DR. SEWARD'S DIARY 5 June 1890.--The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I get to understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed, selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I do not know. His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such a quantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, he did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said, "May I have three days? I shall clear them away." Of course, I said that would do. I must watch him. I must say, he was the calmest of all my inmates during the day of silence last week. An intriguing case. 18 June.--He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got several very big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them his flies, and the number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although he has used half his food in attracting more flies from outside to his room. * * * * * 29 JUNE 1890 TO: BASIL MONTGOMERY HAD NICE TIME IN TRANSYLVANIA. STOP. HARKER AND I ARE DONE WITH BUSINESS. STOP. RETURNING TO LONDON SOON. STOP. NEED NEW CHICKEN FOOT. STOP. MATUMBA * * * * * DR. SEWARD's DIARY 1 July.--His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his flies, and today I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked very sad at this, so I said that he must some of them, at all events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the same time as before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, for when a horrid blowfly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, he caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger and thumb, and before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very good and very wholesome, that it was life, strong life, and gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must watch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has evidently some deep problem in his mind, for he keeps a little notebook in which he is always jotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with masses of figures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then the totals added in batches again, as though he were focussing some account, as the auditors put it. 3 July.--A man from the Diogenes Club called on me today. He stated that Mycroft Holmes was interested in my work and wanted to meet. I wonder what the esteemed head of the Club would want with work. 8 July.--There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary idea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then, oh, unconscious cerebration, you will have to give the wall to your conscious brother. I kept away from my friend for a few days, so that I might notice if there were any change. Things remain as they were except that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one. He has managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed it. His means of taming is simple, for already the spiders have diminished. Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for he still brings in the flies by tempting them with his food. * * * * * Diogenes Club The rather portly man picked up the receiver of the phone and held it to his ear. "You Holmes?" a raspy, old voice said on the other side. "Yes, who's speaking?" Mycroft asked. "I heh need to borrow Brooksmere." "You what?" "Need to borrow him, what you deaf?" "Sir, if I could please get the name of the man who is addressing me?" "Oh, right, sorry, I'm called Cael. Brooksmere helped save me from the Nightmare Realm. I believe you've heard of my great deeds?" Mycroft paused for a brief moment. Luckily for him no one was in his room at the club to see the momentary shock that registered on his face. "And what do you need him for, Mr. Cael?" "I need to go back into the Hotel Canterbury. I'll be in London beginning of August." * * * * * DR. SEWARD'S DIARY 18 July--A woman named Simon Coutare stopped by today from the Diogenes Club. She apologized and explained that something had come up and Mr. Holmes was in disposed. I'm not quite sure what her interest was in my clinic, but despite being a woman, she showed no signs of shock as she looked at some of the inmates. She seemed to take particular interest in Renfield. 19 July--We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of sparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I came in he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour, a very, very great favour. And as he spoke, he fawned on me like a dog. I asked him what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice and bearing, "A kitten, a nice, little, sleek playful kitten, that I can play with, and teach, and feed, and feed, and feed!" I was not unprepared for this request, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and spiders. So I said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have a cat than a kitten. His eagerness betrayed him as he answered, "Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?" I shook my head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, but that I would see about it. His face fell, and I could see a warning of danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meant killing. The man is an undeveloped homicidal maniac. I shall test him with his present craving and see how it will work out, then I shall know more. 10 pm.--I have visited him again and found him sitting in a corner brooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees before me and implored me to let him have a cat, that his salvation depended upon it. I was firm, however, and told him that he could not have it, whereupon he went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his fingers, in the corner where I had found him. I shall see him in the morning early. * * * * * LOG OF THE "DEMETER" Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep accurate note henceforth till we land. On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands . . . two mates, cook, and myself, (captain). On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p.m. On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago. On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something. Seemed scared, but would not speak out. On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong. They only told him there was SOMETHING, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet. On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of the crew, Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but would not say more than there was SOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them. Feared some trouble ahead. On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm, when he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and disappear. He followed cautiously, but when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. To allay it, I shall today search the entire ship carefully from stem to stern. Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search from stem to stern. First mate angry, said it was folly, and to yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men, said he would engage to keep them out of trouble with the handspike. I let him take the helm, while the rest began a thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns. We left no corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said nothing. * * * * * Dr. SEWARD'S DIARY 20 July.--Visited Renfield very early, before attendant went his rounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his sugar, which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly beginning his fly catching again, and beginning it cheerfully and with a good grace. I looked around for his birds, and not seeing them, asked him where they were. He replied, without turning round, that they had all flown away. There were a few feathers about the room and on his pillow a drop of blood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper to report to me if there were anything odd about him during the day. 11 am.--The attendant has just been to see me to say that Renfield has been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of feathers. "My belief is, doctor," he said, "that he has eaten his birds, and that he just took and ate them raw!" 11 pm.--I gave Renfield a strong opiate tonight, enough to make even him sleep, and took away his pocketbook to look at it. The thought that has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete, and the theory proved. My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have to invent a new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous (life-eating) maniac. What he desires is to absorb as many lives as he can, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. He gave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and then wanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been his later steps? It would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. It might be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men sneered at vivisection, and yet look at its results today! Why not advance science in its most difficult and vital aspect, the knowledge of the brain? Had I even the secret of one such mind, did I hold the key to the fancy of even one lunatic, I might advance my own branch of science to a pitch compared with which Burdon-Sanderson's physiology or Ferrier's brain knowledge would be as nothing. If only there were a sufficient cause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be tempted. A good cause might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an exceptional brain, congenitally? How well the man reasoned. Lunatics always do within their own scope. I wonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only one. He has closed the account most accurately, and today begun a new record. How many of us begin a new record with each day of our lives? To me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my new hope, and that truly I began a new record. So it shall be until the Great Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance to profit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I be angry with my friend whose happiness is yours, but I must only wait on hopeless and work. Work! Work! If I could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there, a good, unselfish cause to make me work, that would be indeed happiness. * * * * * LOG OF THE DEMETER 22 July.--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with sails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All well. 24 July.--There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he came off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear, sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do some violence. * * * * * Vincent, a Professor at a nearby school, opened the paper and began to read. Thankful, he saw that little more was said about the bought of so called larangitis that hit the entire town of London back at the end of May. There were no new articles from his professional collegues rantings about how science could have caused it. His phone suddenly rang. "Yes." "Turn to page 4." a female voice said. "Excuse me?" "You're reading the paper right now. Turn to page 4." "Who is this?" "Just do it." Vincent turned to page 4, shocked that the woman on the other end knew he was reading the paper. There on page 4 a small article discussed how Scotland Yard was investigating the murder of a young woman. Her body had been found just outside of town apparently missing its hands. "And? what is so special about the death of one young woman?" Vincent asked. "She was missing her hands." "So." "Check out murders on Sunday's paper page 6 and Thursday's paper page 3. Then give me a call back. Simone Coutare, Diogenes Club." "Wait what does this have to do with me?" "You're a friend of Basil Montgomery. He's going to be busy with some past business. So I'll need your help instead. Look at the papers, call me." Simone spoke. Then Vincent heard a click. * * * * * MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL 26 July.--I am anxious, and it soothes me to express myself here. It is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time. And there is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes it different from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. I had not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned, but yesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter from him. I had written asking him if he had heard, and he said the enclosed had just been received. It is only a line dated from Castle Dracula, and says that he is just starting for home. That is not like Jonathan. I do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy. * * * * * LOG OF THE DEMETER 22 July.--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with sails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All well. 24 July.--There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he came off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear, sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do some violence. 28 July.--Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours sleep. Wind abating, seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is steadier. 29 July.--Another tragedy. Had single watch tonight, as crew too tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause. 30 July.--Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine, all sails set. Retired worn out, slept soundly, awakened by mate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate and two hands left to work ship. 1 August.--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he Roumanian. 2 August, midnight.--Woke up from few minutes sleep by hearing a cry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells me he heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us, and God seems to have deserted us. 3 August.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel and when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might hear. "It is here. I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave it my knife, but the knife went through It, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took the knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, "But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the helm." And with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest and lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving mad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those big boxes, they are invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as harmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay and mind the helm, and write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears. Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cut down sails, and lie by, and signal for help . . . It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate would come out calmer, for I heard him knocking away at something in the hold, and work is good for him, there came up the hatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. "Save me! Save me!" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said, "You had better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there! I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all that is left!" Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all these horrors when I get to port? When I get to port! Will that ever be? 4 August.--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce, I know there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm, so here all night I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw it, Him! God, forgive me, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man. To die like a sailor in blue water, no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that which He, It, dare not touch. And then, come good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act. . . If we are wrecked, mayhap this bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand. If not . . . well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help a poor ignorant soul trying to do his duty . . . * * * * * Jamie La Bue walked down the street towards the one light at the corner. It was dark out and usually a 17 year old girl wouldn't walk down dark streets alone. Luckily Jamie wasn't your typical 17 year old girl. She flashed a haunty smile at the thugs on the corner and kept walking deeper into the waterfront district. The thugs, not realizing that Jamie could tear all of them to shreds began following, simply seeing a beautiful young girl walking alone easily victim to their lusts, began following a short distance behind. Jamie rounded the corner and continued walking down an even darker street, passing several smaller alleys. As the thugs passed one of these dark alleys, a voice spoke, "I'd leave the girl alone if I were you." The lead thug turned and stared into the darkness, "And who might you be?". The voice responded, the thugs burst out laughing. Suddenly there was a flash and something sharp embedded itself in the lead thug's face. Yellow and Blue swirled around the thugs as the interloper burried fists and boots into their bodies. Jamie turned another corner and heard a faint "Aha, You Suck!" from down the street. Shrugging, she knocked on a nearby door. A hairy young man opened up the shack and light spilled out; much noise fled out into the street. "Jamie, welcome to the party!" Somewhere in the distance witches cackled. * * * * * Robert Stevenson walked into Finsburry Square and shivered a bit. He wasn't sure if it was good to be back or not, but the dreams kept haunting him at night. Fixing his tie and straightening his suit, he walked across the square and rang the doorbell for Dr. Basil Montgomery's office. A mechanical voice responded from a speaker near the door. * * * * * "Glad to be home?" Kurt Lunqvist asked. "Huh?" Cael turned and looked at the cowboy. "Just bring my stuff." The two marched down a gangplank, entering London. A carriage with "WA" written on the side was waiting for them. * * * * * The bell to Dead People's Stuff rang. A beautiful red headed woman looked up from a ledger at the patron. Pleasant surprise registered on her face as she looked at the customer. "Lucy?" Mary Kelly asked as she slowly moved around the counter. "Mary? I thought you 'ad been got by Bloody Old Jack?" the dark haired customer responded in disbelief. Although rather beautiful herself, Lucy did not compare to the red-headed shop-keeper. "Luckily no, it's um a long story." The two girls gave each other a big hug. "So you work 'ere now? You get out of the biz too?" Lucy said. "Yes, a man named Cael was kind enough to let me run his shop. You aren't still working for Spyder? Are you?" Lucy nodded sadly. "Oh I'm so sorry." Mary hugged Lucy again. "So what brings you to my shop?" "Actually I'm looking for a man goes by Basil. You wouldn't 'appen to know of 'em?" "Yes, he's my neighbor. He just ran out of here about an hour ago with a Dr. Stevenson. I don't think he'll be back for awhile" Mary said. "Shit." "What's wrong, Lucy, maybe I can help?" And so Lucy started to explain to Mary how two of the girls from the Waterfront had gone missing and turned up later, dead with missing body parts. * * * * * Clad in dark clothes, Julian Ashton watched his two old friends, Basil and Robert, walk into the Diogenes Club. He already knew that Cael was inside with MyCroft Holmes and Lance Brooksmere. It was like a reunion of sorts he thought. Perhaps he should make an appearance. * * * * * The ship lay vacant, empty, devoid of any life. Yet still it sailed ever onward. Rain pelted it, fog shrouded it, yet still it made course for London. The ghost ship rolled with the sea. It's name flashing in the lightning of the storm over head. "DEMETER". * * * * * The gate to the Caterbury Hotel lie open, swaying slightly in the wind. The grounds were wild, unkempt, taken back by nature. The windows on the hotel mostly broken, the walls in disrepair. The Hotel looked like it had been on the verge of collapse for years. Inside dust and cobwebs covered the place. Rubble and broken plaster lay on the floor in a variety of spots. A beautiful woman walked down the stairs calmly, stepping carefully around pieces of plaster. Clad in a tight dress she walked into the dining area around pieces of silverware and shards of dishes into a adjoining room with a bar. She carefully walked up to the bar and from the line of dusty bottles picked one bottle, the only bottle which looked new, a bottle of pink champagne. She poured herself a glass and raised up. Phariah Kane toasted, "To old friends and new enemies".