MISSIVES TO MINA
Nik Morton
Carpathian mountains - Wiki commons
Bistritz,
4 May, 1897
Dearest Mina,
My
profoundest apologies for not committing myself to paper to you before this day
but the long and arduous journey has been decidedly hectic, more of which anon,
and it has taken me all my time to maintain my journal in short-hand.
I hope this
missive finds you well. As I write I am ensconced in a cubicle constructed of
ancient black oak, near to a crackling fire at one end of this old hostelry,
The Golden Krone Hotel. But a moment ago I looked up, to perceive the embers of
a ravaged log, and I could have sworn therein was an image of your dear friend
Lucy. Whimsical, I know! I must strongly resist a tendency towards journalism
when writing to my family, friends and loved ones!
Since leaving
hearth and home I have had no communication from my prospective host, but I
have managed to follow his travel instructions to the letter. It has been quite
an adventure!
The journey
began in earnest when I embarked upon the packet steamer 'Dark Star' bound for
Dubrovnik. The cabin appointments left a great deal to be desired, with
coal-dust from the boiler-room seeming to cover everything.
That first
evening, after an atrocious greasy meal, I had settled myself to write to you,
but alas there blew up out of nowhere one of the fiercest storms ever
encountered by our bluff but likeable captain Conrad. Much to my shame, I
retired to my uncompromisingly hard bunk where, feeling awfully sorry for
myself, I lay for the entire crossing.
As you
know, I have crossed the Atlantic to my cousins in New York on several
occasions, and visited Uncle Silas in Eire, but I have never succumbed to 'mal
de mer' before.
You can be
assured that it is not a pleasant experience! It is not simply an out-of-sorts
sensation in one's stomach: one's head swims, as if it too is adrift in the
very storm that belabours the vessel, and there is a disorienting muzziness
engulfing the brain so that any cohesive thought is tantamount to being
impossible to accomplish. A weariness encompasses the limbs, and a shivering
weakness pervades the very soul. Sacrilegious to remark, but at one's lowest
ebb one almost wishes for the Great Adventure, death, itself!
Happily, on
our approach to the port, the sea calmed and these varied ailments deserted me,
though I confess to being left like a piece of damp cloth, wrung through.
The
carriage my host promised to provide was indeed awaiting me at the quayside. It
was a splendid affair, most resembling a landau, with four strong black horses,
all caparisoned in shining leather and brass livery.
A rather
cadaverous pair of men perched on its high seat, fancifully reminding me of
those crows we used to stone in farmer Bayliss's field! My host's two retainers
were taciturn to the point of rudeness, yet they speedily progressed me through
the official formalities and, once my baggage was installed in the luggage
compartment, we were on our way.
If you
believe our coaches are unpleasant contrivances, with the ubiquitous dust and
bone-jarring springs, do not ever consider journeying in these continental
contraptions! Within the hour I seemed to be bruised all over.
At the
outset, the plush upholstery had smelled of luxurious leather, but in no time
at all the interior was clogged with a russet-coloured dust.
I shall
complete this epistle to you later. I am assured there is a post office at our
next place of call for we must journey on this very night before the storm
breaks.
Your loving
Jonathan.
Carpathians
5 May, 1897
Disaster
struck! Last night, while our coachman drove our poor beasts pell-mell through
a violent rainstorm, a wheel sheered from the vehicle. He was catapulted off
the mountainside to an awful certain death, while I myself barely escaped with
a bruised jaw and a sprained ankle.
Fortunately,
the surviving retainer, Arpad, knows the mountains well. He called some
mediaeval curse upon the driver who had lost his life for his impetuousness,
then directed me to follow him up through a winding overgrown defile. Rainwater
sluiced down the rocks from above, and I was very soon drenched. I abandoned my
portmanteau but struggled manfully with the carpetbag. Arpad deigned not to
assist me.
Eventually,
Arpad found this shelter. It is an old ruined fortress, the walls long ago
dismantled to supply the local populace with dry-stone walls and low-ceilinged
hovels.
The rain
has ceased. I must confess to an uneasiness in the presence of Arpad. He is a
great hulking fellow, with a low brow, beady black eyes and enormous hands. He
hardly ever speaks, and when he does it is in guttural fractured Serbo-Croat.
But as I
gaze out the slit window, across these mountains, irrational worry departs.
If only you
could share this view with me, dearest Mina!
The
condensation from the night's rain has now become a romantic mist,
half-clouding the mauve and grey peaks, with the rays of the rising sun
glinting on outcrops of unblemished snow and twinkling ice. And the air is so
fresh. This land must surely be blessed!
I broke off
writing for a moment as Arpad explained we must be getting on. He even gave me
two swigs of his slivovice, a rather tart plum brandy, which perked me up
considerably.
I hope to
write again soon, my dear. But I must close and slip this letter into its
envelope. According to Arpad, his master will endeavour to send this on to you
from his ancestral demesne.
Strangely,
I feel a trifle light-headed, probably on account of that liquor - a little
sleepy. I am sure that Arpad will look after me, as his master has expressed a
great interest in my writing style.
Yes,
indeed, I am greatly looking forward to meeting Count Dracula in his
Transylvanian castle.
Yours,
Jonathan.
***
Note: If you
haven’t read Dracula by Bram Stoker, I
recommend it.
Even though you
know the evil count, thanks to many films, you’re still bound to read with
dread anticipation the epistolary story of Jonathan Harker, his family and
friends.
Previously published
in Costa TV Times, 2010. Copyright 2014,
Nik Morton
My vampire novel is Death is Another Life (writing as Robert
Morton) and is available only until May from Amazon com e-book here
and from Amazon UK paperback
from here
***
Two other books that
may be of interest are:
The Fluttering by David Whitehead and Curtains of Blood by Robert J Randisi
I have both on my
Kindle but haven’t read them yet!
The Fluttering
Something
terrifying has started happening in Eggerton. People are turning up drained of
blood and very, very dead. Have vampire bats started attacking humans? If so,
then who’s delivering the hammer-blow that finally kills the victims?
For Detective Inspector Jack Sears it’s a mystery that not even virologist
Doctor Christopher Deacon can help fathom. But then the police get lucky.
Against all the odds, one of the victims survives. But strangely enough, that’s
when things go from bad to worse …
Curtains of Blood
In another part of London, the reign of terror has touched a young writer and theatre manager named Bram Stoker. The police have closed his theatre's production of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and suspect its star of being Jack the Ripper. His livelihood endangered, Stoker sets out on his own to find the real killer. But Jack wants just as badly to find Stoker. When the madman and the author meet face to face, a new chapter will be written in the annals of horror.
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