Dracula

Chapter 5

One thing he was immediately certain of—expressing his thoughts or fears to the Earl would be useless. If he, Hark, could only remain a prisoner, the Earl not only knew this fact, but would also be held responsible for it.

That night, having explored every possible escape route downstairs, Huck decided to try a new strategy: going upstairs. A staircase he hadn't tried before led him to a favorable vantage point; from there, he could look down over the castle and over the countryside for miles to the south. Directly below him was a terrifying precipice, plunging straight down the castle walls to a river about a thousand feet below. The vast fields gave him a sense of freedom, though they seemed impossibly distant from the narrow, dark courtyard—everything visible from his room's windows.

Huck was delighted by this brief sense of freedom. He looked down at the beautiful mountains and fields bathed in the soft moonlight, creating an illusion of daylight. In the gentle moonlight, the distant hills seemed to melt away, and even the shadows in the valleys and canyons were a soft, velvety black.

Although Hark was becoming increasingly certain that he was indeed a prisoner, he found peace and comfort here with every breath. But at this moment, as he leaned out of the window, his gaze was drawn to something moving on the castle wall down below him, slightly to the left. Judging from the arrangement of the rooms, he deduced that it was probably the window of the Earl's private room.

The window that Hark found, which was being used as an observation post, was both high and deep. He immediately retreated to the stone wall beside the window and cautiously peered out.

A moment later, Huck saw the Earl's head emerge from the lower window. He couldn't see the face, but even from the distance and in the dark, he could tell it was the Earl from the movement of his neck, back, and arms. Huck thought to himself, there was no way he could mistake those hands.

Hark's curiosity gradually turned into disgust and fear, as he saw the Earl slowly emerge from the window and begin to climb down the castle wall above the abyss, face down, his cloak draped over his body like giant wings.

At first, Huck couldn't believe his eyes. He thought it must be a hallucination caused by the moonlight, some strange effect of the shadows. But soon, he had to admit that it couldn't be an illusion.

What kind of person is this—or rather, what kind of human-like monster is this?

Huck retreated from the window, feeling utterly powerless in this terrifying place. He was terrified—utterly terrified—and had nowhere to escape…

Hark gradually managed to regain his composure. At least he was certain the Earl had left the castle, so he mustered his courage to explore further.

He hurried back to his room, took a lamp that had just been oiled, and went down the stone steps to the hall where he had first entered the castle. He found that the bolt on the door could be easily pulled open, and then he pulled off the chain with some effort; but the door was still locked, and he did not have the key.

He had no tools at hand to successfully attack the sturdy barrier, and as usual, he heard wolf howls coming from not far outside the door. He feared that if he opened the door, he probably wouldn't live much longer.

However, he refused to give up. He began in the main hall, examining all the stairs and passageways more carefully than before, and trying to open every door in the passageways. Near the main hall, there were one or two small rooms that were unlocked, but they contained little of note except for some old furniture.

Finally, near the top of the highest staircase, he found a door he hadn't yet tried opening. Although it initially appeared locked, it loosened slightly under the pressure of Huck leaning his full weight against it.

Huck tried ramming the door with his shoulder again. The door became even looser.

When Huck exerted all his strength, the barrier suddenly recoiled—the door wasn't locked, it was just blocking the way—causing him to fall into the room.

He slowly brushed the dust off his hands and knees and stood up. It was as if he had entered a completely new world. He picked up the oil lamp from the ground, slowly raised it, and walked from room to room.

Here, the windows, high and wide, protected from enemy attacks by the cliff below, allow moonlight to stream in. Hack judged that this area must have been the dwellings of women in the castle centuries ago. The furniture here is plentiful, yet all has a comfortable feel. From the arrangement and decoration of the furniture, Hack believes he can clearly see that it was conceived by women.

The large window was completely devoid of any curtains or drapes, and the twilight moonlight streamed in through the diamond-shaped glass, making even colors clearly visible... Huck raised the oil lamp again, but it seemed to do little good in the moonlight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a light and quick movement—a long-legged spider crawling across the surface of an old and beautiful dressing table; the mirror of the dressing table was covered with a silk scarf.

On the antique dressing table lay numerous bottles, jars, combs, and face powder. Huck stood to one side, touching these items. He noticed his fingers trembling. Yes, this had once been a woman's room… he could almost feel them still lingering here.

A perfume bottle, bathed in the dreamlike moonlight, appeared exceptionally charming and delicate, prompting Huck to touch it again to confirm its authenticity. He gently lifted the bottle from its dusty resting place, and without hesitation, uncorked it, immediately inhaling a subtle fragrance. Though he couldn't discern the scent, he felt a sense of exhilaration. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to clearly see a drop of perfume, but it vanished instantly into thin air.

Even the air around him seemed to pulsate. He put the perfume bottle down again.

As if in a dream, he turned away from the dressing table and faced the silk bed curtains and piled-up pillows. At first glance, he thought it was a recliner, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a large bed, extended in an inviting manner before him.

Huck noticed that the oil lamp in his hand had gone out, and without thinking about it, he placed it on the floor. His legs suddenly felt very tired, so he sat down on the edge of the bed. He smelled a faint fragrance again, the same as before, sweet and surrounding him, even more subtle and lingering than before.

Indeed, his limbs were utterly weary from the prolonged pressure of fear. In this room, on this bed, it seemed all those fears could be forgotten. As long as he could rest… the softness of the bed and the silk curtains beckoned him to lie down. They seemed to undulate, enveloping him tightly and perfectly.

Huck entered a dreamlike state, and he was not surprised to find himself no longer alone. The beautiful women living in the room were now with him—and it felt like it had been a long time.

All three women were in their prime, and judging from their attire and demeanor, they were elegant ladies. Two of them had gypsy-like black hair, and their bright, sharp black eyes appeared almost red in the pale moonlight—he even noticed several living snakes in one of their hair, but found it amusing and felt no fear whatsoever. All three women had pearly teeth, and their full, sensual lips were as alluring as rubies.

The third woman, whom Hack considered the youngest, had snow-white skin, wavy blonde hair, and pale blue eyes.

Huck looked at the woman lying on her own bed—he knew it must be her bed—and felt he had seen her face before, something connected to a kind of dreamlike dread, but at this moment he couldn't remember where or how he had seen her.

Though the gaze came in from behind the three women, their bodies cast no shadows on the ground. Now Huck could see more clearly that what draped over them was no more than moonlight, just moonlight and the thinnest veils… The three women whispered a few words to each other, then let out a silvery laugh—but it was also shrill, so shrill it seemed inhuman. Huck thought it sounded like the music of someone tapping incessantly on the rim of a glass of wine, both sweet and jarring.

The blonde, fair-skinned woman stared directly at Huck, swaying her hips seductively, while the other two women seemed to be encouraging her.

One of the women, with black hair, appeared to be slightly older than the other two, and her voice shared the same essence as their sweet laughter.

"Hurry up!" she urged the blonde woman. "You go first, we'll follow."

Another dark-haired woman chimed in, “He’s young and strong, we can all get kisses.”

Huck felt paralyzed—it seemed pointless to even try. Once he realized this, he watched with satisfaction as the blonde woman moved in an unnatural silence toward him, then knelt beside the sofa. She bent down toward him until he could almost smell and taste the unbearable sweetness of her breath, like honey tainted with something, the bitterness of blood.

Suddenly, sharp nails slashed across his chest, his arms and legs, biting at his skin like insects, tearing his clothes like steel knives. He was helpless, and did not want to resist.

The blonde woman arched her neck and licked her lips. In the moonlight, Huck could see her entire body; even the finest veil had been removed, revealing her moist, gleaming red lips and tongue covering sharp white teeth.

The girl bent down, her golden hair cascading over Huck's face like a cloud of fragrant mist. He now realized that her sharp teeth had bitten into the chain with the silver cross—he thought: Let the cross fall off! And it did. Now, the other two women, impatient for their turn, joined him on the bed. Their bodies pressed against him, their snake-like hair falling onto his bare skin. He still couldn't move. He couldn't move an inch. At the same time, he didn't even dare to breathe or move a finger, for fear that they would stop everything. Now he could feel their red lips. Three lips, three tongues.

Then there were their teeth, so delicate and sharp.

So sweet...

The interference came from somewhere, I don't know where.

Nearby, very close by, an angry storm swept in...

Hark groaned at the sudden loss, feeling an unbearable sense of plunder. His eyes involuntarily opened, just in time to see the count's white hand—with inhuman hair and unusual strength—clutching tightly at the blonde woman's thin neck.

Huck saw the woman glare angrily at Dracula, but the Count swung his arm forcefully, throwing her across the room. He tossed her down as if she were just a child, or a doll.

"How dare you touch him?" The count's voice was low and hoarse, but the anger and danger in his tone seemed capable of crushing a boulder. "I forbade it, and you still dare? This man belongs to me!"

The blonde girl lay on the floor where he had thrown her, her posture contorted and unnatural, almost like a worm. She raised her head, her face contorted with anger. "Yours? You've never received any. You've never loved!"

The other two women had also moved away from Huck. He saw that they had put their clothes back on. He remained in his original lying position, without moving, feeling an unnatural drowsiness, wondering if he was dreaming. He involuntarily closed his eyes again.

When Huck opened his eyes again, the three women obediently crawled toward Dracula.

The count, in a more composed voice, said to them, “Yes—I can love. You yourselves have known this from the past—you are both my brides—and I will love again.”

He pointed dismissively in Huck's direction. "I promise you, once I've settled things with him, you can kiss him as you please."

The youngest bride pouted and said unhappily, "Aren't we getting anything tonight?"

Their mistress silently pulled a bag from under her cloak and threw it to the floor. Huck heard a gasp and a low moan, as if from a half-suffocating child. At that sound, fear gripped him again, and then he knew nothing more.

Chapter Six

Even now, weeks later, Dr. Jack Schiewer's thoughts are still occasionally filled with the pain of Si Waitner's refusal to marry him.

Although she also rejected Minsey Morley—the Texan who often hunted with Jess—and Quincy was deeply hurt by the rejection, Jess didn't feel any better. For him, challenging and intellectual work seemed to be the only effective and respectable treatment for his wounded pride. At least in a mental hospital, doctors had plenty to do.

The mental hospital managed by the young and intelligent Dr. Jack Seaworth was an old building in the suburbs of London, surrounded by dense woods and high walls, making it quite safe and secluded, ideal for its wealthy clients. Like Caffè House, it had once been a grand mansion. While not as old as Caffè House, the mental hospital was still old; recently, it had progressed towards Dr. Seaworth's goal of an efficient and humane hospital, meeting the latest medical standards of the late 19th century.

Meanwhile, Jack was still making his nighttime rounds in the wards. Behind the iron-barred doors around him, as usual, came the terrifying, intermittent cries of the mental patients. Jack was long accustomed to these sounds, so he simply ignored them.

Lucy, Lucy! This girl is not only cute, but also physically provocative enough to threaten the mental health of her suitors, and she is also the heiress of the Xiling Manor; simply saying that she comes from a wealthy family is not enough to express her true feelings.

Once Lucy's mother dies—which may happen in the near future due to the old lady's poor heart condition—Lucy will inherit everything...

But enough of that daydreaming. The fact is, Lucy Wertner rejected him, a handsome, promising doctor rapidly climbing to the top of his profession. She declined tactfully, citing unavoidable reasons, but it was firm enough. And who could blame her when she had the opportunity to marry a future Earl, Arthur Honwau?

Over the past few weeks, Jack Schwartz realized that what he regretted most wasn't Lucy Waitner's wealth or her alluring body. What saddened him most was that he seemed to genuinely love this girl…

The door to another ward opened; a nurse unlocked it. Jack's professional interest intensified, temporarily banishing Lucy from his thoughts. He had been wanting to visit this patient. It was a very special case.

This was a small stone ward with only one window, like most windows in hospitals, fitted with iron bars to prevent patients from escaping—or anyone from breaking in. However, this window was open, allowing some air in and the sound of passing birds. These winged creatures frequently visited, as evidenced by the hardened bird droppings on the floor. In a corner of the ward, much of the food intended to nourish the patients was left to crumble and rot, attracting only a swarm of flies.

The two nurses who were supposed to accompany Dr. Schiewer on his rounds that evening—both tall and strong—waited outside the ward. Jack Schiewer stepped inside alone, barely suppressing a gag from the stench. Perhaps, in this case, his policy of tolerating the patient's eccentricities was ultimately a mistake.

He began by saying, "Good night, Mr. Lamfey."

The only occupant of the ward raised his head. He was a robust, slightly balding middle-aged man, dressed in the coarse cloth shirt and trousers that male patients were required to wear. Compared to his ward, he was relatively neat and clean. He wore thick glasses, and his expression was quite pleasant at the moment. He turned to Dr. Schiewer, showing him the plate of insects, maggots, and spiders he was holding in his right hand. Jack felt that the insects seemed to be still alive, yet unable to move.

"Dr. Schiew, would you like some appetizers?" His voice was polite and his demeanor composed.

"No, thank you, Mr. Lamfey. How are you feeling tonight?"

“Much better than you, my lovesick doctor.” The madman said, turning his back to the doctor with ease.

Lanfeld carefully set down the plate and its precious contents, then crouched in a corner, skillfully catching the flies attracted by his bait made from sugared, rotten food. His thick, strong knuckles moved with both speed and precision in the task. He cautiously gathered swarms of live flies into his fist, their buzzing sounding almost like a protest.

Lovesickness. Hmm, the nurses and servants must often chat in front of the patient. So far, Jack has tried his best to maintain a scientifically neutral response during this visit.

He asked, "Are you interested in my private life?"

“I’m interested in all aspects of life,” Lamfey replied, continuing with his work.

Then, in a toasting motion, he shoved a handful of flies into his mouth. Only one or two managed to escape as he stuffed them in. He chewed and swallowed them with relish.

Jack felt he would have a hard time maintaining a scientific attitude tonight. "Mr. Lamfew, your eating habits are truly disgusting."

The patient, a former solicitor, blinked his eyes behind his glasses, as if accepting a compliment. "Very nutritious. Every life I consume brings life back to me, replenishing my vitality."

He picked up a large, bluish-black fly and held it between his thumb and forefinger for a while. Then the fly joined the large group of flies that had been there before.

Jack struggled to maintain a semblance of objectivity. "Can a fly give you life?"

Just as he had hoped, the patient was eager, even eager to, discuss his theories tonight. "The fly's sapphire-blue wings are a typical aerial force of the mind. Therefore, the ancients' analogy of a person's mind as a butterfly is truly insightful!"

"Is this the philosophical theory you came up with during your recent interviews in Eastern Europe?"

There was no response.

Jack sighed, “I think I’ll have to invent a new crazy classification for you.”

"Really? Perhaps you could improve upon your old advanced technology, the category of zooagous arachnophile invented by Professor Howin—a carnivore that feeds on spiders. Of course, this doesn't truly and accurately describe my case."

Lamfey bent down to the plate he had set down earlier, nimbly grabbed a spider, examined it briefly, and then ate it.

“Yes, what about spiders?” Jack Schwarts was almost talking to himself, not to Lamfey or the two burly guards still waiting by the door. “And what explanation do you have for spiders? I suppose it’s that they eat flies…”

“Oh yes, spiders eat flies.” Lamfey’s tone suddenly shifted to that of a teacher coaxing a bright student who had asked a question. He nodded encouragingly to Jack.

The doctor then asked further, "And what about sparrows?"

“Yes, sparrows!” The patient was getting more and more excited.

"I guess it's because they eat spiders."

"Yes, that's right!"

Jack nodded. "So, following this line of reasoning, we can... deduce... a larger animal, right? Something that can devour sparrows?"

Bluefee was practically in a frenzy, and he knelt down on the ground with a thud.

He pleaded eagerly, “A kitten! A naughty, soft kitten, a kitten I can teach and feed. No one can refuse a kitten—I beg you—”

Jack narrowed his eyes and took a step back to avoid the patient's flailing hands. He heard the nurse waiting outside the door shifting impatiently, ready to interrupt if necessary.

The doctor, leaning towards Bluefeld, said very cautiously, "Wouldn't a cat be better?"

Ecstasy! "Yes! Yes, a cat!" screams. "A big cat! My rescue depends on it!"

"Your rescue?"