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Overview
CONTENTS
Dracula's Guest 9
The Judge's House 26
The Squaw 50
The Secret of the Growing Gold 67
The Gipsy Prophecy 84
The Coming of Abel Behenna 96
The Burial of the Rats 120
A Dream of Red Hands 152
Crooken Sands 165
Dracula's Guest
When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich,
and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer. Just as we
were about to depart, Herr Delbrück (the maître d'hôtel of the Quatre
Saisons, where I was staying) came down, bareheaded, to the carriage
and, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, still
holding his hand on the handle of the carriage door:
'Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright but there is
a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But
I am sure you will not be late.' Here he smiled, and added, 'for you
know what night it is.'
Johann answered with an emphatic, 'Ja, mein Herr,' and, touching his
hat, drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said, after
signalling to him to stop:
'Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?'
He crossed himself, as he answered laconically: 'Walpurgis nacht.'
Then he took out his watch, a great, old-fashioned German silver thing
as big as a turnip, and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered
together and a little impatient shrug of his shoulders. I realised
that this was his way of respectfully protesting against the
unnecessary delay, and sank back in the carriage, merely motioning
him to proceed. He started off rapidly, as if to make up for lost
time. Every now and then the horses seemed to throw up their heads and
sniffed the air suspiciously. On such occasions I often looked round
in alarm. The road was pretty bleak, for we were traversing a sort of
high, wind-swept plateau. As we drove, I saw a road that looked but
little used, and which seemed to dip through a little, winding valley.
It looked so inviting that, even at the risk of offending him, I
called Johann to stop--and when he had pulled up, I told him I would
like to drive down that road. He made all sorts of excuses, and
frequently crossed himself as he spoke. This somewhat piqued my
curiosity, so I asked him various questions. He answered fencingly,
and repeatedly looked at his watch in protest. Finally I said:
'Well, Johann, I want to go down this road. I shall not ask you to
come unless you like; but tell me why you do not like to go, that is
all I ask.' For answer he seemed to throw himself off the box, so
quickly did he reach the ground. Then he stretched out his hands
appealingly to me, and implored me not to go. There was just enough of
English mixed with the German for me to understand the drift of his
talk. He seemed always just about to tell me something--the very idea
of which evidently frightened him; but each time he pulled himself up,
saying, as he crossed himself: 'Walpurgis-Nacht!'
I tried to argue with him, but it was difficult to argue with a man
when I did not know his language. The advantage certainly rested with
him, for although he began to speak in English, of a very crude and
broken kind, he always got excited and broke into his native
tongue--and every time he did so, he looked at his watch. Then the
horses became restless and sniffed the air. At this he grew very pale,
and, looking around in a frightened way, he suddenly jumped forward,
took them by the bridles and led them on some twenty feet. I followed,
and asked why he had done this. For answer he crossed himself, pointed
to the spot we had left and drew his carriage in the direction of the
other road, indicating a cross, and said, first in German, then in
English: 'Buried him--him what killed themselves.'
I remembered the old custom of burying suicides at cross-roads: 'Ah! I
see, a suicide. How interesting!' But for the life of me I could not
make out why the horses were frightened.
Whilst we were talking, we heard a sort of sound between a yelp and a
bark. It was far away; but the horses got very restless, and it took
Johann all his time to quiet them. He was pale, and said, 'It sounds
like a wolf--but yet there are no wolves here now.'
'No?' I said, questioning him; 'isn't it long since the wolves were so
near the city?'
Dracula's Guest 9
The Judge's House 26
The Squaw 50
The Secret of the Growing Gold 67
The Gipsy Prophecy 84
The Coming of Abel Behenna 96
The Burial of the Rats 120
A Dream of Red Hands 152
Crooken Sands 165
Dracula's Guest
When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich,
and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer. Just as we
were about to depart, Herr Delbrück (the maître d'hôtel of the Quatre
Saisons, where I was staying) came down, bareheaded, to the carriage
and, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, still
holding his hand on the handle of the carriage door:
'Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright but there is
a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But
I am sure you will not be late.' Here he smiled, and added, 'for you
know what night it is.'
Johann answered with an emphatic, 'Ja, mein Herr,' and, touching his
hat, drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said, after
signalling to him to stop:
'Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?'
He crossed himself, as he answered laconically: 'Walpurgis nacht.'
Then he took out his watch, a great, old-fashioned German silver thing
as big as a turnip, and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered
together and a little impatient shrug of his shoulders. I realised
that this was his way of respectfully protesting against the
unnecessary delay, and sank back in the carriage, merely motioning
him to proceed. He started off rapidly, as if to make up for lost
time. Every now and then the horses seemed to throw up their heads and
sniffed the air suspiciously. On such occasions I often looked round
in alarm. The road was pretty bleak, for we were traversing a sort of
high, wind-swept plateau. As we drove, I saw a road that looked but
little used, and which seemed to dip through a little, winding valley.
It looked so inviting that, even at the risk of offending him, I
called Johann to stop--and when he had pulled up, I told him I would
like to drive down that road. He made all sorts of excuses, and
frequently crossed himself as he spoke. This somewhat piqued my
curiosity, so I asked him various questions. He answered fencingly,
and repeatedly looked at his watch in protest. Finally I said:
'Well, Johann, I want to go down this road. I shall not ask you to
come unless you like; but tell me why you do not like to go, that is
all I ask.' For answer he seemed to throw himself off the box, so
quickly did he reach the ground. Then he stretched out his hands
appealingly to me, and implored me not to go. There was just enough of
English mixed with the German for me to understand the drift of his
talk. He seemed always just about to tell me something--the very idea
of which evidently frightened him; but each time he pulled himself up,
saying, as he crossed himself: 'Walpurgis-Nacht!'
I tried to argue with him, but it was difficult to argue with a man
when I did not know his language. The advantage certainly rested with
him, for although he began to speak in English, of a very crude and
broken kind, he always got excited and broke into his native
tongue--and every time he did so, he looked at his watch. Then the
horses became restless and sniffed the air. At this he grew very pale,
and, looking around in a frightened way, he suddenly jumped forward,
took them by the bridles and led them on some twenty feet. I followed,
and asked why he had done this. For answer he crossed himself, pointed
to the spot we had left and drew his carriage in the direction of the
other road, indicating a cross, and said, first in German, then in
English: 'Buried him--him what killed themselves.'
I remembered the old custom of burying suicides at cross-roads: 'Ah! I
see, a suicide. How interesting!' But for the life of me I could not
make out why the horses were frightened.
Whilst we were talking, we heard a sort of sound between a yelp and a
bark. It was far away; but the horses got very restless, and it took
Johann all his time to quiet them. He was pale, and said, 'It sounds
like a wolf--but yet there are no wolves here now.'
'No?' I said, questioning him; 'isn't it long since the wolves were so
near the city?'
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940014206181 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | SAP |
| Publication date: | 04/08/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 145 KB |
About the Author
Abraham (Bram) Stoker (1847-1912) is the author of one of the English language’s best-known books of mystery and horror, Dracula. Written in epistolary form, Dracula chronicles a vampire’s journey from Transylvania to the nighttime streets of London and is a virtual textbook of Victorian-era fears and anxieties. Stoker also wrote several other horror novels, including The Jewel of Seven Stars and The Lair of the White Worm.
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