Dracula in London

asked for it. It would be better that way, for she belonged to another and I owed her too much.

When I rose again, I would see my new home. I was far too excited for sleep and so I was awake when my boxes were unloaded, feeling the sun even through the thick wood of my daytime refuge. I heard the rough voices of the loaders, the creak of a cart, the snort of a nervous horse, then Sarah’s sweet voice asking them to please be careful.

“Done this longer than you’ve been on this earth, Miss. Now let us be,” the man said.

I was being lifted, carried. I heard the train’s whistle, the horse’s nervous whinny, a crash, and last, Sarah’s loud scream.

For a moment, I tensed, waiting for the burning of the sun.

Nothing. It was the other box that fell, cracked, my precious soil mixing with the dung in the road.

“Should we scoop it up, Miss?”

Just go, I thought, and heard her echo my words.

It was a long drive. The wood absorbed the heat and made rest impossible. When my box had been safely deposited in the cool confines of Carfax, I felt her hand brush the top of the box, a finger run the length of it. “Goodbye,” she whispered, and was gone.

One night passed. Two. I found the old stone walls to my liking. I took the boxes of earth and scattered them through London, placing some in Belgravia and Bloomsbury and all the other places where foolish people walk the streets at night thinking there is nothing to fear. The rest, I hid on the Carfax grounds, a wild place with many hiding spots. And as I labored alone, I tried not to think of Sarah except to hope that her ruse had gone well and that she was happy.

On the third night, she returned to me, a little parcel of clothing in one hand. We met outside, the moonlight glittering on her tears.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, ready to kill the one who raised a hand to her.

“Yes. No… no. Really, I’m not.”

“But you cry?”

“My husband learned of everything. I don’t know how. He only said, ‘Well, at least no one knew your name. Next time I’m gone, I’ll lock you in your room and pay someone to watch you.’ I cannot live that way. I will not. And then I thought of you, so kind and so helpful and so in need of a pair of daylight eyes.”

“And you think I will take you in to help me?” I asked, carefully, praying her answer would be yes.

“Yes… and… no, to let me be with you, only you. Let me stay here and work for you. Make me as you are.”

Then she did something I could never forgive. She kissed me, betraying her vows and the loyalty and obedience she owed a husband.

I have been wronged by too many women, and they have all met the same fate. Would that Sarah had been stronger. But, out of respect for the help she had given me, one quick blow to the head and she was unconscious. I fed, and when she died I buried her beneath the crypt where I slept, using the box she had brought here as her coffin.

Tonight, I laid a jewel over the fresh-turned earth. And though I doubt God will listen, I said a quick prayer that, even though she broke her vows, he spare her soul. Then I went through her bag and found a letter addressed to you but never sent. It is a beautiful journey from Purfleet to Mayfair for one such as me. London. So beautiful. And so alive.

No, it will do you no good if you tip over the chair. There is no manservant to hear you, not any more…

Dracula stood, moved close to his victim, inhaling the scent of hairwax and sweet tobacco and, just for a moment, of Sarah’s perfume. “No, I do not understand you English,” he said. “Such a woman, a prize among women, and you treated her as a servant. One bit of understanding and she would have loved you, passionately and forever. Instead you worried about little matters, and lost her.

“It is right to dispose of a woman who does not obey, to put her in the hands of God mercifully and quickly. But what of the man who pushed her away? What fate should await him?

“No mercy. Had you means to speak, you might even agree. No mercy. Fool! Perhaps she will be allowed to judge you in the next life.”

And so the Count moved, silent as the mist to his bound prey. The last thing the man saw were long pale fingers coming toward his face, shifting swiftly into something more powerful, a beast to push his head back. No fangs here, nothing as soft and almost pleasant as fangs. No, it was the wolf who devoured him, feasting long after he had life to care. Licking the blood from furry paws.

With a quick, mournful, howl, he was gone, padding away from the blood-soaked room, the silent Mayfair house. East he padded toward his retreat in Carfax. As he did, the almost-human part of him vowed that the next woman he took would be different—softer and sweeter, younger, and above all, obedient to her master.

When he reached Carfax, he found Renfield hiding just inside the gates. Seeing Dracula, he rushed out and gave a low bow, the solemnity marred by his laughter.

Better, his master thought, far better than the other.

Good Help

K. B. Bogen

Not again! Dracula leaped from the sill and flew across the lawn toward the nearby trees. He landed amidst the small stand of English oaks at the same time the slender, cloaked figure entered the house at the Crescent. Shifting into human form and turned to watch the window he had just vacated.

That irritating woman and her meddling! If she had continued her wanderings just a short while longer, I could have finished what I started. And if Renfield had not gotten himself incarcerated in that hospital, there would have been someone to waylay the nosy brunette. What a nuisance.

He really ought to do something about replacing the old lunatic.

At home, he had never required a full-time manservant to take care of everyday tasks. Anything that could not be done at night, the gypsies would do. For a modest fee, of course.

But here in England, it was different. So many people. So many annoyances. He really needed someone to prevent all the unnecessary interruptions. He simply detested having to eat and fly. It was bad for the digestion.

He shrugged and stared at the figure slumped on the window-sill until she stirred, moaning. After a few seconds, she rose and stumbled toward her bed. Soon, my dear, he thought to her, soon it will be all over. He ran his tongue over the points of his teeth, thinking how nice it would be when the time arrived.

A moment later, another woman appeared beside the first.

His eyes on the two women, he took a step forward—and fell the last ten feet. Hellfire! After all these years, he should have learned to land on the ground instead of the lower branches. He glanced around to see if anyone noticed. No? Good.

He wiped the dirt from his trousers and cloak, then spit out the dead leaves that had found their way into his mouth. After satisfying himself that nothing was torn or broken, he peered through the gloom at the two figures in the window.

The dark-haired woman, the one called Mina, put her arm around her sleeping-walking friend. The vampire listened intently, straining to pick out Mina’s whispered words at that distance.