28 JUNE

I WRITE THESE WORDS IN MY JOURNAL LATE AT NIGHT IN my bedroom, the only retreat I have where I can be without fear. I’m now determined to flee from here as soon as we see the light of day. To alert my family of what has happened to me and what it was that drove me to my death, I have written Wilma’s name and address on the first page of this book, both in German and English, adding that whoever finds it should please return the book to her at the aforementioned address and explain how the book has come into their hands. I cannot do anything more, and it’s perfectly clear to me that there’s but a small chance this final greeting of mine will reach its intended destination, should I meet my doom.

Wilma, if I live, let us read these lines together some day²⁷⁷ and thank God that my life was saved, but if I die—this is my final greeting to you. Once you have read what I’ve written, you shall know that I’ve succumbed to forces stronger than I am, and that these forces pose a danger to the whole of humanity—a danger that every person of goodwill must stand up against. Ask the wisest and foremost people, preferably those with much influence in society. I’ve written a few names on the last page of this book. I don’t have time to explain things in more detail. May God give you the strength to make use of my experience. My spirit stays with you, regardless of what may happen to my body.

I will write a few words here about what has happened to me in the last couple of days.

My handwriting on the previous page reminds me of how I felt while I was taking down my notes—I was aware that she was nearing and drawing me towards her. She whispered sweet words to me; she kissed me and rather affectionately she asked me to remove the crucifix from my neck. My hands lifted, but at the last moment I was able to control myself.– – –

I’m not sure how much time had passed, but I suddenly heard the Count’s sardonic voice sneering at her.

“Get out of here! Your work is in vain—the time has not come yet. Wait a few more days. When I no longer need him, you may have him, and then—”²⁷⁸

I heard a strange, shrill laugh, like the sound of a glass bell. It was her voice. I still shudder at it; this voice was not human at all.²⁷⁹

Soon after I heard the Count saying,

“Good evening, my friend. I see you have fallen asleep with your work.” I opened my eyes and saw him standing at the desk in front of me, casting a biting look at me. I was tired and weak, and when he told me to go to bed I obeyed him in silence. Looking back on it all, I can hardly tell whether I’d been dreaming or if I’d been awake during the time I am now writing about. If it was a dream, then it may have been a warning—but I don’t think it was a dream.

Some days later, the Count asked me again to sort several documents, books and instruments, to have them ready for his trip. He also had me check, correct and copy two letters he had written in English and which were addressed to Brits, although I didn’t recognize their names. The language was obscure and ambiguous, and the message seemed to be about some important issue. Although I didn’t quite understand the text, this incident showed me that the Count no longer feared I might betray him—he probably sees me as standing with one foot in the grave already, unable to divulge any of his secrets.

______________________

Yesterday the Tatars finished their work. Early in the morning, two large wagons, pulled by six horses each, drove into the courtyard, where the heavy boxes were placed onto the wagons before they were taken away in separate loads. The drivers were Slovaks, but each trip was escorted by armed Tatars.

When darkness came there were only three boxes left. Most of the Tatars were gone, but there were still some men in the courtyard of the kind I have already described as being more ape-like than human. It occurred to me that this might be my chance to get away, as the gate would probably be open. I slipped out, but as always it was securely locked, and what’s more the Count’s hideous servants were standing guard. I rushed back inside, hearing someone running and panting behind me. I fled into the dining room, locked the door behind me and leaned myself against it. I felt someone trying to open it, but after a moment everything went quiet.

I now realized that the Count had probably expected I would try to escape and had taken steps to prevent it. I shudder to think of what might have happened had his pack of thugs got hold of me. I am not afraid of death—but I do not want to die this way.

The Count came late that night. He was very cheerful, walking briskly around the room, speaking frantically and constantly fiddling with his nails, which were very long. Although it was his habit, I’ve always disliked this nervous tick of his. Had it not been for his snow-white hair and his equally white moustache, one very well may have guessed he was barely forty.

“Yes, my friend,” he said in a gentle voice, “I am almost ready for my journey, but I still have to take care of a few things here around my estate. I shall probably need the whole day tomorrow, and as I do not know whether I shall return in time to say goodbye to you, I am doing that now. My horses and carriage will be available to you tomorrow. When will you be leaving?”

This question came so unexpectedly that I was dumbstruck. I stared at him and stammered something about the departure times of trains, Bistritz, etc. My head was swimming and my heartbeat became so violent that I felt as if I were going to suffocate.

When I caught hold of myself, I saw the Count looking at me with an odd, ironic smirk.

“Are you fine with leaving at twelve o’clock?” he asked. “Then you may be in time for the evening train to Budapest. Well, I shall make sure the calèche stands by the gate at noon, and if possible, I shall also come to wish you a good journey, but should I be delayed—I say goodbye to you now. Be you blessed, my dear young friend.” He gave me his hand. “Goodbye now, and I thank you so much for your pleasant company. I can neither express its true value to me nor pay for it with gold, but time is precious to you, and in our family we are not given to receiving presents without giving something in return, therefore allow me—” he opened a drawer in the desk and reached for a small red silk bag, which he handed to me “—to give you this in exchange, and this—” he took something out of his breast pocket “—as a souvenir from your sojourn here, and as a token of Dracula’s gratitude. They are small, but they are old family heirlooms that carry a certain value, and I hope they will serve to remind you of your stay with me.”

His voice had a strange undertone, and when I looked up at his face it was twisted in a malignant, mocking grimace, but he instantly altered it to a friendly smile. I saw that the object he took from his breast pocket was an ancient ring with a heart of jewels and a large ruby in the center. The stones shone in the light from the wax candles; its multi-colored rays were so strong and piercing to the eye that it made me dizzy just looking at it. I almost blacked out.

I struggled to keep my eyes off this trinket that possessed such magical power, but when I finally succeeded in looking away, the enchantment was gone, vanished—but I was not the same afterwards. I felt obliged to accept the small pouch, which I discovered contained golden coins.

“You honor me too much,” I said, trying not to show any emotion. “I cannot accept these glorious gifts.”

“Do not mention it,” he said in a firmer tone. “It is my decision, and it is my pleasure knowing this family heirloom is in your possession. Wear it and think of Dracula. Many have worn it before you and regarded it as a lucky charm of sorts. You Englishmen do not believe in such things, but wear it anyway, and I wish you much luck with it. You have yet to enjoy life; you are a handsome man, young and elegant. Goodbye now, dear Thomas Harker. If we do not see each other again—and that may well be—then you have Dracula’s blessing. Until tomorrow then, at noon.”

He clutched my hand so firmly, it felt as though he had fists of iron; his grip was as cold as ice or polished metal. My hand went numb, and I felt the dullness creep up my arm. I wanted to shove him away from me but managed to restrain myself. Then he walked to the door.

“Wear the ring,” he said again. “Do it for me—and think of Dracula.” He kissed his fingers according to old tradition and left.²⁸⁰