Bram Stoker's Dracula: Resurrection

Chapter One

QUINCEY HARKER'S JOURNAL ENTRY

Feb 12. 1906. Exeter. – We'd recently returned home, after our lengthy voyage to, once again revisit the memorial site of dear Mr. Morris in Transylvania. Mother and father continue to reminisce of his heroic exploits, yet I not only feel their pain, having lost a dear friend, but I also remain somewhat sceptical where the details preside. The faded markings across mother's jugular, remain but the only proof of these obscene claims.

Claims that would otherwise subject one to the asylum. Such talk of Un-Dead and the like, those who would feed off the living to prolong their unnatural and demonic lifespans on this Earth, no man in his right mind would grant the time of day. The sight of those markings upon my mother's throat still haunts me to this day, – even now at the age of 19 – I still haven't been able to fathom any other reason for this beyond what they have described. Whilst blessed with the prosperous life my beloved father has provided mother and I, accepting this dark reality still eludes me. Truly, I understand my parents' reasoning for withholding the truth of this, until I came of age, for this degree of horror was never meant, for the eyes nor ears belonging to that of any youthful adolescent.

I have researched father's journals, detailing his time within Transylvania. He paints a rather vivid, yet ominously accurate description of the count, the devil who feasted on not only my parents, but that of poor Lady Westenra and so many others. Just as well, father and Mr. Morris quashed the looming threat of this demon, this 'vampire' as our good friend Dr Van Helsing illuminated this 'Dracula' to be.

I am at war with myself over this, yet I remain silent in the presence of my family as I do not wish to concern them.

Throughout my years of service among the local Peelers, my training always steered me toward fact and evidence, greatly feeding my ambition in becoming the sleuth I am now – not fiction! Yet there is an otherworldly aura to not only mother's faint bite marks, but the strange dreams and visions I have concerning the count. Why do I have such an accurate conception regarding the appearance of Count Dracula, yet I have never met him?! This devil faced justice and God's wrath, at the hands of my father and his allies, long before I was even born.

I still pour over father's journals, why? I have no answer. I'm unable to conceive why I have such a fixation on this mystery. It is rather vexing that I am incapable in ridding myself of this obsession. Mother is calling me; I must see to her needs. For now, I should bask in satisfaction that Count Dracula will not threaten those I hold dear again. Were that vampire to rise from the ashes once more, may God help us all – for we face not a phoenix of hope, but an immortal demon of sin and despair.

*

Dabbing his quill back in the ink pot, Quincey shifted back from his large cheveret, giving his latest addition time to dry, about to see to his mother. He wasn't given the chance to leave his seat, when a gentle rapping echoed his room. He gave it a moment, and said – "You may enter." His door creaked open as his mother, Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker presented herself, accompanied by a ravishing young woman.

Her lengthy golden locks glistening in the beams of sun rays, streaming through the windows both in his room and the hallway. Her slim figure and fragile face mirrored that of Venus herself, dawning her eloquent form and extravagant blue dress. Both women approached, Mina's face hardening with a sad stare at the sight of the familiar pair of blades upon her son's desk, next to his latest journal entry. Her husband's old kukri, resting alongside Quincey Morris' bowie knife. "My darling son, he is no more." She shared a pained expression to match his, well aware of what was written without having to read his full entry. She was still scarred by these horrors, as was Jonathan and neither would ever truly recover. "You needn't concern yourself with the count any further. It's best to leave this buried."