Atlas Nightshade

Day 10

Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far

below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to

ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to

the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to

awake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling,

and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I

was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; the

moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom

beyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom

shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my

senses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which were

becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the

three ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt somewhat

safer in my own room, where there was no moonlight and where the lamp

was burning brightly.

When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in the

Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed; and then

there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me. With a

beating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison, and

could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.

As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without--the agonised cry of a

woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered out between

the bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her

hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning

against a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window she

threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:--

"Monster, give me my child!"

She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the same

words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and beat her

breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagant

emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and, though I could not see

her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door.

Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of the

Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to be

answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many minutes

had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated,

through the wide entrance into the courtyard.

There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but

short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.

I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and

she was better dead.

What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful

thing of night and gloom and fear?

* * * * *

_25 June, morning._--No man knows till he has suffered from the night

how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the

sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great

gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me

as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as

if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I must

take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me. Last

night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first of that fatal

series which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the

earth.

Let me not think of it. Action!

It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or

threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen the

Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake, that

he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his room!

But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me.

Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone

why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his

window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The

chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk

it. At the worst it can only be death; and a man's death is not a

calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me

in my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and

second father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!

* * * * *

_Same day, later._--I have made the effort, and God, helping me, have

come safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in order. I

went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on the south

side, and at once got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which runs

around the building on this side. The stones are big and roughly cut,

and the mortar has by process of time been washed away between them. I

took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down

once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth would

not overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I knew pretty

well the direction and distance of the Count's window, and made for it

as well as I could, having regard to the opportunities available. I did

not feel dizzy--I suppose I was too excited--and the time seemed

ridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window-sill and

trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, however, when

I bent down and slid feet foremost in through the window. Then I looked

around for the Count, but, with surprise and gladness, made a discovery.

The room was empty! It was barely furnished with odd things, which

seemed to have never been used; the furniture was something the same

style as that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked

for the key, but it was not in the lock, and I could not find it

anywhere. The only thing I found was a great heap of gold in one

corner--gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian, and

Hungarian, and Greek and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, as

though it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed was

less than three hundred years old. There were also chains and ornaments,

some jewelled, but all of them old and stained.

At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since I

could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, which

was the main object of my search, I must make further examination, or

all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a stone

passage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended,

minding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark, being only lit

by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark,

tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sickly odour, the

odour of old earth newly turned. As I went through the passage the smell

grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which stood

ajar, and found myself in an old, ruined chapel, which had evidently

been used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places were

steps leading to vaults, but the ground had recently been dug over, and

the earth placed in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been

brought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about, and I made search for

any further outlet, but there was none. Then I went over every inch of

the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even into the

vaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so was a dread to

my very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except fragments

of old coffins and piles of dust; in the third, however, I made a

discovery.

There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all, on a

pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or asleep, I

could not say which--for the eyes were open and stony, but without the

glassiness of death--and the cheeks had the warmth of life through all

their pallor; the lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of

movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I bent over him,

and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lain

there long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in a few hours.

By the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and there.

I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I saw

the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, such a look of hate,

though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and

leaving the Count's room by the window, crawled again up the castle

wall. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and tried

to think....

* * * * *

_29 June._--To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count has

taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave the

castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down the wall,

lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might

destroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man's hand would

have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared

to see those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there

till I fell asleep.

I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man can

look as he said:--

"To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful

England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never

meet. Your letter home has been despatched; to-morrow I shall not be

here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the

Szgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some

Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall

bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to

Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle

Dracula." I suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity.

Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in

connection with such a monster, so asked him point-blank:--

"Why may I not go to-night?"

"Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a mission."

"But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once." He smiled,

such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick

behind his smoothness. He said:--

"And your baggage?"

"I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time."

The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made me rub my

eyes, it seemed so real:--

"You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit is

that which rules our _boyars_: 'Welcome the coming; speed the parting

guest.' Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you wait

in my house against your will, though sad am I at your going, and that

you so suddenly desire it. Come!" With a stately gravity, he, with the

lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly he

stopped.

"Hark!"