calls me out after dark?
4TH O CTOBER 1918
Once more, I find myself sleepless in the early hours.
I was awakened, not by the bloodsucking demons that inhabit my dreams, but by the sound of sobbing.
I opened my eyes and spied the outline of a figure standing at the foot of my bed. Cold terror gripped my heart as I sat up, a scream frozen in my throat, grasping the crucifix and pendant at my neck.
The scent of sweet violet wafted over me. Shock hit me like cold water.
“Lily?” My voice was a hoarse whisper. How could it possibly be? Lily was dead. I had seen her broken body on the rocks beneath Castle Dracula.
I fumbled for a match and lit the lamp beside my bed.
She was still in her wedding dress, her tear-streaked cheek as white as its lace. Her dark curls fell around her face, spilling over her narrow shoulders so that she seemed like a nymph raised from the sea, tousled by wind and wave. I thought of the first time I’d seen her at Carfax Hall, rushing in from the garden, fresh-cheeked and windswept, hair tendriled by the rain.
How strangely beautiful she was then. How wildly lovely she appeared now.
She moved around the bed without speaking, seeming to glide like the ghost she must be. But I was not afraid. It was relief rather than fear that flooded my heart. Lily was here with me! Not broken or bloody, but whole.
“Lily?” I called to her softly again, fearful of scaring her away.
She made no reply as she turned and glided across the room to the window.
I saw with a gasp that the window was open. How could that be? I always locked it and checked it before I retired for the night. I pushed back the bedclothes, alarmed.
Lily turned back to face me, lifting her hands to her heart, her eyes dark pools of sorrow—just as they had been when I last saw her alive.
“Quincey,” she whispered, tears streaming down her pale face.
As I watched, she climbed up onto the sill. “Lily! Don’t!” I cried, horror rising in my chest.
“Quincey,” she repeated, pointing out into the inky black night.
“No!” I shouted. I leapt from my bed and darted toward her. This was my chance to save her where I had failed before.
She closed her eyes and once again breathed, “Quincey . . .”
As she prepared to leap, I reached out to grab her hand and—
My stomach lurched. Suddenly it was me falling, not Lily! Falling down the steep wall of Castle Dracula.
I flailed in terror as the wind screamed past my ears, buffeting my face and tearing at my hair. Emptiness yawned beneath me. And then I saw the jagged rocks below, waiting to welcome me. . . .
I screamed.
And then, thank God, I awoke properly—to find myself bolting upright in bed. The other awakening had been a trick of the mind—a novel departure in my nighttime terrors.
I lay back again, panting, drenched in sweat, until the panic subsided a little. I had not dreamed of Lily before. And then, just to be sure, I threw off my covers and hurried to the window. Pulling back the curtain, I tried the latch. It was still locked.
I let the curtain fall into place, shivering as the cool night air pressed my damp nightgown against my skin.
It had all seemed so real. . . .
But it was just another nightmare.
I shall sleep no more tonight. As I write this, to while away the hours until dawn, my relief at waking up in the safety of my own room is mixed with fresh grief. Once again, I feel hit with the shock of Lily’s terrible death and am appalled anew that her sweet innocence was to have been taken for her by the abominable Quincey Harker.
May God condemn his blackened soul.
Journal of
Quincey Harker
4TH O CTOBER 1918
It is time to leave my dark hiding place and head for Purfleet. That is where she will have fled. Like a vixen returning to her lair.
I hope you are ready to receive me, Mary Seward.
I am coming for you.
C HAPTER 8
EXETER NEWS
5TH O CTOBER, 1918
C HILD F OUND A LIVE
Missing nine-year-old Sarah Harding was discovered shocked and
4TH O CTOBER 1918
Once more, I find myself sleepless in the early hours.
I was awakened, not by the bloodsucking demons that inhabit my dreams, but by the sound of sobbing.
I opened my eyes and spied the outline of a figure standing at the foot of my bed. Cold terror gripped my heart as I sat up, a scream frozen in my throat, grasping the crucifix and pendant at my neck.
The scent of sweet violet wafted over me. Shock hit me like cold water.
“Lily?” My voice was a hoarse whisper. How could it possibly be? Lily was dead. I had seen her broken body on the rocks beneath Castle Dracula.
I fumbled for a match and lit the lamp beside my bed.
She was still in her wedding dress, her tear-streaked cheek as white as its lace. Her dark curls fell around her face, spilling over her narrow shoulders so that she seemed like a nymph raised from the sea, tousled by wind and wave. I thought of the first time I’d seen her at Carfax Hall, rushing in from the garden, fresh-cheeked and windswept, hair tendriled by the rain.
How strangely beautiful she was then. How wildly lovely she appeared now.
She moved around the bed without speaking, seeming to glide like the ghost she must be. But I was not afraid. It was relief rather than fear that flooded my heart. Lily was here with me! Not broken or bloody, but whole.
“Lily?” I called to her softly again, fearful of scaring her away.
She made no reply as she turned and glided across the room to the window.
I saw with a gasp that the window was open. How could that be? I always locked it and checked it before I retired for the night. I pushed back the bedclothes, alarmed.
Lily turned back to face me, lifting her hands to her heart, her eyes dark pools of sorrow—just as they had been when I last saw her alive.
“Quincey,” she whispered, tears streaming down her pale face.
As I watched, she climbed up onto the sill. “Lily! Don’t!” I cried, horror rising in my chest.
“Quincey,” she repeated, pointing out into the inky black night.
“No!” I shouted. I leapt from my bed and darted toward her. This was my chance to save her where I had failed before.
She closed her eyes and once again breathed, “Quincey . . .”
As she prepared to leap, I reached out to grab her hand and—
My stomach lurched. Suddenly it was me falling, not Lily! Falling down the steep wall of Castle Dracula.
I flailed in terror as the wind screamed past my ears, buffeting my face and tearing at my hair. Emptiness yawned beneath me. And then I saw the jagged rocks below, waiting to welcome me. . . .
I screamed.
And then, thank God, I awoke properly—to find myself bolting upright in bed. The other awakening had been a trick of the mind—a novel departure in my nighttime terrors.
I lay back again, panting, drenched in sweat, until the panic subsided a little. I had not dreamed of Lily before. And then, just to be sure, I threw off my covers and hurried to the window. Pulling back the curtain, I tried the latch. It was still locked.
I let the curtain fall into place, shivering as the cool night air pressed my damp nightgown against my skin.
It had all seemed so real. . . .
But it was just another nightmare.
I shall sleep no more tonight. As I write this, to while away the hours until dawn, my relief at waking up in the safety of my own room is mixed with fresh grief. Once again, I feel hit with the shock of Lily’s terrible death and am appalled anew that her sweet innocence was to have been taken for her by the abominable Quincey Harker.
May God condemn his blackened soul.
Journal of
Quincey Harker
4TH O CTOBER 1918
It is time to leave my dark hiding place and head for Purfleet. That is where she will have fled. Like a vixen returning to her lair.
I hope you are ready to receive me, Mary Seward.
I am coming for you.
C HAPTER 8
EXETER NEWS
5TH O CTOBER, 1918
C HILD F OUND A LIVE
Missing nine-year-old Sarah Harding was discovered shocked and
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