Dracula, My Love: The Secret Journals of Mina Harker

by Syrie James

  I hardly knew where to begin. I sipped my wine. After some hesitation, I said: “You insist that I should not fear you. But I know who and what you are. I see how difficult it is for you to—as you say—control your appetite. You admit that you took Lucy’s blood, yet you say you did not kill her. How can I believe you?”

  “I told you last night: Lucy’s death was tragic, but it was not my fault.”

  “It was! I saw you with her that first night, on the cliff at Whitby. You attacked her—an innocent, defenseless girl, who was walking in her sleep!”

  “Is that what she told you? I suppose I should not be surprised. I am afraid, my dear Mina, it did not quite happen that way.”

  “What did happen, then?”

  “I was strolling through the Whitby graveyard: a place which had become very dear to me, for it was there that I had first met you. Lucy had a very sensitive mind. I think it was because of that—or perhaps because you two slept in such proximity in the same room—that she received thoughts that were meant for you.”

  “Thoughts meant for me?”

  “I was thinking—rather vividly as I recall—of a future day when you would be mine.”

  Suddenly I remembered the dream I had had, that very night—about a tall, dark figure with red eyes who had intoned, “You will be mine!”—and my earlier dream, the night of the storm, when I had encountered the same faceless creature in an eerie corridor.

  “Before long, I saw a young woman appear in the graveyard, barefoot and clad in a white nightdress. I recognised her, for I had seen Lucy previously with you. Not wishing to frighten her, I hid in the shadows, not far from the bench which you two so often frequented. She caught sight of me and crossed to where I stood, staring at me with her lovely blue eyes. She said: ‘Sir: will you dance with me?’”

  “She asked you to dance with her?” I replied, incredulous.

  “I quickly deduced that she was walking in her sleep. I asked if she truly wished to dance there and then, in a graveyard, with no music playing? With a slow smile, she moved closer and said: ‘Sir, ever since I came to Whitby, I have been longing to dance at the pavilion. I will be married soon. I will never dance with a stranger again. Please: dance with me! I will waltz to the music inside my head.’ I could see no harm in yielding to her sweet request. And so I took your friend in my arms.”

  “Oh!” I said softly. I knew Lucy only too well—and was too familiar with her sleep-walking tendencies, and her appetites where men and dancing were concerned—to doubt his story.

  “She began to hum The Blue Danube,” he continued, “and there on the grass atop the cliff, we waltzed for a minute or two. She was a decent dancer, even in her sleep, although in no way as accomplished as yourself. As I held her in my arms, I could not help but feel a growing hunger, for she was very beautiful; but I restrained myself, knowing her to be your friend.

  “Lucy’s eyes soon closed, and I felt her go limp in my arms. I took her to the bench and laid her down. I would have left her there; but her eyes suddenly blinked open again. She came fully awake. She looked confused for an instant, and she blushed. Then she grabbed hold of me, drew my face down to hers, and kissed me. It was a lovely kiss; and it was then that I lost control. She was young; she was lovely; and I could not resist what she offered. I took her blood. I heard the clock in the church tower strike one, and soon after a faint voice calling ‘Lucy! Lucy!’ I looked up and saw someone, far away on the opposite cliff. I did not realise until later that it was you. I turned to leave, but Lucy grabbed me again and pulled me down to her, forcing my mouth back to her throat. I drank again. When I left her, she had fallen asleep once more. I watched as you woke her, then I followed you both home to ensure that you arrived in safety.”

  I listened to this story in silent astonishment. It was so different from the picture I had painted in my head—the picture of a villainous monster who had preyed without conscience on my unknowing, innocent friend. I remembered, too, certain odd behaviour on Lucy’s part, which implied that she came to remember full well what had happened that night, and on subsequent nights—that she was hiding something.

  “I introduced her to you the very next night at the pavilion,” I said slowly, as I set down my wine-glass. “Why didn’t she recognise you?”

  “I believe she did, in some corner of her mind; but I did not appear to her on the cliff as I do to you.”

  I looked at him, wondering if, that night, he had looked anything like the version of himself that Jonathan and I had spotted in Piccadilly. I said: “I locked Lucy in our room to protect her, yet you came back for her—as a bat.”

  “She asked me to come.”

  “Asked you? How?”

  “As I said, Lucy had a strong will and a sensitive mind. I cannot usually hear the thoughts of others, but at times, I could hear hers. I suspect this is why she recalled the times I fed from her, despite my attempts to wipe them from her memory. She must have enjoyed that first blood exchange and craved more. I needed blood; why not take what was so freely offered? Believe me, though—the amount of blood I took from Lucy as a bat could not have harmed an infant, much less a young woman of her age and size. Why Lucy declined in Whitby is beyond me; perhaps she did not have a hardy constitution, or had a heart condition like her mother. Why she grew ill in London is another story—which I have already explained. I only visited her there because I heard her call, and I thought it might be a way I could learn something about you.”

  “About me?”

  “I was tormented, desperate to know if you had reached Buda-Pesth, if you were safe, if you were married or not…Lucy met me in the garden at Hillingham. To my frustration, she had not yet heard from you. She had no information to share. I walked away, but—she was not shy, your Lucy. I think she fancied herself a little bit in love with me. She ran up and pulled me into her arms, insisting that I bite her again, there and then; that she missed it and craved it. And the mental state I was in—let us say, I was in no mood to refuse. For the next ten days, I was busy here and elsewhere—unaware that your Dr. Van Helsing was killing her with his spectacularly unsound medical experiments.”

  Again, I found myself at a loss for words. It was possible that he was lying—weaving this story only to overcome my prejudice—and yet everything he’d said about Lucy’s nature rang completely true. And who but I could better understand her cravings—I, who had experienced Dracula’s vampire bite only once! Tears sprang into my eyes; in fury and anguish, I thought: Oh, Lucy, Lucy! We both fell in love with the same man; and you lost your life because of it!

  “I am sorry,” he said softly. “I have made you sad. I know you loved your friend, and you must miss her.”

  “I am sad, but I am angry, too! Even if events did transpire exactly as you say, the fact is: Lucy would never have looked so pale as to require a blood transfusion in the first place if not for you!”

  There was a flash of something immensely threatening in his eyes, and he looked away, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. He said angrily: “She did not require a transfusion. I may have left Lucy more bloodless that night than I ought to—that was a mistake—but left alone, in time, her blood would have replaced itself. She would have recovered on her own. Part of me curses the fact that I ever went to her in London, for it was that visit which alerted your friends to my existence! Another part of me is glad for it—” (His eyes darted back to mine now, once more calm and darkly compelling) “—for it brought you to me.”

  It was frightening, the way he blew so hot and cold. Yet it was difficult to think when he looked at me that way. “You do not seem to regret that she died, only that it made things difficult for you.”

  “I regret that she died young, and that her death caused you pain. I regret that, due to Van Helsing’s incompetency, I was obliged to turn her into a vampire. But everyone dies. I made Lucy immortal.”

  “You said yesterday that you made her a vampire at her request. How can that be?”

&nbs
p; “The next time I saw Lucy, she was dying; too weak to rise from her bed even to issue the invitation I required to enter the house. A wolf whom I had befriended at the zoo came to my call, and broke through the window for me. Lucy then asked me in—but it was too late to save her. She knew what I was. She insisted that I make her a vampire. I tried to convince her otherwise; but she saw it as a better alternative than death.”

  “That is not how she explained it in her diary. Lucy said that she saw specks of dust fly into the room through the broken window, and felt as if a spell had been placed upon her. Then she lost consciousness.”

  “I am not responsible for any tale she may have fabricated to cover up the truth.”

  The colour rose in my cheeks as his words hit home. I had fabricated a tale in my own journal the night before, to prevent any one from learning the truth about Dracula’s visit; and I had deliberately left out any mention of Mr. Wagner ever since I began my diary at Whitby. “Even if all that is true,” I said, “how could you agree to her request, knowing that you were dooming her to life as a monster—a vile seductress and a hunter of children!”

  “I could have cured her of that! In all my years as a member of the Un-Dead, I have made very few of my kind, Mina. The last thing I wanted was to let loose an untrained, fledgling vampire on London, a being who was rampant with uncontrolled desire and lust; I feared it would call attention to me and might threaten my own safety—as indeed it has. But after what happened, I felt a…responsibility to Lucy. I warned her of what to expect. I tried to coach and guide her in those first, crucial days after she was changed—but Lucy was stubborn, and ignored my warnings. If I had had more time to work with her, I believe she would have been fine. She would have learned to restrain herself. She would have enjoyed eternal life. But when I came back, I found her mangled remains within her tomb. Van Helsing and his companions had butchered her.”

  Tears now flowed freely down my cheeks. “They had no choice! They butchered her to save her soul! To save her from becoming—” I could not finish. I rose from the table and walked some distance away, mourning my dear friend’s loss. Dracula appeared beside me and silently gave me a linen handkerchief.

  As I struggled to regain my composure, I wondered again: should I trust him? How could I be certain that all he had said was true?

  I whirled to face him. “All right. Perhaps I am a fool, but you have convinced me. I understand your part where Lucy is concerned. Still, that does not explain everything that happened when Jonathan went to visit you in Transylvania. Why did you torment him so?”

  Dracula sighed. “Mina, the man was my guest. I enjoyed his company at first—particularly our conversations about you. I showed him only the utmost courtesy during his visit, even though he became increasingly antagonistic towards me. He tormented himself.”

  “How so?” I said sceptically.

  Dracula began to pace the room, speaking with great animation. “I had not entertained a guest for more than half a century, ever since a pair of erudite, adventuresome Englishmen appeared at my door one night, lost in a storm. We liked each other at once. They stayed for months. It was with their help that I perfected my English, and through them that I began to harbour a great interest and affection for your country and its countrymen. When Mr. Harker came years later, I knew that my servants—the few gipsies who dared to work for me on occasion—were not up to British standards. So I waited on Mr. Harker myself. He seemed to think this very strange. Then one morning when I greeted him while he was shaving, he accidentally cut himself, and went mad with fright for no reason.”

  “Jonathan said he was startled because he saw no reflection of you in his mirror—and that in a fury, you threw the mirror out the window.”

  “Is that why he was so afraid? The reflection? I should have guessed. What upset me was the crucifix I saw around his neck, proof that the locals had warned him against me. I threw out the mirror in a fit of temper, thinking it best that he give up shaving if he was prone to cutting himself—for my three sisters might smell his blood and ignore my warnings to leave him alone.”

  “Your sisters?” I said, astonished. “Those three strange women, they are your sisters?”

  “Yes.” In that single word, his look and tone conveyed his extreme antipathy for them. “They are one of the banes of my existence. Despite my best efforts to teach them, they have never mastered the art of self-control. I did my best to keep Mr. Harker out of harm’s way by locking most of the doors in the castle, and warning him not to sleep anywhere but his own room. Finding locked doors, however, he imagined himself to be a prisoner and fell into a panic.”

  “But he was a prisoner! You forced him to stay against his will for two long months!”

  “I did not force him. I asked him to stay.”

  “You made him write letters home in advance!”

  Dracula glanced away, saying suavely: “It was a precaution. Our postal system is very unreliable—and I had become concerned. I had gone to great trouble and expense to set up a new life in your country. I wished to arrive unnoticed and remain undisturbed. Mr. Harker had become afraid of me. He knew all about this property, and a great deal about my business affairs. If he returned to England before I reached its shores, I feared he might spread word about me that would make my reception there unwelcome. So I requested that he stay until I was ready to leave.”

  “Was that really the reason?”

  He looked back at me. “What do you mean?”

  I eyed him levelly. “You said last night that you were determined to meet me. Be honest. Did that…determination…influence your decision to keep Jonathan in Transylvania, and ignorant of my whereabouts, so that you could reach Whitby yourself before he did?”

  His eyes flashed red with sudden anger. He slammed his fist down on a small table with such force that the top splintered into fragments, as he cried “No!”—actions which caused me to leap to my feet and cry out in alarm and fear, my chair crashing to the floor behind me. For the first time since I arrived, I wondered if I might have need of the secret vial of holy water I had brought with me.

  An awful silence ensued. Heart pounding in trepidation, I watched him as he stood frozen in place, struggling to regain control of himself, a far-away look in his now-blue eyes. At length his features softened and his gaze again met mine. A sense of calm pervaded his voice as (a bit abashed, and with undisguised affection) he said: “Forgive me. Perhaps there is an element of truth in what you say, even if I did not acknowledge it to myself at the time.”

  At least he is man enough to admit it, I thought. I hated what he had done. It distressed me terribly to think that Jonathan had suffered, ultimately, because of me. And yet…as Dracula strode over to me, straightened my chair, and held out his hand, his look was so apologetic, so beseeching, that I found myself wanting to forgive him. He led me to a comfortable chair before the hearth, where I sat down. Striving for calm, I said quietly:

  “Be honest about this, too: with the same motive, did you try to drive Jonathan mad?”

  Dracula shook his head and replied with deep sincerity: “No. Whatever may have been behind my desire to delay Mr. Harker’s departure, I did not intentionally threaten his sanity. In fact, I tried to protect him. It was about this time that he deliberately forced his way into a wing of the castle which I had expressly warned him against. My wretched sisters found him and attempted to seduce him. I rescued him—in the nick of time, I think. Of course, he never thanked me. I fear from that point on, his mind became unhinged. He seemed to doubt his own grasp of reality.”

  “With good reason, considering all that he witnessed! He saw your sisters vanish into thin air before him, and twice he saw you crawl down the castle wall like a lizard!”

  Dracula looked at me in puzzlement. “A lizard?”

  “He saw you emerge from a window and crawl head down along the sheer castle wall, before disappearing into a hole. The second time you were wearing his own suit of clothes!”
/>   “His clothes?”

  “Yes! Why did you do that?”

  He fell briefly silent, frowning. “He said I was head down? So he did not actually see my face?”

  “I suppose he did not.”

  He nodded. “It must have been one of my sisters, playing a malicious trick on him. They have been known to steal my own clothes, dress up in them, and alter their appearance when they go out foraging, to deliberately frighten the locals.”

  This explanation took me aback. “If it was one of your sisters, it truly terrified him.”

  “Yet I knew nothing about it.” Dracula shook his head in frustration. “Sensing his fears, I suppose I should have tried harder to assuage them; but in his self-induced panic, and his growing hatred of me, I doubt he would have listened. When he at last announced his wish to leave, I was concerned about his walking that long road alone in the dark, but I had no intention of stopping him.”

  “You called wolves to the door!”

  “I did not call the wolves, but I sensed that they were there. I planned to calm and persuade them into accompanying Mr. Harker on his journey; but he backed off in terror and fled. The next morning, he found me lying in a trance, testing one of my earth boxes before travel—and he tried to kill me! Not that a blow from a spade could have so final an effect. I could have risen and dispatched him in an instant, but I chose not to.”

  I stared at him in consternation. He had an answer for everything! “Why, on Jonathan’s last night at your castle, did you tell those women, ‘Have patience. To-morrow night is yours!’”

  “I said that so they would leave him alone. I knew that Mr. Harker was leaving the next morning. I had arranged for the Szgany to convey him on the first leg of his homeward journey. Believe me, Mina, if I had possessed some perverse desire to offer up Mr. Harker to them on a platter, I would have done so much earlier. And had I wished to drink his blood myself, I could have done so at any time—but I never did.”

  I could not deny the logic in that. “What about that horrible bag?”