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Father Rhodes' Journal, August 7, 2004

De Tocqueville came today. I was praying, and he came. I guess I knew he was coming. I had been having the nightmares for a week, and whenever the nightmares come, De Tocqueville is not far behind.

He came all in black, and looked like the devil himself. I can imagine why some children burst into tears when they see him. But they don't understand that De Tocqueville is not evil. He is not the devil. He is the hand, the agent of God. Not all of God's agents are white and pure. The Destroying Angel that murdered all of the firstborn of Egypt, and of the Israelites who had not marked their lintels with lamb's blood, is neither pure nor white, but he is still an agent of God. Cyrus the Persian, who took Israel into captivity and slaughtered them and destroyed Jerusalem was not white or pure, but he worked by the hand of God.

I suppose that to understand De Tocqueville, you have to understand his work. De Tocqueville is one of the Pope's secret service, that band of men who are papally-commissioned to deal with the nastier elements of evil, elements that most people have never heard of, and don't believe in. He and his ilk see the underworld, the darkness that lies in all of us, but is rarely recognized. He has vowed to work anonymously, and uses the name De Tocqueville only as a pseudonym. No one, not even I, knows his real name.

I was charged by the Vatican to be De Tocqueville's helper, his mentor. Why I was chosen, I cannot say. I am certainly no great priest. I have my vices. I have my doubts, my lacks in faith. I am no saint, have performed no miracles. I haven't even saved all that many souls. But, according to the Cardinal who spoke to me, there is something in me that the Pope recognized and desired. It is a mystery to me, and always will be.

I have accompanied De Tocqueville on some of his missions. I have seen things so strange that I dare not discuss them. I have seen true evil, supernatural evil, not the figurative evil that the modern Church speaks of, not homelessness and poverty and abuse and hunger and pollution. No, I have seen the real deal.

De Tocqueville told me today that he will need more supplies than usual. He told me that he can feel the enemy's presence very strongly. I can too. Something bad is happening, and I can feel it in my soul. I heard his confession, and then we went to the supply room, the secret basement of the church that was built two hundred years ago by the last helper of the last member of De Tocqueville's society. That man died in China under bizarre circumstances.

I gave De Tocqueville the following supplies, which I enter in this journal not only for the record, but so that I may keep track of inventory:

20 ashwood stakes
10 vials of holy water
1 container of the host, given by Papal indulgence
5 quarts of garlic bulbs and flowers
5 rosaries
2 book of the rites of the Mass
1 Columbian machete
1 Australian Outback knife
1 Winchester elephant rifle
1 Smith&Wesson .45 magnum revolver

Email:

from: jonahwest@hotmail.com
to: carmellab@faculty.ou.edu
08.11.04
subject: Urgent

Carmella my love: I am sorry I have not gotten to you sooner. Please listen carefully. I am in danger. I cannot explain the circumstances because I have very little time for email. If you do not hear from me in one week, please call the American Embassy in Transylvania and tell them that I am at the Castle..oh God they are coming please help me! I love you forever!!

Carmella Burns' Journal, August 10, 2004

Well, I am not quite sure what to write. I joined Luce last night at Dr. Roy's house for the “paranormal investigation.” First, I must say that Dr. Roy is absolutely a gentleman, and very attractive, being tall and thin but muscular, with raven black hair, and the sort of facial stubble that continues to poke out no matter how often he shaves. It was very obvious from the start that he finds Lucy very attractive, and she him. The two were positively flirting openly all night.

When we arrived, Dr. Roy opened the door and was sporting a smoking jacket and a pipe. I was tempted to laugh, but I remember how formal Jonah can be at times, and I stifled myself. He let us in, and showed us his home. It is a very nice home in the district of Mount Adams, a two-story brick house, that is quite charming. He must have money, because the house is furnished in the ultra-modern style, with Corbusier leather sofas, sparse, brightly-colored plastics, and very little else. I personally am a fan of this style, though I know Jonah would roll his eyes. Lucy did not seem to care, as she was on her cloud of bliss simply being around the doctor.

He poured us each a large glass of 1982 Barolo, very nice. We sipped and talked for about half an hour, he asking Lucy about her life and work, and politely including me from time to time. After finishing her glass, Lucy changed to subject to that of ghosts. She pulled out a notepad and interviewed Dr. Roy, asking him what are, I suppose, the standard questions for a ghost hunter.

As it turns out, Dr. Roy has only occupied the house for one week. He bought it from an old couple who had held the land since a time before Mount Adams was the place to live. They had never mentioned to him anything abnormal. Well, every night, when Dr. Roy goes to sleep, the same events occur.

Just about as he reaches the first stage of sleep, he clearly hears footsteps in the foyer, sounding as if someone is walking towards the kitchen. The footsteps stop, and then turn towards his bedroom. At his door, they stop, and the door slowly opens, and then there seems to be a sort of mist flowing into the room. At this point without exception, Dr. Roy seems to lose consciousness, and remembers nothing thereafter in the morning. But when he awakens, he feels extremely weak and looks pale, but then he recovers completely by midday. And, three times now, he has found certain items in the house misplaced, and he is completely sure that he did not move them.

Now I had a few of theories of my own, which I did not mention of course, because this is Lucy's business. But I must write them down for future reference. First, there is a phenomenon known as sleep paralysis that afflicts approximately thirty percent of the population. In this state, the sleeper becomes conscious, as if he were awake, and he can see clearly, but his body is still in a state of sleep, and thus his breathing is involuntary, and he cannot move his muscles. Though it is terrifying for many, it is perfectly harmless and well-known to medical doctors. Moreover, many sufferers of sleep paralysis also undergo what is know as the hag syndrome, when they see a figure, often an old hag, in front of them, and they of course feel mortal terror. But, this is because they are actually still dreaming while conscious, and it is merely an optical illusion, as strange as that sounds. Now it is possible that Dr. Roy is experiencing a severe bout of sleep paralysis with the hag syndrome, and along with visual hallucinations, he is also experiencing aural hallucinations. Another possibility is that he is simply dreaming the entire experience, and that he is fully asleep. It is always possible that he is lying, and though he seems credible, one must always consider every logical possibility. That being said, it is possible that someone – not a ghost but a real, live person – is indeed entering his home at night and moving things. While unlikely, perhaps one of the former old owners has dementia brought on by age, and is sleep-walking into the house. All of these things, no matter how likely, are quite possible, and I would much rather believe them than any theory involving a ghost.

These were my thoughts as Lucy concluded the interview. Dr. Roy agreed to having us stay the night, and so Lucy and I unloaded her equipment from her car. She had a camera, a digital camera, a video tape recorder, a digital video tape recorder, a tape recorder, a digital tape recorder, and a multi-meter. She explained that she liked to have both digital and analog versions of all recordings for comparison, and the the multi-meter recorded various changes in certain fields. She set up the equipment in the living room right outside of the bedroom door, since that left a full view of the kitchen also. She advised Dr. Roy to go to bed as usual, and that we would stay up in the living room. I happened to see Lucy blush when Dr. Roy came out in his pajamas – perfectly modest pajamas, mind you! But still. It was cute.

At about midnight, Dr. Roy was fast asleep. This proved by his loud snoring. I kidded Lucy about marrying him and having to listen to that every night. We were giggling and tired, but we had made a giant pot of coffee to help. Well, just a few minutes past midnight, we distinctly heard footsteps at the foyer. We froze. I had considered the whole outing either a joke or an exercise in futility, but as I clearly heard the footsteps, the hairs on my neck stood up, and I was terrified. The footsteps progressed from the foyer to the kitchen, and I noticed that Dr. Roy's snoring had stopped, so he must have been hearing them too. They were now in the kitchen, and seemed to sound as if they were just around one particular corner that was the only spot not directly in our view. They stopped, and then nothing. The video cameras were rolling, and Lucy began snapping photos with the cameras. But nothing.

We waited at least half an hour until Dr. Roy tiptoed out of his room, and said in a low voice, “See? This happens every night.” Confidence comes in numbers, and so we three went into the kitchen, but there was no one there. We searched the entire house, but it was clearly empty. His sparse furnishings and modernistic style came in handy, because there were simply no places to hide. Lucy checked the front door, but it was locked and undisturbed. She confided to us that she had placed a thin hair across the seam in the door, and had not told us so that she could guarantee that no one moved it. The hair was still there.

Dr. Michael Roy's Journal, August 11, 2004

Not much time to write. Must go see Renfield again, as many strange things have come to pass. Worried that Renfield is really walking at night, and suspect that he has paid off one of the staff to let him out at night. Will write more in medical journal.

Quickly. Last night, Miss Lucy Washington, of Paranormal Investigators, came over to observe the weirdness at my house. She brought a friend, Carmella. Lucy is so lovely! The footsteps came again, and the girls heard it. Waiting to see what Lucy says. Hope she will come back regardless. Think I am developing a crush on her.

Jonah West's Journal, August 12, 2004 (continued)

Sjeklia and I are together and alive as I write this journal, but we are fortunate to even be alive, I believe. As I had to quickly cut short my last journal entry, I shall now set down upon paper all of the queer and terrifying events that have transpired in these few days since Sjeklia and I arrived at Castle Dracula for the party.

As I left off, we were in our hackney on the road up to the castle, and I had just sighted it for the first time, and was taken aback by its dark beauty. The driver was becoming increasingly nervous the closer we drew to the castle gate, and when we finally entered the courtyard, he was positively terrified, and visibly shaking. I, contrarily, was quite relieved, for upon entering the courtyard I saw several other cars and carriages either arriving right before us, or leaving, or stationary, with many individuals and couples dressed for dinner.

“See?” I told Sjeklia, “it is really a party, and not some dastardly plot to do us in!”

“Party so far, yes. Please to watch over me, Jonah, for I am very very scared, no?”

“Of course I shall watch over you. Have no fear.”

We stepped down from the wooden floorboards of the hackney onto the cold, stone pavement of the courtyard. I paid the driver and tipped him generously, and he bowed and thank me in German. He was obviously grateful for our patronage and the large tip, but not so grateful as speedy as he turned tail and thundered back down the mountain towards town.

We were immediately greeted by a valet, looking very pale and ill I noted, who welcomed us, registered out names, and instructed us to please enter through the main gates. As we entered, there were guards who saluted us. It was all rather charming I must say. We were introduced in Transylvanian, and then the Baron himself welcomed us. He was speaking in his very good English.

“How good of you to come, Mr. West! I was afraid that perhaps some of our less educated peasants would have dissuaded you.”

“No so, Baron. Nothing could stop me from experiencing the beauty of your castle, and your immense hospitality. I am grateful.”

“Grateful and chilled, I would wager. Please, have a glass of this fine cognac.”

He handed Sjeklia and me a glass each, and invited us to please mingle and meet some of the other guests. We did so, and I had the pleasure of meeting several of the rich and important and noble people from Borkozviok and some of the surrounding towns and cities. Apparently, the Baron knew many people, and this comforted Sjeklia some, for any man who knew so many people from the land surely could not really be evil or a vampire.

The great hall of Castle Dracula was immense and beautiful. It was dozens of feet high and large enough to hold an entire battalion of men and horses. Rich, ancient tapestries hung from the ceiling and the walls, each of them depicting some brilliant scene of battle or history from Transylvania's past. The table in the center, constructed completely out of oak, doubtlessly by hands that worked centuries ago, must have been a full hundred feet in length, and was spread with the most delicious and tempting food that I believe I have ever seen. There was of course the seemingly national dish of paprika chicken, and the Baron's version – his chef must be very skilled – was the best I have had by far. The chicken was cooked fully, but the outside was baked with a slight crust, and the inside was positively moist and succulent. Most people usually overcook fowl, but this was tender and delicious. There was lamb, other fowl, fish, vegetables, an international assortment of cheeses, desserts, and many other choices. I must admit that I was a glutton that night, and, despite all of the strange and evil events that have come to pass, I shall nevertheless remember that meal as the best of my life, no matter how long, or short, my life shall be.

There were so many other noteworthy guests that I shall not even attempt to record them all. One who is worthy of recording, however, is a certain Mr. Dragul, a relative of the Baron, who had changed his name from Dracula to Dragul in order to avoid the infamy and embarrassment that accompany the name Dracula. Mr. Dragul actually lives in my country, in New York City, and he was in Transylvania on vacation. We barely met, and I did not even have an opportunity to speak to him and tell him that I am American. I determined to attempt to find an opportunity to speak with him.

After dinner there was dancing of the formal sort that the British and the French practiced in the 18th Century. Fortunately, I am well-versed in history of all sort, and so I was able to keep up with Sjeklia without embarrassing us too much, and we had a grand time. I believe that the very number of people present did much to comfort Sjeklia, and as we danced, I whispered in her ear, “Now, do you still believe that the Baron is a vampire, bent on our destruction?”

“Well, I not like him yet, but party is safe I think.” I felt I was making progress in the battle of reason over superstition.

Unfortunately, the events of later that night have done much to unseat my belief in anything, and I fear that, as I write this journal entry, I have become as superstitious as anyone, and more fearful than all. For, as I write this entry, Sjeklia and I are imprisoned in a dark, tall tower of Castle Dracula!

continued...