Dracula the Undead: A Chilling Sequel to Dracula Read online

  But let me not dwell on that now. Very strange, as I said, that this journey should feel so familiar yet so different. The season is warm and lush, and we make our way without the urgency that so oppressed us before. This time we have leisure to enjoy the tranquil green slopes of central Transylvania. There are long gradual climbs with brown and white sheep grazing on grassy hillsides that sweep up to the sky. We passed a tall flour mill where horses and donkeys stood with their muzzles in nose bags, waiting for their loads to be milled. We also see many wagons drawn by oxen and buffalo, as the train makes its way past dense beech woods and fertile valleys with red-roofed villages and ochre churches. The buildings are quite beautiful, with decorative plasterwork under the eaves, pillars and wrought-iron balconies. The shepherds – who wear ankle-length fleece coats and have ferocious-looking white dogs with spiked collars – hold an honoured place here, so Emil tells us. I notice so much that I failed to see last time! I reflected then, I recall, what a pleasure it would be to fill our minds and memories with all the wonders of this beautiful wild country. Jonathan seems at peace, but sometimes he is quiet, and lines gather in his dear face. Then I know he is remembering. Dr Seward, too, often looks sombre, but Van Helsing is hearty, reminding us that the past is over, that we triumphed and must therefore retrace our steps with light hearts.

  All the same, the nearer we come to Castle Dracula, the more nervous I feel. Yet I am strangely excited, too, for I know there is nothing there now to harm us. I must be cheerful, at all events. Jonathan broods enough for both of us, and it is my duty to be strong for him.

  We are arriving at Bistritz. Once we are at our hotel, Dr Seward and Lord Godalming will go to procure a carriage and horses to convey us to Emil’s friends in the foothills of the Carpathians. That will make the last stage of our journey far less arduous, and possible to complete, we hope, in a day. That eases my anxiety considerably, most of all for Dr Van Helsing who, for all his lion-like spirit, is not a young man and tires easily.

  22 July

  Today we travelled from Bistritz to the farm, Jonathan, Dr Seward and Lord Godalming taking it in turns to drive. We wound our way through hilly farmland, the great spruce-covered folds of the mountains drawing ever closer, and beyond them the bare peaks wreathed with cloud on the horizon. The villages have long rows of single-storey dwellings built of wood and stone or brick, wrought iron gates leading to tidy yards with conical hayricks round poles. All seems fecund with fruit trees everywhere; apple and plum, pear, apricot and cherry.

  The farm, at the far end of the village, was concealed by a stand of birch trees, their leaves and silver trunks glittering softly. Then the trees parted and we saw the magnificent arched gateway that led to the farmyard. The moment Lord Godalming checked the horses, a crowd came surging out to meet us: women and girls in striped aprons, full skirts and sheepskin bodices, men in homespun trousers and tunics with cowhide boots. Some took charge of our carriage, others ushered us into the yard. Here there were more hayricks, vines trailing over trellis, pigs rooting, geese and hens in coops with their chicks running free. The house itself is a beautiful old building of wood, with splendid carved pillars and narrow balconies under the wide eaves. Yet the house is almost dwarfed by the great barn with double doors that stands nearby. Behind the farm, beyond its orchards and pastures, runs a high forested ridge that, Emil tells us, is badly infested with wolves. The sight of that steep dark slope reminds me that we have not far to go. A chill goes through me at the thought.

  The farmer is a big man with a prodigious black moustache, his wife a rotund, merry soul with ruddy cheeks and black hair. They welcomed us warmly and with much broken German and sign language. Their welcome for Emil and Elena was one of overwhelming friendliness, as if they are long-lost family. Dr Van Helsing explained that we shall require accommodation for two nights only. I think they would be happy for us to stay all summer, so hospitable they are! Basking in this rural life for a month or two would be pleasant, were I not so eager to see Quincey again.

  Our hosts have seven children, almost grown to adulthood, three daughters and four sons, all as strong, simple and superstitious as their parents. Not that I would ever mock their superstitions! Emil seems more vivacious among them than I have observed him with his brother or with us, but Elena – though she is always smiling and deferential – seems ill-at-ease. Perhaps she prefers city life, but I sense that her father has given her no say in the matter. I will try to win her confidence tonight.

  We are in a most pleasant room, simple and clean, with a view of apple and cherry trees and green pastures. I can hear birds singing and sheep bells tinkling. This all seems so cosy and pleasant, such a contrast to our last journey! We are being called down to dinner.

  Later

  Jonathan is asleep in bed now but I am wide awake. At last I have had a good long talk with Elena. The family provided a lavish meal and we did it justice. Afterwards, Emil went for a stroll to seek vantage points from which to paint, and all our men went with him. The womenfolk were busy in the kitchen, so Elena and I were left alone by the fireplace in a tiny parlour with carved wooden tankards hanging on the walls, and many embroidered cushions. She is a very handsome girl, with a sweet oval face, a rosy, brilliant complexion, dark smooth hair and brown eyes, and very dark, thick brows and lashes. She is slender but of no great height, so her form gives a pleasing impression of compactness and grace.

  I did my best to put her at ease. Jonathan and I both know what it is to work and serve others, so we have no airs and graces. I remarked on her excellent English. Her cheeks dimpled and her eyes shone as she replied, “Madam Harker, my Uncle André has always insisted that I be fluent in other languages. But my father is not so eager that I speak English. I hope you forgive my impoliteness, but that is why I have spoken to you so little. I wanted to.”

  “But why would your father not wish you to speak English?”

  She lowered her deep lids, her lashes making long black crescents against her cheeks. “Oh, he does not like me to learn or know too much. He does not think that education should be for women.” She looked up and spoke with sudden passion. “I feel there is so much you could teach me! We have so little time. If only I could come with you upon your journey tomorrow, we could talk all day.”

  How I hated to refuse her! It oppresses me deeply to conceal the truth. To pretend that we are here for the sake of idle curiousity and amusement, when the true reason is so dire! I refused her as gently as possible, and she took the refusal with serenity. But she is perceptive. She said hesitantly, in her beautiful accented English, “Madam Harker, if you will forgive me so saying, you seem weary, and sad, as if a shadow lay on you.”

  I answered, not untruthfully, “I am missing my son.”

  “Quincey,” she said, with a smile. “Is that a usual English name?”

  “It is more common in America,” I said. “It was the name of a very dear American friend, who died bravely.”

  “I’m sorry. How old is your child?”

  “He will be six in November.” I opened my locket and showed her the photograph of Quincey. I noticed that Elena’s hands are quite large, the fingers long and well-shaped.

  “Oh, he looks a beautiful, strong boy!”

  “I wish he were stronger.” I told her how Quincey, since he was stricken by rheumatic fever at the age of two, has been weak and sickly. It shames me to admit it but tears came to my eyes. (Quincey needs my care, not my tears – and I will never cry for myself). I think it was only the prospect of tomorrow’s worrisome journey that so weighed on me. I mastered myself. “He may not be strong in body, but his character and soul are the kindest that ever a child possessed.”

  “I see it in his face. He has his mother’s eyes,” Elena answered. “Have you other children?”

  “God has blessed us only with Quincey, who is blessing enough.” Tears nearly came again. I explained that his birth was difficult and the doctors have told me I will almost certainly never conceive
again. There, that is the first time I have ever written it. It was not so hard. Elena looked thoughtful, almost fierce in a strange way, and for some reason I found that far easier to bear than sympathy.

  “But then you are free!” she whispered.

  “In what way?” I said, startled. “How can ‘freedom’ from children be in any way fulfilling?”

  “My father expects me to marry Miklos – that is, the young man who was at my uncle’s house. A woman is born to serve her husband, then to serve her sons – but until then, I exist to serve my father. I try, but always he wants something different! He wants me married, yet he wants to keep me to himself. If I dare to speak to Miklos, he becomes furious, because we are not yet engaged. What I am to do to please him?”

  She sounded distressed. “Don’t you love Miklos?” I said. “You mustn’t marry him if you have no feeling for him.”

  “Oh, I like him well enough,” she said darkly. “But only as a friend, a brother. I am not sure that I wish ever to marry.”

  I was shocked. “But surely you must want children?”

  “Oh, I am very fond of them,” she replied quickly. “I would like a son, but without the rest...”

  I laughed. “My dear, you cannot have a son without a husband.”

  “But is there no more to life than marriage? Nothing else for me to do? Forgive me, I do not express myself well.”

  “No, you do, very well,” I reassured her. “But there is no greater fulfilment than motherhood. And look what rich lives these farmers have, living a simple life on the land. Sometimes I wish our own lives were so uncomplicated.”

  “But I wish to travel, as you do, Madam Harker,” she said. Her face was very intent, the fire making two gold diamonds in her eyes. “I admire you so much. I dream of being an English gentlewoman like you. When you are gone I shall try to be like you in everything! But in secret, only in my mind, otherwise my father–”

  She stopped, and her face became fearful. I took her hand. “You are a gentlewoman, Elena. You have all the womanly virtues; grace, kindness and dignity in what you are. I am sure your father could not be anything but proud of you.”

  She almost crushed my hand between her own two, and her tears dripped onto our joined fingers. “I want to go to England. I didn’t know, until I met you. But now it is my dearest wish!”

  The door opened and she pulled away quickly. Emil stood glowering at her, looking very fierce in the red firelight. He nodded to me, but said some gruff words to her. We rose, and Elena almost ran from the room with a muttered – and quite unnecessary – word of apology to me, and I came up to bed.

  Enough now. Sleep is calling, and I must write to Quincey before I lie down beside Jonathan. I am so grateful to Elena for keeping my mind from tomorrow’s journey!

  23 July

  It is over. What a day of wonder!

  Lord Godalming and Dr Seward harnessed the horses at dawn. Mindful of our hosts’ powerful beliefs and superstitions, we told no one our destination. We were in wonderful spirits, in the circumstances – perhaps because of them! The human spirit will always rally under duress. The sun was shining gently and the country looked so soft and green, filled with woods and fruit groves, it was hard to believe that such evil had ever been visited upon this land – or, indeed, emanated from it.

  But as the road climbed out of the valley, the landscape changed and we all grew quiet and sombre. Beech woods gave way to steep spruce forests that darkened the curving road through the foothills. The crags and peaks of the Carpathians towered around us in majestic, ever-changing perspectives against the sky. We passed deep narrow gorges, boulder-strewn rivers. I confess I felt a shiver, an echo of old fear and new-born excitement. Jonathan held my hand tight, but his gaze was far away. I see him remembering, at every stage of our journey, the thoughts and feelings of the past. Lord Godalming – climbing into the carriage as Dr Seward took over the reins – said as if to himself, “I wonder why we are forcing ourselves through this. “

  Van Helsing immediately clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Courage, my friend! It is precisely to remove any trace of such doubt and fear that we make this pilgrimage!”

  What a strange group of tourists we are.

  As we reached the flat saddle of the pass, with the mountain walls close around us, I was suddenly aware how cold the air had turned. We had left summer behind and moved into the great, rolling atmosphere of the peaks. Although the sun shone, both air and light seemed thin, chill and ghostly. Dr Seward turned onto the neglected road that leads to Castle Dracula. He urged the horses on faster, and the carriage bounced on the rocky way. I hoped no mishap would befall us, no horse go lame or wheel come adrift, for I should hate to be stranded here, even believing the curse to be gone. Evil leaves its mark, I believe, at least in the atmosphere of a place. Perhaps as a reminder, a warning. I touched the little cross I still wear, out of habit. And I thanked God that I could touch it and not be burned; thanked Him for taking that curse from me.

  As the road climbed through the wild mountains it seemed every bit as bleak and desolate as I remember, a journey of hours into the heart of a wasteland. We heard cataracts of water falling between the crags, strange birds calling from the wind-twisted trees. I thought I heard a wolf howl, although it must have been a dog on some isolated farm.

  When we came in sight of the castle, Dr Seward reined in and we all got down while he unharnessed the horses to let them rest. Then we went a way on foot, our eyes fixed on the bleak wild battlements that rose above the deep precipice. Storm-clouds were gathering behind the fortress. I began to shiver and my heart beat strongly. Jonathan and I held each other’s hands very tight. How pale his hair looked against the darkness of the rock. It turned white in shock when the vampire’s curse was so nearly visited upon me, and has remained so ever since.

  Van Helsing mopped the high dome of his forehead. I knew he was remembering his grisly work in the castle, his staking and laying to rest of the three female vampires within the old chapel. I am ever grateful to have been spared the horror of witnessing that terrible act of mercy – but how keenly I shared his feelings!

  About a mile from the castle, we came to the place where both Dracula and brave Quincey Morris met their ends. We recognised the boulder on the slope above, where Dr Van Helsing and I had sheltered and watched our men pursuing the Szgany gypsies who were taking the monster back to his castle. There were some splinters of wood in the straggling grass at the sides of the road. I wondered if they were pieces of the cart or the box... Most likely they were fallen branches, blown from the trees and weathered by winter.

  In silence we climbed up to the boulder. I was quiet but my emotions ran deep, and all at once surged through me, making me dizzy. I felt the bite of coldness. A great cloud seemed to swirl around us, full of snow and a strange icy light. Through it – in my memory, yet so vividly that it might actually have been happening – I saw men riding hard through the snow.

  I heard the thunder of hooves and wheels. There was the band of gypsy brigands, guiding the long cart with its ghastly cargo back towards Castle Dracula. I was shivering in the cruel blasts of wind. I saw the cart rolling and swaying under the weight of the earth-box. The mountains seemed stark and hard as iron, while the clouds thickened around us. The whole desolate kingdom was filled with the howling of wolves. Thick, swirling snow continually blotted our view, but between flurries I saw Jonathan, Dr Seward, Lord Godalming and Mr Morris riding hard after the gypsies. All the action seemed condensed, as vivid as the frigid sunlight that gleamed through the edges of the snow-clouds. I saw our men meet the Szgany in violent conflict, striving to reach the Count before sunset gave him back his unholy power. The sun was sinking fast, turning blood-red. The world trembled around me.

  Then the lid of the earth box was flung back and I saw the Count! His face was pallid as wax and corpse-like – but his eyes were open and blazing red! They stared straight at me through the chill mist and the sweeping snow, and the
hellish glare of them stays with me now for ever.

  Then the great knives of Jonathan and Mr Morris came shearing down. Dracula’s body crumbled to dust – but not before a look of peace replaced the malevolence. I saw Quincey’s blood run crimson onto the snow as he died, our brave friend, pointing to me with joy on his face. For the mark had left my forehead and the curse was over.

  I came out of the vision with a shudder. None of the others seemed to notice; I suppose the whole thing must have been over in a few seconds. Had they, too, relived those moments? I did not ask, for we were all alone with our thoughts. In reality the landscape was quiet, the only snow shining on far-off peaks, the sky darkest grey. Peaceful, but in a brooding, waiting way.

  Suddenly the clouds rolled apart, and the sun fell down in golden veils. We all lifted up our eyes, and Jonathan said, “Look!”

  Castle Dracula stood against the sky, on a towering stump that appeared to rise unconnected from the earth and forest around it. I knew its twisted battlements, its bleak stones. But while the sky behind it was black, the castle itself glowed in the rays, as if it had turned to pure, beaten bronze!

  Dr Van Helsing laughed, and clasped Jonathan’s shoulder. “It is so!” he exclaimed. “The curse is gone. We lifted it, by God’s grace, and it has not returned! Thank God!”

  He led us in our little ritual; hymns, prayers, and the scattering of holy water. Then we turned for home.

  I can write no more. I am exhausted, and Jonathan is already asleep. Our emotions are all too mixed and vivid to set down. Surely they need no more expression. Except to say that our main feeling is of gratitude, not elation. We feel no vaunting pride that we were the instruments of Dracula’s downfall. We did what we must, that was all – for the sake of poor, beloved Lucy, and for all the other innocent victims who might have been. We did what we must.

  25 July, evening

  On the train back to Buda-Pesth; now we feel like true holiday-makers, carefree and merry! I felt sorry to leave Transylvania after all. With its ghosts laid to rest, the land seemed to take on a bloom of extraordinary beauty, and we came away laden with gifts from the farmers. Such good, generous people.