The Dracula Tape, Fred Saberhagen [the dot read aloud TXT] 📗

of Judgment for you. Not many men can truthfully claim such power. It was what you wanted from me.” I sighed. The warning I was about to attempt would not, in my opinion, do much good. New-made vampires must find their way at first by instinct, much as newborn children do.

      I went on: “You may at some time soon fall into — another coma. If you allow them to give you another transfusion I would say this is quite likely. And if you fall into this coma you are going to wake from it in circumstances that will be at first quite hard to understand; but be of good cheer and understanding will come.” The first emergence from one’s grave is a unique experience indeed.

      “I will be of good cheer, Vlad. Oh, Vlad, tell me again that I will not die.”

      “You will not die.” It was a lie, such as one gives the wounded after battle sometimes. A lie, because I did not know what Van Helsing might decide to do with her now that she had changed; and all must die the true death sometime. Earlier, when the great decision had still been hers to make, I had been as truthful with her as I could he in the small time we had. Now there were only small but troublesome decisions left and I judged it better to be simply soothing.

      “Now, my dear. Eventually the women you have so cleverly drugged below are going to awake, and also other people can be expected to enter this house when morning comes. There is much here that will require explaining.” I sighed; there were my fresh fang marks on her throat, about which nothing could be done.

      As I spoke I was stroking Lucy’s bare arm, and her forehead, to strengthen her with suggestion for the tasks ahead. There was the broken window to be accounted for, and the wolf outside, whose howls the maids had heard and whose role in the night’s events might, for all I knew, not yet be over. There was the mother, dead of heart failure as unexpected by Lucy as it was by me; and there were the maids, who would certainly tell any investigators of their drugged sleep, even if they should rouse from it before anyone else had entered the house.

      Above all, there was the condition of the girl herself. Van Helsing could not now fail to detect her symptoms of incipient vampirism. Could he be moved to pity for her? I thought perhaps he might, if she could be made to appear a purely innocent victim of the evil count.

      I had continued to stroke Lucy, and she had fallen by now into the beginnings of hypnotic trance. “Find us some paper and ink, little girl,” I told her. “Before I leave you the two of us in collaboration are going to compose a short story. As wild, perhaps, as one of those of Mr. Poe.”

* * *

      It was about ten o’clock on the following morning when Drs. Seward and Van Helsing arrived, practically simultaneously and both in desperate haste, at Hillingham. The missent telegram I mentioned earlier had caused them to leave Lucy unguarded through the night. Both were distraught because of this. In Van Helsing’s mind, of course, the peril from which she needed protection was vampires; Seward had not even this warped version of the truth, but he loved the girl, or thought he did, and knew she stood in danger; and, in his inexperience, he followed his former teacher blindly.

      They found the house locked up and barred from the inside, and their increasingly urgent knockings went unanswered. At last they broke in through a kitchen window, to find in the dining room the four servant girls still lying unconscious on the floor. In Lucy’s room, upstairs, they found the two women still on the bed, the younger still breathing but by now unconscious again.

      Lucy had not even the chance to plead against a fourth transfusion, and that of course is what Van Helsing gave her. This time blood was drawn from the veins of the young American, Quincey Morris, who arrived innocently on the scene with a message of inquiry from Arthur Holmwood, and was thrown, so to speak, into the front lines at once.

      “A brave man’s blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble,” Van Helsing is quoted by Seward as saying whilst they got out the knives once more. I suppose his prescription for Lucy might be taken as closely resembling mine, though unfortunately his method of operation differed. So, sad to say, did the result.

      It was noted in passing by the busy doctors that the decanter of sherry on the sideboard in the dining room had a peculiar odor, had in fact been doped with laudanum from a bottle kept nearby as medicine for Mrs. Westenra. And, when Lucy was lifted from her bed to be treated to a hot restorative bath, there “dropped from her breast” a sheet or two of notepaper. Van Helsing’s brief perusal of these papers brought to his face “a look of grim satisfaction, as of one who has had a doubt resolved.”

      These papers bore, of course, our literary effort of the night before. It was a first attempt at fiction by a beleaguered vampire writing in a foreign tongue and a half-tranced girl who had just been shocked by the sudden demise of a parent. Seward’s first comment after reading our creation was: “In God’s name, what does it all mean? Was she, or is she, mad; or what sort of horrible danger is it?”

      One might suppose that in response to such straightforward and heartfelt appeal Professor Van Helsing would have shouted: “Is a vampire, young man! One hell of a hideous monster that drinks your blood!” But that would not, maybe, have been quite philosophical or metaphysical enough. As matters actually went, “Van Helsing put out his hand and took the paper,