denying it either—she always comes when I think of her, as if she were beckoned, or as if she were standing right outside the door, ready to enter.
Before I can calm myself she’s standing next to me, and I can’t restrain myself. Yet I haven’t once yielded to her—and that alone has saved me.
I’ve never taken off the crucifix the old lady gave me, and anyone who wishes may call it superstition, but I feel this is the only reason the Count did not kill me that evening when he grabbed me by the throat, and I feel I owe it to this same cross that I managed to escape from the loathsome miscreant who attacked me on the stairs.276
She has been whispering to me constantly, begging me to take off the crucifix, but I have not done so. – – –
28 JUNE
I WRITE THESE WORDS IN MY JOURNAL LATE AT NIGHT IN my bedroom, the only retreat I have where I can be without fear. I’m now determined to flee from here as soon as we see the light of day. To alert my family of what has happened to me and what it was that drove me to my death, I have written Wilma’s name and address on the first page of this book, both in German and English, adding that whoever finds it should please return the book to her at the aforementioned address and explain how the book has come into their hands. I cannot do anything more, and it’s perfectly clear to me that there’s but a small chance this final greeting of mine will reach its intended destination, should I meet my doom.
Wilma, if I live, let us read these lines together some day277 and thank God that my life was saved, but if I die—this is my final greeting to you. Once you have read what I’ve written, you shall know that I’ve succumbed to forces stronger than I am, and that these forces pose a danger to the whole of humanity—a danger that every person of goodwill must stand up against. Ask the wisest and foremost people, preferably those with much influence in society. I’ve written a few names on the last page of this book. I don’t have time to explain things in more detail. May God give you the strength to make use of my experience. My spirit stays with you, regardless of what may happen to my body.
I will write a few words here about what has happened to me in the last couple of days.
My handwriting on the previous page reminds me of how I felt while I was taking down my notes—I was aware that she was nearing and drawing me towards her. She whispered sweet words to me; she kissed me and rather affectionately she asked me to remove the crucifix from my neck. My hands lifted, but at the last moment I was able to control myself.– – –
I’m not sure how much time had passed, but I suddenly heard the Count’s sardonic voice sneering at her.
“Get out of here! Your work is in vain—the time has not come yet. Wait a few more days. When I no longer need him, you may have him, and then—”278
I heard a strange, shrill laugh, like the sound of a glass bell. It was her voice. I still shudder at it; this voice was not human at all.279
Soon after I heard the Count saying,
“Good evening, my friend. I see you have fallen asleep with your work.” I opened my eyes and saw him standing at the desk in front of me, casting a biting look at me. I was tired and weak, and when he told me to go to bed I obeyed him in silence. Looking back on it all, I can hardly tell whether I’d been dreaming or if I’d been awake during the time I am now writing about. If it was a dream, then it may have been a warning—but I don’t think it was a dream.
Some days later, the Count asked me again to sort several documents, books and instruments, to have them ready for his trip. He also had me check, correct and copy two letters he had written in English and which were addressed to Brits, although I didn’t recognize their names. The language was obscure and ambiguous, and the message seemed to be about some important issue. Although I didn’t quite understand the text, this incident showed me that the Count no longer feared I might betray him—he probably sees me as standing with one foot in the grave already, unable to divulge any of his secrets.
______________________
Yesterday the Tatars finished their work. Early in the morning, two large wagons, pulled by six horses each, drove into the courtyard, where the heavy boxes were placed onto the wagons before they were taken away in separate loads. The drivers were Slovaks, but each trip was escorted by armed Tatars.
When darkness came there were only three boxes left. Most of the Tatars were gone, but there were still some men in the courtyard of the kind I have already described as being more ape-like than human. It occurred to me that this might be my chance to get away, as the gate would probably be open. I slipped out, but as always it was securely locked, and what’s more the Count’s hideous servants were standing guard. I rushed back inside, hearing someone running and panting behind me. I fled into the dining room, locked the door behind me and leaned myself against it. I felt someone trying to open it, but after a moment everything w
ent quiet.
I now realized that the Count had probably expected I would try to escape and had taken steps to prevent it. I shudder to think of what might have happened had his pack of thugs got hold of me. I am not afraid of death—but I do not want to die this way.
The Count came late that night. He was very cheerful, walking briskly around the room, speaking frantically and constantly fiddling with his nails, which were very long. Although it was his habit, I’ve always disliked this nervous tick of his. Had it not been for his snow-white hair and his equally white moustache, one very well may have guessed he was barely forty.
“Yes, my friend,” he said in a gentle voice, “I am almost ready for my journey, but I still have to take care of a few things here around my estate. I shall probably need the whole day tomorrow, and as I do not know whether I shall return in time to say goodbye to you, I am doing that now. My horses and carriage will be available to you tomorrow. When will you be leaving?”
This question came so unexpectedly that I was dumbstruck. I stared at him and stammered something about the departure times of trains, Bistritz, etc. My head was swimming and my heartbeat became so violent that I felt as if I were going to suffocate.
When I caught hold of myself, I saw the Count looking at me with an odd, ironic smirk.
“Are you fine with leaving at twelve o’clock?” he asked. “Then you may be in time for the evening train to Budapest. Well, I shall make sure the calèche stands by the gate at noon, and if possible, I shall also come to wish you a good journey, but should I be delayed—I say goodbye to you now. Be you blessed, my dear young friend.” He gave me his hand. “Goodbye now, and I thank you so much for your pleasant company. I can neither express its true value to me nor pay for it with gold, but time is precious to you, and in our family we are not given to receiving presents without giving something in return, therefore allow me—” he opened a drawer in the desk and reached for a small red silk bag, which he handed to me “—to give you this in exchange, and this—” he took something out of his breast pocket “—as a souvenir from your sojourn here, and as a token of Dracula’s gratitude. They are small, but they are old family heirlooms that carry a certain value, and I hope they will serve to remind you of your stay with me.”