In the darkness, your attackers appear as living shadows, but their teeth are real enough. Mere minutes after you climbed from the carriage and stepped into the forest, you are nothing more than a meal for a hungry pack of wolves.
Try again.
You decide to stay where you are. After all, the driver would not leave you in any danger. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The truth is you’re too afraid to move.
The moon breaks through the black clouds above. By its light, you see around you a ring of wolves. You see their white teeth and lolling red tongues, their wiry limbs and shaggy hair. They are a terrible sight, and you are frozen with fear.
All at once the wolves begin to howl. The horses jump about and look helplessly around. You call to the coachman to come. You shout and beat the side of the carriage, hoping to scare the wolves away.
An instant later, you hear the driver’s voice speak in a tone of command. You look toward the sound and see him in the roadway. As he sweeps his long arms, the wolves fall back. Just then a heavy cloud passes across the face of the moon, and you are again in darkness.
When you can see the driver again, he is climbing into the carriage, and the wolves have disappeared. You continue on your way, now in almost complete darkness. You travel up, up, up the mountain for many hours.
2. Castle Dracula
The driver stops the horses, and you find yourself in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle. Its tall black windows show no signs of light. Its broken battlements create a jagged line against the sky.
The driver jumps down and holds out his hand to assist you. Again you notice his impressive strength. His hand actually seems like a steel vice that could crush you. Next, he takes your bags and places them on the ground beside the castle door, old and decorated with large iron nails. You can see in the dim light that the castle’s stone walls have been worn by time and weather.
The driver jumps into his seat and shakes the reins. The horses start forward, and the carriage disappears into the night. You stand in silence, not knowing what to do. The time you wait seems endless. Feelings of doubt and fear crowd upon you. What sort of place have you come to? What sort of grim adventure are you on? You begin to rub your eyes and pinch yourself to see if you are awake. It all seems like a horrible nightmare.
You hear heavy steps approaching behind the great door. Then there is the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key is turned, and the great door swings open.
A tall old man, clean-shaven except for a long white moustache, stands before you. He is clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of color on him anywhere. He holds in his hand an old silver lamp, casting long shadows as its flame flickers.
The old man motions you in with his right hand, saying in excellent English but with a heavy accent, “Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will!”
He makes no motion of stepping to meet you but stands like a statue. You start forward, but your instincts scream for you to stop—as though you’re walking into some kind of trap. If you trust your instincts, if you refuse to enter, you will be outside and alone in the middle of nowhere. If you ignore your instincts and enter the castle, who knows what horrors may await you? To enter or not to enter, what will you choose to do?
Enter the castle.
Refuse to enter.
A trap? Of course, it all makes sense: the way the people of Bistritz acted, the strange repeated path your carriage took, that ghostly blue light, and the peculiar way the driver acted. You trust your instincts, and your instincts say danger.
Again, the man at the door motions for you to enter. Instead of stepping forward, you take three steps back. Then you turn around and run, leaving your bags at the castle door.
As you dash down the roadway, the moon ducks behind a cloud, and you are plunged into total darkness. It becomes difficult even to see the path beneath your very feet.
You do not get far from the castle before your side begins to ache. Your throat tightens as you gulp the frigid night air. Sweat pours from your forehead but quickly freezes onto your skin. You are not much of a runner, and the symptoms of tiredness grow even more severe. You are soon forced to stop.
You fall to your hands and knees, gasping for breath. Your body shudders against the cold mountain air.
“This was a mistake,” you groan.
You look back, considering a return to the castle. But you are far too tired. Your only hope is to seek shelter from the snow and wind within the trees.
You climb to your feet and step slowly into the forest, arms extended. Your progress is slow, and your hands often scrape against the cold, rough bark of a tree. Twigs snap beneath your feet. Leaves rustle all around you.
And then you hear a low, soft growl. The sound seems to be in front of you. Then behind. To your left. Your right. Then everywhere at once. The wind picks up, and you shudder. Not from the cold, but from the dreadful realization that you are surrounded by wolves.
You scream in terror, “Help me!” And you run.
The wolves are waiting. You hear a snarl just before the first one is upon you. He leaps against your chest, knocking you down. A second and a third join the attack. Then another, and another, and more after that.
In the darkness, your attackers appear as living shadows, but their teeth are real enough. Mere minutes after you stepped into the forest, you are nothing more than a meal for a hungry pack of wolves.
Try again.
You shake off your fears and move into the castle. The instant that you step over the threshold, the old man moves forward. Holding out his hand, he grasps yours with a strength that makes you wince. His hand seems cold as ice, like the hand of a dead man.
Again he says, “Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!”
The strength of the handshake is so similar to the driver’s that for a moment you wonder if it is the same person. To make sure, you ask, “Count Dracula?”
He bows as he replies, “I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome to my house. Come in. You must need to eat.”
He insists on carrying your bags as he leads you along a passage, up a great winding stairway, and along another great passage. At the end of this, he throws open a heavy door. The two of you pass through several more doors until you reach a bedroom warmed by a lit fireplace.
The Count leaves your luggage inside and withdraws, saying, “When you are ready, come into the other room. You will find your supper prepared.”
You enjoy a savory chicken dinner with the Count, although he neither eats nor drinks a thing. Afterward, you and the Count sit for a while and chat. His face is strong, with a thin nose, a large forehead, and long white hair. His eyebrows are very thick. The mouth is rather cruel-looking, with sharp white teeth that hang over bright red lips. His ears are pale and pointed at the tops. The chin is broad and strong, the cheeks firm though thin.
You notice the backs of his hands as they rest on his knees. They are coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strangely, there are hairs in the center of his palms. His nails are long, and they are cut to a sharp point.
As the Count leans over you, his hands touch you. You cannot hide a shudder. It may be that his breath is disgusting, but a horrible feeling of illness comes over you. The Count, evidently noticing it, draws back. With a grim sort of smile, he sits down again on his own side of the fireplace.
You are both silent for a while. As you look toward the window, you see the first dim ray of the coming dawn. You then hear the howling of many wolves.
The Count’s eyes gleam as he says, “Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” Then he rises and says, “But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready. You shall sleep as late as you like. I have to be away until the afternoon, so sleep w
ell and dream well!” With a courteous bow, he opens the door to your bedroom, and you enter.
You are in a sea of wonders. You doubt. You fear. You think strange things, which you dare not confess. You pray that God keeps you safe, if only for the sake of those dear to you.
You sleep until late in the day. When you awaken, you explore your area of the castle, noticing many odd details about it. The table service is of gold and is so beautiful that it must be of great value. The curtains and furniture are of expensive and beautiful fabrics, but they are centuries old. You cannot find, in any of the rooms, a mirror. (You must use a little shaving glass from your bag in order to shave and brush your hair.) You do not see a servant anywhere or hear a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves.
After a quick meal alone, you wish to find something to read: book, newspaper, or even writing materials. You find a sort of library with a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them. A table in the center is littered with English magazines and newspapers.
While you look at the books, the door opens and the Count enters. He salutes you in a hearty way and says, “I am glad you found your way in here. Through these books, I have come to know your great England, and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London. But alas! I only know your language through books. To you, my friend, I hope to learn to speak.”
“You know and speak English well,” you reply.
He bows gravely. “I thank you, my friend, for your flattering comment. True, I know the grammar and the words, yet I know not how to speak them.”
“Indeed,” you say, “you speak excellently.”
“Not so,” he answers. “If I were to move and speak in London, all would know me as an immigrant. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble. The common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land is no one. I have been so long a master that I wish to be master still, or at least that no other should be master of me. Therefore, I hope you shall stay here a while, so that by our talking I may better learn the English speech.”
There is no doubt to his meaning. The Count has just asked you to stay with him longer than planned. You are desperate to say no, but so far the Count has been kind to you. Do you dare refuse his request? Will you see a darker side of him if you do? And yet, if you say yes, you are agreeing to live in this terrible place for as long as the Count desires. What will you choose to do?
Refuse the Count.
Agree to stay.
You pause for a moment, choosing your words very carefully. “I am truly sorry, my friend,” you say at last. “If I could stay longer, I would. However, I am newly married, and my wife is heartbroken by my absence. I simply cannot remain here more than a few days.”
The Count smiles widely, revealing his long pointed teeth, but his eyes flash with rage. “I am sorry to hear that,” he hisses.
He rises and begins to pace back and forth across the room. The anger on his face makes him even more ghastly than before. You dare not look at him in this state, so you stare downward. You try to ignore him as he marches faster, his feet thumping loudly against the floor.
He makes his way behind you, and you’re struck by the idea to move away from him. You begin to do just that, but you are too late.
In an instant, the Count is upon you. “How dare you refuse me!” he bellows.
His fingers grip your throat, and he lifts you into the air. You struggle madly against him, but the Count’s strength is too great. You kick and thrash and gasp, trying to suck even a single breath of air into your lungs. Your vision begins to fade out, and that’s when the Count releases you.
You collapse to the ground. You have just enough time to scramble onto your hands and knees. Then the Count is upon you again. He lunges at your throat, and you feel his teeth pierce your neck. After that, you feel nothing more. Not ever again.
Try again.
“Of course, I am willing,” you say. “But might I come into this room when I choose?”
He answers, “Yes, certainly. However, we are in Transylvania, not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Therefore, you may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked.”
This leads to much conversation. As time goes on, you ask him why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames.
The Count explains, “On a certain night of the year—last night, in fact—a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been buried. But come,” he adds, changing the subject, “tell me of London and of the house which you have selected for me.”
You hurry into your room to get the papers from your bag. Then you return to the Count and go into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He is interested in everything and asks many questions about the place and its surroundings. You go into the business of the purchase of the estate, and you read to him your notes about the place:
“The estate is called Carfax. It contains some twenty acres, surrounded by an old stone wall. There are many trees on it, which make it gloomy. The house is very large with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It is close to an empty old chapel or church. There are very few houses close at hand, none visible from the grounds.”
When you finish, he says, “I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made comfortable in a day. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of old. Moreover, I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may.” Somehow his words and his look do not seem to match. His smile appears menacing.
With an excuse, he leaves you. But he soon returns, saying, “Come! I am informed that supper is ready.”
The Count again does not eat, but he sits and chats while you do. After supper, he stays with you, talking and asking questions, hour after hour. You experience a chill at the coming of the dawn. All at once you hear the crow of a rooster through the clear morning air.
Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, says, “Here is the morning again!” With a courtly bow, he quickly leaves you.
You go into your room and open the curtains, but there is little to notice. Your window opens into the courtyard, and all you can see is the warm gray of sky. So you pull the curtains again and sleep.
3. Strange Happenings
There is something so strange about this place. You cannot help but feel uneasy. You only sleep a few hours before getting up. You hang your shaving glass by the window and begin to shave. Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder. You hear the Count’s voice saying, “Good morning.”
You jump. It amazes you that you did not see him, since the reflection of the glass covers the whole room behind you. In jumping, you cut yourself slightly. You turn to the glass again, and this time there can be no error. The man is close to you, and you can see him over your shoulder. But there is no reflection of him in the mirror!
At that instant, you see that your cut has bled a little, and the blood is trickling over your chin. When the Count sees your blood, his eyes blaze with fury, and he suddenly grabs at your throat.
If you have a crucifix, click here.
If you have a bag of garlic, click here.
If you have a wooden stake, click here.
The Count’s fingers squeeze your throat, and he lifts you into the air. You struggle madly against him, but his strength is too great. You kick, thrash, and gasp, trying to suck even a single breath of air into your lungs.
For a moment, your memory turns to the wooden stake that was given to you by the kind old woman. It’s in the bedroom closet, along with the rest of your things. You wonder if it can help; you wonder if there is any way to get it.
As if reading your mind, the Count squeezes harder against your throat. Your visi
on begins to fade out, and that’s when the Count releases you.
You collapse to the ground. You have just enough time to scramble onto your hands and knees. Then the Count is upon you. He lunges at your throat, and you feel his teeth pierce your neck. After that, you feel nothing more. Not ever again.
Try again.
The Count’s fingers squeeze your throat, and he lifts you into the air. You struggle madly against him, but his strength is too great. You kick, thrash, and gasp, trying to suck even a single breath of air into your lungs.
For a moment, your memory turns to the garlic that was given to you by the kind old woman. It’s in the bedroom closet, along with the rest of your things. You wonder if it can help; you wonder if there is any way to get it.
As if reading your mind, the Count squeezes harder against your throat. Your vision begins to fade out, and that’s when the Count releases you.
You collapse to the ground. You have just enough time to scramble onto your hands and knees. Then the Count is upon you. He lunges at your throat, and you feel his teeth pierce your neck. After that, you feel nothing more. Not ever again.
Try again.
You pull away, and the Count’s hand touches the crucifix that dangles below your neck. It makes an instant change in him; the fury passes so quickly that you hardly believe it was ever there.
“Take care,” he says, “take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you think in this country.” Then seizing the shaving glass, he goes on. “And this is the thing that has done the mischief. Away with it!” Opening the window, he flings out the glass, which shatters into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. The Count exits without a word.
Dracula (Can You Survive) Page 2
