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have said no, not yet. We cannot ask them to fight an invisible enemy! Van
Helsing is taking this so seriously, it alarms us more. It is a strain to
carry on as normal, yet we must; it is our only hope, and of course our duty
is to protect Quincey and others.
I am doing all in my power to ensure a happy day and a peaceful night; that
is, keeping everyone busy, and praying at every spare moment!
5
November
All is quiet at last. I am exhausted but I must record what has happened,
painful as it is.
Last night, an hour after I had gone to bed and still lay awake, I thought I
heard sounds of disturbance from another room - Van Helsing's or Jonathan's,
for it was a man's voice I could hear. It was hard to discern. It sounded as
if he were arguing with himself, a sort of low growling punctuated by the
occasional shout, and thumps, as if the furniture were being violently moved
about. It was unspeakably chilling to hear these sounds, so faint I was not
sure if I imagined them. I got up, put on a dressing-gown and went along the
corridor.
The sound was coming from Van Helsing's room; I met Jonathan, approaching from
the other direction. 'Perhaps he is ill,' I said. I was glad to see my
husband, despite the barrier that has fallen between us.
Jonathan knocked but there was no answer. The sounds from inside the room were
now distinct. Van Helsing was groaning, uttering staccato barks of pain, and
there were muffled thumps as if he were throwing himself around the room.
Urgently Jonathan tried the door, but found it locked. He knocked briskly,
calling out, 'Professor, what's wrong?
Let us in!'
At once the door shook, as if Van Helsing had thrown himself against it. He
shouted gruffly, 'No! You cannot come in! Leave me, for your own safety!'
My sense of foreboding transfixed me. I took a step back, but Jonathan didn't
hesitate.
He flung his shoulder to the door and the lock gave. The door burst inwards.
Van
Helsing, in his white night-robe, was standing a few feet away; his bed was in
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disarray, his reading table overturned and books scattered everywhere. The
wall mirror lay broken on the carpet. But this was nothing to the chaos of his
expression. His pale hair was on end, his face savage and wild, and his eyes
so bloodshot the whites were near scarlet.
'Professor, what has happened?' said Jonathan.
He started forward, but Van Helsing put out his hands saying in a tortured,
cracked tone, 'No, no, Jonathan, keep away! Take your wife away, don't come
near, I beg you!'
I saw that he had a big knife in his right hand; the very bowie knife, I
believe, that
Quincey Morris used to slay Dracula. We both stood still a moment; I could
find no power to speak or move. As we watched, Van Helsing, breathing fast and
hard, turned the knife and began to force it towards his own left wrist. Sweat
streamed down his high forehead.
Ignoring his warnings, Jonathan rushed to him. He tried to seize the arm mat
wielded the knife, crying, 'No! What the devil are you -'
Van Helsing's eyes blazed red and his lips drew back. Never did I dream that
good wise face should show such savagery - but I never dreamed it of Jonathan,
either. I cried out but neither man heeded me. Then Van Helsing turned the
knife from himself and began to lash out at Jonathan instead. My husband put
his arms up to defend himself. The blade came stabbing viciously at him and I
held my breath as Van Helsing drove him around the room, slashing at him, his
expression hideous.
'Fools!' he cried. 'Now you see that I have power over each one of you, and I
have all eternity to torment you to your graves and beyond!'
He slashed the arms of Jonathan's nightshirt to rags. Red blood oozed through.
Jonathan fell back on the bed, his arms across his face. He was crying out in
agony. A
great crimson weight of blood was gathering in his sleeve, dripping through
the material on to the bedlinen. With a sob I rushed to him. Van Helsing,
meanwhile, stumbled against the side of the bed and stopped, appearing to
struggle violently within himself.
He gasped. He spoke strangled words of Dutch, which I could not discern. His
face flickered  almost physically changed - between his own physiognomy and
another that was evil but horribly familiar to me. He lifted the knife, turned
it towards himself and to my astonishment began to force the point two-handed
towards his own diaphragm. His struggle was terrible to witness. I wanted to
stop him but could not move. His mouth was wide open and his red eyes held
mine all the time, making me feel somehow embarrassed
 exposed  almost violated, as if an appalling intimacy were passing between
us.
The blade indented the folds of his nightshirt. A spreading stain of blood
appeared. I
shrank back, cradling Jonathan against me, because I was sure Van Helsing
meant to kill himself- but as soon as he drew blood, he uttered a terrible cry
and fell heavily on to the bed beside us. The knife clattered away. Van
Helsing lay gasping and shuddering.
I cannot say how long we remained there; a few minutes only, though it seemed
a frozen, ghastly tableau at the time. Then Van Helsing sat up and put his
head in his large hands. He was weeping. 'My friends, it is worse, far worse [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]