The Night Calls

Kelantha

Steady rains drenched much of our journey, turning the forest lanes into sodden messes and bogging down the churning wheels that drove us toward the place I once called home. I remembered every culvert, every monument, every wrought pathway toward the universal sphere that my mother ruled, and instinct rebelled as much as a desire to torment them propelled me forward. I do not know if my companion was aware of my thoughts, but he so steadily observed me from his lanky position across the velvet seat that I felt certain he did. There were times when I was not even near him that I could sense him in my mind, as if he indwelled in me as much as I lingered in him; as though the blending of our bloods, running crimson with all the hopes, dreams, aspirations and fears of prolonged humanity, had created an inescapable link that could not be defeated, not by many miles or prolonged train of thought. Whenever I drew breath, he was with me. Whenever the night lingered indefinitely and my footsteps were solitary along the lane, when I found and took my prey, I sensed him there, the whisper of his voice, the echo of his presence, the tainted glory of his pride in what he had created, that I was so remarkable in my passions.

I was not happy to be returning home, for it had never promised anything but the misery, of being misunderstood and condemned, of never approaching my mother�s opinions of worth, of being infinitely beneath her approval. Even in bringing my husband to this place unjustly called �home,� I could find no satisfaction, for it would remain the same. I would be condescended against, my husband scrutinized and appraised by esteemed members of society considered holy by their Catholic standards. The piety, the prayers, the crucifixes that graced many of the rooms; all-inseparable barriers that did not fault or faze my companion. The count looked upon them as a challenge and nothing more, but deep inside the eternal flame glowing in his murky eyes was a desire to know me, to know me utterly, and he could only come by that knowledge through the voices of those that had reared me from infancy.

We had not spoken of the incident in the wood, when I stood against the darkness and felt the cold grip of fear wash through me. Suddenly he had been there, and those monstrous demons of the night fled beneath the snarl of his unspoken commands. The carriage traveled at a rapid pace, leaving that fearful domain behind us, flowing into woods and valleys that I had never known. We journeyed as many days as it was somber in the skies, for sunlight was damaging. The time of year afforded us many opportunities for travel, but in one instance we became alarmed when the clouds started to fade around the hour of noon, slowly diminishing and letting forth the all-terrible light. My husband sensed that it was to break and shouted up at the driver in alarm, who took us to the nearest inn.

The blame was placed on my �unhealthy� constitution; an excuse devised to explain our nocturnal habits. It was best for the charade meant to deceive my family to begin at once, although I did not take easily to playing the martyred female. I had despised the pale, sickly girls at school, and now, much to my eternal chagrin, I had become one of them. We dwelled in the in for three days while the sun shone and the count cursed in Romanian as he stood in the shadows. Then the skies opened up and poured forth rain, granting him the liberty to walk through the mud and rouse the unhappy driver from his ale and contented fireside.

It took us only a matter of days to reach the city that had once been my domain, to pass through hallowed halls of former generations, who had lived and died in it and made it their own, to recognize landmarks and find excitement in illustrating their past to my companion. And, despite my misgivings, I began to find a mild form of satisfaction, even of pride, of my once-humble surroundings. The carriage drew through the city in a murky twilight after a day of rain, and the lamplighters were at work, the golden reflection shimmering against wet streets. My parents� home lay at a distance, and the way was well known to me as we traversed it. Nothing had changed, least of all the magnificent church towering above the street as we passed. A fragment of light still existed, having broken through the last of the clouds, dancing against the radiant spire, and trickling down into shadows. The bricks were old, maintaining a sense of piety that few other churches possess, for it had seen many masses in the century since its conception. It was beautiful, beset with glimmering windows amassed in a single voice, to proclaim the majesty and glory of God.

Even eternally damned, I could not help but draw breath as my eyes fell upon it, and experience a mild yearning for what I could not again possess. That once my foot had fallen on those hallowed stones, that I endured peace within its four walls, that every voice raised in song was that of the angels, lingered with me. My quiet sigh stirred my companion from the depths of his cloak, and his luxurious eyes were cast at the structure as it passed, slowly fading beneath the night sky. He gazed at me, then, and I felt his mind probing mine, searching for answers that I did not wish to readily give, but they were confessed to him easily, as simply as the voice that flowed through my lips:

�There were times when I was happy there.�

I remembered the dear old priest, my favorite from when I was a girl. He had been kind to me, had listened to my notions of the world and what I should like to be in it, with such tenderness and understanding. The fancy of any child was not beneath him, but there was something more in his appreciation of me, a small desire to have been my father, even a quiet envy when my father would come to the church gate, to take my hand and walk me home again. For nine years he had educated and blessed me, smiled at me during the services, made a point to encourage my parents to let me learn. He would allow me to pour over his maps and books, pointing out the many places in the world and telling me of their wonders. �You must travel one day, my child,� he had said with the fervor of a man who could not, but wished others to behold the greatness of the creation of man and God, a unison of perfect harmony united in the wonders of abroad.

Then word had come from Rome, a summons that had called him forth further into the ministry, and taken him from me. I wept many tears on his passing, had not even been able to see him depart through the cloud that hung over me, eroding every rational thought except that I was now alone, that no one would ever care again, that no gentle voice, deep and wrought with the mysteries of eternity, would encourage the contours of my mind. Never had I known a man so approving, so engaging, so intensely drawing� until Dracula. It was peculiar to examine my husband against a figure of such dominant faith, for one was the shadow, and the other the light. Yet somehow, perversely, they blended into one, a devotion that had stemmed long before I came into existence, a calling of equal gravity fulfilled in darkness. It was as if I had chosen night instead of day; that it did not lay beyond my control but I had enforced destiny.

Beyond wrought iron gates unfolded the crypts, and at a distance along the lonely road arose out of the darkness the form of our hacienda. The tree I had fallen out of as a girl still grew by the entrance, framing the tall stucco walls that protected the family from the perils of the city. Torches burned along the winding road that fed to an impressive house, set back from the street. My body tingled with what I acknowledged as fear, and my hands contorted within the folds of my cloak as we drew up before the massive steps. A ripple of fabric passed me, and before the servant could draw open the door, the step was kicked down and he descended.

Pausing briefly to comprehend the house in a single glance, Dracula extended his hand to me. Mine fell into it, allowing me down as the horses moved uneasily, and the magnificent archway bled forth into the form of a woman I had hoped never to see again. My mother had not changed in my years of absence; she maintained the same disapproval in her stance, the same remarkable poise in her form, the tall, angular form that had given me life and would have gladly snatched it back again, that I might echo her every command. From that instant, everything was shrouded in her, and she lorded over her domain with an unrivaled aristocratic power. Her eyes glittered in the torchlight, appraising us both in what was unmistakably resentful approval; for she knew at a glance that my husband was excessively wealthy, articulate in his mannerisms, and nothing less than handsome in appearance; yet my mother, who had never approved of anything of mine a day in her life, would fight this emotion until the last.

She did not speak, and nor did I; it was left to an awkward silence before my father hastened forth from the shadows and welcomed me. The instant his arms folded around me, I felt safe again. Father was stern on my behalf but never without his warm reassurances. I knew then that it would be all right, that we would forge through this dreadful time together, and return to Romania unscathed. We were ushered into the foyer and such was the state of affairs, with servants and family members whisking back and forth, that for a moment I did not realize his absence. Then I turned toward the doorway and saw that he still lingered without, gazing into the well-lit interior with a kind of eerie knowing. My family did not notice as I quietly slipped away, approaching the somber figure between the arches, his slender form enhanced by traces of moonlight. He could not enter without my bidding, and I found it a strange sense of power as I held out my hand for his. I need not have even it spoken it aloud, for he came as agilely across the threshold as a shadow fleeing the dawn.

>> on to next chapter

This fan fiction is for enjoyment purposes only. You may not reproduce, duplicate, or otherwise quote the written text without written permission.