#draculonathan

May 21st (?)

A page torn from Jonathan Harker’s journal, written in shorthand

The days slip away from me, and I think that if I do not record the date in this book, I may not know it at all. I am certain that it has been days since that dreadful encounter with the she-devils and I am just as certain that some days have passed since the Count tasked me with writing letters. But I cannot say for sure how many days it has been. The fog of exhaustion makes it difficult to discern when one day ends and another begins. I have guessed at the date to keep with my own conventions.

I must keep this record lest my dreams bleed further into my day. In my waking hours I feel as though I have not slept, though I know for certain that I have. The terrible uncanny clarity of my dreams makes sleep undeniable. But weariness haunts my every day, and my body aches though I do not know why. There may be sleep within these walls, but there is certainly little rest.

As long as I have slept under this roof I have experienced nightmares, but they have grown stranger since I became aware of the devil’s stalking me. I am quite certain that they wait just behind that closed door for the moment when the Count will deem me disposable. The letters have made it quite certain that I will never leave.

In these hours after waking, I feel as tired as the night before like I have not slept for a moment. I will try to record the memory of the dream before it fades. It was like so many others, so this entry should serve as an example of the strange visions that torment me.

I dreamt that I was once again exploring the halls of the castle. I am certain that I was looking for another unlocked door through which I might escape. The limbs had the heaviness that only dreams can bring, and I moved almost languidly where I had moved with urgency during the day. I felt that I knew my goal, though the map of the castle remains a mystery to me.

I found the first door that I tried unlocked. It was a grand one at the top of a staircase that I am quite certain I have never seen before.

I am haunted by the sight that I dreamed behind the door. The Count waited for me, his imposing gaze fixed upon me. Even in dreams the coldness of his gaze sends a chill down my spine. At times he seems more wolf than man. He beckoned to me with a single longer finger, ever imperious.

Though I knew the danger of the man, I obeyed his gesture. In my dreamlike state it did not occur to me to object. Any words that I might have mustered stuck in my throat. He said nothing, but I felt that I knew his commands to the letter. I could not turn my gaze away from his eye.

It was an odd kind of detachment. I moved though I had no illusion of the danger. Even as I write these words, I can feel the Count’s long sharp fingers grazing over the skin of my neck as he surveyed the bare flesh. I knew, though no one had instructed me, that I should hold perfectly still as he tilted my chin.

I can feel the shadows of the hands everywhere that they traveled. Under my shirt, over chest, and other places I dare not even voice here. Those sharp fingernails left marks everywhere that they touched. My gaze never left his face, and yet I could feel every line that he drew on my skin.

I do not know how to make sense of it. Perhaps my mind made his tyrannical manifest in those hands. He laid them where he pleased as he held me helplessly transfixed by his eyes.

The last moment of the dream must have been born of the memory of those women. The Count bent over me just as that blonde devil did. His touch was nearly gentle, but just as predatory as those women as he leaned closer. Though he spoke little, he did say as he leaned close to me, “My dear Jonathan.”

I could only think that he had forgotten to say “friend” in his usual address. How strange that my dreams should forget a single word.

There was the strangest sensation, like a needle pricking my neck. But the strangeness of the dream kept me distant from the pain. In a way, the feeling was pleasurable, like a release. I knew something with the kind of certainty that shook my soul: The relation between he and I was sealed by what those women had called a kiss. He is the predator and I am nothing but his prey. 

I should not dare to write such words. If I was better rested I would not think such shameful things. Mina must never read these words.

After that, I remember very little.

I have the vaguest memory of sheets that felt like silk and of arms around me. Perhaps carrying me as he has once already.

How strange everything is in this place, even my own dreams. I fear the man, and yet my dreams bring me to his chambers.

Even now, I can remember the sensation as I lay my hand on my throat. Dreams leave no mark in the light of day.

Unless….is that blood I feel?