Dracula the Undead: A Chilling Sequel to Dracula

by Freda Warrington

  Beherit came to me – having set aside the axe – and gave me plum brandy from my flask. “Why, why?” I kept saying, but he gave no answer. He led me away – taking one of my candles, but leaving the rest behind – and I was so dizzy, so unmanned by horror, that I went meekly with him like a lamb. I could not look back at Miklos.

  On the far side of the chamber, at a juncture of two walls, a narrow black aperture had appeared. I had not seen this although I had passed the spot a hundred times! It was an archway leading into a tunnel – but not the one by which we had entered.

  “Why could I not find this before?” I gasped.

  “Because you are not an Initiate,” he replied. “You do not possess the key.”

  I was being led deeper into my prison – but at the time I was only glad to leave the chamber and the ghastly body of my poor friend.

  The tunnel was tiled with tiny mosaic pieces of deep ultramarine. A flight of steps led downwards, then opened into a space that resembled the courtyard of a Roman villa. There was a square pool in the centre, pillars and shadowy cloisters that hinted at rooms beyond. All was covered in, not by the sky, but by the roof of an immense cavern. Light fell through high embrasures, perhaps natural fissures in the rock. How glad I was to see natural daylight, faint and unobtainable as it was! Strange plants, like primitive, dark-loving ferns, grew profusely.

  All was neglected, covered in dust and debris blown in from outside. But once it must have been a place of gleaming magnificence!

  “Ah, too long deserted,” Beherit said softly. “These were our living quarters.”

  “But who built it?” I gasped.

  “The students, of course. Have you never heard the Devil referred to as a geometrician, an architect? He gives this knowledge to men – not God, who is too jealous to impart it.” What a strange mixture of contempt and irony filled Beherit’s voice! And although I dreaded him, he also held me in a kind of fascination – as he holds my life or death in his hands.

  Well, then he brought me here; a simple, spacious room off the cloister, where I sit and write these strange events in my journal. A couch with a padded seat and rolled arms makes a firm but welcome bed. He has left me alone for a time. Where he has gone, I know not. I am afraid to sleep, but I must.

  Later

  My sleep was undisturbed, though he has been back; I found the rest of my rations, water and brandy beside me. They will last some days... if Beherit lets me live that long. Only let him give me some answers before I die!

  It was dark when I woke, but now a grey light has crept in. So another night has passed.

  I have explored the courtyard and environs, but found no way out. This is a large, intricate villa, with other courtyards leading off this and the most wonderful statues, tributes to the naked beauty of men and women, set beside formal pools. I almost lost myself among them, and only found my way back to this room with difficulty. So, I am still imprisoned At least this place is less oppressive. There is somewhere to go, a sense that there might be a way out if I search long enough. This in itself lessens my urgent desire for escape.

  (Note: The sanitary arrangements have a classical sophistication that puts our modern ones to shame! There is icy running water, and also a supply of scaldingly hot, sulphurous water that indicates the presence of volcanic springs.)

  As I am weak and constantly cold, I cannot walk for long without resting. So, a brief respite for food, then I will set forth again. But why should I return here? I can take my meagre belongings with me and rest where I will.

  This is the most wondrous place, Abraham, whether created by the Devil’s disciples or not. My fear has receded somewhat; after all, death is the worst that can happen to me. But to discover this lost citadel on my way – it would be a glorious manner in which to depart the world, if only I could make my discovery known...

  Later

  Abraham, I have found the most extraordinary structure. A library, the like of which I could never have imagined. A scholar would give his soul to explore such a place! I can barely hold the pen in my excitement. How I wish Miklos were with me to share my discovery!

  I have been in the library for hours and am now too tired to go elsewhere. I have no wish to leave, in any case! This is the most momentous and frustrating discovery of my life! It has taken me a good deal of time to be calm enough to write.

  I have found three rooms so far. Each is a huge vault, simple in style with tall, plain pillars and a gallery running round the walls at a height of about twenty feet. The books, manuscripts and scrolls are shelved from floor to ceiling. The light, filtering through high windows, is very dim – just enough to read the clearer titles. I wish I had a lamp. The floor is filmed with dust, the air laden with the silence of ages. Statues stand on the broad marble floor. These are rooms that would grace any great university or museum!

  There are works in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, some – I suspect – in older tongues and alphabets that I do not even recognise. Many of these appear fragile but well-preserved; I would hesitate to touch them, even if I could. The translation of them would take teams of scholars a century! But, friend Abraham, I believe many of these to be copies of books lost in the destruction of the great ancient libraries. I have seen ancient histories, works of philosophy, apocrypha and Gnostic tracts – this all found on the most superficial inspection!

  This is such a treasure-house of knowledge that I tremble to contemplate it. Alas, Abraham, this is also the most frustrating moment of my life. This is a chained library, a fascinating fact in itself; the books are chained to the shelves, so it should be possible to read them but not take them away. However, the shelves are all closed in behind doors of thick, leaded glass. I have tried to open them; all are locked. I could weep. To have such glories at my fingertips, yet be unable to touch them!

  Later, night

  I fell asleep on a couch, only to be woken by a flare of lamplight swimming across the blackness. I opened my eyes and found Beherit leaning over me. His face was eldritch, all sharp planes and angles, washed with light from below. His hungry, cold smile filled me with terror.

  “I could not find you,” he said. “I might have known you would find your way in here, scholar! Now be still. You know what I need of you. I must have nourishment...”

  He leaned down over me. I could not move, though I was in a paroxysm of fear. Instead I found myself loosening my shirt collar, as if to facilitate his vile intent. I saw the red tip of his tongue between his pale lips, heard his breathing grow heavier and more stertorous. A strange langour ran through me; the air seemed to gather and hold itself, vibrating as if a deep bell were sounding somewhere far off; I felt the tongue touch my neck, and the thin body pressing itself along mine.

  I submitted, to my shame, no longer wanting to evade the embrace but welcoming it. Darkness sang in my head, drawing me down into an ocean that seemed at once sharply bitter and honey-sweet. I laughed breathlessly. How much easier it is to sink into the Devil’s toils than to seek the narrow, thorny path to God!

  The next time I opened my eyes – feeling that an hour or more had passed – Beherit had changed again. Now he is in the prime of youth, his flesh full and rosy. His hair – oh, his hair is a glory, a flow of rich pale gold falling past his shoulders to weave about his hips. A woman might sell her soul for such hair! And there is a light about him, almost a nimbus, a glow that seems to come from his whole body, his fair gleaming skin.

  Such was the impression of beauty that I wanted to fall down in worship. He might have been a six-winged seraph; wings would have seemed a natural part of him.

  When he saw that I was conscious, he gave me a tall beaker made of strange glass, dark blue swirled with metallic hues. It contained red wine, which I drank greedily. Beherit sat beside me like a nurse, feeding me morsels of food. Then he began to question me again about the modern world; I cannot remember what he asked or how I replied, only his voice hissing on and on, and his hair gleaming in the light, and the sense of oppr
ession and menace that lay upon me.

  When I needed to relieve myself he insisted on accompanying me – where did he think I might run to? But it was as well he did, for on the way back I fainted. He helped me back to the library couch and sat on a chair beside me, watching me as a cat watches its prey.

  Then he asked intently, “What do you know of Dracula?”

  This question shocked me so much that I did not know how to answer. “Nothing.”

  He had my journal in his hand, and waved it at me. “I have read your scribblings. You know of him!”

  I was strengthless; he was terrifying, with his hard white teeth shining. So I told him, Abraham, the story that you told me. If I did wrong, forgive me. I was – am – in thrall. As I spoke, Beherit interrupted with expressions of contempt that gave the impression that he loathes Dracula. Yet when I came to the part where Dracula was destroyed, his reaction astonished me. He leapt up in a kind of panic, crying out, “But Dracula cannot be dead! He cannot be!” He walked around the room, tearing at his hair and wringing his hands in the most startling demonstration of anguish. I was alarmed, and at a loss. Then he turned viciously upon me, his hand squeezing my throat.

  “You lie!”

  “I do not, I swear!” I cried in fear of my life. “All I know is what my friends told me. Dracula fed upon their loved ones; they outwitted and destroyed him!”

  I thought Beherit would kill me. Instead he let go and calmed himself with a sibilant, pensive breath. “You tell what you believe to be the truth,” he said. “I accept that. But I say again, Dracula cannot be dead. He was the most powerful student the Scholomance has ever seen. He would let nothing sever him from immortality. He must go on, in spirit, in a changed form. But dead? Impossible!”

  I was almost too dizzy and exhausted to question him, but I forced myself. “You knew him, then,” I said. “He was here.”

  “Yes. Of course he was here.” This said with a thin, mirthless irony.

  “Then tell me, Beherit – tell me your story!”

  “In time.” He smiled, but his eyes were calculating. “Come, my friend, there is more to show you.”

  I was barely able to stand. He supported me, but there was no question of my refusing to go. He tugged at a bookshelf, and it opened like a door to reveal a corridor, barely high enough for us to walk upright. He went first, bearing a lamp; I followed, leaning on him, intrigued despite my misgivings.

  This corridor wound deep into the mountain, now descending, now climbing, and its oppressive walls were wholly covered in mosaics of wondrous artistry but of lurid, disturbing images; sea monsters, hideous gaping fish, mermaids, leviathans, all portrayed with a lasciviousness of design and colour that sickened the very soul. These grew worse as we went, portraying mutilation and bestiality. Other tunnels led off the main one, and often we passed dark recesses in which the stink of alchemy still lingered. Shuddering, I wondered what experiments the Devil’s students had conducted in these arcane laboratories. Once, the light from Beherit’s lamp fleeted across the back of one such cave, and I caught a glimpse of jars in which pale shapes floated in greenish fluids.

  With every step I sank deeper into a sort of loathing, a dread of what awaited me.

  “Consider the Devil,” said my companion as we went. “He it is who thwarts God’s will by giving mankind the wisdom God did not mean us to have. God wishes us to be innocent and obedient. The Devil gives us knowledge and thereby the power to challenge God’s will. Lucifer makes us disobedient, as he was disobedient – daring to challenge God for his throne! Can you not admire him a little, for his audacity? After all, it takes courage to question the arrogance of God.

  “For that audacity he fell. Lucifer, the most beautiful of the seraphim, was cast into the darkness for daring to question God! Was he evil – or brave?”

  I was in no state to comment on this dubious philosophy. Beherit continued, “Writings in the library tell us that God created man to replace the fallen archangels. They say Lucifer is jealous of God’s love for mankind, of the attention He pays to them, and that is why Lucifer forever tries to subvert them to his own cause. But think; he does so not by tormenting them but by giving them great gifts. Knowledge and magic and science. All science has been called the work of the Devil at some time. Mathematicians and astronomers were burned at the stake! Who then are the fools? The Devil and his disciples – or God and his?

  “A small matter, to sell your soul in return for such riches of wisdom, beauty, language, medicine, power. Truly it seemed a risk worth taking; ten scholars, only one to be taken by the Devil in payment, and each of us thinking, ‘It will not be me.’”

  I said nothing. The silence seemed full of a brooding, blood-red watchfulness; we passed through a series of antechambers, where the mosaic walls gleamed with dark hues of crimson. We were coming to a place of great significance, I knew, but I was unprepared for the tangible power of the place, the assault upon my abraded senses!

  I can only describe the chamber to which Beherit brought me as a temple. It was perhaps fifty feet in diameter, ten-sided yet rounded in shape, like the inside of a sea-urchin. As Beherit put down his lamp in the centre, I saw that every surface, even the floor, was fraught with feverish images; blood-stained angels, gorgeous demons, writhing monsters copulating with humans, scenes of battle and martyrdom among florid vegetation, all intertwined like some nightmare fable, and all in turbid hues of purple, bloody bronze, greenish copper. If ever colours could exude the very essence of corruption and degeneracy, these did! And they seemed to vibrate as if alive. Panic was rising within me.

  On the far wall of the temple stood a great statue of a dragon. It was carved from black rock, monstrous but detailed in every gleaming scale, with huge amber eyes that shone from within. There was a door set between its forefeet, made of a translucent rock such as quartz with sigils carved into it. It seemed to me that a red glow came through the whiteness, edging the sigils with fire. The air was warm and thick with sulphur.

  “Here generations of scholars have pledged themselves to Satan,” Beherit said softly. “Nine to return to their lives and use their wisdom freely as they desired. One to give himself up to his Master’s will.”

  “Was Dracula the tenth?” I asked.

  “He was. He bargained for immortality, as did the most adept of us, and he received it. But when it was time for the choosing, and he was chosen, he refused to submit. He would serve no-one, not even Lucifer himself.”

  I laughed; I could not help it. Beherit frowned at me. “This amuses you?”

  “Of course! You mean he rebelled against Lucifer as Lucifer rebelled against God?”

  “He dared to defy the Devil, yes. We tried to force him – for if he were not taken, one of us would be sacrificed in his place. In his frenzy, Dracula killed most of the other students and fled the school. I was the only one to survive. Even the powers of Hell could not hold Dracula. In rage, the Devil abandoned the Scholomance and vowed to teach no more.”

  “It happened here, did it not?” I whispered in sudden, dreadful revelation. “Dracula killled them here!”

  Beherit let out the longest sigh, gazing at a golden mosaic star in the temple’s apex. “Yes. Here.”

  “And... have you seen the Devil? What is he like?”

  Beherit shrugged. “Like a burning angel. Like a hideous horned dragon. Like you or me.”

  “And you?” I whispered. “Are you...?”

  “Lucifer?” Beherit slipped an arm about my shoulders. “That, my dear friend, I cannot tell you. But I need you.” His melodious voice lulled me. I wished him to go on talking to me, for however evil he is, he is the only companion I have. “I am immortal but without blood I become languid. Four hundred years without blood left me as you saw, a dry shell. Your companion slaked my first, fierce thirst; I could not help but kill him. For that I ask your forgiveness. I was able to be gentler with you. You have given me back my youth and beauty, and I want to give you something in return. Immo
rtality.”

  “You wish to make me a vampire!” I said, shaken by violent disgust. “No!”

  “But if I don’t, you’ll die. Your body cannot support my appetites.”

  “I would rather die!”

  He spoke caressingly, his finger stroking my neck. “And miss the library?”

  I burned with longing to unlock those glass doors and draw down the chained books from their shelves, and he knew it! “Why not kill me? I am nothing to you!”

  “On the contrary, I value you more highly than you know. I need you to make a journey for me; you cannot do that, dead. I want you to find Dracula.”

  “I told you, he was destroyed!”

  “And I tell you, he survived.” Beherit took my face between his hands. His expression was sad, full of suffering; not malign or gloating. “He will return to life. He must. And I wish to prevent him from ever coming to the Scholomance again.”

  “But how would I find him?”

  “Where your friends are, he will be. He will want revenge.”

  These words chilled me so sharply, I began to forget my predicament. To think that you and your dear friends, Abraham, could be in danger again! “Then I must warn them, but as a living man, not Undead. Let me go! Why would Dracula wish to come to the Scholomance, in any case?”

  “Because he left too hastily. One day he will realize that he lacks his full power, and he will return to lay claim to the vital secret. He was isolated too long in his castle to realize his full potential – but now he is in the wide world, he will think too much and remember. Imagine a vampire no longer tied to his native earth, fearless of any holy symbol or herb, whose powers in daylight may be as great as they are by night. Would he not be a creature to rival Satan himself?”

  “You are jealous!”

  “You are correct. However, it is in no-one’s interest that he comes back here and finds the secret of such power, is it?”