Bram Stoker's Dracula Retold

Jonathan's Journal - May 5th Again.

Although I could see areas of the castle’s courtyard, they were shrouded in darkness. I have not yet been able to take a look around in daylight so I do not know how much of my account is based on nothing but shadows.

The first thing I noticed was the large number of dark passageways that branched off, disappearing into the castle. If they had remained still and stopped disappearing into the castle I might have been able to count them. I looked up at the castle. No light came from the windows. I assumed the Count must have used all the bulbs in the neon sign.

The coach driver made to jump down from the coach. He caught his leg in the horse’s reigns and fell on his face with a thud. When he stood up his lips seemed even redder than they had before, as did his nose, his chin and his cheeks.

He hobbled over to the coach and raised his hand to help me down. I felt that even without help I could not make quite as bad a job of alighting as he had. Nevertheless I took his hand and stepped off the coach. Once I was down he asked me to give him his hand back, which I did.

I found myself standing beside a great wooden door, which was surrounded by a super stone doorway. Shapes were carved into the stone. The light was poor but I was sure I could make out the MacDonald’s Golden Arches. There was also something written in marker. It said “Christopher Lee Woz Here.”

Behind me I heard the coach driver crack his whip. I turned to find him holding his ear. He cracked it a second time. His nose fell off. He raised the whip a third time but thought better of it. “Giddeup” he said.

The horses took off at a gallop and the driver steered them into one of the darkened areas of the courtyard. There was an almighty crash, a clatter of hooves, a startled grunt from the driver and a startled “Oook” from inside the coach. It had not been a darkened area that contained a passageway. I watched as one of the wheels caught fire and went rolling down the road. I had an idea that should have written to my Uncle Jim, my next of kin, to tell him that the wheel just might explode.

I turned back to the door. There was no sign of what I should do next. I could see no knocker or bell, nor did there seem to be a handle. It was a shambles really. I’d travelled halfway across Europe to deliver papers to the Count and was now standing in the middle of the night with shitty pants and no way gain access to the castle.

I made the resolve to at least relieve myself of my soiled underwear. I quickly checked around to make sure there was no one watching and slipped out of my trousers and my soggy pants.

There was a noise behind me. I turned around, fully aware that my tackle was on display for all to see – what hadn’t shrivelled in the cold at least. The orang-utan grinned at me. I got the distinct impression it was mocking me – something about the way it held up its little finger and wiggled it at me. I wiggled my middle finger back.

During the trading of insults I had quite forgotten that I was standing bare from the waste down. Agreed, it is not something that I would usually allow to slip from my mind, but neither would I usually be semi-naked in a courtyard having an explicit mime battle with a monkey. The mind can have these lapses under such stressful circumstances.

I was just about to launch into my “Your mother does favours for chimps” insult when a solid thump vibrated the castle door.

“Fuck,” said a voice on the other side. “Damn candle.”

I listened as someone drew back a bolt. There was the scrape of a security chain being removed and finally a key turning in the lock.

It was then my mind returned from its wandering to point out that I still was not wearing my trousers and had a handful of shitty underwear. I looked up as the castle door slowly began to open. In a panic I threw the pants as hard as I could into the darkness of the courtyard hoping they would not be seen shining in the moonlight. I stepped into my trousers and hoisted them up to full mast as a figure appeared in the open doorway.

For some reason I could not understand, the orang-utan came bounding from behind me and positioned itself at my feet. I raised my foot to give it a kick when I noticed something – the orang-utan was blocking the eye-line from the door to my crotch. More precisely it was blocking the eye-line from the door to my knob which I had not managed to catch with my trousers when I had frantically yanked them up. Under the cover of orange hair, I quickly tucked myself in and pulled up my zip without the figure at the door being aware of it.

“It is alvays good for a servant to help his master keep his dignity,” the figure said in a seductive, accented tone. “Unfortunately the security cameras see everything.”

I cursed under my breath. The orang-utan said, “Oook” in protest to being called a servant and then stamped on my foot to prove a point – that it hurt.

I studied the figure standing just inside the great doorway. He was tall and old, had a white complexion and a long white moustache which was tucked behind his ears. His attire was completely black – I wondered if he had been the first Milk Tray man. In his left hand he carried a candle, while in his right he held the match he was trying to light it with. The flame finally caught and the candle began to emit enough light for him to see the match he had used to light it. A smile passed over his wrinkled face. A strong gust of wind blew the flame out and the smile continued to pass without stopping.

“Piss,” he hissed, reaching behind the door.

A moment later the castle exploded with light. I covered my eyes against the blinding glare and had to duck when a plane came in to land.

“I thought they’d fixed the dimmer switch in that,” the figure said, reaching once again behind the door.

The castle was plunged into darkness again. A light aircraft plunged into a nearby mountain. A workman I had earlier failed to notice plunged a blocked drain at the far side of the courtyard. Not wanting to be left out, a group of lemmings in the arctic joined hands and plunged off a cliff top.

At the doorway of Castle Dracula, the old man beckoned me forward. As I approached, he spoke to me in the same voice he had previously.

“Velcome to my home. I hope you have a pleasant stay, please enter of your own vill.”

“I don’t have a vill,” I said

“No vill? Vell you can just pretend.”

I expected him to come to meet me, but he did not. Instead he sat down on a stool and watched me walk up to the door. Obviously as well as being a tight-arse with money, he was lazy bastard too.

When I crossed the threshold, he suddenly sprang from his seat to shake my hand. I took note of the giant spring poking out of the chair. He took my hand and shook it with a strength I had not expected. I would have to remember to ask him to give me it back – I was lost without my right hand.

“Count Dracula?” I asked, feeling I should check the fact before continuing. There was only so much shaking one hand could endure.

He bowed before me. “I am Dracula and I bid you velcome.”

“I accept your bid,” I said. “If you pay through Paypal I will have your goods sent immediately.”

“Good, I like to see swift business. Now, could you please help me straighten up as my back has locked.”

I helped the Count straighten up. I had to iron him twice to get all the creases out.

“May I ask,” Dracula asked, “how vell house trained your monkey is.”

I did not need to turn around to know the orang-utan was at my heels. If I had turned around, I would have discovered him juggling my luggage.

“He is not strictly mine,” I said by way of explanation. “He just followed me here.”

“I see,” Dracula said, although as there was no light I doubted that because I couldn’t see a bloody thing. “Vell let me show you to your room. You must eat and rest and keep your blood count up.”

I was about to ask if he worked for the British Heart Foundation, but he turned and walked away. I had little choice but to follow – he still had my hand.

He led me by the hand up a long winding stone staircase. He held the candle out in front of him to light the way. I could hear the orang-utan dragging my case up the stairs behind us – it sounded like he was playing the Anvil Chorus.

I followed the Count up to the top of the staircase, along a large passageway lined with many portraits I could not see in the dark, through a small doorway, along another passage and down a short staircase. The Count opened a door at the bottom of the stairs.

“This vill be your room for your stay,” he said ushering me through the doorway.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“It is my castle, of course I am s–”

The Count stopped when he realised what I already knew. We were back at the castle entrance.

“Oh,” the Count said. “Shall ve try again?”

He did not wait for a reply but set off for the staircase. Six minutes later, we arrived back in the castle lobby.

“You don’t have a floor plan, do you?” I asked. “It might help.”

The Count turned to face me, a fire in his eyes – his eyebrows were burning. He should have been more careful with the candle.

“I do not need any kind of plan to guide me around my own castle,” he said, his voice rising in volume. “I have lived here for many years and know every passageway and room in the building. I just have not valked some of these halls for many years. I have other methods of getting around.”

I assumed he was talking about the fancy disability scooter I had seen standing by the front door. I could imagine the Count riding around the castle in it at his leisure. The more I thought about it, he was probably rather knackered from all the walking.

“Let us go to your room,” Dracula said and set off for the stairs once more.

Behind me was an “Oook” that sounded like a sigh. I almost felt sorry for the orang-utan carrying my case but knew it could have been worse – I could have been carrying it myself.

Several minutes later, Dracula led me through a door proclaiming it to be my room on the other side. I had my doubts going on his track record, but this time he finally came good.

The room was delightfully presented – it was wrapped in a bow. There was a large table in the centre of the room on which someone had spread a supper. It would have been cleaner if they had left the food in bowls but I was not going to be picky. At the far side of the room a log fire was roaring and the heath was purring.

Dracula walked on through the room to a door on the other side. I felt I was expected to follow – he was pulling me along by the arm. The orang-utan had taken enough and collapsed on top of my case. I decided it could do no harm to leave him there for a short time.

The adjoining room contained another warm fire along with many items usually found in a bedroom. I assumed this was either where I would be sleeping or the Count had a very strange idea of what a kitchen was meant to look like.

“This is vhere you vill be sleeping,” Dracula said. “I vill leave you a short vile to freshen up, then you vill join me for supper in the next room.”

He closed the door, only to reopen it moments later to push through my suitcase attached to the unconscious body of the orang-utan.

I have to comment that the Count’s welcome had been so friendly and kind that the uncanny incidents that had occurred during the journey to the castle seemed a distant memory.

Soon after I entered the adjoining room to find a prepared supper as promised. It was still hot and steaming. I had to concentrate not to dribble on him shirt. The Count stood beside the great table, gesturing for me to sit. I did so. It was nice to be able to sit in clean underwear.

“Are you varm enough vithout any trousers?” the Count asked.

“Perfectly,” I replied.

“Vell, in that case, eat. I have already been a pig today so please excuse me if I do not feed vith you.”

I remembered the letter I had carried from London for the Count’s attention. I handed him the letter. He opened it with his nail then put his shoe back on.

I slurped through a bowl of soup while Dracula read the letter. He smiled as he finished reading, and passed it over for me to peruse. I misjudged my grip on the paper and it fell in my soup. I quickly pulled it out and licked off what I could. Thankfully the writing was still intact.

It read

“Dear Dracula, I am afraid that I am unable to tend to your legal needs personally. I have had the shits really bad and am not in a fit state to travel. Instead I have sent the young man before you. He may look like a lanky string of piss but he is good at his job and he will do his best not to fuck up. Peter Hawkins.”

I wished the soup had washed the writing off. It was nice to know I was held in such high regard by my peers at the legal firm I was representing.

Dracula took a seat at the other end of the table to me. While I ate he enquired about my journey to the castle. Through mouthfuls of food I spat out the tale of my travels – I also spat out some of my dinner but was able to brush it onto the floor.

As I finished up the last of the jam tart, the Count offered me a glass of wine. He bent over me to pour and I noticed two things that I had failed to earlier. The Count’s skin was almost transparent. I could almost see his very bones through it, and I wondered if he hired himself out for Halloween parties. The second thing was his breath. It stank. It was like the breath of long-stale blood and decay. I don’t believe dentists are that good around here.

He hovered beside me while I tasted the wine.

“Good,” I said. “Very rich, quite tangy. Strangely thick. What is it?”

“Lagosi 1826.”

“I don’t believe I have heard of the name. Is it popular?”

“It is a one off,” the Count said with a smile. “It came from a previous guest just before he became departed.”

“I think you mean before he departed.”

“I know what I mean,” Dracula replied.

Through the window to my left I could see the first threads of dawn coming over the mountains. Everything seemed still in that moment before dawn truly broke and light spilled out through the cracks. In the stillness though, I could hear a distant sound. I turned to find the Count smiling.

“The creatures of the night,” Dracula said. “The volves of the darkness. Vhat vonderful music they make.”

“The pianist sounds particularly good,” I said. “Do they do requests?”

“I have never enquired. But now you must be tired, so I will bid you good night.”

“I will match your bid. Show me your hand.”

He had four aces, which beat my two pairs. Dracula left me to put the cards away before I went to my adjoining bedroom.

On entering I found that my case standing empty on the floor. My shirts were hung on the side of the wardrobe, my trousers were hung over a chair, my porn had been stacked neatly under the bed. I was beginning to warm to the orang-utan, so much so I was coming to think of him as a him rather than an it – until I saw him sprawled across the double bed and he momentarily became an it again.

So now I will close my journal for another day. I succeeded in getting part of the bed to myself, and other than the occasional “Oook” he has been rather quiet. I’ve had much worse sleeping partners, although none have passed such noxious gas. I may have to bury my head in the pillow and risk suffocation.

As for my first impression of Dracula, he seemed to be quite a well equipped host, if somewhat forgetful and with breath like a dog. Maybe my first impression will change in the next few days to a second one.

I can hear the wolves music coming closer. Maybe they have a marching band. I suppose I may find out before I leave.