CHAPTER EIGHT - Out of the Cistern

“I have read your husband’s so wonderful diary. You may sleep without doubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is true! I will pledge my life on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is no dread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men, that one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that room; ay, and going a second time-is not one to be injured in permanence by a shock.”

Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker,

Dracula,

By Bram Stoker

30 July, 1914 - The Castle

He twisted around in mid air, arms outstretched, slamming into one wall, then bouncing against the opposite wall; sliding down over the jagged stones, bruising his rib and knees in the process. His elbows buckled as he frantically grabbed at the outcroppings, tearing open his palms as he tried to halt his descent. 

He hit bottom suddenly, the sharp stop crumbling him into a heap and launching him across the stone floor, his head bouncing off  outstretched arms, mercifully fainting before the pain reached him.

        He woke to agonizing pain in his hip that radiated out to every point in his body. While trying to draw breath against the searing pain, the Professor’s litany could be clearly heard somewhere above him lamenting the day he allowed Jonathan and Quincey to accompany him to Transylvania. Annoyed at the Professor, he wanted to shout  he was fine, but instead fainted once more.

      A guttural noise, seemingly from a distance away, woke him. Instinctively he froze, his mind a blank. A sharp pain along his right side brought him back to the present. He groaned; now realizing it was him making the sounds. He lay still, afraid to breathe lest the pain return. 

      Low murmurs from above roused him. He tried valiantly to speak, but only succeeded in coughing and in fainting again. 

      When he next woke, he added sore ribs to his list of complaints. This time he resolved not to faint. Gingerly he rolled over, struggling to sit up. Small pebbles, along with a few good sized stones, rained down on him. 

“Hey!!” He lifted one arm for protection.

Silence from above, then the rapid movement of search lights scanning the floor, until all locked on to him.

“Jonathan!! He’s sitting up!!”

“Mien Gott! He’s alive! Jonathan, we’re coming. Stay still.”

It hurt to look up, but then, any movement hurt. A look at his hands in the light revealed the cuts and bruises were already healing, but his knees, sticking out from the torn leggings, were still bloodied, and every breath he took hurt.

The racket from above was irritating; he wondered if it was somehow magnified in this circular chamber. Which brought his attention back to where he was, or, more precise, where was he? 

He looked around, following the light beams as they bounced off the walls. A greasy coating appeared everywhere. He shuffled away from the wall behind him.   

What was this place? His first thought was some sort of cistern; the light from the electric torches above was not sufficient to penetrate the gloom, although there was one part darker than the rest. He stared at it, willing his eyes to provide more detail.   

The clatter of pebbles and the professor’s voice echoed throughout the chamber.

Jonathan waved a hand to them, not wanting to shout, and, with his other hand, pointing to the blackness.

Quincey shushed the professor as the lights focused on where Jonathan  pointed. An opening, for certain. Silence from above.

Lowering his hand, he scrambled up onto his feet, eyes fixed on the now torch-lit void.

He stood there, his mind screaming to run.

“Can you run? We can light the steps.” hissed Quincey.

Jonathan bolted forward, landing on his knees. Panic seized him as he realized he did not have control of his body. Staring at the blackness in front of him he felt a warm trickle down his thighs; it triggered something inside him. He leaped up and lunged for the first steps in front of him; a chill ran up his back as he turned away  from  that black void.

The lights from above illuminated his path, the steps so deteriorated that he had to focus on gaining secure footholds and handholds, all the while the darkness below urging him forward.

A putrefying odor of blood and decay arose from below, assailing his senses. He gagged, his body wracked by a spasm, but he did not slow his progress.

A gasp from above signaled they too had encountered the rotten odor.

“Look at me, you can reach my hand,” Quincey commanded.

Jonathan squinted into the light, seeing Quincey’s silhouette at least 10 feet away.

“Get the light out of his eyes!” he shouted.

A burning tendril encircled his foot, Jonathan let out a cry.

“Shine the lights below him. Cover him.”

The tendril snapped. Jonathan leaped forward to grab Quincey’s out stretched hand, his feet slipping on the crumbling steps.

“Gotcha!” exclaimed Quincey.

Relief washed over Jonathan as his feet found footing on a small ledge. Stray beams of light from the torches held above reassured him as many hands tugged at him through the gap, but then a hot, whip-like flash cut across his exposed calves. 

He stiffened, unable to speak as the pain seared through him. He let go. Quincey, grunting in surprise, held on.  

“Something is wrong! Karoly, help me haul him up! The rest of you, keep your lights on him.”

Karoly reached over to grab Jonathan under the arms, and between the two of them, they dragged him through the gap, half-carrying him down the pulpit stairs. 

At the sight of the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the masonry, he forgot about the pain across his legs. He stiffened, his gorge rising. He struggled to be free of their arms, but they held on tight.  

“No!” He shouted, pointing to the sun beams crossing their path.

“Mien Gott! Throw a coat over his head! Karoly! Quincey! Take him out to the front of the castle! Quickly!”

Jonathan dug in his heels, twisting to get out of their grasp, and so did not see Karoly's fist come at him until it was too late. He dropped to his knees, stunned.  

Karoly bent down and covered his head before Jonathan could recover, and lifted him to his shoulder, following Quincey across the chapel floor. Quincey heaved the huge wooden door open, now dangling on one hinge, to make room for Karoly and his burden.

They hurried to the front portal, the Professor right behind them. Stefan greeted them at the entrance, Nicolai now holding onto the reins of the nervous horses.

“Stop. Set him down. I need to examine him. Hold him for me, and keep the coat over his head.”

The Professor quickly disrobed him, pacing around him looking for any marks or wounds. “There is no mark on him, I do not understand. Look, he is shivering, please, someone, get a blanket. Who can carry him? We need to get back to the tent, I have more supplies there.”

Quincey jumped onto his horse. “Sure Professor, I’ve been cradling little doggies across my saddle ever since I learned to ride.”

The Professor looked at him quizzically, but nodded, and finished wrapping the blanket around Jonathan and helped Karoly hoist him up.

Quincey looked down at the covered bundle as he reined his horse around; it was a good horse, dutifully accepting the additional weight.

Just then Jonathan let out an unearthly groan, which spooked both horse and rider, but Quincey recovered quick enough to control his horse. Without waiting for the others, he headed down the road as fast as he thought fit.

The stiff bundle now wailed pitifully, “Noooo…..we cannot leave the castle. You are killing us….”; this accompanied by an ever more strident wailing until it reached a crescendo, and with a shriek, ended. Quincey felt Jonathan go limp.

Expecting the worst, he stopped, waiting for the others to catch up. Karoly pulled up alongside him.

“I think he fainted.”

The Professor reached his other side next. “Karoly can you uncover him for me?”

He leaned over to expose Jonathan’s face from under the blanket. Although pale, he was breathing, albeit a shallow breath.

“He has fainted. Quincey, ride as quick as you can, but, of course, spare the horse.  We will stay with you in case you or your horse needs relief. Karoly, can you ride ahead and prepare bedding for him and unpack my medical supplies? How long do you think it will take us to get to the tent?”

Karoly’s horse shifted under him, obviously ready to get underway; he patted the horse’s neck before answering, “If you can keep a steady pace, maybe two hours.”

The Professor sighed, “That long? Well, alright, we will do our best.”

Karoly spoke to Stefan and Nicolai before heading out. The travelers watched as he stood up slightly in the saddle and leaned forward, and, as if on cue, the horse began increasing its gait until horse and rider became one smooth motion with only Karoly’s flared out trousers indicating the speed of their passage.

The others maintained control of their nervous mounts as Karoly disappeared from view. 

“Well Quincey, lead the way,we will follow your pace. Please inform me of any changes to our young charge.”     

Karoly was waiting for them when they reached the tents. He strode over to Stefan, who was now holding Jonathan, and received his limp body from Stephan. 

Karoly was able to stand Jonathan on his feet and hold him until all dismounted. “I set up some bedding in the tent.”

“Thank you, thank you. Could you good men bring him in?”

Before anyone could react, Jonathan straightened up and flung back his head, dislodging Karoly’s arms. He then careened forward, falling on to his hands and knees, his head drooping while his body retched reflexively, as if he wanted to empty out his entire insides. 

The Professor knelt down,wrapping the blanket around him. Jonathan shivered. 

“Get me another blanket,” he shouted.

“I can’t get them out,” Jonathan sniffled.

“What, what’s that you say?”

“Them, the voices. They are inside me.”

“Voices? You say voices?”

Jonathan sat back, losing the blankets, his hands over his ears. “Make them stop,” he cried. “Make them stop.” He dropped to the ground sobbing, still holding his ears.

The Professor signaled to the men to carry Jonathan into the tent. He ran ahead and was digging through a black bag as Jonathan was put to bed, sobbing quietly now and mumbling incoherently.

“Jonathan, I will be giving you something to quiet the voices. Do you understand?”

With tears still running down his cheeks, and eyes tightly closed, he nodded. He felt a prick, and then a soft wave carried him into oblivion.