Dracula

by David Thomas Moore

  [in the right margin, in faded pencil, visibly different hand]

  Laurel substitute—usually thyme. Quantity?

  —sage (fresh)

  —granny’s finger (fresh or dry) [literal translation of the name; I have been unable to identify the plant]

  —dandelion (make sure each leaf comes from a different flower, and leave the flowers themselves be. This will make the ward last longer.)

  Also, on top of the leaves, put three cloves of garlic, at equal distances (this is not important for the leaves). Cover the whole with leaves of grass or dry hay.

  Taking care not to lose a single leaf from the bowl, take it to a place nearest your house from which you can hear but not see water. If this is impossible, take a pitcher of water (anything will do) and put it behind the easternmost corner of your house, then move northwards until you no longer see it. You should still feel the presence of water. (If you do not, you have no business doing this in the first place, and the spell will fail.) Dig a shallow hole in the ground using your hands or a wooden stick, then place the bowl into the hole and set it on fire that you brought from your own hearth. Let it burn to ashes, then cover the remains with earth, taking care to leave no speck of ash about. This should keep your house safe for the next three months.

  Alternatively, build a moat: water will stop most pests, except for incubi. You might not want to stop them, and it is easy enough to chase them away in the morning. (Wild carrot and rosemary)

  [below, in the same hand as the margin note, but in ink]

  Wild carrot is sufficient. Use pennyroyal in a pinch.

  Letter from Erhard Ferdinand Pradl to Anneliese Lehner

  Warasdin, 4th of March

  Dearest Liesel,

  Well, I have rested now, and finally had the chance to look around town, and inspect my new office. The town itself is very pretty, I must say. Of course, it cannot compare with Vienna, but the houses are quite charming, and with the spring coming, the gardens look just lovely. I cannot specify the flowers, but there are very many of them, in all hues imaginable. I suspect even you would like it here. I am not saying that as a roundabout way of suggesting a move to the provinces, never fear! But should your parents be so inclined, you might perhaps come visit me in the summer. I miss you, my dear girl. Truly I do. I hope you miss me, too. You will not forget me while I am far from you, will you, dearest?

  As for my office, it is not grand, but it is noticeably larger than the small room I had to share with Franz and your brother at the Medicals. It is situated right next to the Franciscan Monastery, of all places. This is for convenience; the Franciscans have a pharmacy, so any equipment I might need is available. At least that is what the man who took me there said. Frankly, I am not sure what kind of equipment I might need at all, because it seems the services they expect from me here have little to do with medicinal research, much less with doctoring. At least that is the impression I got from the man whose request brought me here.

  The man introduced himself as Gašpar Katych, predialis. This is some sort of tiny local nobility, I am told—a knight, perhaps? The man owns a nice piece of land lying between Warasdin and Topliss, and commoners in the area seem to expect such landowners to take upon them the defence of their lands. That, obviously, includes unnatural dangers as well as natural ones. Hence the locals all turned to Katych with their complaints, and Katych in turn worked what connections he has to get me here.

  Now, my sweet, I do not want to bore you with stories of my work, but you always said you found my regular work-stories interesting, and I believe you will find this story even more so. Therefore, I am recounting here the events that led to my coming here, as they have been related to me.

  About two months ago, Katych received first reports of dead beasts in the area: one of the peasants from the nearby village lost a ewe, another a whole cow. In neither case were the animals dragged away: rather, their bodies were found, mutilated and drained of blood. (I have to stop here and tell you how incredibly happy I am to know that I can write of such things to you, and you will not faint! Immediately I finish this letter, I shall cross over to the monastery chapel, drop to my knees and thank our Maker for the gift of you.)

  To go back to my story: since it was then still winter, it seemed possible that a hungry wolf or even a bear had wandered close to the settlements and killed the beasts, but lacked the strength to drag them away. Katych gathered a hunting party, and they searched and searched for the renegade animal, but found nothing. They even bivouacked in the forest, but to no avail. The following morning, they concluded that, whatever it was, it had probably died of hunger or some illness before they’d even started the hunt.

  Imagine their surprise when they arrived back to the village in the morning, only to discover yet another dead cow. How the creature could have avoided them, they could not imagine—the forest is not that big, and they had kept vigil throughout the night. This time they set up guards on the side of the village closest to the woods. The knight and his men, armed with muskets and swords—even the peasants with their tools—stood and kept watch throughout the night.

  Now, the following portion of the story made even me uneasy, just listening to it. I am hesitant to talk to you about it, and shall skip the most gruesome parts. Do not read this all alone, or at night! I know that, for a woman, you have strong nerves, but for once, do heed me, please.

  The knight and his men settled to wait out the night. The knight himself took up position just outside the forest. To his right was a small brook, to his left a wide footpath from the village to the road. He calculated, rightly, that whatever was coming out of the forest would keep away from these, and take the shortest way to the village. He found a small patch of raspberries to hide him from sight, and crouched behind it.

  The weather was favourable for the hunters: the sky was clear as it sometimes gets in bitter cold, and the moon, half-full, shone brightly. Katych had brought a thick fur coat to keep warm, and wrapped his hands in woollen mittens to be able to fire quickly. He had oiled and loaded his musket—a fine Spanish specimen, he tells me, though I know very little of such things—and loosened his sabre in its scabbard for good measure. Time passed, and the only sounds he heard were a few owl calls, and the tinkling of ice-covered twigs when a night breeze shook them.

  Then, as night grew deeper and thicker, Katych heard another sound. Very soft, and slow: the squeaking of snow under someone’s feet. At first he thought their vigil was paying off. He checked his musket once more, and looked intently at the forest; but the squeaking stopped. For a heartbeat or two, silence was complete. Convinced he had imagined it, the knight was just about to put down his musket, when the steps continued.

  As they moved closer, Katych struggled to make out something, anything that would tell him what kind of creature was walking over snow. He stared at the dark mass of the forest in vain: no yellow eyes flickered, no brown fur flashed in the moonlight. The woods were shrouded in darkness. And still the snow crunched, slowly, rhythmically. Although he could see nothing, there was no mistaking the cadence of the steps. One foot, then another, moving with care, betrayed only by the frozen snow.

  Katych concluded he was dealing with a bear. Although bears do not like walking on two feet, they are capable of it, he says, and are very intelligent. It is not by accident that Gypsies often steal bear-cubs and raise them as family, teaching them to dance and even steal. It was easy to imagine a bear was raiding the village, knowing to approach it on two legs to make less noise and leave a slighter trail. The sound continued, and Katych raised his musket, aiming at about the height where the chest of a bear standing on its hind legs would be. He could still not see—and was loath to waste such a good chance—so he waited.

  The steps stopped again. As Katych stood aiming at the woods, he noticed a few wisps of fog rising from the ground. This was strange: the night was far too cold for fog. Yet it continued to rise, as if exhaled by the earth itself, and Katych could see snow rising a
nd whirling in it. He looked around, trying to find an explanation, when, all of a sudden, the fog coalesced into a thick, dense cloud.

  The cloud started towards the knight. It wasn’t moving very quickly, but Katych could still hear the crunching of steps inside it; he gave an involuntary cry.

  Just then, the cloud flew towards him.

  For a moment, Katych was too confused to react. That was all the thing needed: it hit the knight at full force—he says it was like being hit by a bear—and attacked. The knight felt claws grabbing at him, and only then remembered he was holding a musket. He pushed it into the roiling cloud and fired.

  The shot turned the night into a pandemonium. In the village, dogs started howling. On the edge of the forest, scores of birds flew up from the branches, alarmed by the report. There were shouts from other village guards, and the clatter of running feet. And above it all, like a saw passing through all their heads, a deafening, piercing cry that could have no natural cause. The horrible screeching made Katych let go of the musket and cover his ears. The claws grabbing at him let go, and he fell to the ground, calling for help.

  He felt a horrible sensation, as if ants were crawling all over his body. He tried to get up, but was pushed down again by a strong gust of wind. On his knees, he looked up, and saw an enormous silhouette, like that of a huge bird or bat, rise to the skies. It flew uncertainly, erratically: first it started towards the forest, then seemed to change its mind and turned away from it. Men were arriving from the village now, shouting and aiming their muskets in the air. The creature turned again, this time towards the brook. As it crossed the water, it let out another horrible cry, then rose higher and disappeared in the night.

  The men helped Katych to his feet, and took him to the closest house to check his wounds. The thick fur coat saved his life, it seems: in the light, they saw it was reduced to rags, torn by the creature’s immensely powerful claws, while the knight himself escaped with only a few deep scratches. He showed them to me, and I confirmed his judgement. If it had happened in the summer, he would have been grievously wounded.

  In the morning, they found the snow around the village covered in blood, and followed the trail. Unfortunately, the thing seems to be endowed with intelligence. Judging by the traces, it flew over the brook until it had stopped bleeding, so it was impossible to find.

  Katych fell down with fever that same day, and nearly died. Once he’d recovered, however, he decided it was time to look further afield for help, and joined his report to the others being collated by the Court. And that, Liesel, is what I am here to do. Not to study the vampires, nor to see whether they are real. By all appearances, I am here to kill one.

  I only wish I had any idea how to do that. My first instinct is to consult a library. Some time ago, I acquired that interesting pamphlet by Johann Christoph Harenberg, Sensible and Christian Thoughts on Vampires or Blood-Sucking Dead, but, alas! I never took the time to read it in detail, nor am I familiar with Allatius’s work, which would probably be even more pertinent here. The libraries here in Warasdin have neither work, and it is doubtful that I shall find them in Agram, either. I am therefore addressing a plea to you, my dearest. Would you visit my parents, and ask them to send me my copy of Harenberg as soon as possible? Also, if you could locate a copy of De Graecorum hodie quorundam opinationibus, I would be most grateful.

  In the meantime, I shall return to the Franciscan library—one of the kind priests there told me he might have a volume that would offer at least some enlightenment on the subject—and also visit Topliss. It is work, too, in a way: the events Katych described took place in a village just outside the town. Also, it struck me as a good idea to try and consult the Count Dragonneau. He is well-travelled, and very knowledgeable. We did not discuss any similar topic during our journey, but for some reason, I have a feeling his opinion could be instructive in this matter.

  I do miss you, my sweet. I hope your parents are well, and look forward to your answer. It doesn’t have to be long, just a line or two to let me know you have not forgotten me completely.

  Wishing I could kiss your sweet hands,

  Erhard Ferdinand Pradl

  Expenses report from Marcel Bordchamp’s effects

  Expenses incurred, 2nd to 6th of March:

  [encircled in black ink]

  Three workers, for the digging in the garden—9 Gr. (3 Gr. each)

  Two workers, for the transport of the coffin—8 Gr. (4 Gr. each)

  [in the margin in black ink, in a different, wider hand]

  Why the difference?

  Transport of workers to and from Topliss—3 Gr.

  [in the margin in black ink, in the wider hand]

  Per ticket price?

  [below have check marks next to them, also in black ink]

  One fully grown pig, live—1/2 T.

  Food for said pig (temporary; the man said it can eat any kind of scraps)—1 Gr.

  One metal vat—2 Gr.

  9 milk vases—18 Kr.

  Total: 53 Gr, 7 Kr.

  [at the bottom, black ink and wide hand]

  Bloodhound!

  V.D.

  Letter from Magdalena Hranić’s effects

  I am afraid, my darling. I am very afraid.

  I have performed the spell for the protection of the house. I had no laurels, so I used three sprigs of thyme. It should have been three leaves, but they looked so tiny, and laurel leaves are big. I do not know if it will work, or how well. I can only hope. Our house needs protection. I need protection.

  The one who took your life is still alive, somewhere. I can feel him. I hear his movements over the water. It is odd, for a pest, to keep so close to the water. But I know it’s there. Hiding. Waiting. Given enough time, it will recover. I know I should go out and look for it, but I dare not. Not yet, I keep telling myself. Once I have bled, it will be harder for it to sense me. I will be stronger, directly afterwards. It is wiser to wait. I keep telling myself. But I am afraid that is all it is—fairy stories I use to hide my cowardice from myself.

  What kind of a witch is it that fears a wounded vampire, you would ask, wouldn’t you, Matko? You would say something funny to make me feel brave. To help me forget that awful night, help me think with my brain again, not my bowels. But you are not here, my love, and my fear is strong. I do not fear death, of course. But un-dead life? That scares me beyond words. Also, unless my craven senses are deceiving me, there are two of them now. I have to investigate this, I know I do. It is the duty of the witch to protect her lands from all pests. Should I fail in that, too, I shall truly lose any right to call myself a witch.

  I remember telling Mother Bara, when I first decided to marry you, that marriage and witchcraft need not be opposites. I remember promising her I would never, ever shirk any of my duties, never turn away one in need, never fail a sister. And I kept my word, didn’t I? I was a good witch, and a good wife to you, wasn’t I? It’s only now, when I am suddenly without you, that I sit in the house wrapped in a blanket like a true widow. Only now that I am afraid to move. This has to change. I would be betraying everyone if I let my fear get the better of me. Soon, I shall go out and look for the creature, and finish it. Then I shall see what I can do about the other one.

  Oh, and if that wasn’t hard enough: that horrible man came by again yesterday. He is still trying to make me sell the house, threatening to denounce me as a witch to the diocese. I paid him off, selling a few trinkets I don’t need any more. But if he keeps it up, I will have to do something about him, as well. He has this idea that our house would be the ideal place for an inn. He thinks the fashion of the baths will spread, and burghers will start visiting the place as well as nobility. What folly! As if us ordinary people had the time and money to run about just for the pleasure of it. In any case, he is dead set on that plan, and helped by you-know-who, of course. I am tempted to turn both of them into frogs, just to try it out. I wonder, once the transformation is complete, where does the rest of the bulk go? Or do they
simply become really big frogs?

  I am rambling, my love. It’s time to turn in. I need to get as much rest as I can, for I have a difficult battle ahead of me. Wish me luck, dearest Matko, and watch over me, wherever you are.

  With all my love,

  Magda

  Letter from Magladena Hranić’s effects, unaddressed

  My dear friend,

  I hear from Mrs. Tišljar that our widow has recently taken to leaving the house at night. If we could persuade the magistrate to come with us one evening, we could catch her in the act. Would you be willing to endorse such a course of action? Frankly, I am losing patience. I tried reasoning with her again yesterday, but she remains as stubborn as ever.

  If she is found to be a witch, her house will become property of the township, and it will be easier to buy it, although the price will be higher. But I need your support in this; the magistrate is lazy and will not budge on my word alone. What do you say? Do we dare the gamble? Let me know as soon as possible.

  B

  Record from the Monastery Library of St. John the Baptist, Varaždin

  On the 7th day of March of the year of Our Lord 1746, taken out of the Library of the Monastery of St. John the Baptist, and set out in the reading room for the perusal of the visitor, one Erhard Ferdinand Pradl:

  Johannes Weickhard Valvasor: The Glory of the Duchy of Crain, tome 3.

  Said visitor was also provided with a fresh candle, a set of writing implements and a sheet of paper.