But the driver darted to the other side of the road, and as I watched him I became aware just how bright the moon was. It was nearly full and illuminated the space around us. In the roadway, surrounding us in a circle, were wolves.
Their teeth were bright white and the tongues a deep red. Bellowing at the moon, they seemed to look right at me. I began pounding on the horn, yelling for the driver to get back in. I reached for the door and one of the wolves darted for me. He leapt and I screamed.
I don’t know what happened next, but the wolf was gone. And I saw the driver again, standing in the middle of the road. He swept his arms from side to side and wolves disappeared into the trees.
The driver got in without a word and we started again. I was too frightened to ask anything so we rode in silence. We were enveloped in darkness now as the moon had seemingly disappeared. I figured it must be obscured by clouds, but there were none in the sky that I could see.
“What were those?” I said.
“Nothing.”
It was then that I saw the Castle.
I didn’t think buildings like that existed in LA. It was massive and surrounded by grass and tall, dark trees. We pulled to a stop in front and I sat quietly as the driver got out and took my bags from the trunk. He helped me out of the car and his grip was like a vise around my arm.
The mansion was made primarily of stone and much of it was carved in a classic Gothic style. I even saw gargoyles up on the roof staring down at us. It was exactly where I expected the vocalist for a band like Blood Burn to live.
The driver, without a word to me, got back into his Mustang and took off back down the road. I shouted for him but he didn’t answer. Within a few seconds, I could no longer see his taillights, and I was alone.
I turned to the mansion and stared at it. No knocker or doorbell was on the massive wooden door, which was decorated with metal spikes. I tried pounding on it for several minutes but no one answered.
I sat down on one of my bags and looked up to the sky. I could’ve walked around back but the incident with the wolves had shaken me, so instead I decided I would wait out there until morning when someone was bound to come out of the house. But I soon realized it was way too cold to spend the night outside and I took out my phone to call a cab. I’d get a nice hotel and then be back to interview the Count in the morning.
I had no bars. I turned the phone off and on but nothing happened. I heard feet shuffling and the groaning of metal and wood as the door opened behind me.
Standing at the doorway was a tall man with black hair that came down to his shoulders. He wore leather pants and a see-through black shirt revealing a body laced with tattoos.
“Welcome to my house. Enter freely of your own will.”
He stood like a statue and didn’t motion at all for me to enter. He wasn’t blinking and wasn’t looking directly at me. As soon as I stepped through the threshold though, he became animated and stepped forward, taking my hand in his.
His hands were like ice. He shook my hand with so much strength I nearly winced. He was so much like the driver that I wasn’t sure they weren’t the same person, and I asked nervously, “Are you the Count?”
He bowed his head slightly. “I’m Vlad Dracula. Thank you for coming to my house, Jonathan.” Before I could move, he took up my bags. I protested but he just said, “It’s late and all my assistants are gone. You’re my guest.”
He carried my bags up a set of winding stairs. The floors were cobbled stone, something I had never seen in America before, and our steps rang heavily through the house. The Count kicked open a door and inside I saw a well-lit room with a fire in a hearth. The Count placed my bags down and looked to me.
“Bathroom’s on the right, Jonathan. When you’re done, I’ve got dinner waiting in the next room.”
By now, the warmth of the fire and the courtesy Dracula had shown me had calmed my nerves, and I used the bathroom and washed my hands and face. I came out into the hallway. Paintings of what I guessed were long dead ancestors were up on all the walls along with weaponry from the ancient and medieval worlds. It didn’t surprise me: I’d been in plenty of rock stars’ homes and they all had peculiar tastes.
I went into the next room and saw a meal spread out on a table before a fire.
“Eat, please. I’ve already had my dinner so I won’t be joining you.”
I sat at the table and dug in to the food. It was roast chicken with cheese, salad and wine and I ate a little too quickly and felt a sharp pain in my stomach. As I ate, the Count asked me a lot of questions about where I was from and how I had become a journalist. He asked about my travels and how I was enjoying Los Angeles.
After dinner, he brought out some Cubans and we sat and smoked near the fire as he explained how you tell real Cubans from fake ones. Apparently, real Cubans smell like manure when you open the box. It turns many people off and instead they go for the cheap, better-smelling cigars. You also have to watch for the veins in wrapping leaves.
I watched the Count as I smoked. I had seen him in several magazines, but nothing prepared me for his actual appearance. He was muscular with strong facial features and a scruff that gave him an appearance of not caring about his looks. His nails were long and fine and his teeth were white as pearls and protruded just slightly onto his lips.
We were discussing tattoos and I was showing the Count one of mine when his hand touched my shoulder. I don’t know if it was his breath or the coldness of his hand or something else, but I shuddered, and a wave of nausea washed over me. The Count must’ve noticed because he immediately pulled away and sat back down across from me.
Outside, I heard the wolves again and the Count grinned.
“Children of the night make beautiful music.” He saw that I didn’t understand and he said, “You civilized gentlemen don’t understand the hunters anymore.” He rose, walked to the door, and turned to me. “Sleep in as late as you like tomorrow. I’m busy until late afternoon so we’ll start the interview then.”
@JonathanHarker27 My room at the Count’s mansion
5 days ago | Photo Filter: Normal
May 7th
More Sleep than Before
I woke today when I wanted and found the sun shining in through the open windows. I rose and found a shower down the hall. When I had finished and dressed, and went to the room I had eaten in before, I found breakfast and a pot of coffee kept hot by being placed on the hearth. I ate and observed the room. In the daylight, I could see how exquisite everything was. The curtains were trimmed in gold, the dishes felt as if they were actually crystal. Jewels encircled the bedroom on the walls and a few old, very old, photos were up of people I didn’t recognize.
When I had woken up, I didn’t find any mirrors anywhere and I had to settle for shaving in the shower, blind. Now I could see that there weren’t mirrors anywhere in the house; at least this section of the house.
When I first opened the Mac to start this post, I was shocked to find that it was two in the afternoon. I didn’t feel like I had slept that long but I must’ve been exhausted from the previous day, and I didn’t get much sleep the night before that.
I went out into the hallway and began checking the doors. I figured there must’ve been at least ten of them just up in this section of the mansion. Most of the doors were locked but I did find one that was open. I stepped inside and found an awesome library. I’d never seen anything like it. It was two floors and you needed a ladder to reach the top shelf on each floor. The books ranged from modern paperbacks to leather-bound monstrosities of several thousand pages.
It was a petty thing, but I saw a couple copies of Rolling Stone on a table open to articles I had written and I got a slight ego boost from it.
I read for several hours until nightfall. An old copy of David Copperfield that appeared to be signed by Dickens himself was on one of the shelves I could reach and I had gotten nearly a third of the way through when the hairs on my neck stood upright. A chill went up my back and it
struck me as so odd that I lowered the book and saw the Count standing in the doorway.
“I’m glad you found this place,” he said, stepping inside and running his hand along some of the books. I noticed for the first time how long his nails really were. “These books have been friends to me a long time. Most of my knowledge comes from books, including English, so you’ll have to excuse any errors in my speech.”
“English isn’t your native language? I couldn’t tell at all.”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid you’ll see soon enough that it’s not my native tongue. When you learn a language, you absorb the spirit of its people. But the only way to do that is with complete immersion.” He glanced out the window at the darkness outside. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the opportunity to completely immerse myself in this culture.”
I noticed movement behind him. A young girl was there, maybe twenty but no older than twenty-four. She wore a mini-skirt and revealing blouse and could have been a model in any magazine. Easily one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, exotic and comforting at once.
She smiled at me in a seductive way that gave me butterflies. The Count noticed this.
“Do you like her?” he said. “You may have her tonight if you wish.”
The girl came up behind him and ran her hands up and down his chest and then into his pants. She licked his neck with her soft, pink tongue and it made me swallow like I was back in junior high talking with one of the cheerleaders.
“I … ah … I have a girlfriend; well, a fiancé waiting for me back in Boston.”
“You’re not in Boston,” he said, turning to the girl and biting her lip so hard it turned white. He pulled away from her and appeared next to me. The move was so sudden that I can’t remember him walking across the room.
He sat down across from me and flipped casually through one of the magazines on the table.
“Can I ask you something, Vlad?”
“In my country, we don’t address people by their first name. Count is fine.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know.”
“No offense taken. What is it you want to ask me?”
“Your band’s got over half a dozen number one hits. I think you’ve got two songs in the Billboard Top One Hundred right now. Anyone would’ve died to have this interview but you wanted me specifically. Why?”
He inhaled deeply as the girl came up behind him and began rubbing his shoulders. “My friend, I have the whole world clamoring to get time with me. Do you know that I can’t go out to a shopping mall like you can? I would be attacked. If my fans can’t speak to me, they will try to rip something away. A piece of clothing or hair. Something they can take with them. I feel they would tear me apart if they could, piece by piece. I can feel their chaos, their burning anarchy just underneath the surface.” He kissed the girl before turning back toward me. “I wish to speak to those fans that would like to hear, but do not wish to tear me apart. It is for them that I’m granting this interview. As to why I chose you specifically, I have read much of your work. In particular your interview with Mick Jagger. I thought it was excellent.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
Having experience with the rock stars that I have, I knew they were by and large a lonely group. They were the type of people that would be in a crowded room and feel utterly alone. I knew many of them that were millionaires that could have any woman in the world, but their favorite pastime was locking themselves in a dirty motel room with several thousand dollars in drugs for a weekend. Nothing they did or wanted to do surprised me.
The girl reached into his pants again and began to stroke, and he pulled her hand out. “Do not be rude in front of our guest.”
The rebuke seemed to really affect her and she backed up against the wall and stared at the ground.
“We can begin any time you like,” he said.
“Oh, oh man, I’m sorry, Count. One sec.”
I ran back into my room and got my digital recording equipment and a camera. I heard some shuffling and when I came back into the room, another girl was there as well. This one was brunette and dressed as skimpily as the first. She was by far more beautiful than the first, which seemed a feat in itself. She stood behind my chair.
“This is Charlene,” the Count said, “she will help you with whatever you need when I am not here. You’ll find that I’m usually busy during the day.”
“Thank you,” I said, not wanting to inform him that I didn’t need anything and that with a soon-to-be fiancé back home, would rather not have had the temptation of one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. But I didn’t want to be rude considering how much hospitality he’d shown me.
I sat down and glanced behind me. The girl was lying on a leather couch. She was in a seductive position though I got the impression this wasn’t done on purpose. She looked so stunning that I snapped a quick photo and then felt stupid for having done so. I snapped some other photos and pretended as if it were just a prelude to the photos I was going to snap of the Count for the interview.
I hit record.
“Count, I’ll be editing this interview later for consistency so don’t worry if you want to talk at length about any particular subject. The first thing I thought I would ask is about the house, what the rest of the band calls your castle.”
“It must seem … unusual, to you. I’m from an old family and I think living in a new house would kill me. A house doesn’t become a home in a single day, and how few days there are in a century. I know that the young seek brightness and sunshine and sparkling waters but that doesn’t do anything for me. I’ve mourned so much in my life that my heart isn’t attuned to happiness. In this place, the wind breathes cold and the walls and floors are broken with time. I love that. I love the shade and the shadow. I prefer to be alone with my thoughts and this place gives me that. It’s one of the oldest homes in the state.”
Somehow his face and words didn’t match. He was smiling and maybe his words made his smile seem malignant.
We spoke just a while longer before he excused himself and said he would return. Charlene stayed behind. I tried to speak with her but she just smiled. I asked what her last name was and she didn’t respond.
Before too long, the Count returned.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he said. “To meet the rest of the band.”
@JonathanHarker27 The photo I took of Charlene, my “assistant”
4 days ago | Photo Filter: Sutro
May 7th-Continued
The Count, the woman he was with, myself, and Charlene walked through the old mansion to the front door I had entered through. A limousine was waiting for us with a driver that was sitting behind the wheel smoking. We climbed into the back. It was one of those newer limos with the seats facing each other. Charlene sat next to me and put her hands on my thigh. It made me uncomfortable because I thought of Mina back home. I removed them once but she gave me a glare that filled me … I don’t know the emotion it filled me with. A mix of pity and lust (I’m sorry, Mina, but I want to be honest. We’ll talk about all this when I get back). So I let her hands stay there and she placed her head on my shoulder.
As we drove, I was astounded how quickly we descended the hill. It seemed like it had taken an hour to get here and only took ten minutes to get down. But it didn’t matter because we were soon on the freeway in the midst of the city I had come to see. Before too long, I could see the Hollywood sign lit up for some special event. The sign looked much smaller than I had anticipated but it was so iconic I couldn’t help but feel thrilled to see it.
“Try this,” the Count said, mixing me a drink from a little bar next to him.
I took a sip and at first it was bitter, and then I was hit by a floral fragrance and the taste of many odd herbs, no one herb overwhelming any other. I found the drink quite refreshing.
“What is it?” I asked.
The Count smiled as he leaned over and kissed the girl he was with. He bit into her lip again
and it made me uncomfortable as Charlene was now caressing my chest. She gently took my chin in her hand and turned to make me kiss her. I resisted. But she planted her lips so firmly on mine that it must’ve shocked me because I found her grip like a bodybuilder’s and I couldn’t pull away.
We were soon at a dance club with a line out front that seemed to go around the block. The limo pulled to a stop in front of it. My head, at this point, felt light and warm. I wasn’t drunk — though I felt a slight buzz of alcohol — but there was a calming effect to the drink I had that was at the point of being hallucinogenic. I felt a warm euphoria, as if everything was right with the world. As we got out of the limo, Charlene held my hand and led me inside the club past the bouncers. Many of the girls in line screamed as they saw the Count, and he held up his arms and took a slight bow as they began snapping photos.
One of the bouncers, a tall black man wearing sunglasses though it was night, smirked at me in a most awful way as I went in. As if I was such a fool and unworthy of being there.
Charlene tugged at my hand, and we entered.
The club was so loud the music seemed like it might break my bones. A large dance floor was filled with writhing, sweaty bodies, and up near a stage were women in cages, making out with each other. Lights shining up from the floor gave them an ethereal appearance.
We climbed down some stairs and went to the back of the club and climbed up another set of stairs and through a red velvet curtain. In the back, gathered together with an assortment of women, was the rest of the band.
Dracula (A Modern Telling) Page 2
