Chapter 179

18 September.—Just off for train to London. The arrival of Van Helsing’s telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I know

by bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it is possible that all may be well, but what may have happened? Surely

there is some horrible doom hanging over us that every possible accident should thwart us in all we try to do. I shall take this

cylinder with me, and then I can complete my entry on Lucy’s phonograph.

Memorandum left by Lucy Westenra.

17 September. Night.—I write this and leave it to be seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an

exact record of what took place to-night. I feel I am dying of weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I

die in the doing.

I went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were placed as Dr. Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep.

I was waked by the flapping at the window, which had begun after that sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved me, and

which now I know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr. Seward was in the next room—as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be—so

that I might have called him. I tried to go to sleep, but could not. Then there came to me the old fear of sleep, and I determined to

keep awake. Perversely sleep would try to come then when I did not want it; so, as I feared to be alone, I opened my door and called

out: “Is there anybody there?” There was no answer. I was afraid to wake mother, and so closed my door again. Then outside in the

shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog’s, but more fierce and deeper. I went to the window and looked out, but could see nothing,

except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings against the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined not to

go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in; seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, came in, and sat by me. She

said to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont:—

“I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were all right.”

I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to come in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down beside me;

she did not take off her dressing gown, for she said she would only stay a while and then go back to her own bed. As she lay there in

my arms, and I in hers, the flapping and buffeting came to the window again. She was startled and a little frightened, and cried out:

“What is that?” I tried to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay quiet; but I could hear her poor dear heart still beating

terribly. After a while there was the low howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash at the window, and a lot

of broken glass was hurled on the floor. The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, and in the aperture of the broken

panes there was the head of a great, gaunt grey wolf. Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting posture, and

clutched wildly at anything that would help her. Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted

on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a second or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange

and horrible gurgling in her throat; then she fell over—as if struck with lightning, and her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for

a moment or two. The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and

a whole myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of

dust that travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear

mother’s poor body, which seemed to grow cold already—for her dear heart had ceased to beat—weighed me down; and I remembered no more

for a while.

The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling; the

dogs all round the neighbourhood were howling; and in our shrubbery, seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed and

stupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the sound of the nightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother come back to comfort

me. The sounds seemed to have awakened the maids, too, for I could hear their bare feet pattering outside my door. I called to them,

and they came in, and when they saw what had happened, and what it was that lay over me on the bed, they screamed out. The wind rushed

in through the broken window, and the door slammed to. They lifted off the body of my dear mother, and laid her, covered up with a

sheet, on the bed after I had got up. They were all so frightened and nervous that I directed them to go to the dining-room and have

each a glass of wine. The door flew open for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then went in a body to the dining-

room; and I laid what flowers I had on my dear mother’s breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsing had told me, but

I didn’t like to remove them, and, besides, I would have some of the servants to sit up with me now. I was surprised that the maids did

not come back. I called them, but got no answer, so I went to the dining-room to look for them.

My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was on

the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and

looking on the sideboard, I found that the bottle which mother’s doctor uses for her—oh! did use—was empty. What am I to do? what am I

to do? I am back in the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom some one has

drugged. Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do?

God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My

dear mother gone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help

me!