My dear, Mr. Morris is really well educated and has exquisite manners. He took my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly, “Miss Lucy, you are an honest hearted girl, I know. Tell me, is there any one else that you love? And if there is I’ll be just a very faithful friend.”
My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little worthy of them? I was able to look into Mr. Morris’s brave eyes, and I told him, “Yes, there is some one I love.”
Ever your loving
Lucy.
P. S. Oh, about number Three – I needn’t tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused. When he entered the room, he kissed me. I am very, very happy, and I don’t know what I have done to deserve it. God Himself sent me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.
Goodbye.
Dr. Seward’s Diary
25 May. – No appetite today. I cannot eat, cannot rest. The only cure for this is work, so I went to the asylum. There is a patient there who is of great interest to me.
R. M. Renfield, 59. Sanguine temperament; great physical strength; morbidly excitable; periods of gloom, fixed ideas.
Mina Murray’s Journal
24 July. Whitby. – Lucy met me at the station, she looks sweeter and lovelier than ever. This is a lovely place. The little river, the Esk, runs through a deep valley. The valley is beautifully green. The houses of the old town are all red-roofed; there is a legend that one can see a white lady in one of the windows. Between it and the town there is a church. This is the nicest spot in Whitby.
I shall go home at the moment. Lucy with her mother will be home soon.
1 August. – I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a most interesting talk with my old friend. Lucy looks sweetly pretty in her white dress; she has got a beautiful colour since she has been here. She is so sweet with old people; I think they all fell in love with her.
Lucy told me all over again about Arthur and their future marriage. That made me just a little sad, for I haven’t heard from Jonathan for a whole month.
Same day, later. – I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was no letter for me. Where is Jonathan? Does he think of me?
Dr. Seward’s Diary
5 June. – The case of Renfield becomes more interesting. He has certain qualities; selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. He has some scheme, but what it is I do not yet know. He loves animals and insects very much, though his love is very strange. Just now his hobby is catching flies. What will he do with them? I must watch him.
18 June. – He has turned to spiders, and has got several very big spiders in a box. He feeds them with his flies.
1 July. – He disgusted me much. While with him, a horrid fly came into the room, he caught it, held it for a few moments between his finger and thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very good and very wholesome. He has evidently some deep problem in his mind, for he keeps a little notebook in which he is always writing down something. Whole pages of it are filled with figures.
8 July. – There is a method in his madness. He has managed to get a sparrow. The spiders have diminished.
19 July. – We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of sparrows, and his flies and spiders almost disappeared. When I came in he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour – a very, very great favour. I asked him what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice, “A kitten, a nice little, sleek playful kitten, I want to play with it, teach it, and feed it – and feed – and feed!”
I could see his face; there was a warning of danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meant killing. The man is a maniac.
20 July. – I visited Renfield very early. He was spreading out his sugar, which he had saved. I looked around for his birds, and did not see them. I asked him where they were. He replied that they had all flown away. There were a few feathers in the room and on his pillow a drop of blood. I said nothing.
20 July, 11 a.m. – The attendant said that Renfield was very sick and disgorged a whole lot of feathers. “I am sure, doctor,” he said, “that he has eaten his birds!”
Mina Murray’s Journal
26 July. – I am anxious. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. I had not heard from Jonathan for some time; but yesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter from him. It is only a line dated from Castle Dracula, and says that he is just starting for home. That is not like Jonathan; I do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy. Then, too, Lucy, although she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit of walking in her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about it, and we have decided that I must lock the door of our room every night. Mrs. Westenra is naturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me that her husband, Lucy’s father, had the same habit.
27 July. – No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about him. Lucy walks more than ever, and each night she moves about the room. Fortunately, the weather is so hot that she cannot get cold.
3 August. – Still no news from Jonathan, not even to Mr. Hawkins. Oh, I hope he is not ill. I look at his last letter, but somehow it does not satisfy me. I think it is not his letter writing. Lucy has not walked much in her sleep the last week, but even in her sleep she is watching me. She tries the door, and if it is locked, she goes about the room and searches for the key.
6 August. – Another three days, and no news. It is getting dreadful. Where to write? Where to go? No one has heard a word of Jonathan since that last letter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitable than ever.
One day the coastguard came along, with his spyglass under his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time he was looking at a strange ship.
“I can’t understand what ship it is,” he said. “Look there! Who is the captain? The ship changes about with every puff of wind. We’ll hear more of this ship before this time tomorrow.”
9 August. Whitby. – As to the strange ship… There was a dead man steering it. The man was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. It is a Russian ship, and is called the Demeter. There were some great wooden boxes filled with mould on it. This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and took the boxes. There was a dog on the ship, but it ran away and nobody could find it.
6 July. Varna to Whitby. – We finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth. East wind, fresh. Five sailors… two mates, cook, and myself (captain).
11 July. – At dawn entered Bosphorus.
12 July. – Through Dardanelles. At dark passed into Archipelago.
13 July. – Passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something. Seemed scared.
14 July. – Somewhat anxious about crew. Something wrong; crew crossed themselves.
16 July. – One of crew, Petrofsky, is missing. Could not find him. Men say that there was something aboard. Mate gets very impatient; feared some trouble ahead.
17 July. – Yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in an awestruck told me that he thought there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew. That man went along the deck, and disappeared. He followed cautiously, but he found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread.
We searched everywhere. There were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners where a man could hide. First mate scowled, but said nothing.
22 July. – Rough weather last three days – no time to be frightened. Passed Gibraltar. All well.
24 July. – Last night another man lost. Like the first, he came off his watch and disappeared. Men all in a panic of fear; ask to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble.
28 July. – Four days in hell, maelstrom, a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out.
29 July. – Another tragedy. Second mate disappeared. Thorough search, but found no one. We are now without second mate, and crew in a panic.
30 July. – Last night. We are near England. Weather is fine. Slept soundly; awaked by mate. He said that both man of watch and steersman were missing. Only myself and mate and two hands sailors left.
1 August. – Two days of fog. Mate now demoralized.
2 August, midnight. – Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck. No sign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Only God can guide us in the fog, which moves with us.
3 August. – I did not find the man at the wheel. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He looked haggard. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear, “It is here; I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. I crept behind It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the air.” And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, “But It is here, and I’ll find It. It is perhaps in one of those boxes. I’ll open them and see.” He is mad, stark, raving mad. He can’t hurt those big boxes: they are marked as “clay”. So here I stay, and write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears.
The mate ran up on the deck. “Save me! Save me!” he cried, and then looked round. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said, “Come with me too, captain, before it is too late. He is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him!” Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had killed the men one by one, and now he has followed them himself. God help me! When I get to port! Will that ever be?
4 August. – Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know there is sunrise because I am a sailor. I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw It – Him! God forgive me, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man; to die like a sailor in blue water. But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel, and along with them I shall tie that which He – It! – dare not touch: the cross; and then, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act…
Mina Murray’s Journal
8 August. – Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could not sleep. The storm was fearful. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and undressed her without waking her, and got her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking.
Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to see if anything had happened in the night. Somehow I was glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am getting fearfully anxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything!
10 August. – The funeral of the poor captain. Lucy came with me. She seemed much upset and was restless and uneasy all the time. Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people do. She was full of pity, and she will dream of this tonight, I am sure. The ship steered into port by a dead man; the captain tied to the wheel with a cross…
Same day, 11 p.m. – Oh, but I am tired! We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was in good mood. She was really tired, and we intended to go to bed as soon as we could.
Lucy is asleep and breathing softly. She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, and looks, oh, so sweet. I am so happy tonight, because dear Lucy seems better. But I don’t know anything about Jonathan… God bless and keep him.
11 August, 3 a.m. – Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such an agonizing experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary…
Suddenly I became awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark, so I could not see Lucy’s bed. The bed was empty. I lit a match and found that she was not in the room. The door was shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her mother. I ran downstairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other open rooms of the house, with a growing fear in my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It was not wide open. The people of the house usually lock the door every night. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one, and there was not a soul in sight.
I ran along the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey; the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. There, on the bench, I saw snowy white figure. It seemed to me that something dark stood behind the figure, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed dead, for not a soul did I see. I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy’s condition. The time and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled. When I got almost to the top I could see the bench and the white figure, and I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and black, it was bending over the white figure. I called in fright, “Lucy! Lucy!” and something raised a head, and I saw a white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and the bench, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view again the cloud had passed, and I could see Lucy lying on the bench. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of anybody about.