Stoker's Wilde

by Steven Hopstaken

  I have felt tremendous grief before, but never such rage. Being of gentle temperament my whole life, it is a feeling I cannot stomach for any length of time.

  After my dear wife died, I never thought I would find love again. I had planned, as you know, to devote the rest of my life to my work and to my conservation efforts. Lucy Mayhew changed all that. Getting to know her gave me hope that the world was good and fair, and now that she has been so cruelly taken from me I see nothing but despair and darkness.

  I pray for Lucy’s soul and my own. Will God judge me should I give in to my own need for revenge? Or is it our duty to send this thing back to hell? Am I murdering a man, or putting down a rabid animal?

  I can’t help but recall my time with the Ojibwa tribe in the wilds of Northern Michigan, where a young brave lost his wife in a ferocious bear attack. Instead of hunting the bear down for revenge, he let the creature go. It was only doing what was in its nature, he explained. If his woman had been killed by lightning, would he hunt the storm? The bear had no malice in its heart and was not responsible for its actions any more than it could ‘murder’ a deer.

  I wish I could find such peace from this hate welling up in my own heart. This thing is not a man, but some sort of creature controlled by the devil. Is it responsible for its actions? And yet, unlike the bear, it speaks, it reasons. In this case, it even enacts the works of Shakespeare. How could it not be held to account for what it has done?

  I have joined forces with a vampire expert, Dr. Hesselius, and a young man named Bram Stoker, who works for Irving. As I write this, we are waiting for the sun to come up, at which time we shall leave to kill the fiend that murdered Lucy. Dr. Hesselius tells us they are much weakened in the daytime and must return to their coffins to sleep before sunrise.

  I must go now. Bram has ascertained the creature’s lair and we are off. Should I not return, I entrust you to take care of my children and my estate.

  Sincerely,

  Uncle Robert

  Second letter from Robert Roosevelt to Theodore Roosevelt, 26th of June 1879

  Dear Theodore,

  As I write this we have the foul creature in our custody!

  My cheeks are still ruddy with the thrill of the hunt. I feel twenty years younger and recall the time you and I fought off that grizzly bear!

  The sun was still low in the eastern sky but shining brightly when we broke down the door at Irving’s apartment, scattering unclaimed post that was piled under the mail slot. Armed with wooden stakes and crosses, we slowly crept through the front hall and entered the sitting room, wrenching open curtains as we went to wash the rooms in as much blessed sunlight as possible. However, by the looks of the place, no one had used it for quite some time. A layer of undisturbed dust covered rich furnishings and the air was stale and stifling. A thorough search of the remaining rooms yielded no sign that the creature was there or had been recently.

  After working myself up into a state of determined readiness en route, this was anticlimactic to be sure. Undeterred, Stoker spoke two simple words: “The theater,” and we were off again.

  As manager of the Lyceum Theatre, Stoker has complete access and authority. As it was by now mid-morning, the theater was a beehive of activity. The stage was dressed for Cleopatra, adorned with Egyptian gods, mummies and the like, and many craftsmen were about, putting on the finishing touches.

  Stoker ordered everyone out of the building to make our search easier and safer. Staying together, we covered much ground as quickly as we could – the attic, the catacomb of backstage rooms and the cellar – to no avail.

  “Perhaps there are clues to another location in his office,” Dr. Hesselius suggested.

  This triggered a revelation in Stoker. “Of course! He has a secret passage leading to the alley from his office. Perhaps there are more such passages.”

  We ransacked the office, pulling books from the bookcase, tapping the walls and turning over furniture. In addition to the passage Stoker had known about, we found a trapdoor hidden beneath the rug.

  Upon opening it, all that could be seen was darkness. A stale, musty smell wafted up from the narrow passage, with a hint of cold, damp dirt behind it. Stoker lit a lantern and lowered it a bit into the passage, revealing a ladder attached to one of the walls, but how far down it went I didn’t know, for we could not see the bottom. We knew we must descend, for surely our quarry must be at ladder’s end.

  After acquiring another lantern, Stoker descended first, followed by me, then Dr. Hesselius.

  Through the very walls of the theater we crept downward. All of us were surprised at the depth the ladder was taking us.

  “We are far below even the cellar now, I should think,” Stoker said after we had been descending for several minutes.

  Suddenly his foot broke one of the rungs and he dropped his lantern. It crashed below, its light briefly illuminating the bottom. I now held our only lantern, as Hesselius was clutching a doctor’s bag with his vampire-fighting paraphernalia.

  When we reached the bottom, we could see walls of stone by our flickering lantern. It appeared to be some ancient Roman aqueduct. Rats scurried from our light down a tunnel that opened before us, and I could hear the dripping of water ahead.

  With much trepidation, we made our way into the damp darkness. Occasionally my lantern would spit and sputter, indicating that it was low on oil. The smart thing would have been to return to the surface for more lanterns and men, but Stoker pressed on before I could suggest it.

  About forty feet down the tunnel, another room had been carved out to the right side. Mounds of earth were haphazardly piled here and there, with the tunnel ahead completely filled with dirt from the excavated room.

  We could not see clearly inside the room, as the lantern’s light was not being thrown far enough to remove the shadows. Entering it required our stepping up off the rounded stone floor of the aqueduct and onto loose dirt. I stumbled, almost dropping the lantern, and when I regained my balance and put the lantern high in front of me, we could see the outline of a coffin! It rested upon a pile of rubble.

  “Bring the lantern closer,” Dr. Hesselius whispered, as he opened his bag to retrieve a wooden stake and mallet. For, according to the good doctor, a wooden stake through the heart is a sure way to dispatch the creature.

  With Hesselius’s stake at the ready and my lantern shining the way, Stoker flung open the casket. For a moment, we were taken aback at its contents. Surely this was not a living creature. Even in the dim light, its skin was stone-white and waxy. Dark veins could be seen under the translucent skin. Its lips were dark and swollen, with a trickle of blood in the corner of the mouth. Its chest did not rise and fall with breath. It was recognizable as Henry Irving, but only barely, like a wax statue of the man that had started to decay.

  Dr. Hesselius had placed the stake just above the heart and swung his hammer back to give it a good wallop when suddenly, the creature’s hand shot up and grabbed the stake. It hissed and snarled, ripping the stake from Hesselius’s hands. It flung the stake at me and, too late, I realized it was aiming for the lantern! With great force and incredible precision, the stake shattered the glass and snuffed out the flame, plunging us at once into total darkness!

  I felt a gust of wind blow past me as I dropped to one knee and searched my pocket for matches. Dr. Hesselius had beaten me to it and I turned to see he was lighting a candle he had retrieved from his bag.

  We jumped down into the tunnel once more and ran towards the ladder as quickly as we could without extinguishing our precious light. The creature was nowhere to be seen.

  “He won’t get far in the day,” Dr. Hesselius said as we hurriedly scaled the ladder to the surface. “He will find a hiding place indoors, somewhere in the shadows.”

  It took us many precious minutes to climb back to the surface, a distance the vampire covered in mere seconds. I worried that he
would have blocked the trapdoor upon his exit, trapping us in his lair until such time as he chose to return to finish us off, but chose not to share this concern with my companions.

  Fortunately, he must have been in too much of a hurry to think of this, for the trapdoor was wide open. Daylight poured into the office and we knew the creature would need to seek cover downstairs, but where?

  We searched the stage and backstage areas. Stoker climbed a ladder up to the catwalk and lit the limelight. The gilded Egyptian set glittered and produced a comforting glow. He swung the spotlight around and made sure the vampire was not hiding among the seats.

  Stoker came down and met us once again on the stage.

  “Come, there is a room below the stage accessible by trapdoor.” He flung it open but before we could descend a streak of black burst up from below. In the literal blink of an eye, it had Dr. Hesselius in its grasp!

  “Back,” it commanded. “I could easily break his neck.”

  Stoker backed away until he was nearly in the left wing. He then suddenly disappeared into the wings, momentarily confusing the creature. There was a loud swooshing sound and it was then I knew what he had done. The heavy curtains on one side of the auditorium fell away, revealing large overhead windows. Daylight poured in and filled the stage.

  Dr. Hesselius struggled and the creature lost its grip on him. I lunged forwards and together Hesselius and I wrestled the vampire to the ground. It struggled but now had only the strength of a weak, older man.

  I slugged him in the jaw and he went limp. The fear and grief and rage that had propelled me through the hunt had now reached its peak. With the creature beneath me, I felt a thrill of righteous vengeance, and I wanted him to know I was no mere monster hunter but on a personal mission. “I’ll kill you for what you did to my Lucy!” I shouted.

  “I have hurt no one,” it said. “Please, get me out of the light.”

  Stoker approached with a cross at the ready. “You murdered her and you will pay the price, demon!”

  “I did not kill Lucy, and if you give me a chance I can prove it.”

  “Lucy was killed by a vampire,” Hesselius said. “She transformed before our eyes into a vile creature such as yourself.”

  “By a vampire, yes, but not this vampire,” Irving insisted.

  “There are others, ya?” Dr. Hesselius asked.

  “Yes, London is infested with them at the moment,” Irving said, his voice weakening. “I am trying to hunt them down, like you, and destroy them. I am so sorry I was too late to save Lucy.”

  “How are we to believe you?” I asked, tightening my grip.

  “I am afraid Lucy is one of the Un-Dead now. She will rise from the grave, feed, and then be compelled to return to the vampire that made her. She herself will lead you to her killer.”

  “Still, you are one of these things. Why shouldn’t we kill you?” Stoker demanded.

  “Because I am the only one that stands between you and a much greater threat. There is a nest of vampires in London under the control of a madman known as the Black Bishop. He will stop at nothing until the whole world is under his control.”

  “Black Bishop?” Stoker asked. It seemed to stir a memory in him.

  A cloud moved between us and the sun and I felt the creature grow stronger. I was able to contain him for a moment more, then suddenly I was no longer holding him. It was as if he evaporated out of my arms. There was a wisp of smoke, then he was standing at the back of the stage where an Egyptian arch protected him with a dark shadow.

  “As you can see, I could flee, but I will not,” he said, with his authoritative actor’s voice. “I will show you how to bind me so I cannot escape if that’s what it takes to gain your trust.”

  So, now, my dear Theodore, we have the thing locked in a cage under the stage, its feet and hands bound by silver chains. Will this keep him contained? I know not, as we only have his word this will keep him our prisoner, though Hesselius seems satisfied by the restraints.

  And tonight? Tonight, we go out and put Lucy to rest and hopefully find the one that desecrated her. May God protect us and have mercy on our souls.

  Sincerely,

  Uncle Robert

  Transcript from Edison Tinfoil Cylinders Recorded by Dr. Martin Hesselius, 27th of June 1879

  Archivist’s note: One of the earliest sound recordings, certainly the earliest in the White Worm Society’s collection. The transcript below was taken from twelve Edison tin cylinders. Four other cylinders had corroded and the contents were not recoverable.

  From the Case Files of Dr. Hesselius, Number 354: The Siring of Henry Irving.

  Hesselius: Hello, testing, testing. It is the 27th of June 1879 and I am interviewing an actual vampire. If you would state your name and birthplace and age.

  Irving: I am currently known as Henry Irving, but my real name is Jonathan Harker. I was born in 1681 in Edinburgh, Scotland. I was turned into a vampire when I was forty-two years of age and have been a vampire for over a hundred and fifty years. (Pause) What else do you wish to know?

  Hesselius: Oh, a great many things, ya? What powers do you possess?

  Irving: I have incredible strength and swiftness. I can mesmerise people and control them, especially if they’re feeble-minded, or drunk.

  Hesselius: And turn to smoke, ya, we witnessed this?

  Irving: I am not actually turning into smoke. It is more like slipping behind a curtain for a moment and then emerging in another place. Smoke is produced in the process, but I do not become it. It is difficult to explain, but when I do it, I sometimes see another world. Brief images of other creatures and a sky that is not our own, and then I am pulled back into this world resulting in me being moved a few feet away.

  Hesselius: Can you turn into a bat or wolf?

  Irving: I cannot. I have heard tales of older, more powerful vampires that could do such things, but this may just be a legend. I have never witnessed it myself.

  Hesselius: You have met others of your kind? I mean, besides the one that made you?

  Irving: Yes. There are the mindless ones we call Nosferatu. They are said to have been made by vampires so ancient it was before humans developed rational thought, yet they possess an animal cunning that has allowed them to survive. More common are those like me: articulate, able to pass themselves off as human. I have met nearly twenty at last count. I have dispatched almost all of them; a few nearly killed me. Bram met one of them as well, in Dublin, last year. He hunted the beast, as did I. I found him first.

  Hesselius: You are killing your own kind?

  Irving: I…I prefer not to think of myself as one of them. I do not kill or feed from the unwilling. I kill those who do, to protect the living.

  Hesselius: How do you kill a vampire, besides the stake in the heart?

  Irving: Chopping off the head works, as does fire.

  Hesselius: Sunlight?

  Irving: Perhaps. I myself have spent brief periods out in the daytime and experienced only weakness and loss of my powers. A longer time in direct sunlight may produce death. I have not done it for long. It is very uncomfortable.

  Hesselius: Other weaknesses?

  Irving: Silver. It burns our skin and even our eyes should we look directly at it. Our images do not show up on mirrors backed by silver or on film, I think due to the silver nitrate. It is said most vampires also fear Christian symbols, although I myself do not. The savoury smell of cooked food we find repulsive, especially garlic. I cannot be in its presence for long.

  Hesselius: Is it true you need to be invited into someone’s home, that you cannot cross the threshold of your own free will?

  Irving: It is. Somehow there is this odd feeling of…protocol. Something I feel is inherited from the mistress that cursed me, something she in turn inherited from her master. It is a perverted sense of honour and civility that is normally mi
ssing from my kind, but I am compelled to obey it, even when confronted with my monstrous appetite.

  Hesselius: How did you become a vampire?

  Archivist’s note: There is a long silence here and his voice trembles for a moment as if he is recalling a fearful memory. Irving’s acting talents are also on display as he changes his voice when speaking for the characters.

  Irving: I was once a man, of course. My mother was Hungarian and taught me the language. When a group of Gipsies from Hungary came through our village, I joined them with hopes of seeing the world. For the next twenty years, I travelled with them all through Europe.

  Eventually, I left them and joined a group of touring actors and musicians. Our travels took us to Csejte Castle in Cˇachtice. There we performed for Hungarian soldiers and were offered food and shelter within the castle walls for the night.

  With much of the castle taken up by officers and the rest in great disrepair, we were put up in tents in the courtyard.

  It was a cold and rainy night and my tent leaked. Although we were told it was unsafe to enter the ruined part of the castle, I sought shelter there. I was surprised to find it pleasantly dry and free of rats. I found an empty room with a fireplace and set to building a fire with the broken furniture that was strewn about. It is funny how a nice roaring fire can make even an old castle seem warm and inviting, and how misleading that feeling can be.

  The sounds of the soldiers breaking camp awoke me early in the morning before the sun was up.

  As I settled back down for more sleep I heard a faint cry.

  The wind, I thought. Then it grew louder and more forlorn. I lit a torch and made my way deeper into the ruins to find the sound. Down at the end of the hallway was a brick wall embedded with a large iron cross, gilded in silver, stretching from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall on either side. The crying was quite clear now.

  “Who is there?” I called in Hungarian. I frantically searched for a door, which I was sure must have been there.