When I realized I was a prisoner, panic took over. I ran up and down the stairs, tried every door, and looked through every window. For a while, I behaved like a rat caught in a trap.
Eventually, I understood that there was nothing I could do by simply running around. I forced myself to sit down and think.
I knew one thing for certain: I could not tell the Count what I was thinking.
He already knew I was trapped. In fact, he was the one who had trapped me. Whatever his reasons were, he would only lie to me if I trusted him with the truth.
So I decided to keep my fears to myself, watch everything carefully, and look for a way out.
Either I was letting my imagination frighten me, or I was in serious danger. If the second possibility was true, I would need all my intelligence to survive.
Not long after I reached that conclusion, I heard the great door downstairs close. The Count had returned.
He did not come into the library immediately, so I quietly went back to my room.
To my surprise, I found him making the bed.
That seemed strange, but it confirmed something I had already begun to suspect.
There were no servants in the castle.
Later, I saw him setting the table in the dining room. That convinced me completely. If the Count did all these ordinary household jobs himself, there could hardly be anyone else living here.
Then another terrible thought came to me.
If there were no servants, the Count himself must have been the coachman who brought me here.
If that was true, then what kind of man was he?
How had he controlled the wolves simply by raising his hand?
Why had everyone in Bistritz and everyone on the coach seemed so terrified for me?
Why had that kind woman given me a crucifix, garlic, wild roses, and mountain ash?
I blessed her for putting the crucifix around my neck. Whenever I touched it, I felt stronger and less alone.
It was strange. I had been taught to regard such things as superstition, even idolatry. Yet here, in this lonely and frightening place, the crucifix brought me comfort.
Perhaps there was something special about the object itself. Or perhaps it was simply the feeling of kindness and protection that it represented.
Someday, if I survived this place, I would try to understand it.
For now, I needed to learn everything I could about Count Dracula.
Perhaps tonight he would talk about himself if I guided the conversation carefully.
But I had to be very careful not to make him suspicious.
The Count Reveals His Past
Midnight
I have just finished a long conversation with the Count.
I began by asking him about the history of Transylvania.
He immediately became passionate.
When he talked about famous people and battles, he spoke as though he had personally witnessed them.
Eventually, he explained that the pride and history of a noble family become part of a man’s own identity. The family’s victories are his victories, and its defeats are his defeats.
Whenever he talked about his family, he used the word “we.” Sometimes he even spoke as if he represented an entire kingdom.
I wish I could record his words exactly. His story was fascinating.
As he became more excited, he walked around the room, pulling at his great white mustache and gripping whatever happened to be nearby as though he wanted to crush it.
Then he began telling me about his ancestors.
“We Szekelys have every reason to be proud,” he said. “Our blood comes from many brave peoples who fought for power and glory.
“The ancient warriors who came into Europe brought with them a fierce fighting spirit. Their berserkers were so savage that people believed they were werewolves.
“Then came the Huns, whose armies swept across the world like fire. People were so terrified of them that they created stories about witches and devils.
“But what devil or witch could ever have been greater than Attila? His blood runs through our veins.”
He raised both arms proudly.
“Is it surprising that we became a conquering people? Whenever the Magyar, Lombard, Avar, Bulgar, or Turk armies attacked our borders, we fought them back.
“When Arpad and his warriors entered Hungary, they found us already guarding the frontier.
“For centuries, the Szekelys were trusted to defend the border against the Turks. We were always ready when the king called us to war.
“Our people have fought through countless battles. And among our ancestors was a great Dracula who crossed the Danube and defeated the Turks on their own land.
“Sadly, his own brother betrayed him after his death and handed his people over to the Turks. That brought shame and slavery upon our nation.
“But another Dracula later continued the fight. Again and again, he led his armies across the river into Turkish territory. Even when his soldiers were being destroyed and he had to return alone from the battlefield, he came back to fight again.
“People said he cared only about himself. Fools! What are soldiers without a leader? How can a war be won without someone with the intelligence and courage to lead?
“Later, after the Battle of Mohacs, we fought to free ourselves from Hungarian rule. Men of the Dracula blood were among our leaders because they would never accept slavery.
“Young man, the Szekelys have a history that families such as the Habsburgs and Romanovs could never match.
“But those days are gone now. The world has become too peaceful, and noble blood is no longer valued as it once was. The great achievements of our ancestors have become nothing more than stories.”
By then, it was almost morning.
We finally went to bed.
I could not help thinking that the whole conversation felt like one of those strange stories in The Arabian Nights, where everything seems to stop when the rooster crows.
Dracula’s Strange Questions
12 May
I have decided to concentrate on facts—things I can verify from books and records.
I must separate those facts from my own experiences, which depend only on my memory and what I believe I have seen.
Last night, the Count came out of his room and began asking me questions about English law and business.
I had spent most of the day reading simply to keep myself occupied, so I was able to answer him.
His questions were unusually specific, and I began to suspect that he had a plan.
First, he asked whether a man in England could have more than one solicitor.
“Of course,” I told him. “He could have as many as he wanted. But it would be better to have only one solicitor handling a particular matter. Changing lawyers in the middle of a transaction could cause problems.”
He seemed satisfied.
Then he asked whether one person could handle banking matters while another handled shipping business in a distant port.
“Could you explain what you mean?” I asked.
He thought for a moment.
“Let us say that your friend, Mr. Peter Hawkins, lives near your beautiful cathedral in Exeter. Through you, he buys my property in London.
“You may wonder why I chose a solicitor who lives so far away instead of someone in London. The reason is simple. I wanted someone whose only concern would be my interests.
“A London solicitor might have personal connections or other interests that could interfere.
“Now suppose I want to ship goods to Newcastle, Durham, Harwich, or Dover. Would it not be easier to arrange the shipment through someone who lives in those ports?”
“Yes,” I said. “That would be convenient. But solicitors already have a system for working with local agents. You can instruct one solicitor, and he can arrange everything through people in other places.”
“But I would still be free to give instructions myself?”
“Certainly.”
“Good,” he said.
He continued asking about shipping goods, making contracts, arranging consignments, and dealing with possible problems.
I explained everything as clearly as I could.
To be honest, I was impressed.
The Count seemed to have an extraordinary ability to anticipate problems. For someone who had apparently spent little time in England and had not seemed especially involved in business, his knowledge was remarkable.
When he finally seemed satisfied, he suddenly stood up.
“Have you written to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins since your first letter?” he asked. “Or to anyone else?”
I felt a heavy sadness at the question.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t had an opportunity to send any letters.”
“Then write now, my young friend.”
He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Write to Mr. Hawkins and to anyone else you wish. Tell them that you will remain here with me for another month.”
My heart sank.
“Do you really want me to stay that long?”
“I very much want you to stay,” he replied. “Indeed, I will not accept a refusal.
“Your employer sent you here to handle my affairs. My needs were supposed to come first. I have paid for your services, have I not?”
What could I say?
I had to think about Mr. Hawkins’s interests, not my own.
And while the Count spoke, something in his eyes and manner reminded me that I was not really free.
If I wanted to refuse him, I had no power to do so.
He saw my reluctant acceptance and immediately took advantage of it.
“My dear young friend,” he said smoothly, “I ask only that you discuss business in your letters.
“Your friends will be happy to know that you are well and that you expect to return home soon. Is that not enough?”
As he spoke, he handed me three sheets of thin foreign writing paper and three envelopes.
I looked at the paper, then at him.
He smiled quietly.
His sharp canine teeth showed beneath his red lower lip.
At that moment, I understood.
He expected to read my letters.
I decided to write only harmless, formal letters where he could see them. But I would secretly write the truth to Mr. Hawkins.
I would also write to Mina in shorthand. Even if the Count saw it, he would have difficulty understanding it.
I wrote my two letters while the Count sat nearby writing several of his own.
He frequently checked books on the table as he wrote.
When he finished, he placed my letters together with his own.
Then he put away his writing materials.
The moment he left, I leaned over the table and examined the letters.
Under the circumstances, I felt no guilt about doing so.
I needed to protect myself.
One letter was addressed to Samuel F. Billington in Whitby.
Another was addressed to Herr Leutner in Varna.
A third was addressed to Coutts & Co. in London.
The fourth was addressed to the banking firm of Klopstock & Billreuth in Budapest.
Two of the letters were still unsealed.
I was just about to look inside them when I saw the door handle move.
I quickly sat back down.
I had barely replaced the letters and picked up my book when the Count entered.
He had another letter in his hand.
He picked up the letters from the table and carefully stamped them.
Then he turned toward me.
“I hope you will forgive me,” he said, “but I have some private work to finish this evening.
“I hope you will find everything here comfortable.”
At the door, he stopped.
After a brief pause, he turned back.
“Let me give you some advice, my dear young friend. No—let me give you a serious warning.
“If you leave these rooms, do not sleep anywhere else in the castle.
“This place is very old. It has many memories, and there are terrible dreams waiting for anyone who sleeps in the wrong place.
“Remember my warning.
“If you become sleepy, return immediately to your own room or to these rooms. You will be safe there.
“But if you ignore me…”
He finished the warning with a strange gesture, moving his hands as though he were washing them.
I understood what he meant.
My only question was whether any nightmare could possibly be worse than the terrible darkness and mystery already surrounding me.
The Count Crawls Down the Castle Wall
Later
I understand his warning much better now.
I am no longer afraid to sleep anywhere the Count is not.
I hung the crucifix above my bed. Somehow, I believe it makes my sleep safer, and I intend to keep it there.
After the Count left, I went back to my room.
When I heard nothing for a while, I came out and climbed the stone stairs.
From there, I could see far across the southern landscape.
The view gave me a strange feeling of freedom.
The open world outside was completely unreachable, but it was still better than the dark courtyard below.
Looking out over the mountains, I realized how completely trapped I was.
I desperately wanted fresh air.
This unnatural life at night was beginning to affect my mind.
I jumped whenever I saw my own shadow. Every little thing filled me with terrible thoughts.
And in this cursed place, perhaps those fears were not unreasonable.
The moonlight covered the mountains in a soft yellow glow.
The valleys and cliffs looked peaceful and almost beautiful.
For a moment, the beauty calmed me.
Then I noticed something moving below.
It was coming from a window that I believed belonged to the Count’s room.
I moved behind the stone frame and watched carefully.
A head appeared through the window.
I could not see the face, but I recognized the Count from the shape of his neck, back, and arms.
Most of all, I recognized his hands.
At first, I was almost amused.
When a man is trapped, even the smallest thing can become fascinating.
But my amusement quickly turned to horror.
The Count slowly climbed completely out of the window.
Then he began moving down the castle wall.
Face first.
His cloak spread around him like enormous wings.
At first, I refused to believe what I was seeing.
Perhaps the moonlight was playing tricks on me.
Perhaps it was some strange shadow.
But I kept watching.
It was real.
His fingers and toes gripped the edges of the stones.
He used every crack, corner, and uneven surface in the ancient wall to move downward.
And he moved with astonishing speed.
He looked exactly like a giant lizard crawling down a wall.
What kind of man could do such a thing?
Or was this even a man at all?
I felt completely overwhelmed by fear.
There was no escape.
This castle seemed to be surrounded by horrors I could barely force myself to imagine.
Exploring the Forgotten Wing
15 May
Once again, I saw the Count crawl down the castle wall like a lizard.
He moved sideways as he descended, going about a hundred feet down and far to the left.
Then he disappeared into a hole or window.
I leaned out after him, hoping to see where he had gone, but the distance made it impossible.
I knew the Count had left the castle.
This was my chance.
I decided to explore.
I returned to my room, took a lamp, and tried every door.
As I expected, they were all locked.
The locks looked fairly new.
I went downstairs to the main hall where I had first entered the castle.
I could move the bolts and remove the heavy chains.
But the door itself was locked.
The key was missing.
It must be in the Count’s room.
If I ever found his door unlocked, I would have to search for the key and escape.
I continued exploring the stairs and passages.
Most of the doors were locked, but I found one or two small rooms near the hall that were open.
There was nothing useful inside—only old furniture covered in dust and damaged by moths.
Eventually, I found another door at the top of a staircase.
It looked locked, but when I pushed it, it moved slightly.
I pushed harder.
Then I realized it was not locked at all.
The hinges had weakened, and the heavy door had partly fallen onto the floor.
I knew I might never get another chance.
So I forced it open and stepped inside.
I had entered another wing of the castle.
It was farther to the right than the rooms I knew and one floor lower.
From the windows, I could see that the rooms stretched toward the southern side of the castle.
The windows at the end faced both west and south.
On both sides, there was a tremendous drop.
The castle had been built on the edge of a huge rock.
Three sides were almost impossible to attack.
Long ago, this position had made the castle nearly impossible to capture.
The windows were so high that attackers could not reach them with stones, bows, or even cannons.
That meant the people inside could enjoy light and fresh air without sacrificing the castle’s defenses.
To the west, I could see a deep valley.
Beyond it were enormous mountains, one jagged peak rising behind another.
Trees and thorn bushes clung to the bare rock, their roots gripping the cracks in the stone.
This part of the castle was clearly much older.
Yet strangely, the furniture seemed more comfortable than anything I had seen elsewhere.
There were no curtains on the windows.
The bright moonlight poured through the diamond-shaped glass and was strong enough for me to see the colors of the furniture.
The light also softened the thick layer of dust that covered everything.
My lamp was almost useless in comparison with the moonlight.
Still, I was glad to have it.
The loneliness of the place sent a chill through me and made my hands tremble.
Yet somehow, it was better than remaining alone in the rooms where I had begun to hate simply because the Count was so close.
After calming myself, I began to feel strangely peaceful.
I sat at a small oak table.
Perhaps, centuries ago, some young woman had sat at the same table writing a love letter to the man she loved while he was away fighting in distant wars.
And now I was sitting here, in the nineteenth century, writing my own secret diary in shorthand.
It was almost absurd.
Modern life had brought me into this ancient castle, but the old world still seemed to possess powers that modern civilization could not erase.
The Three Women
The morning of 16 May
God help me keep my sanity.
I have reached a point where I no longer feel safe anywhere.
The only thing I can hope for now is that I do not lose my mind.
And if I am still sane, then there is something even more frightening to admit.
Of all the terrible things hiding in this castle, the Count himself seems to be the least frightening.
He is the only person I can look to for protection.
Even though I know he protects me only because I am useful to him.
God help me stay calm.
If I lose control of my mind, I may never recover.
I am beginning to understand things that once confused me.
I never really understood why Hamlet suddenly felt the need to write everything down.
Now I understand.
My own mind feels as though it is beginning to break apart, and writing everything in my diary helps me remain calm.
The Count’s warning had frightened me before.
Now it frightens me even more.
I know that he has some terrible power over me, and I am afraid to ignore anything he says.
After writing in my diary, I put the book and pen back into my pocket.
Then I became sleepy.
I remembered the Count’s warning.
But strangely, I wanted to disobey him.
Perhaps it was stubbornness.
Perhaps it was simply the strange determination that comes with exhaustion.
The moonlight was soft and peaceful.
The open view outside made me feel almost free.
I decided I would not return to the dark rooms I had come to hate.
Instead, I would sleep here.
I imagined the women who had lived here centuries ago—women who had sat in these rooms, sung songs, and waited sadly for their husbands and loved ones to return from war.
I pulled a large couch away from the corner.
I positioned it so that I could see the beautiful view to the east and south.
Ignoring the dust, I lay down.
I must have fallen asleep.
At least, I hope I did.
Because everything that happened next felt horribly real.
Even now, sitting in the bright morning sunlight, I cannot convince myself that it was only a dream.
I was not alone.
The room looked exactly as it had before.
Nothing had changed.
In the bright moonlight, I could even see the marks my own footsteps had left in the thick layer of dust.
Then I saw three young women standing across the room.
They were dressed like ladies.
At first, I thought I must be dreaming.
The moonlight was behind them, yet they cast no shadows.
They came closer and stared at me.
Then they whispered among themselves.
Two of them were dark-haired.
They had high, sharp noses like the Count and large, piercing eyes that almost looked red in the pale moonlight.
The third woman was completely different.
She was very fair, with long golden hair and pale blue eyes.
Her face seemed strangely familiar.
I felt that I had seen her somewhere before, connected with some frightening memory I could not quite recall.
All three women had beautiful white teeth and bright red lips.
There was something deeply disturbing about them.
I felt both attracted to them and terrified of them.
To my shame, I found myself desperately wanting the fair woman to kiss me.
I would rather Mina never read that part of my diary.
But it was the truth.
The three women whispered together.
Then they laughed.
Their laughter was beautiful at first, almost like music.
But there was something unnatural about it.
It sounded too sharp, too cold, too perfect to come from human mouths.
The fair-haired woman tilted her head.
The other two encouraged her.
“Go ahead,” one of them whispered. “You should be first. We will follow.”
“He is young and strong,” said another. “There will be enough for all of us.”
I lay perfectly still.
I was terrified, yet I could not stop watching.
The fair-haired woman slowly came toward me.
She knelt beside me and leaned over.
I could feel her breath.
It was strangely sweet, but there was something unpleasant underneath it, something that reminded me of blood.
I was afraid to open my eyes fully, so I watched her through half-closed lids.
She stared at me with a hungry, almost animal-like desire.
Slowly, she lowered her face toward my neck.
Her lips came closer.
I could feel her breath against my skin.
Then I felt the faint touch of her lips.
Two sharp teeth pressed against my throat.
I closed my eyes and waited.
But suddenly, everything changed.
I felt the Count’s presence.
He was furious.
I opened my eyes.
The Count had seized the fair woman’s neck with one powerful hand.
He pulled her away from me as if she weighed nothing.
Her beautiful face had changed completely.
Her eyes were filled with rage.
Her teeth were exposed.
But the Count’s anger was far more frightening.
His eyes seemed to burn.
His face had become deathly pale, and every muscle was tense with fury.
He threw the woman away from him.
Then he turned toward the other two and made the same commanding gesture I had once seen him use to control the wolves.
His voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
Yet it seemed to fill the entire room.
“How dare you touch him?”
The women froze.
“How dare you come near him when I specifically forbade it?”
He stepped toward them.
“Get back. All of you.”
His voice became colder.
“This man belongs to me.”
He stared at them.
“Do not interfere with him unless you want to deal with me.”
The fair-haired woman laughed.
“You have never loved anyone,” she said mockingly. “You cannot love.”
The other two women joined her.
Their laughter was cold and empty.
It sounded less like human laughter than the laughter of demons.
The Count looked at me carefully.
Then his expression softened.
“That is not true,” he whispered.
“I can love.”
“You know that from the past, don’t you?”
The women said nothing.
He continued.
“When I am finished with him, you may have him.”
He looked toward them.
“You can kiss him as much as you wish.”
Then he ordered them away.
“Now go. I must wake him. There is work to be done.”
One of the women pointed toward the bag the Count had thrown onto the floor.
“Are we getting nothing tonight?”
The bag moved.
Something inside was alive.
The Count simply nodded.
One of the women rushed forward and opened it.
I heard what sounded like a muffled cry.
It sounded like a child struggling to breathe.
The three women gathered around the bag.
I could only stare in horror.
Then, suddenly, they were gone.
The women and the terrible bag had disappeared.
There was no door nearby.
They could not have passed me without my seeing them.
It was as though they simply dissolved into the moonlight.
For a moment, I saw their dark shapes outside the window.
Then they vanished completely.
The horror was too much for me.
Everything went black.
I lost consciousness.