Letter: Mr. De Tocqueville to Ms. Lucy Washington, 3002 Eastern Avenue, East End, Cincinnati, Ohio, August 13, 2004

Ms. Lucy,

I cannot say that I am altogether thrilled at hearing from you, but please do not take that the wrong way. Life is a long, dark, mysterious thing, sometimes sweet, but mostly bitter. And believe me, Ms. Lucy, when a man has seen the side of darkness that I have seen, the underworld that lurks beneath the vision of the children of light, he is very rarely thrilled.

I want to first say that receiving your letter has stirred up in me many memories. How could I ever forget our time together, our sharing of many things? Even now these memories seem like yesterday, like we were just in the throes of love that we once experienced. But I must cease from this talk.

Know one thing, Ms. Lucy, that I will never, never forget that you saved my life. You need not feel bad for stirring up that fact, for it is on my mind day and night, and I would not be here today if not for your vision and your actions towards the witch. And, as we discussed, know certainly that my lips shall never let loose the facts concerning that witch's..fate. And do not feel as if you have to squeeze the favor I promised from me. No, I gave that promise freely, and I shall redeem it just as freely. If I gave you a hundred favors a day for the rest of my life, I would not even have put a drop into the ocean of gratitude that I owe you for saving me from the fate of the zombi.

Yes, I understand that matters are strained between us. Perhaps they may always be, considering our history. And I am one of the only ones who knows of the power you have. But, if Ms. Lucy's friend needs this sort of help, then by the name of God and the Blessed Virgin Mother, I shall rescue this Jonah, if I must travel to the ends of the earth.

Darkness is my fate, Ms. Lucy. To darkness God has condemned me, like Cain, and in darkness must I remain for eternity. But my redemption is the work that I do, the seeking out of evil things and their destruction. I have seen much evil; many beasts, many spirits, many horrors, many demons. But I know that God Himself has called me to this task, for I can feel it in my bones. Whatever danger this Jonah faces is grave, indeed. I know this, Ms. Lucy, I know it surely, and Father Rhodes can feel it too. I will be there in Cincinnati in two days' time. Please expect me. I require no hospitality but a place to lay my weary head, and a room to prepare in private. I shall stay with you for two more days, and then I shall depart for Transylvania, that dark and ancient land of wickedness.

Respectfully,

De Tocqueville

Carmella Burns' Journal, August 13, 2004

I am in such distress that I feel like I am going to die. I have had to cancel my classes this semester. I do not care. The only thing now that I seek is Jonah's safe return to me. My life is devoted to that and that alone. I am staying with Lucy right now. I do not think that I could remain sane living alone when I have no idea what is happening to Jonah, or if he will ever return.

Lucy has been most kind to me, but I am afraid that I cannot enjoy any hospitality right now. But there is one ray of hope. Lucy has written to her friend, a Mr. De Tocqueville, who lives in New Orleans. According to Lucy, he is a very brave, strong, and capable man who works for the Catholic Church. I really am not sure what an employee of the Catholic Church has to do with this, but I trust Lucy. Apparently they have quite a history, and he believes in the supernatural like she does. Normally I would never trust such a man, since I am hardly religious or superstitious, and I think that religious people are deceived and avoiding reality. But at this point, I am willing to literally try anything to rescue Jonah, and if Lucy says this is the man to do it, then I believer her. I only hope he arrives quickly!

Carmella Burns' Journal, August 15, 2004

Mr. De Tocqueville arrived today, and I will try to write down the entire experience, because he is certainly an interesting man. I was alone at Lucy's while she was at work when the doorbell rang. It is one of those old-fashioned buzzers, and it nearly gave me a heart attack. I peered through the peephole, and saw only a grizzly face peering back in.

“Hello? Who is it?”

“De Tocqueville, looking for Miss Lucy Washington.”

Hesitantly, I opened the door but left the chain locked.

“Mister De Tocqueville? Is that really you?”

“I am afraid so.”

I opened the door and let him in. He looked about fifty years old, very tall and very muscular, but not thick. He was wearing black boots, black pants, a black shirt, a black overcoat, and a black Australian rancher's hat. How he wore a black overcoat in August I cannot understand. He had grey stubble covering his face, and long, black hair fell from underneath the hat. His face was wrinkled and cut with deep lines, as if he had seen many years and even more troubles. His eyes were set in deep sockets, and they squinted as if he were a cowboy used to staring at the sun. I knew at once that he was a man full of sorrow.

“Miss Carmella? It must be you. It is a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I was instructed to find Miss Lucy here, and if not here, then at her office.”

“Nice to meet you too, Sir. Lucy is at work, but she will be home soon. Please, you must be exhausted after your trip. Lucy said you took the train, the City of New Orleans? Why not fly?”

“I don't trust plains. I guess it's just a foible of an old man. You know, I wouldn't mind a coffee and a bite to eat, if I may impose.”

“No imposition, Mister De Tocqueville.”

I served him coffee and muffins. He ate and drank quickly, and I was beginning to wonder if he was not just a rude, old cook, when he spoke to me again.

“Miss Carmella, I want you to please listen carefully. I am sorry if my appearance and manner are rough around the edges. I have seen lots of trouble and many evil things. But there are some things you can be sure of, Miss Carmella. First, I am a good guy. I am on the good side. Just because I wear black clothes doesn't mean that I am not good. Second, Lucy means the world to me, and she has told me how much you mean to her, and so I have taken your burden upon myself as my burden. I already feel that you are as lovely and pure as Lucy, and if she has chosen you for a friend, then I trust you and respect you. Third, I want you to know that Lucy has asked me to rescue your fiancé, Jonah, and I literally owe Lucy my life. Miss Carmella, I vow to you here and now that I will find Jonah or die trying, and that, if it is at all within my power, I will bring him back safe to you. Nothing in this world or any other world will stop me, I promise you. I may not look like much, but I have been trained to combat all types of evil, and I have fought enemies that you would not even believe existed if I told you. I cannot express to you more sincerely than this: my life is Lucy's life, and if her life, then your life, and if your life, then Jonah's life. I vow by all that is good, by God above and man below, that I will find and rescue your fiancé, Miss Carmella.”

There was something so earnest, so sincere, so capable and manly in his speech that I instantly felt that he really would bring Jonah back to me. I had utter and full confidence in him, and I could see why Lucy believed in him so much. For the first time since I had read Jonah's desperate email, I felt hope and relief.

Jonah West's Journal, August 13, 2004

Tonight, as Sjeklia and I are trapped in a tower of Castle Dracula by the Baron – who, I must now admit, is an evil man; Sjeklia was correct – I do not know what to do except to write down in my journal all of the events that have transpired, and to so hide the journal that some poor soul in the future may find it, and learn something of his plight, and perhaps escape. I dare not speak it freely or openly in front of Sjeklia, but I fear that we have no escape or recourse, and that we may indeed – not survive he ordeal.

Last night, after the feasting and dancing, the guests of the Baron dispersed into the several chambers and antechambers to sit, relax, mingle, and enjoy cocktails and cigars. Sjeklia and I had chosen to sit in one of the smallest antechambers so that we could discuss in private out thoughts of the Baron. There were two couples in another room next to us, but none in our room. Sjeklia was reluctantly admitting that her first fears about the gathering had been unfounded, but she was not quite yet in my camp in terms of the Baron's innocence. If only I had listened to her!

The Baron himself entered the antechamber and sat near us. Though he smiled and tried to appear at ease, it was obvious to me that there was some bit of stiffness and awkwardness in his form, and some bit of something disturbing in his face, and at first I could not place it, but only noticed that his smile and kind manner were not matched by his eyes, so that his lips and eyes were at war, the frontline being somewhere around his mustache. I believe that he somehow sensed my doubt, and so he attempted to cater to Sjeklia's innocence. He spoke to her in English, I suppose so that I could hear and understand.

“So, Miss Sjeklia, do I sense that you have been enjoying this evening?”

She replied, with a certain natural reluctance, but with the freedom, not only of his hospitality and grace, but also of the wine that she had been drinking. “Baron, yes I enjoy tonight, for to have hospitable, and food the best, and also wine, and dancing that is I enjoy.”

“Then I trust that you and Mister West will be so kind as to accept my offer of a room tonight, so that you might be rested and refreshed for your journey home.”

I could tell that this caught Sjeklia off guard. Hundreds of years of tradition and lore cannot possibly be eradicated by one night of feasting and dancing. She looked at me with an undertone of fear, but I feared only that she might offend the Baron, and so I took the liberty of speaking in her stead.

“Baron, indeed the road back to Borkozviok is long and treacherous at night, and we did not even think to arrange a cab back to town, though I am sure you could call us one. But, for me to pass up this opportunity to not only research my novel, but also to sleep in the very Castle Dracula, would be a crime! We would be honored to stay the night, and I think you for your grace!”

“Ah, very good, Mister West. And I am sure that your timid little deer here will relax once she sees the luxury in which she will be resting.”

As the guests slowly departed and thanked the Baron, we saw that we must have been the only guests to be staying the night. This of course was sensible, for I was the only person who was not a local resident, and also because, as it was becoming evident to me, the Baron was courting me so that I might provide him with advance copies of the book and, I am sure, so that I will mention him by name in the book. I do not mind either favor, for he has shown such hospitality, and given me so many things to write about, that these are but small favors by comparison.

“Baron, may I impose upon you a small favor?”

“Of course, my friend! Just say the word and it will be done!”

“Would you consider giving me a tour of the castle, and telling me a bit about its history?”

“But of course. I had planned to do that anyway. Now, I have a beautiful bottle here of 1978 Château LaTour, which I shall be glad to open for my American guest. Are you surprised that we have such French luxuries in Transylvania? Remember, Mister West, that we are a part of Europe too!”

The Baron opened the bottle, and as it breathed for over an hour, we discussed the history of the castle while I took notes. The history was so complex and old that I could not possible record it all in this journal. Suffice it to say that this history involved countless wars and invasions with sundry other Eastern European peoples, and that the castle's perch upon the natural, three-sided cliff, and the wild and thick forest on the fourth side, afforded the defenders not only with a view that stretched for miles, but also an easy defense, so that, in the entire history of Transylvania, only one army had been able to pass the castle's defense, and that was the Romans. No other army in the history of man had been able to overcome the castle's defenses. I of course found this fascinating, and planned to use some of this history as part of my novel.

“The wine is ready now, Mister West. Miss Sjeklia, I am sure that you would not pass up an opportunity to drink such a wine as this?” She answered in the affirmative in Transylvanian. I must say that, despite my present state and condition, and no matter what may come of this mortal coil, I will never forget that wine.

By the time that we finished the wine and had conversed, it was early in the morning, and the grey and distant rosy glow of the sunrise was peeking over the horizon. The Baron asked if he might retire, and seemed anxious. He showed us to our rooms, which were adjacent and joined by a curtained by open passageway. We thanked the Baron and bade him goodnight.

Though Sjeklia made it clear through hints that were not subtle that she desired us to share a bed, I insisted that we slept separately. I had thus sinned once, but I was repented, and had determined to disclose my sin fully to Carmella upon my return home, and to never do that awful thing again.

Because we had gone to sleep so late, we did not wake until afternoon. We found a meal laid out for us at the table, a delicious repast of cold fowl and cheeses, and some more excellent Bordeaux. I suggested that we should eat quickly because it would be rude to leave the Baron waiting or to overstay our visit.

Unfortunately, the Baron did not intend hospitality. When we had bathed and dressed, we went to the door of the suite, and found it locked! At first I thought it was a mistake; then we became nervous; then we became panicked, and pounded on the door to no avail. We did not know what to do, so we sat at a desk and discussed the situation.

I thought that it was an accident of course. I sometimes locked doors accidentally at my house, and so I am sure the Baron was susceptible as well. Sjeklia was naturally convinced that he had locked the door on purpose in order to trap us. I reasoned against it, for we had no reason to believe that the Baron was evil. He had acted perfectly hospitably the entire time, and it would have been unreasonable to accuse him of trapping us in the room. But we waited for hours. At sunset, the Baron opened the door and greeted us.

“Ah, my good friends. I see that you enjoyed your meal. I have instructed my servants to prepare a delicious dinner for you this evening – something traditional and Transylvanian, just for you, Mr. West. And I trust the beds were comfortable?”

“They were quite comfortable, Baron. And your food and wine are delicious. But, Sir, I thought we were to leave today and return home?”

“And take away your company from my presence? But Mr. West, I thought that we would discuss your novel more, and I would tell you much more about the history of my country, my people, and my castle. Is this not what you desire?”

“Ah, yes, Baron. This is very kind of you. But, I am afraid that Sjeklia must return to work, and we have not prepared to stay with you another night. We have no clothes.”

“I have arranged for that already, Mr. West. You will stay the night.”

He was smiling, but the smile was really a grimace, and his dark eyes penetrated mine, they searched my soul, and I found myself immediately becoming comfortable and pleasurable, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to stay another night with the Baron.

“Yes, Baron. I would like nothing more than to stay with you another night.”

“Jonah! I to work tomorrow, must!”

The Baron focused his attention on Sjeklia, and she changed her tune. “Baron, your castle good, and stay.”

But when he changed his focus to her, I suddenly snapped out of my stare, and understood that we had to return. Sjeklia was apparently still enchanted with him, because here eyes were glassy, and my words would not change that. I cannot say exactly what, but something about the Baron was making me very nervous, and for the first time, I felt genuine danger.

“Baron, I am afraid that I must risk being impolite and insist that we leave, for there is much to do in the town.”

The Baron simply stood up, smiled unconvincingly, and walked towards the door.

“Mr. West, it is not good to get in my bad graces. The servants will bring your dinner. I bid you a goodnight.” He stepped out of the door, closed it, and very distinctly and audibly locked the door. The servants never came.

Finally, Sjeklia returned to normal, and began to cry. She was frantic, and angry at me that I had ever trusted the Baron. I struggled in my own mind, wrestled against myself, my reason and my logic, but I had to confess that I may have been wrong.

“Sjeklia, it appears that indeed the Baron may have malicious intentions. Good Lord, he has locked us in his castle, and will not let us leave. We are virtual prisoners. Now, dear, do not cry. I give you my word that I will rescue us from this situation. I am not sure why the Baron is doing this. Perhaps he has inherited some of the old madness from the ancient Count, but I will get us back to town, safe and far from the Castle Dracula.

Three days later, we were still in the suite, and had not eaten. We had used tap water to drink, but we were becoming very hungry. I had of course agreed that the Baron was evil in his intentions, and I had determined to save us. The Baron himself had not made another appearance yet. Fortunately, I eventually found some candy bars that I had kept in my coat – an old habit of mine – and we were able to eat something. I allowed Sjeklia the lion's share, as a gentleman must do. I had also insisted that we sleep in the same bed, not for any romantic reasons, but for reasons of safety.

It was the fourth night at about midnight that was the worst of our experiences, and I shall attempt, not to theorize as to what happened – for I cannot rationally explain it, and will not accept supernatural explanations –, but to simply record exactly what I witnessed, and exactly what Sjeklia verifies.

It was about midnight as I had written, and Sjeklia was asleep. I had vowed to keep watch for as long as I could, for a man who would imprison his guests is capable of incomprehensible evil and harm.

At first, I thought that it was a rat scratching at the outside wall. Then, as the scratching and slight bumping began at the window, I assumed it was a bat, for they are quite common in this part of Transylvania. But as the scratching and bumping became more pronounced and did not cease, I began to become worried. Sjeklia did not wake.

Eventually the sounds turned into a steady tapping at the window, as if something with a volition was asking to enter. Chills ran the length of my spine, and I was almost paralyzed with fear, for the tapping was rhythmic and regular, and I was quite certain that no bat or rat was capable of this. I immediately thought of the poem:

Once upon a midnight dreary,
While I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore;
While I nodded, nearly napping,
Suddenly there came a rapping,
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my chamber door;
“'Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door;
“Only this, and nothing more.”

My poor mind began to imagine what sort of ghastly visitor might be tapping at my chamber door at this hour, so persistent. I was certain that it was not a raven, and I feared that, if I looked, it might be my last glance, forevermore. But I am, I hope I am, still a man of reason, and what could possibly be at the window but an animal? The window looked out over one of the steep, rocky cliffs that bordered three sides of the castle, and there was no ledge, so no human could have possibly reached the window. It was only my childhood fears that were preventing me of going to the window and shooing away whatever bird or animal had reached it, and so, gathering my strength from logic and the power of reason, I crept out of the bed, not awaking Sjeklia, and crawled over to the window against the wall, so that I could not be seen by the animal lest I startle it away. I determined that I needed to actually and actively see the animal in the face, so as to face my fear, and to prove to myself that Sjeklia and I were battling the Baron's insanity, and not some supernatural entity, that any doubt in my mind had been planted by the archaic, superstitious peasants and people of the land.

Directly below the window and thus the tapping, I took three deep breaths, and then stood up quickly, eyes wide open. There was of course simply a bat, but its wings did not seem to be flapping. My eyes adjusted, however, and I saw that it was not a bat at all.

There, simply hovering in air by the window, was the Baron, but not the Baron we knew. His face was a ghastly, greenish pale, like that of a corpse in pallor mortis. His eyes were sunk so deep into their sockets that they were more like gelatinous orbs, oozing some horrid purulence, than the firm orbs that they once were. They were black lakes, into which a man might dive and drown. His lips were bloody, deep, deep bloody. He grinned without any emotion, as a corpse might do if the corners of his dead lips were pulled back by the mortician, revealing the Baron's now sharp fangs, glistening in the stale moonglow. I was transfixed by his evil stare, and my heart sank beyond despair.

His sockets looked deeply into my eyes, and his bloody, foul mouth, like a rotting sepulcher, whispered to me, “Open the window for me, Jonah; open the window; let me in; it is so cold out here; I need warmth; let me in...” I was paralyzed not with fear, but with mortal terror. There is a vast chasm of difference between the common fear that most people face daily, of whatever source. Fear causes discomfort, and motivates to anger or to action. But few are those who have actually faced death – or worse – and there is a level of terror that is so great, that immediate dread and paralysis ensue. I thought of that old prophet Ezekiel, who was as one dead before the glory of God.

But then the terror melted away, and I felt not only comfort, but a form of fraternity with the Baron. He seemed kind, merciful, willing to release me from the pains of this world, a bearer of grace and kindness! I walked towards the window and released the latch, eager to share company with this angelic being. I slid the window open, and smiled at his radiant face. Now his eyes, his mouth, his lips, his stare – they all were beautiful to me, like those of the fairest maiden on a May morning. Blood dripped from his ivory fangs onto the windowsill.

“Invite me in, Jonah; invite me into your chamber, and we will kiss, and we will feed and banquet, and then we will live forever in our happy bliss, you, and me, and my brides, no more to die. Trust me, my friend, the power and love and glory that you will feel will be more than worth the one little sting, the tiny prick of a bee; I need you to invite me in.”

The words were on the edge of my lips, those gracious words of comfort, “Please come in, Baron,” but before they made themselves from thought into sound, the Baron hissed like a demon. Everything from then happened so quickly that I am not positive I have remembered every detail. The Baron had been poised at the ready, his torso leaning in so that his long pale nose was almost breaking the plane of ether separating us, when he hissed so horribly, like a rabid dog or a cat under attack and cornered, and he backed from the window, as if from me, but no, from something behind me. Then, to my side, stood Sjeklia, her crucifix in her hand, advancing slowly and surely towards the window.

She spoke in Transylvanian to the Baron, but by whatever strange biological or mental process I cannot say, I was able, just for that moment, to understand their speech.

“Begone, vampire! Begone from this chamber and never return! I banish you in the name of Jesus the Christ, the one who banished your father and all like you to the pit for all of eternity when he shall return! Begone, or I shall press this crucifix against your ghoulish, dead forehead and you shall burn in agony! Begone!”

“You! Rotten girl, stupid peasant. I should have known that you, a librarian, would have read of those weapons and those words. You know that I cannot enter now, but believe me, Sjeklia, when I say that you shall both be mine!”

As the Baron's eyes had drifted from mine to hers in his speech, the soothing feeling was quickly gone again, and replaced once more by the mortal terror of the situation. I had almost allowed this evil thing, this beast, into our chamber, to do God-knows-what to us, to me and to poor, poor Sjeklia, and if he had harmed her, the blood would have been upon my head for inviting in such evil as was clearly visible.

He cackled at us, that crackling, bellowing, deep-toned laugh that is the hallmark of evil intentions and malice, and he grinned horribly. He taunted us: “You are in my territory, Mr. West. Do not think that you shall escape. Yes, you have found me out, you have discovered my family's secret, that our old ancestor the famous Count was not insane, or physically-ill, or demented from inbreeding, or just a cruel strong-leader. No, he was as I am, and as we all are. We live for centuries, Mr. West, we live forever if we are not killed, and the ways to kill us are few, and you know them not. You should thank that wench for saving your life this time, but remember that you are my prisoner here, at my bidding, and I have ways of taking what is mine, I and my brides all do. My servant will bring your meal tomorrow morning, for a starving man is not much good for blood, but know this, that you are my caged beast, and you shall not escape until you escape mortality itself.”

He was perfectly hovering in the air high above the cliff and the forest below, and I can tell you, and write with conviction, that my eyes were not deceiving me – he was levitating! He backed into the night air, so that we could but barely see his form, but he said one more thing, this louder than the former speech, presumably to frighten us and extol his own grandeur.

“Oh, Mr. West. I believe I have something of great interest to your novel. I am sure that Stoker's Dracula is part of your research, and now you know that the Count in that story was not fictional, but true. There are two things that you do not know, however. First, Bram Stoker was trapped here in this, my castle, as you are. In fact, his fictional character Jonathan Harker, was a front for himself, for it was Mr. Stoker who escaped my castle and returned to hunt me in London – his was no fiction. And, as you may have now deduced, I am not the Baron Dracula, a modern descendant of the Count, but I am the Count himself, alive yet another century!”

In the midst of this incredulously-strange event, I came to my senses, and my quick, logical mind bounded into action.

“Baron, now I know you are a liar, for Van Helsing destroyed you in your coffin! And, once destroyed, legend says that vampires return briefly to their former selves, and then die finally, and their returned souls go to heaven.”

“Ah, young fool, but Van Helsing thought he killed me. He used knives on me, and you will find in your vampire literature that knives do not kill the vampire. It is a pity, isn't it, that one so intelligent and brave as Van Helsing could be so stupid as to choose the wrong weapon in a fleeting moment, as if a child who has never fought with the sword chooses the inappropriate sword? I am the Count, and my brides will verify this! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

He disappeared completely into the darkness of the Transylvanian night, and the wolves howled more loudly than usual. Sjeklia slammed the window shut and bolted it, pulled me forcefully to the bed, and sternly lectured me.

“No I tell you, Baron bad man? No I tell him vampire? No warning you, no listen you, no say you again and again that Baron dead man walking, very evil and too bad? No I tell you these? Yet you no to believe her!”

“Calm yourself, Sjeklia, please calm yourself.” She was in such an hysteria – and I could hardly blame the poor dear – and so I wrapped my arms tightly around her in a comforting embrace until her rage and tears had subsided. What else was a gentleman to do but to use his manly strength of emotion to provide a solid rock for the weaker emotions of the woman? She shook and screamed into my jacket and pounded upon my back with her tiny fists and then finally was exhausted. I laid her down, lay beside her,and we fell into that deep sleep of emotional exhaustion.

We woke, and I began to whisper to her as calmly and gently as I knew: “Sjeklia, please listen to me. I must talk to you. I do not know what will of the Fates has brought us together here in Transylvania, in Borkozviok, in Castle Dracula, imprisoned in a suite on a tower. But, we are here. As much as I try to explain all things rationally and logically and naturally, I have just witnessed three things for which I find no natural explanation, though perhaps there may be one.

But I know I just saw these three things: I saw a man completely transformed, not in such a way that a movie makeup artist could do, even with an unlimited budget. I saw a regular, albeit pale, Eastern European face, gentry enough in the tavern, transformed into a hideous beast-thing, the unmistakable face of a corpse, and, I must admit, that visage was the quintessential vision of a corpse alive, an undead creature, a demon who, though obviously dead and dying, yet lives and walks and talks, but no as we do. And thus is he the undead.

Secondly, I saw a man hovering in air, clearly hovering in air, levitating apparently at will, above a steep, rocky drop from a tall cliff, a drop of several hundred feet. Below that drop was a forest so thick that the tips of the branches of the Pines and the many other trees – branches which, every day stretched themselves like our arms towards the sun, trying to cover the others and ensure their place in the sun so that a great flora battle takes place daily – these tips pointed up at our tower, taunting and teasing us: “Come, jump to us and land upon our soft, green blanket, and then on the fall down, you will see that our green blanket is no blanket at all, but a shimmering, emerald delusion, cruelly masking the thousands of spikes, of stakes, waiting hungrily to split your body into a hundred pieces. It was this very thought that dissuaded the Magyar invaders, for they knew that any warrior foolish enough to even be so fortunate as to climb the thick, living, unforgiving forest would then have to climb an impossibly slick yet toothy cliff, tall and straight, but with mocking teeth and small ridges placed here and there.

Finally, I saw this man, this creature, quite clearly flying off into the night. Even if he might have arranged some sort of cable trickery, some means of suspending himself in mid-air through machinations, he certainly could not have flown off a distance of several hundred feet before disappearing into the night! I simply could not explain these things rationally.

And so I must conclude two simple, but horrible, deductions. First, the Baron, or Count, or whoever he is, must be some sort of evil beast, and supernatural or not, he had the capability of both accessing us easily, and murdering us, even in our sleep. Secondly, we were imprisoned in his castle, and had to devise a way of escape, or die!

Dracula

Darkness. Damp coolness. I am barely conscious. I cannot move. My will is not my own. My body melts into the soil around me. It is the edge of the face of the Duchess, as her pink shame blends and smooths itself into the pale green landscape beyond. There is little difference between my body and the soil while I sleep. Outside, the blinding, mocking light of that remembrance of the holy searches me out. It roams the earth as if a great eye wandering to and fro, seeking out which of us to destroy.

I do not need my flesh to rove. I can feel them, see them. The waves of turmoil cascade over my face, and I can sense the disturbances. They two are in the tower, planning and plotting. They are weak and mortal.

I think of the centuries I have seen. Most of the history of man is laced and marked with the landmark of war, of murder and blood and death on the ground. I have seen enough of death. There is no love. There is neither glory nor honor. There is no loyalty and no friendship. All is black, and I have learned that lesson well. All is hatred, and violence, and malice. Brother kills brother. Friend hates friend. Peace is a quaint illusion devised by those who would motivate others to wage their wars.

The bloodlust comes near dusk. I am empty and feeble. The blood is the life of the animal, and I must suck its substance and nourishment into my hollowed cavity. When the rosy fingers of the Sun begin to withdraw from the sanctity of the day, like he has withdrawn his mercy and care from me, then does my time come.

Jonah West's Journal, August 13, 2004 (continued)

I write this entry in the sanctity of the warmth of my hotel, alone except for the man in black. My mind can barely stand the memories of what has happened, and so it is steadily building a wall of defense, of amnesia. I will transcribe that which I remember, and, as the man in black has promised to transport me back to Ohio, and thus to Carmella – and I have quickly learned that the man in black may be trusted – I shall relax into nothingness, and allow my mind the escape it desires, until I am in her arms again.

The day before the acceleration of events, I was able to send a quick email to Carmella. I had forgotten my Blackberry and my wireless satellite connection! But that was at the last, and so I will begin at the beginning.

The morning after the Baron's fenestral visitation, Sjeklia and I woke in each others' arms, but not for lust. We had, of course, both been assaulted by horror the night before, and were terrified of any further advance by the Baron. As the dawn's light refreshed the secrets of the night, I was almost convinced that all had been a dream.

I shook Sjeklia awake, and she too expressed disbelief in what we had seen. We discussed the Baron, and both agreed that we should proceed with caution and trepidation. Neither of us would admit either to the veracity or the falsehood of the night before, but we both were absolutely certain of the reality of our imprisonment. Sjeklia was in fact pale with languor and pallor, and obviously exhausted, as I scarce could rouse her.

At mid-morning, the door swiftly opened, and a servant swooped in and locked the door behind him. He was brandying a knife, and watched us silently as he set some food upon the table. He was cloaked all in black, and only his eyes showed through his face-veil. He spoke in English, but in a thick Hungarian accent.

“The Master has sent this meal to you, as a last meal. I suggest you enjoy it now while you can.”

His voice seemed familiar, and by connecting the expressions of his eyes with his voice, I recognize the Gypsy who had blocked our path in the road on the way to the castle.

“Sir! Please! Do you not remember us? I am the man who gave your family the money on the road. Please, I beg you, help us! Your Master is after our very lives. Surely you desire escape as well. You cannot be happy slaving for that beast. Please, save us, and I swear I will reward you richly once we return to my home. I have money, and I am willing to give you anything.”

He pulled back his veil, and for an instant, I believed that I had broken through his facade and tugged at his heart. I was hoping against hope that he would take my offer and flee his cruel master. But when his veil was lifted, I saw what I had not seen in the night – his pale, morbid face, drained of color, and his green lips, stained with blood. He was one of them too!

“It is most fortunate for you, Mr. West, that the Master has forbidden me from mingling with you, because your friend there is most appealing.” He laughed in that grizzly way that becomes criminals and murderers, those with no regard for justice of life.

I suddenly remembered my crucifix, and, though I was disgusted and fearful, but perhaps strengthened by the light of day that was passively reflected in from the window, it dawned upon me to try an experiment, and thus to either verify or falsify the Baron's gruesome visit. In one motion, I pulled my crucifix from my shirt and thrust it towards him, boldly stepping forward so that it pressed into his forehead.

He shrieked in a high pitched wail, as if a horse were bring tormented, and his flesh burned and smoked. He leapt backwards, stumbling over himself and into the door, hitting his head and losing consciousness. He was quite out of it, forehead smoldering, lying by the door.

“Good God, Sjeklia. Did you see that?”

“Vampire too! Cross for his head, powerful burn.”

“Quick! Let's bind him, and when he comes to, we can force him to let us out!”

We pulled out some of the old shirts that were in the closets, tore them into ribbons, and tied him firmly to the table. I made the extra precaution of tying his limbs multiple times. If he was indeed a vampire – and I was beginning to believe this, despite the sheer impossibility of it – then perhaps the old lore was true, and he was stronger than many men. I tied his neck, arms, legs, and torso several times, and as a precaution, placed a crucifix upon his shirt. It did not burn through the fabric, and I made a note to remember this.