Bram Stoker's Dracula Retold

Jonathan's Journal - May 7th

May 7th.

I am writing this on a gloriously bright morning. Yesterday was an enjoyable day, and I expect today to be no less interesting. I slept yesterday until late when I awakened of my own accord – with a helpful slap from the orang-utan who had broken through the pillow barricade I had erected.

I left him sleeping in the bedroom. He had his uses but at the end of the day, he was ultimately a lazy orange bag of shite.

In the adjoining room I discovered a cold breakfast awaiting me. I’m sure the bacon and eggs were hot when they had been served but my slumber had given them time to go stone cold. I eat the hearty meal and my heart instantly began to clog with cholesterol and cold fat. It felt good.

I had finished eating before I noticed the small note propped against the pepper pot. I picked it up, noting the lilac colour and perfumed aroma. It read:

“Do not wait for me today. I should be back by early evening, weather and daylight permitting. Love and kisses. Dracula x”

I was beginning to wonder how many years the Count had lived in the castle. He sounded a very affectionate man, yet there did not seem to be any sign of a companion in his life.

As I had been left to my own devices for the day I resolved to have a brief look around the castle. I did not want to stray too far from my room as I would no doubt lose myself in the many halls. If I lost myself I wouldn’t know where to start trying to find me again.

Through an adjoining door I discovered a small library, which was full of small books. I had a look through some of the titles. It was quite an interesting collection with a variety of authors and genres. I noticed one book entitled “Eternal Life for Dummies” and another, “Coffin Buyer’s Almanac.” The Count must be a collector and something of a superstitious fantasist. I may ask him about this at some point as I’m sure he will be happy to discuss the subject. It will entertain me a while.

I lost a lot of time in the library – I also lost my wallet and still haven’t found it. The first I realised of the time was when Dracula entered the room behind me. I did intend to ask how he had entered as the door was in front of me but missed my moment.

“I hope you have had a pleasant day,” he said. “I am pleased you discovered this collection of mine. Have you perused the collection of books I have gathered on England?”

He directed me to a shelf that was just past the roundabout and third turning on the left. There I found a large number of English books. I knew they were English as they smelled of Roast beef and Yorkshire Puddings. It seemed the Count was learning much about the country and the city of London where his new property was situated. “101 Cockney Expletives”, “Werewolves of London” and “London Sewers” were just some of the titles. The Count was clearly taking his move to London seriously and wanted to fit in when he arrived.

“These books have been good companions to me,” Dracula said, sweeping his hand over them then bending down to sweep the floor. When he stood up he pulled out one of the books. “I have spent many hours at night developing my knowledge of your great country.”

He flicked open the book to demonstrate. Something fluttered out from between the pages and landed on my foot. I picked it up then hopped on one foot while I picked up the piece of paper.

It showed a young woman with her mouth obscured by a large black circle. At the other side of the circle was a naked man. Above the picture was a telephone number and a caption reading, “Call me and I’ll suck the life out of you.”

Dracula hastily pulled the paper from my hand. “I apologise. I was doing some family research and believed she could be a distant relative.”

I did not enquire any further. I wondered if I could get hold of the number later.

“I should say that I do not believe my English to be very good, but reading these books and…um…using other sources has helped me a great deal.”

“I would say you speak English excellently,” I said.

“I vould say you do to.”

“But that is because I am English. It gives me a good excuse.”

“So it does. I long to be accepted in your good land. I am though a Count.”

“That’s being a bit harsh on yourself,” I said.

“I said Count.”

“Ah, sorry. I misheard.”

“Don’t vorry. As I said, I am a Count, and many believe that makes me, how English vould say, ‘stuck up my nose’. I vill have to try hard ven I arrive there to fit in.”

I did not want to know what he had stuck up his nose, so I simply nodded and left it at that.

“You may go anyvere you vish in the castle, except through locked doors. I trust you do not know how to pick locks. I vould also say that you cannot use my toilet, or the third pantry in the kitchen. I vould recommend that you don’t use the downstairs toilet either, it sometimes becomes blocked.

“As I’m sure you have realised, this is Transylvania and not your England. Ve do somethings differently here. Ve do not brush our teeth as much, do not have Sunday dinner and do not have a red-light district. There also may be some occurrences that you find strange and unusual, but I assure you that vhatever happens in Transylvania, stays in Transylvania. Do not be alarmed by anything, and feel free to ask any questions you vish.”

This lead to a number of conversations, that revolved around my strange experiences on the way to the castle, the diabolical train services, and finally to the details of the estate the Count had purchased in London

“The estate is called Carfax,” I relayed to the Count. “The house you almost own has a fabulous view of the local graveyard, is surround by trees and a high wall. There is a stream running alongside the property, and the house itself seems always dark and gloomy even in daylight hours. There is also a very large cellar. Nearby there are few houses and the only one of notable mention has been recently converted into a lunatic asylum.”

“Fucking cushty,” he said. His English was getting better all the time. “I am pleased to hear all of this. It sounds like the perfect place for me to settle. I am happy to have found it and will be particularly delighted to finally arrive there.”

Soon after this conversation, the Count said he would have to leave me a moment, and asked me to gather my papers together for his return. I herded them all into a pen in the corner of the room and fastened them in ready for when he came back.

While I waited, I walked back over to the book shelves. I was just taking down “The Art of Sucking” by an author called Pam Vyre, when I heard someone noisily walking into the door.

I turned around to see who it was. As the door was still closed, I could not tell. Someone tried the handle. I watched as the handle wobbled a few times then fell off. This was not good – I couldn’t get out!

I was relieved then, when the door opened from the other side. I was indifferent to see it was the orang-utan. The lazy bastard had seemingly just crawled out of bed. I was considering naming him as he seemed to be a fixture of mine, but had not been able to think of anything suitable.

I watched him waddle into the room, scratching himself in a casual way I believed only monkeys could get away with without being called obscene.

He took a look around at the books. There was stillness as his small black eyes evaluated the sight. Then he farted with a noise like a herd of angry buffaloes in a mineshaft. The books jumped on the shelves and I had to catch some of them to prevent them being damaged.

When the vibrations ceased, I turned to give him a piece of my mind and a kick in the balls. I was just in time to see a long orange arm pulling the door closed. And then the smell hit me like a sewage truck.

When I came to, Dracula was standing over me. I was still in the small library. The smell was gone for all but a very faint lingering whiff. Dracula enquired of my health, and once satisfied that I was not about to die, he backed into his seat and removed a bib from around his neck. Judging by the stains he had ben eating tomatoe soup and was a messy eater.

As if reading my mind, Dracula asked if I was hungry. I was. In the main room, I found another wonderful meal laid out for me. The orang-utan had already eaten his way through half the table and some of the food as well.

Dracula remained with my while I ate. I did feel a little guilty stuffing my face while he sat and chatted, but he would not touch a bite although he did pick his teeth a couple of times. Before I knew it I had cleaned my plate, the orang-utan had cleaned the rest of the table and somewhere nearby a cockerel crowed as the first shimmers of dawn appeared.

At the sound of the cock, Dracula jumped to his feet. They were just about to escape through the door without him when he caught them.

“I have kept you up far too long,” he said. “Talking about your fair country, with its fair trading, fair loose vomen and fairly dismal public transport has made me forget the time. I vill leave and once again bid you sleep vell.”

“The bidding closed an hour ago,” I said, but the Count was already out of the room carrying his feet with him.

When the Count left, I retired to my room where I have now completed this diary entry. My sleeping pattern is shot to shit so I shall probably not wake until tomorrow. The Count is strange in he never seems tired during twilight despite his busy days spent away. It is as though he comes to life at night. I can hear the orang-utan trying to get in. I have put a chair up against the door to keep the bugger out. He can sleep in the other room tonight.