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The Puffrey region was sweltering and still; but Lamfey could sense an impending storm sweeping in from the English Channel—he couldn't explain why he could sense such things. His mind could perceive the low, gray clouds that blocked out the sun pressing down on the sea. The waves crashed against the shallows and sand, a hidden roar lurking beneath the surface, and the thick fog slowly drifted inland. The sea level had long since disappeared into the fog, forming a vast expanse, with clouds towering like giant boulders; and the low growls on the sea seemed to foretell doom. Indistinct black shapes, sometimes half-hidden in the fog, moved along the beach.

Even stranger than the impending storm was the fact that this great gust of wind and rain seemed to be under control. In Lanfe's perception, it seemed as if nature itself was being manipulated by a powerful hand. Lanfe was absolutely certain that this hand belonged to the master he had been eagerly awaiting.

Naturally, the approaching storm propelled the ships forward with the wind. This was to be expected, but—

One ship in particular, a foreign ship, came vividly to mind. This ship was extraordinary; its cargo—yes, its defining characteristic—could create miracles…

But now he didn't even dare to think about it anymore. The oppressive air today held a secret of glory, a secret that couldn't be revealed even a fraction of its secret yet...

The arms that the nurse had beaten Dr. Schiewerk in a few weeks ago to save him still ached. Poor Dr. Schiewerk, he was hardly an enemy of Lamfey.

Indeed, strangling Dr. Schiew would not have benefited him.

The storm has arrived. It's getting closer and closer.

Lan Fei finally moved his stiff limbs and left the window. He felt it was time for him to examine the little lives he had nurtured in the four corners of the ward. They were small, but as long as they accumulated in enough numbers, they were still important.

He crouched on the floor, muttering to his flies and spiders, “Gather together quickly, the owner of all my pets’ lives will be here soon.”

Thomas Bidde is a senior keeper at the London Zoo. He and his wife live in a small cabin behind the elephant enclosure at the zoo, which is adjacent to Regent's Park. He is very proud of his role overseeing all the wolves, hyenas, and cuneiformes in the zoo.

Mr. Bid's favorite animal was a huge gray wolf named "Madman," a name given less for its displayed violence and more for its enormous size and appearance. On peaceful days, after feeding "Madman," Mr. Bid would sometimes muster the courage to scratch the wolf's ears. This beast had been captured in Norway four years prior, then sent to the well-known London animal dealer, Janlack, before being transported to the zoo.

Today, Peter looked out of a window of the cabin and noticed the oppressive air pressure and the approaching storm. He also heard distant but piercing howls and barks, indicating that his animals were terrified. Sometimes tourists would do things to torment them. He muttered something to his wife and decided to go out and check on the animals in their enclosure, about four hundred yards away.

Upon arriving at the wolf enclosure, Mr. Bid observed that several wolves, especially Madman, were becoming increasingly agitated by the change in air pressure—at least that's what he thought. Because of the impending storm, there were few visitors in the park, and it seemed no one was disturbing the animals.

That afternoon, the madman happened to be alone in a cage, pacing restlessly, howling or whispering almost incessantly. Bieder whispered comforting words to him, trying to calm him down—he later testified that in that situation he would never have thought of reaching into the cage. But the madman was not appeased, and Bieder, having to look after other animals, quickly gave up his efforts.

Shortly after Bi Degang left, the rain began to pour down, making him hurry back home.

The rain had only been falling for a few seconds when the first bolt of lightning struck near the zoo, passing directly through the iron bars and gates of the cages.

Fortunately, neither the people nor the animals were injured. However, all the barriers that had been restricting the "madman's" freedom immediately began to shake violently. Every iron bar twisted and melted, thus opening up. In no time, the gray wolf jumped out of the cage and disappeared into the misty, rainy park.

Despite the large and rapid impact of the lightning, Bied turned back as it struck, thus seeing the broken cage before anyone else. He spent several minutes searching for the escaped animal; however, his efforts were once again completely in vain.

As the grey wolf escaped in central London, the storm was still minutes away from reaching Shireing Manor. That afternoon, Mina Murray and Lucy Waitner sat together on a stone bench directly below the Great Garden, next to the quiet and familiar family cemetery.

It was a lazy and quiet day, with the occasional call of a peacock. The sun shone brightly in the early morning, but after noon, the sky grew increasingly dark, until now, the eastern horizon was covered with clouds. However, neither of them paid any attention to the weather at the moment.

Lucy took a deep breath, looked at the familiar scenery, and said to her companion, "Oh, this is my favorite place in the whole world—"

Mina sensed a hint of insincerity in her cheerful commentary. "But you seem to have something on your mind, don't you?"

“No.” Lucy’s gaze drifted into the distance. “It’s just that I’ve started sleepwalking again lately—you know, I used to do that when I was little. Mina, and I’m having really strange dreams too!”

"Were you doing something shady with a tall, dark-haired stranger?"

Lucy smiled slightly. "What a sweet suggestion—but unfortunately, it isn't. The truth is, I love him! I love him! Hmm, it feels so much better to say it out loud. I love him, and I accepted his proposal!"

“Oh, Lucy, finally!” Mina was happy for her friend, but couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy. “So, you’ve made your choice. Is it that Texan with the long sword?”

Just as Mina asked her question, a rumble of thunder came from the far east.

Lucy tossed her red curls. "No. I'm afraid Quincy is probably quite disappointed, and so is Jack. I've chosen Arthur. Oh, Mina, one day Arthur and I will become Lord and Lady Gothmin. You can come to our villa in France next summer. I mean, you and Jonathan. And you must be my lady-in-waiting—say yes!"

"Of course I will, Lucia... but I thought you were in love with that Texan."

Lucy looked around in surprise. "But I really love him—and I will continue to love him."

"And Dr. Schiele, I guess."

“Yes, the brilliant Dr. Jack proposed to me—why not? Don’t stare at me like that, Mina. If, after my marriage, I happen to have a chance to be alone with one of them… really, you’re so ignorant about these things! So uncivilized. You’ve been so boring ever since Jonathan went abroad—oh, I’m sorry, darling! Forgive me?”

Mina suddenly burst into tears.

Lucy temporarily forgot her past relationships, her heart filled with sympathy and concern. "But you must be worried about Jonathan!"

"...but...but I've only received two letters from him in all this time. One from Paris, and the other from—where he lives. And his second letter was so unnatural, so cold, not at all like Jonathan."

A forked flash of lightning streaked across the east, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Over the past few minutes, the sky above the river had darkened considerably, and a cold wind had been blowing from the same direction.

“Mina—are you sure you know him?” Lightning flashed and thunder roared again. “Every man can be like that, you know, fickle—”

Lucy's last two words were drowned out by the thunder. The two women stood up simultaneously and began walking towards the house.

“—Jonathan won’t—” Mina shook her black hair.

“Jonathan is the same, believe me, darling.” Lucy nodded wisely. “However, if he really has changed his mind, then you've loved the wrong person—”

The rain was pouring down, quickly soaking the clothes of the two women who were running away. The storm forced them to flee in panic.

In the English Channel, the Russian-registered ship "Dermit" had been sailing swiftly ahead of the storm for several hours. Those on shore were astonished to see the ship approaching. It was clearly a rash decision by the captain and crew, but a more terrifying explanation would follow.

After being blown into the Thames estuary by strong winds, the ship finally landed near Greenwich. Investigators boarded the ship and discovered that everyone except the helmsman was missing. It was later confirmed that the helmsman, who also served as captain, had mysteriously died, his hands bound to the rudder.

In the deceased's pocket was an empty wine bottle with a cork, containing a small clump of something. After a rough translation by a staff member of the Russian embassy, it was discovered that this clump was merely a supplementary section of the ship's logbook. This same staff member also translated another section of the logbook they had found into English. These translations caused quite a stir when they were published in several major London newspapers.

The newspapers soon published another episode in the sensational Demeter incident, testified to by several witnesses on land. These witnesses agreed that as soon as the ship docked, a large dog ran out of the lower cabins and jumped ashore from the bow. Although the police immediately issued a search order for the animal, they found nothing.

As for the dead man on the steering wheel, his hands were simply crossed and bound to the spokes. Between the lower hand and the steering wheel was a crucifix, its chain of crosses binding both wrists and the spokes, further secured by ropes.

After examining the man, surgeon Dr. J. M. Carpin declared that he had been dead for two full days, and a Coast Guard member also announced that the deceased had likely bound his own hands and tightened the knot with his teeth. Needless to say, the dead helmsman was quickly removed from the helm, where, according to the newspapers, "he was loyal to his duty until his death," and placed in the morgue to await an autopsy.

The captain's autopsy was, of course, conducted publicly. No one knew whether the captain himself could have killed all the crew members in a state of madness. But most people considered the captain of the De Quente a hero, and therefore a public funeral was held for him.

The cargo carried by the Demeter consisted of fifty large wooden crates filled with soil. The recipient was Mr. M. F. Beaton, a lawyer from London, who boarded the ship the day after it docked to formally receive the goods. Beaton's client had negotiated the business with him by mail and had paid him a large sum of money in advance, instructing him on the destination of the crates for the sake of secrecy and efficiency. Although the newspapers had not yet located the crates, it was understood that most of them were intended for an abandoned manor called Caffi.

The dog that ran ashore when the ship docked has garnered attention even overseas, with many members of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals wanting to take it in. However, disappointingly, the dog has vanished without a trace.

Amidst the raging storm, around the same time the Demeter docked, many patients at the Schiele mental hospital became extremely agitated, forcing the nurses to use high-pressure hoses to subdue the most rebellious ones. Surprisingly, Lanfeld was not among them—he ignored the other patients' shouts and continued contentedly and quietly nurturing his large brood of little lives.

By midnight, the rain at Xiling Manor had almost completely stopped, but gusts of strong wind still swept across the sky, carrying clouds of birds, causing the trees in the garden to dance wildly and the windows to rattle.

At this moment, Mina was awakened by the sound of wind—or another subtle and inexplicable sound. Instinctively feeling uneasy, she got out of bed and went into Lucy's bedroom next door.

She whispered anxiously, "Lucy—are you alright—?"

In the darkness, Mina could barely see the bed right in front of her.

She tried again, a little louder: "Lucy—?" Still no answer.

Mina moved forward, rummaging through the rumpled bedding and pillows. The bed was empty, the sheets were cold, and Lucy had clearly been out of bed for some time.

Suddenly, the octagonal French windows leading to the terrace were blown open by the wind, and the curtains fluttered wildly. Mina rushed forward to close the window, but was stunned to see Lucy's small figure in a lingering flash of lightning. She was wearing her conspicuous red nightgown and had already walked quite a distance away from the mansion, climbing down the wide steps leading to the family cemetery.

He's sleepwalking again!

Mina quickly returned to her room, hurriedly put on a few clothes, then grabbed a heavy shawl for Lucy before running out to rescue her.

The wind was cold and damp, and thick fog rolled in from the river. Passing clouds intermittently obscured the moon. Mina was worried, and after searching for a while, in the brief moonlight, she saw Lucy. She was on the stone boat where she often sat, but this time she wasn't sitting, but lying there in a seductive pose.

The sight before her eyes shocked Mina so much that she stopped in her tracks.

On Lucy's body, between her spread legs, crouched the shadow of a tall man. Mina, stunned and frightened, wasn't sure if what she saw was truly a man or a wild beast. A howling sound drifted intermittently on the wind, emanating from the long oars. It was a woman's low moan of helpless, slight ache; Mina thought in horror, it might be pain, but it could also be—

She shook off the daze that had momentarily held her back and bravely stepped forward. "Lucy! Lucy..."

Upon hearing her voice, the dark figure stiffened and sat up abruptly, turning to stare at Mina. At least Mina felt that the thing was looking directly into her red, gleaming eyes, making her momentarily wonder how she could have mistaken it for a person.

Just then, a dark cloud obscured the moon again. In the darkness, a man's voice, deep and almost inaudible, spoke directly to Mina. The voice seemed to plead—no, command her, in a foreign language Mina had never heard before, yet she understood it.

The man called out a name—Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, don't look at me. It was an order, but it was obeyed—because what Mina had just seen was something she hadn't wanted to see…

...A moment later, the reappearance of that gaze revealed Lucy still lying on the longboat, but alone. (Mina thought: Am I going crazy? How could I feel like she wasn't alone a minute ago? Yet now there's no one with her!)

Thankfully, no one else was around. Lucy's only garment, her pajamas, was disheveled and slightly pulled down. Her breathing was long and heavy.

Mina murmured pityingly as she rushed to her friend, first helping Lucy straighten her clothes to keep her warm, then draping a shawl over her and fastening it to her friend's neck with a safety pin.

Mina took off her own shoes and put them on her friend's bare feet. Then she helped Lucy, who was still groaning and semi-conscious, up from the bench and led her toward the house.

Halfway there, Lucy, who was lying in Mina's arms, jolted and slowly woke up.

Lucy, still seemingly horrified, murmured, "His eyes... his eyes..."

“It’s alright,” Mina tried to comfort her friend, while still helping her walk forward. “Darling, you were just dreaming. You were just sleepwalking again.”

Lucy groaned weakly, "Please don't tell anyone, please. Mom will be furious."

"I won't tell anyone."

They had stepped onto the platform, treading on branches and leaves broken by the wind and rain, lying on the stone pavement. Before them, the familiar mansion appeared strangely in the misty night.

“Lucy—who is Elizabeth? I have a feeling…” It was a strange, indescribable feeling, as if she, Mina, had recently heard someone—someone she seemed to know very well—call her by that name.

“Mina?” Lucy was very confused, clearly having no idea what Mina’s question was.

"Never mind." Mina helped her walk quickly. "Never mind. We need to take you to bed."

Elizabeth...

This was not an order, so no one heard it. It was just a gasp of surprise from the long-distance traveler, hidden in the darkness of the rain-soaked cemetery, watching it all unfold.

Logbook of the "Chumite": From Varana to London

On July 13th, they passed Cape Mataban at the southern tip of Greece. The crew (five sailors, the first mate, the second mate, and the cook) seemed to sense something was wrong. They seemed frightened but wouldn't say anything.

On July 14th, I was worried about the crew. They were all steady men, and had all sailed with me before. The first mate couldn't find anything wrong; the crew only told him it was "something," and crossed themselves; the first mate yelled at one of them and even hit him. I had feared a fierce argument, but everything was calm.

On July 16th, the first mate reported in the morning that a crew member, Petrovsky, was missing. No reason could be given. He had kept watch for eight hours the previous night, then been relieved by Ebullamov, but hadn't gone to bed. A deeper than ever before was the atmosphere of despondency. Everyone expected something to happen, but would say nothing more than that there was "something" on board. The first mate was extremely impatient with them, fearing trouble was brewing ahead.

On July 17th, the sailor O'Gallant came to my cabin and, in a tone of awe, privately confided in me that there was a strange man on board. He said that during his watch, he saw a tall, thin man walk up the cabin stairs to the deck and then vanish without a trace. Later that day, I gathered all the crew together and told them that since they all believed there was someone else on board, we should search carefully from bow to stern. I put the first mate at the helm, and the rest of us began a thorough search, each carrying a lamp. Because there were so many wooden crates in the cargo hold, there was simply no place for anyone to hide. After the search was completed, everyone breathed a sigh of relief and happily boasted about their work.

The weather had been terrible for the past three days since July 22nd, and everyone was busy hoisting and lowering the sails. There was no time for fear. The crew seemed to have forgotten their anxieties. The first mate had regained his good mood, and everyone was getting along peacefully. They passed Gibraltar and headed towards the Strait. All was well.

On July 24th, misfortune seemed to shroud the ship. One man was already missing, and now, as they were about to sail into the Bay of Biscay in a storm, another was missing—missing. Like the first man, he vanished after the watch was changed. The crew was alarmed, demanding two men per watch, for they were afraid to be alone. The first mate was extremely agitated. He feared trouble; he or someone else might act violently.

The four days leading up to July 28th were like hell, with relentless wind and rain. Not a single person slept a wink. Everyone was exhausted. There was no way to arrange the night watch, as no one could endure it any longer. The second mate volunteered to steer and keep watch, allowing the others a few hours of sleep. The wind gradually subsided, but the waves remained turbulent.

July 29th brought another tragedy. Because the crew was too exhausted to work in pairs, one person was on watch alone again that night. In the morning, besides the helmsman, there was no one on deck. Amidst screams, everyone rushed onto the deck. A thorough search was conducted, but no one was found. Now that the second mate was gone, the crew was in a state of panic. The first mate and I agreed that from now on, we would all carry weapons in case of any situation.

July 30th was a time of joy at approaching England. The weather improved, and the sails were hoisted. I rested, exhausted, and slept soundly. The first mate woke me and told me that the two men on watch and the helmsman were missing. Now only the first mate and I were able to steer the ship.

For two days on August 1st, fog blanketed the island, and not a single ship was seen. They had hoped that once they entered the English Channel, they could signal for help or find anchorage. Too weak to furl the sails, they had no choice but to sail with the wind. They dared not furl the sails, fearing they would be unable to raise them again. The first mate was listless and dejected. The crew, however, had overcome their fear, working patiently and expressionlessly, determined to face the worst possible situation.

Midnight, August 2nd. I was awakened a few minutes after falling asleep by shouts outside my cabin. I rushed to the deck, but couldn't see anything in the thick fog, and bumped into the first mate. He told me he had also run up there after hearing the shouts, but saw no sign of the watchman. Another one lost. We might be in the Strait of Dover or the North Sea. Only God could guide us in this fog that seemed to move with us; yet God seemed to have abandoned us.

At midnight on August 3rd, I went to relieve the captain, but when I reached the helm, I saw no one. I dared not leave, so I called out to the first mate. A few seconds later, he rushed onto the deck. I was afraid he had lost his mind. He ran to my side and whispered hoarsely, “It’s here! I saw it last night on watch; it looked like a man, tall, thin, and terrifyingly pale. I crept up behind it and tried to stab it, but the knife went right through, like hitting air. But it’s here, and I will find it. Maybe in the cargo hold, in a crate. I’ll take the helm one by one. You take the helm.” He gave me a warning look, put his index finger to his lips, and went downstairs.

The wind was picking up, and I couldn't leave the helm. I saw the first mate go back up to the deck, grab his toolbox and an oil lamp, and then run down the hatch. He was clearly insane, and there was no point in trying to stop him. He couldn't hurt the crates anyway; the receipt said they were filled with dirt, so no matter how much he banged on them, it wouldn't cause any damage. So I stayed at the helm and made a note of what was happening. I could only trust God to wait for the fog to clear… and everything would be more or less over. Just as I was beginning to hope that the first mate would calm down and come out of the hatch, a scream came from there, and then he shot onto the deck like a bullet.

"Help me! Help me!" he cried, looking around in the thick fog. His terror turned to despair; in a calmer voice he said, "Captain, you'd better come too, or it will be too late. He's there, but the sea can save me from his clutches!" Before I could speak, he ran to the ship's railing and leaped into the sea. I think I know the secret now. This madman killed the crew one by one, and then he followed them. God help me!

August 4th was still foggy; the sunlight couldn't penetrate at all. I dared not go down, I dared not leave the helm. So I stayed here all night, and in the dim light of the night, I saw it—it! God forgive me, but the first mate was right to jump overboard. It's best to die like a man, like a sailor, in the blue sea; no one can object. But I am the captain, I cannot leave my ship. I will tie my hands to the helm, and tie it to him—it!—the thing I dare not touch. If we run aground, I hope people can find this bottle, and perhaps they will understand…