Bram Stoker's Dracula Retold

Jonathan's Journal 8th-12th May

8th May (cont...)

For some time after my discovery I ran around the castle like a man possessed. I rattled doors, I banged on windows, I kicked at loose stones in the wall and I wet myself before making it to the bathroom. On my second lap of the castle, by which time I had tried every door three times and kicked the toes out of my shoes, I was finally brought to my senses when the orang-utan stepped out in front of my frantic form and slapped me across the face.

Not only did this bring me to my senses but it knocked out a tooth and dislocated my jaw. A quick slap to the other side put it back in place and gave me a headache for the rest of the day.

I decided that as he had saved me from going insane, it was time to name my chubby orange companion. I still have no idea where he came from, or how he came to travelling with me but he has served a purpose to me despite his slightly less appealing habits. I felt that the orang-utan should have some input in his own naming, so in a heated debate that came down to me shouting out names and judging his reaction by the look on his face, how violently he hit the floor and how loud his bodily functions were, the decision was finally made.

Agnes.

He was actually a she! And I’d slept with her! I was thankful for the pillow barricade I had erected between us each night.

With that monumental moment behind me, I made my way to my room. As I approached I could hear someone moving about within. I stuck my eye in the keyhole. It was too big to fit so I had to make do with peering through it instead. What I saw was peculiar and set my mind working as it had not done for a number of days.

Dracula was making my bed dressed in a maid’s outfit. A thought came to me then – it had been sent special delivery and I had to pay an excess charge. I had not seen any staff the whole time I had been at the castle. This aroused my suspicions. The thought of maids aroused something else in me.

Over the following days I kept an eye out for signs to confirm what I suspected. I did not have to watch long. Through the crack in my bedroom door I saw Dracula serving my breakfast. Out of the east wing window I saw him sweeping the courtyard. From behind the bookshelf I watched him using a feather duster. I even witnessed him fishing one of Agnes’s almighty turds out of a blocked toilet bowl. That confirmed it for me – no one would handle monkey shit if they didn’t need to.

To my mind Dracula was the only person in the castle.

I also believe he was the coach driver who brought me here. It would at least explain why he took so long to come to the door on my arrival. He was probably cleaning himself up after driving the coach into his courtyard wall.

The feeling of unease has been creeping higher in me. It has reached my scrotum and is making a nest in the hair.

I feel that the only thing I can do is exactly the same as I have done so far – fuck all. I can only accept the Count’s hospitality and continue to hold my in depth late night discussions with him. I fear that to learn more of him will be my only chance of escape.


May 12th

I have spoken to the Count a number of times in the last few days. It is hard to avoid when we are the only people here.

I find that he is beginning to change the way he speaks to me. He does it through his nose. In the first few days he spoke to me of Transylvania, his heritage, his bowel movements but in the last few days this has turned to questions about the business he wishes to instigate in England.

I do not find it strange for him to ask such questions as it would have been a bloody waste of time him paying me if he just wanted company. There are plenty of Transylvanian women who will do that for much more reasonable rates than I am taking from him. What I find strange is his manner, his way if you like, of asking. He never comes into the room and says, “Let us take tea in the sunshine and discuss some legal matters.” He instead appears like Creeping Jesus and scares the shit out of me in the middle of the night.

I am growing less and less at ease in the presence of the Count, and am pleased to have Agnes with me at times. However, when she farts I still wish she would fuck off and die before I do from gas poisoning. Let me write of some of my recent meetings with the Count.

As I have made clear, I am representing the Count on legal matters regarding the purchase of a property in London (I have not made it clear that he has also commissioned me to purchase a brothel in Soho, as I am taking cash payment for that assignment). In our first discussion of note, Dracula enquired if he could use two different solicitors in England at the same time.

“You may use as many as you like,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. “Vould anyone think bad of me if I vere to look for a Solicitor in, let’s say, Newcastle?”

“Only every solicitor in London, but I wouldn’t worry. It’s only a couple of thousand people you don’t know anyway. It’s not like you’re on their Christmas card list or anything.”


“True, true. So if, for example, I vas looking to have some items shipped to the north of England I could have the arrangements dealt vith by someone from the area rather than your good self in London.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Although my good self is currently here in Transylvania so only my bad self could help you in London at the moment anyway.”

“Good,” Dracula replied.

The conversation then turned to talk of problems that could arise with shipments made to England. I told him the postal service was shit but sea shipments were alright to my knowledge.

“What is your knowledge of such shipments?” Dracula asked.

“I know nothing,” I replied, which was true as I had never had to send any parcels by sea. Everyone I knew lived on land.

Dracula continued to discuss the subject. I went to the toilet and left him to discuss it with himself as he seemed to know more than I did. I couldn’t help thinking that the Count was wasted sitting in his castle – he would have been much better suited to working as a solicitor himself. He had never visited England before, yet he seemed to have an amazing knowledge of customs, taxes, laws regarding murder and manslaughter and, I discovered, had a map showing the country’s blood banks. He was very organised.

A short while later he asked me something unexpected.

“Have you sent any letters to Stephen Hawkins?”

“I do not know his address. Do you mean Peter Hawkins?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry I occasionally confuse names. Have you sent any correspondence to him since yours arrival?”

I told the Count that I had not. The reason was simple. I didn’t have any stamps, or envelopes or anyway of getting to the local post office as I couldn’t leave the castle. Obviously I did not tell Dracula this part, only the bit about the stamps.

“Vell in that case I vould like you to write to him and advise him that I vould like you to stay here for a further month.”

“A month!” I said. “I only have clean underwear to last another 3 days!”

Secretly I was also concerned of something different in a similar area. A month without a fuck!

“Do not vorry of such matters,” the Count said. “I vill arrange for your dirty laundry to be cleaned downstairs.”

An image flashed across my mind – Dracula standing by a big wooden tub scrubbing my pants on a washboard. I tried to think of him handling my pants too much, it added to my unease.

“Very well,” I said, trying not to sound so deflated.

“Good,” Dracula said, pulling three sheets of paper and three enveloped from his pocket. “Here are the items you vill require to send your correspondence. I trust you vill only discuss our business matters in these letters.”

As he spoke a light flashed in the Count’s eyes. He did not wish me to tell of how I was being held prisoner, the incident with the mirror or the fact that he liked to dress up in women’s clothes while he did the house work. I did not have to reply for him to know I would not mention any of those things.

I wrote my letters and the Count added them to some of his own. I assumed he would undertake the task of posting them, probably dressed in a blue uniform with a cap, and did not try to enquire if there was a post box near to the castle. It wasn’t as if I was going to be taking them.

The Count went to leave me, but paused at the door.

“I have some business to attend to alone tonight. Everything you require vill be left for you in advance. Oh I should say, if you decide to wander the castle I vould recommend you return to your own room to sleep. It vould not be vise to slumber elsevhere in the castle. The rooms are very old here. They are full of old memories and if you were to fall asleep in one such room…”

Dracula did not finish the sentence but instead pretended to tie a noose around his neck and pull it upwards. He was obviously trying to insinuate something about hanging but that was all I got. I wasn’t good at charades.

He left me then, closing the door with a doom-filled thud. Things were certainly not right in the castle.

Agnes came in from the bathroom. Her toilet training is going well, but I have run out of bananas to give her as a reward. I think she has clicked on to the fact that shitting in the pot equals extra bananas. I don’t believe any living creature needs to genuinely empty its bowels twenty-six times a day.