Fjallkonan #7 | 21 February 1900

SUDDENLY THE SKY CLEARED AHEAD OF US, AS IF THE mountains had opened up, and yet they became even steeper on both sides. My fellow travellers now became even more tense than they already were. The road was better here and the ride continued at an even more tearing pace than before, such that I had to hold myself in order not to be thrown around in the carriage. I am no coward, but it seemed crazy to rush on like this in the dark. I was then told that we were galloping up the Borgo Pass, and as if to make this event more ceremonious, my travel companions started giving me odd gifts, such as rose tree branches, rowan twigs, white flowers, crucifixes, and other small trinkets. I didn’t have the heart to refuse them, but little by little I tried to get rid of most of them, as I could not see how they would be of any use to me. I did, however, understand that they were meant to protect me against the attacks and cunning tricks of the Evil One. The carriage rushed forward with the same breakneck speed as before, and all the while my companions wriggled in their seats as if sitting on hot coals, looking around us in all directions, which eventually made me nervous as well. I asked them if there was anything to fear, but they answered me with some balderdash, or muttered phrases I didn’t understand. As the road began to descend from the pass, the driver pulled on the reins and we stopped. Although it was still behind the mountains, the moon had risen, illuminating our surroundings.

I started to worry whether or not the Count had even sent his carriage for me, as the coachman insisted that no one would come. He advised me to go back to the village with him and to return tomorrow or some other day.

While we were discussing this, the horses became skittish and began to prick their ears, whinnying and rearing, and the coachman struggled to keep hold of them. My companions shouted, called for the saints, crossed themselves and grabbed their crucifixes.

In the midst of this chaos, an antiquated calèche, drawn by four splendid pitch black stallions, drove up to us.⁵⁴ Their harnesses were adorned with silver and seemed as though they belonged in a history museum rather than on those magnificent animals. The driver was tall and had a large black beard. He was not in uniform, but in some sort of national dress, and wore a wide-brimmed felt hat on his head, so that only the lower part of his face was visible. I noticed, however, that his eyes seemed red in the lamplight. I have seen such eyes on other people, but it always makes an eerie impression. As I already felt rather beat up after the tiresome journey and conversation with my companions, I would have preferred this new escort of mine to be less peculiar.

“You have been travelling fast this evening, my friend,” the stranger said to our driver in German.⁵⁵

“The English gentleman was in a hurry.”

“And so you have advised him to return with you; I hear well and am not easily fooled. Besides, I have swift horses.”⁵⁶

He laughed out loud, so that his teeth shone white as snow.

“Give me the luggage of the gracious lord,” he said, and with the help of all my travel companions, my baggage was transferred to the other carriage in the wink of an eye. Then I stepped out of the mail coach and the driver lifted me up into the calèche, rather forcefully. In an instant, the man got in his seat and grabbed hold of the reins, and we dashed off. I looked back and saw that my fellow travellers had stepped out of the carriage to see us better—still crossing themselves.

When they were out of sight, some sort of horror struck me, and I felt all alone—as if I had left the civilized world and entered a realm of darkness, where anything could happen. The superstitions of my companions had unduly impacted me, and I had to employ all my common sense and self-control to pull myself together. I kept telling myself that I was no adventurer wrestling with ghosts and demons but the steady Thomas Harker—a candidate for the bar with good testimony, currently an assistant at the law firm of Peter Hawkins, Esq.,⁵⁷ who had sent me to Count Dracula in Transylvania to finalize his real estate purchase in London. I was also thinking about my fiancée, Wilma; I had just written her a letter, and as I brought her and our home life to mind my mood improved and I became composed once more. I began to look forward to exploring unknown paths at the Count’s place. As I lit a cigar, the calèche suddenly stopped. The driver left his seat, came over to me, and spread a fur over my feet and knees. He also wrapped me in a pelt coat above the waist and said in good German:

“It’s chilly in the mountains tonight, and the gracious Count told me that I should make sure you would not be cold. There is a bottle of plum liqueur under the seat, if you need to warm yourself.”

I thanked him, and he went back to his seat to steer the horses.

I was about to doze off when it felt as though the carriage suddenly turned around. This was probably just my imagination, but it felt very real to me. A short while later I lit a match and looked at my watch—it was a few minutes to twelve. I began to remember some of the things the landlady at the inn had told me, but I laughed it off, tightened the mantle around me, and tried to sleep.

But as soon as I closed my eyes I heard dogs barking from a farm nearby, and some time later from another direction, and then again from the distance, until the whole air, near and far, resounded with whining and barking, growing louder as the winds grew stronger. I could not sleep now, the more so as the horses were beginning to stir. The driver calmed them by speaking to them in a soothing voice, saying something to them that I didn’t understand. The wind was growing more violent, and nothing could be heard but the rushing of the forest and the occasional hooting of owls in the treetops. Then the barking came again, followed by a ferocious howling that instantly terrified me.

“What is that?” I asked the driver.

“It’s wolves, sir; wolves here in the mountains,” he said. “They are out tonight, but you can rest easy. To us— they do nothing.”

The horses, however, seemed to be of a different opinion, as they were now becoming unruly, kicking back as if they were afraid. I saw that the driver had to muster all of his tremendous strength in order to keep them under control. The calèche nearly tipped over, which would have thrown me out into the gorge that I suspected was beside the road. I was prepared to jump out to safety, but the driver finally managed to settle the horses so that he could dismount the calèche and get to them. He stroked them and whispered to them, like horse tamers do, and soon they were meek as lambs. The driver took his seat again and we continued.

Not much later we came out of the woods and were moving alongside enormously high cliffs. There we were sheltered from the gale, but I noticed that the storm was still building up, and it was not long before the weather became murderous.⁵⁸ The barking from the valley we had crossed was faint now, but the sound of wolves was much louder than before and could be heard all around us.

I was not scared, but I was not at ease either. I wished I had some rifles with me, as I would have liked to give my Wilma two or three wolf furs as a wedding present. I had to laugh to myself when I thought of the hunters I knew, who would have been grateful to be granted a month’s stay in this area.⁵⁹

Suddenly I noticed that the driver was scanning the forest in all directions, and as I watched more closely I saw something like a bluish flame flicker not far from us in the woods. The driver had obviously noticed it too. He jumped from the carriage and took off into the forest. It seemed that this glimmer was close to the road, and I could clearly see what the driver was doing: he was building a cairn.⁶⁰ – – –

It felt as if I had fallen asleep for a moment when I realized that the calèche had halted.⁶¹ The driver was away, longer than he had been before, and after a few moments the horses became restless. This puzzled me, especially as there was nothing to be heard from the wolves. Soon the horses were so unruly that I took hold of the reins myself and was about to leave the carriage to better handle them—but then the moon came out, and all of a sudden I saw four, five, six large wolves sneaking down the road with gaping snouts and sagging tongues. In a flurry, I reached into my pocket for my revolver, but I had put it into my carpetbag that morning.⁶² I had nothing to defend myself with but the whip, which I could hardly use, as I was having enough trouble handling the horses. Unwilling to sit idle, I yelled “Hello” as loud as I could, so that it echoed through the forest; the wolves didn’t seem to like it. Then I heard the driver saying something I didn’t understand, and when I looked to the side I saw him gesture to them, at which they shamefully crept away with drooping tails.

“How could you leave the carriage in a situation like this?” I shouted to the driver. “We nearly had an accident. I could hardly cope with the horses much longer.”

“I told you there was nothing to fear, even if the horses are young and inexperienced—I am an old hunter. The wolves will do us no harm. You saw how I drove them away. I know how to deal with them, they do not dare attack me. There are, however, much worse things in the woods when it’s dark like this. Try to sleep; we will soon be at the castle.”⁶³

I let this be a lesson and I am sure I must have fallen asleep.⁶⁴ When the calèche halted once more, the moonlight had become clear and I saw that we had arrived at a large courtyard, fenced in by a high wall, which in some places had started to crack.