3, October
I still lie awake at night, panicked in a cold sweat, remembering the awful things he did to me. My face pressed against his chest. Forced to choose between suffocation or… The rancid smell of his blood, if it can even stand to be called such a thing, still lingers in my nose. I second guess myself, whether he is here with me, still watching, still waiting. We killed him. Jonathan is always so quick to remind me. We killed him. It is my only reassurance. A mantra I utter over and over beneath my breath on the nights he is not lying here beside me.
There are things Jonathan simply does not understand, sometimes I think it is out of stubborn refusal. No matter how brief it was, no matter how little of that warm rancid ikor stained my lips, I have been changed for it. My stomach churns each time I think of it.
Quincy’s cry from the bassinet is what stirs me this evening. He is such a fussy sleeper. He does not cry often in the night, but most nights I can hear him cooing and stirring in the dark. I almost prefer the nights like these, at least then I know he will cry himself back to sleep. There is nothing to be done for the matter. I simply hold my head beneath the covers and wait for the bellowing wail to cease. Once again, Jonathan is conveniently away on business.
4, October
Sleep found no mercy in her heart for us last night. My head still aches from the echoes of Quincy’s crying. I spent the little hours of the morning promenading him around the apartment until the tears finally dried up and his bellowing fell to soft whimpers. We bathed in the glow of the moonlight until it gave way to the orange skies of day break. Exhaustion waned on both of our faces. My darling Quincy, terror by night, but the soft glow of daylight paled in comparison to his cherubic face. His soft cheeks were ruddy where he had rubbed his tears so thoroughly in. His eyes a pale blue, squinted against the breaking sun, no doubt still sensitive from the hours of crying.
I am writing now in a moment of peace. The hour is still early, but Quincy now lies asleep beside me. I must break this habit sooner than later, it makes it impossible to get through the day without needing to find a moment to sleep myself, a task all the more daunting without Jonathan here to take his turn minding Quincy. He will probably sleep the day away and we will reprise our dance again this evening, but for the moment I will take the peace I am given.
The cool draft of the apartment is a blessing and a curse these days. It is a welcome break in the heat of the summer, but as I sit here with my breasts exposed, it is a constant reminder of how chafed raw and bloody they have become to satiate Quincy’s hunger. Dr. Seward has been a constant and faithful companion to us ever since our ordeal, but he too shares some of my same concerns.
Dr. Seward is a man of science first and foremost, and though nothing can be done to expedite the process of my healing, he does seem to have a solution for everything. He has suggested the employment of a wet nurse, at least temporarily, so that I may be given the time and care that I need, and so that Quincy’s appetite can be monitored and managed.
As fate would have it, as it often does among close friends, the good doctor’s son and Quincy were born not so far apart from one another, and so Ida has generously offered to fill the role.
7, October
Ida has begun her first day. We are taking things very slowly. Quincy has perhaps already developed an unhealthy attachment to me; either that, or he has decided he disliked Mrs. Seward the moment she set foot into our home. Dr. Seward says this is fairly common with infants, their world is so small, and any change in the consistency they are coming to know can be a minor catastrophe to them; fear of the unknown as he likes to refer to it. All men have it, it seems it is something we are born with.
I have a lull in which to write, hunger seems to have outweighed any attachment, healthy or not, Quincy may have for me. When I was not forthcoming when it came time for his morning meal, he raised hell with that piercing cry. He was hesitant at first to suckle from Mrs. Seward, pressing with all his little might to wriggle from her grasp. Bless her, she is a strong and patient woman.
I watch now as she holds him to her breast and the peace on his angelic face turns my stomach sick with envy. Perhaps it is I with the unhealthy attachment. A heat spreads flush beneath my cheeks and I pray Mrs. Seward does not see. I am grateful to her and Dr. Seward, I swear it, but to see my child contented in the bosom of another leaves me feeling… hollow?
14, October
Nights are always a terror. I think the world of little Quincy. I do. He is the greatest blessing in mine and Jonathan’s lives. I fear anyone who reads this will surely think me an awful mother, they will say Quincy deserves to live a better life with the Sewards, but I can not help these nagging thoughts, some nights I think Quincy hates me. I remind myself he is only a babe and can not possibly know hatred, but his tantrums feel spiteful in nature.
Thanks to Ida’s recent help, I have found it much easier than most nights to drift off to sleep. By the time she had left and Quincy had his last meal of the evening the only thing left to do was sleep. I laid him in his bassinet without quarrel, laid my head upon my pillow and finally let loose the heavy weight of my eye lids I have been fighting to keep aloft all through the day. My sleep was far from restful. In the black of night I felt as though my spirit were being tugged upwards from my body. Though my eyes were surely still closed in slumber I swear I could make out all of the features of the bedroom clear as day.
I scanned the room taking in the pattern of the comforter, the grain of the floorboards, the yellowed watermarks on the ceiling, and Quincy’s bassinet. My blood ran cold as I turned to face it. A dark shadow loomed over it, long and thin. Its back hunched and craning downward, reaching two hands inside. I tried to scream, my chest heaved, but no sound escaped my lips.
Quincy’s wailing startled me from my nightmare. Though I am grateful for the escape, if I’m to believe the grandfather clock beside the bed I had been asleep for no more than fifteen minutes and Quincy would be sure not to let me rest any longer.
***
Ida and Jack arrived early this morning to find me still weary in my nightgown. Under any other circumstances I might have been embarrassed, but Jack is such a dear old friend. He has always prided himself on being a steadfast freind to Jonathan and I.
Ida was as charming as ever and eager to scoop little Quincy into her arms, Jack, however bore a stern expression, cold and analytical even as he greeted me. Quincy took to Ida with much less hesitation today, but I, with no less envy than yesterday. I am desperate to heal so I may return to my duties as a mother, to be reunited with my Quincy in those brief and tender moments where I do not feel the sting of his spite.
The feeling of dread failure sunk in even further when Ida disrobed for Quincy’s breakfast. She too was chafed raw, just as I have been, but still she smiles and has the stamina to feed for two while I struggle. Jack’s analytical expression turned sour when Quincy latched to Ida. I detected a brief wince in her face but it was quickly replaced by the smiles and gentle cooing of motherhood. That is when Jack pulled me aside.
His nod toward the sitting room was subtle, Ida would be none the wiser there was some matter of concern to be discussed. He drew the blinds shut, closed the door that separated us from Ida and Quincy, and sat me down with my hands clasped in his. I could feel him tremble, swear perspired on his brow.
“Mina.” He said to me calmly, his analytical composure returning to him. “That night… when Dracula forced his blood upon you…” Abrupt. Tactless. My heart sank, the memories that haunt me every night flooding back to me in the light of day. Jack knew me well enough to see the fear as it crept over my face. “Its fine. Everything is fine, there’s just a hypothesis I can’t shake.”
“Hypothesis?” I murmured, barely audible.
“His blood, it may have had some unexpected… lasting… effects.”
“I feel fine.” I assured him. My voice raising, tone sharpening.
“I’m sure you do… It’s not you I’m concerned for, its Quincy.” He was all matter of fact here, which only made my temper rise more so. My mouth hung slack in awe, tongue drying in the stale air at a loss for words. Jack and I have spoken at length about the possibilities of the count’s blood corrupting me ever since the incident; and twice as much when Jonathan and I conceived the notion of bringing a child into a world we had only just come to know harbored so much darkness. Seven whole years have passed since that terrible time in our lives and though the nightmares persist, I have felt nothing of that devil’s curse within me.
“Just what is it exactly that you’re trying to say doctor?”
“I noticed it when Ida was feeding Art the other morning…” I was quick to remind him just how normal the chafing we are both experiencing is and though Jack is an esteemed doctor, his expertise lies in afflictions of the mind and not the anatomy of women. He took offense to that. It served him right. He and Ida have been a blessing in helping take care of Quincy, but this is an egregious overstep. “It is not the chafing that concerns me, Mina, it is what appears to be a small puncture wound in the top right of the affected area.” Puncture. The word pierced me, the cold and clinical term we used so many times in those days when speaking of the awful mark left by that devil, Count Dracula.
“Puncture! Puncture! Jack, he is a baby, he has no teeth to speak of let alone fangs or…or… claws! That is my son, Jonathan’s son! Not the bastard of some… some… long dead monster’s blood curse!” I could not contain myself. The hushed tones of secrecy fell away and my voice no doubt permeated the door between our two rooms. As expected, the shock of it stirred Quincy from his feeding into a full tantrum. “I think it might be best if you and Ida left…” I spoke through gritted teeth and maintained as much cordiality as I could muster. Jack had clearly been caught off guard as he stammered to his feet and pleaded with me.
“I’m right aren’t I?…Please, Mina! This is a mistake, the child must be observed!” Observed… Like some sort of specimen. I’ll say this of poor old jack. He is a dear friend and a good doctor, but I do not know that he has it within him to be a loving husband or father. Quincy is my labors won, my prize for enduring that nightmare. We overcame that beast and he is the first fresh new part of my life that is unsullied by Count Dracula.
***
It was a nasty ordeal, its always so much harder when it comes from a friend. Though he tried to hide it behind his professional demeanor I could tell poor Jack was wounded, but Ida… it was her expression that struck my heart. I haven’t known her very long and Jonathan and I have scarcely had a chance to spend some real time with the Sewards since their marriage, but she has become as dear a friend as Jack and I can tell her affection for Quincy has grown beyond that of a hired wet nurse. Quincy’s hands grasped for her when I took him from her bosom and I can not help but think his affection for her too has grown in this short time.
It is for that reason that Ida can never return.
21, October
I have persevered through the pain and taken back to nursing Quincy myself. Though he is just a baby and could not possibly understand, I believe that he feels it, my love for him, my fierce protection of him. The ordeal with Jack and Ida has only made us stronger, he has taken to me with a much calmer demeanor these last few days and the gaze of his beautiful blue eyes remains locked on mine even while he suckles. We still do not sleep through the night, but he is young and that will come in time, I’m sure. For the time being I have adjusted to Quincy’s schedule. My day time duties have begun to pile up, our room is in a state of disarray, but we will get to it in time. Perhaps when Jonathan returns home we will regain some sense of normalcy and I will once again have the time to see to it these chores are tended to.
Our moonlit feedings have become a source of tranquility for the both of us. While other mothers revel in strolls through the park introducing their babies to the butterflies and the songs of the birds, Quincy and I have come to know the moths that gather round the gas lamps that line our quiet street and the eek of the bats that flutter overhead to hunt them. The cool night air chills me worse than ever before. If this is autumns early chill, this is sure to be a bleak winter.
30, October
Forgive me Jonathan… She was here, that mad woman! She was practically frothing at the mouth like some rabid mongrel. Quincy and I had just returned from our evening stroll and I noticed the door was slightly ajar. my memory has been escaping me more and more as of late so I thought twice about whether or not it had been some error on my part and in this moment I remain unsure.
I entered quietly and was immediately alerted to a commotion coming from the bedroom. I had no doubt in that moment that I would be coming face to face with some intruder. Quincy gripped me tight, I knew I would be unable to put him down without him crying out and losing me the advantage over our unwanted house guest. I took up the fire poker in my free hand and traipsed round the corner to the bedroom door. I have come to know these floor boards all too well, I carefully tip toed around each of the ones I knew would betray me with an ill timed creak or an awful groan until I could finally see through the half opened door.
Her shadow blotted out the moonlight of the large window Quincy and I would so often spend our evenings admiring the world through. She was crouched like an animal, pacing the floor around Quincy’s bassinet. Scattered about her, smashed into the floor were the shredded wings and half eaten bodies of so many beautiful moths. It was happening again. There was no denying it now. My breath hitched in my chest, the awful memories flooded back to me, but one look into our darling son’s eyes and I knew what I had to do.
She stopped, she sniffed the air around her, then, thundering on on all fours like some hell hound she charged toward us.
“I must see the young master! Give him to me!” Ida spat thick globules of insect limbs at us, her breasts bare and oozing mothers milk and the infection of the untreated chafe. Her mind has gone the way of Renfield’s, a tragic fate, but at whose behest? Could Count Dracula really have returned… or worse… was this truly all for our Quincy? Master, she called him… He shed no tears at the horrific sight, his gaze, a pale glow in the moonlight, locked on Ida’s.
I slammed the door quickly in her face before she could breach the threshold. She threw the whole force of her body wildly against it over and over again. I could not hold her there for long, the wood of the door splintered beneath the weight of her. As I heard the thundering of her crawl retreat back from the door for one final grand attempt, I took Quincy a few staggering steps back and readied myself on the other side of it.
I hushed Quincy and readied the fire poker, firm and level at the bottom of the door. Ida came barreling through, shattering the wood, great jagged pieces of it slashing her and tearing at her clothes as she breached. My mark was true and I braced myself and Quincy for the impact. Unable to stop all of the force and momentum she had built, Ida flung herself onto the end of the fire poker, piercing her heart, stopping her mere inches from us.
If this was the truth of the new life we’ve entered into, then I must do what is best for our son. There was a great hunger in his pale blue eyes as Ida’s blood poured down the poker’s shaft. I pulled it free and let him latch to her bleeding wound. He drank his fill and I swear to you I have never seen him so happy in all his little life and as his face pulled away from her flesh, there glinting in the moonlight, I saw it, that spike of Ivory. A tooth.
They will come for Ida eventually. Jack will no doubt be the first to follow after us.
Jack, if this finds you first. I am so sorry, I hope you understand.
Jonathan, if you return home first, you will know where to find us, back where it all began.