closer to me. Often I had to
pull a flaming branch out of the tire
and stab at them to scare
them off.
Finally, they tired of the sport and
found an easier meal in our dead horses. As I watched the pack at their feast,
once more the blood lust was upon me. I waited until the pack had eaten their
till then lifted a flaming branch and walked toward them. My display of
courage confused them, and they retreated, allowing me to kneel beside the warm
carcass, to press my fingers against the bloody meat then lick them clean.
The scent.
The taste. Finer than the richest wine, the most exquisite meal. I yielded to
my hunger, dipping my hands into the
mangled
carcass, feasting as I had not done in days on Van Helsing's charred meat. It
had been so long since I had felt so satisfied. When I was done, I looked down
at my bloody hands, the bits of flesh sticking to the fur of my wrap. I had
become an animal. No, worse!
Van Helsing
must never know what I had done! I ran to the fire, melted some snow and washed
all traces of the meal from my
face, clothes and hands then
took out this journal and wrote these words.
Though it can hardly be past noon, the sky has darkened and a
heavy wet snow falls once more. I am sitting in the covered back of the wagon
writing this account. An exhilaration has taken hold of me. Whatever the
outcome, soon everything will be over. My entire future depends on the next
few hours, yet all I feel is curiosity, as if I have already died and am about
to view the manner of my ending.
The snow
falls harder, dancing in the wind. Whorls of it move closer to the carriage. I
see the faces of my sisters in it. I am alone.
No one can stop me now as I
go out to dance with them ...
The women
were only there in spirit. Even when their garments moved in the wind, brushing
against my outstretched hands, I
could not feel them touching
me. Spectral hands reached for mine, spectral arms circled me. "Van
Helsing has gone to destroy you.
You must not stay with me," I cautioned them, feeling no
remorse for my warning. "If you are able, go back to your bodies, leave your
sleeping room and hide."
The fair one
smiled with lips together to hide the strangeness of her teeth. "What can
he do? He will never find us," she said,
laughter rippling through her
voice.
"Jonathan
Harker is my husband. He found your resting place. He told Van Helsing where to
look."
The dark-haired one who was Dracula’s wife grew even whiter, if
that were possible. She opened her mouth, as if to agree with my warning, but
no sound came from her. Instead, I saw the vision begin to fade. As it did, a
sudden gush of blood burst through the white skin of her chest, staining her diaphanous
gown. Her terrible shriek of agony vanished in the winter wind.
Her blood
was my blood, her pain my pain. I doubled over, clutching my chest as if to
shield them all from Van Helsing's stakes.
The screams
continued, borne on the wind as the three vanished from my sight, one bloody
apparition after another, the fair-haired one the last to go. Though I saw her
wince, saw the blood spread across her chest, she remained silent. As she
vanished, I saw an expression on her face that seemed inexplicably one of
triumph, as if what had happened were meant to happen.
It seemed
that I was to be killed as well. A great weight pressed against my chest. I
tried to take a breath and found it impossible.
My heart pounded, and I
folded slowly to my knees as darkness closed in around me.
Sisters, I
thought. Sisters, may your souls wait for me.
When I
regained consciousness, snow was falling heavily though the sky seemed lighter,
giving some promise that the storm
would soon end. Van Helsing had returned and stood near the fire
putting on a clean coat. A second, bloody one lay on the ground beside him. I
looked at him, horrified by the knowledge of what he had done.
"It is
all right. I am not hurt," he said, then went back to his washing, hoping
perhaps that I would
pull a flaming branch out of the tire
and stab at them to scare
them off.
Finally, they tired of the sport and
found an easier meal in our dead horses. As I watched the pack at their feast,
once more the blood lust was upon me. I waited until the pack had eaten their
till then lifted a flaming branch and walked toward them. My display of
courage confused them, and they retreated, allowing me to kneel beside the warm
carcass, to press my fingers against the bloody meat then lick them clean.
The scent.
The taste. Finer than the richest wine, the most exquisite meal. I yielded to
my hunger, dipping my hands into the
mangled
carcass, feasting as I had not done in days on Van Helsing's charred meat. It
had been so long since I had felt so satisfied. When I was done, I looked down
at my bloody hands, the bits of flesh sticking to the fur of my wrap. I had
become an animal. No, worse!
Van Helsing
must never know what I had done! I ran to the fire, melted some snow and washed
all traces of the meal from my
face, clothes and hands then
took out this journal and wrote these words.
Though it can hardly be past noon, the sky has darkened and a
heavy wet snow falls once more. I am sitting in the covered back of the wagon
writing this account. An exhilaration has taken hold of me. Whatever the
outcome, soon everything will be over. My entire future depends on the next
few hours, yet all I feel is curiosity, as if I have already died and am about
to view the manner of my ending.
The snow
falls harder, dancing in the wind. Whorls of it move closer to the carriage. I
see the faces of my sisters in it. I am alone.
No one can stop me now as I
go out to dance with them ...
The women
were only there in spirit. Even when their garments moved in the wind, brushing
against my outstretched hands, I
could not feel them touching
me. Spectral hands reached for mine, spectral arms circled me. "Van
Helsing has gone to destroy you.
You must not stay with me," I cautioned them, feeling no
remorse for my warning. "If you are able, go back to your bodies, leave your
sleeping room and hide."
The fair one
smiled with lips together to hide the strangeness of her teeth. "What can
he do? He will never find us," she said,
laughter rippling through her
voice.
"Jonathan
Harker is my husband. He found your resting place. He told Van Helsing where to
look."
The dark-haired one who was Dracula’s wife grew even whiter, if
that were possible. She opened her mouth, as if to agree with my warning, but
no sound came from her. Instead, I saw the vision begin to fade. As it did, a
sudden gush of blood burst through the white skin of her chest, staining her diaphanous
gown. Her terrible shriek of agony vanished in the winter wind.
Her blood
was my blood, her pain my pain. I doubled over, clutching my chest as if to
shield them all from Van Helsing's stakes.
The screams
continued, borne on the wind as the three vanished from my sight, one bloody
apparition after another, the fair-haired one the last to go. Though I saw her
wince, saw the blood spread across her chest, she remained silent. As she
vanished, I saw an expression on her face that seemed inexplicably one of
triumph, as if what had happened were meant to happen.
It seemed
that I was to be killed as well. A great weight pressed against my chest. I
tried to take a breath and found it impossible.
My heart pounded, and I
folded slowly to my knees as darkness closed in around me.
Sisters, I
thought. Sisters, may your souls wait for me.
When I
regained consciousness, snow was falling heavily though the sky seemed lighter,
giving some promise that the storm
would soon end. Van Helsing had returned and stood near the fire
putting on a clean coat. A second, bloody one lay on the ground beside him. I
looked at him, horrified by the knowledge of what he had done.
"It is
all right. I am not hurt," he said, then went back to his washing, hoping
perhaps that I would
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