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Jonathan Harker's Journal, kept

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in shorthand. The

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25th of June, morning. No

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man knows till he has suffered from the night

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how sweet and how dear

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to his heart and eye the morning can

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be.

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When the sun grew so high this morning that

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it struck the top of the great gateway opposite

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my window, the high spot which

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it touched

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seemed to me as if the dove from

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the ark had lighted there. My

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fear fell from me as if

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it had been a vaporous garment

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which dissolved in the warmth.

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I

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must take action of some sort whilst

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the courage of the day is upon me. Last

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night, one of my post-dated

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letters went to post. The

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first of that fatal series

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which is to blot out the very traces of

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my existence from the earth. Let

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me not think of it. Action.

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It has always been at night time that I have been

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molested or threatened or in

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some way in danger or in fear. I

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have not yet seen the count in the daylight. Can

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it be that he

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sleeps when others wake? That

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he may be awake whilst they sleep?

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If only I could get into his room. But

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there is no possible way. The door

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is always locked. No way for me. Yes.

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There is a way. If

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one dares to take it.

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Where his body has gone, why may

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not another body go?

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I have seen him myself crawl from his window.

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Why should not I imitate him and go in by his

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window? The chances are desperate,

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but my need is more desperate still.

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I shall risk it. At

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the worst, it can only be death. And

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a man's death is not a calf's, and

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the dreaded hereafter may still be open to me.

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God help me.

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in my task.

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Goodbye, Mina, if I

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fail. Goodbye, my faithful

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friend and second father.

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Goodbye, all. And

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last of all, Mina. Same

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day, later. I

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have made the effort, and

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God helping me have come safely

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back to this room. I must put

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down every detail in order. I

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went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the

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window on the south side, and at once

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got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which

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runs around the building on this side. The

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stones are big and roughly cut, and the

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mortar has by process of time been washed

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away between them. I took

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off my boots and ventured out

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on the desperate way.

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I looked down

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once so as to make sure that a sudden

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glimpse of the awful depth would

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not overcome me, but after that kept

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my eyes away from it. I knew

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pretty well the direction and distance of the Count's window,

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and made for it as well as I could, having

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regard to the opportunities available. I

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did not feel dizzy. I suppose

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I was too excited, and the time

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seemed ridiculously short

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till I found myself standing on the windowsill

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and trying to raise up the sash. I

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was filled with agitation however when

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I bent down and slid feet

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foremost in through the window. Then

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I looked around for the Count. But

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with surprise and gladness

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made a discovery. The

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room was empty. It

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was barely furnished with odd things

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which seemed to have never been used.

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The furniture was something the same style as that in

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the south rooms and was covered with dust. I

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looked for the key, but it was not in the lock,

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and I could not find it anywhere. The

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only thing I found was a great heap of gold

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in one corner. Gold of all

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kinds. Roman, and British,

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and Austrian, and Hungarian, and Greek, and

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Turkish money covered with a film

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of dust, as though it had lain

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long in the ground.

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None of it that I noticed was less than three hundred

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years old. There were

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also chains and ornaments. Some

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jewelled, but all of them old

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and stained. At

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one corner of the room was a heavy door. I

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tried it for since I could not find the

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key of the room or the key of the outer door,

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which was the main object of my search

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I must make further

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examination, or all

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my efforts would be in vain. It

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was open, and led through

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a stone passage to a circular stairway,

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which went steeply down. I

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descended, minding carefully where

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I went, for the stairs were dark, being

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only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry.

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At the bottom, there was a dark, tunnel-like

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passage, through which

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came a deathly, sickly odour,

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the odour of old earth newly

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turned. As I went through

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the passage, the smell grew closer

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and heavier.

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At last I pulled open a heavy door which stood

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ajar, and found myself in

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an old, ruined chapel

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which had evidently been used as a graveyard.

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The

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roof was broken, and in two places

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were steps leading to vaults, but

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the ground had recently been dug over and

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the earth placed in great wooden boxes,

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and manifestly those which had been brought

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by the Slovaks.

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There was

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nobody about, and I

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made search for any further outlet, but there was none.

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Then I went over every inch of the ground so

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as not to lose a chance. I

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went down even into the vaults, where

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the dim light struggled, although

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to do so was a dread to my very soul.

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Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except

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fragments of old coffins and piles of dust.

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In the third, however, I

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made a discovery. There,

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in one of the great boxes of

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which there were fifty in all, on

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a pile of newly dug earth lay

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the Count. He was

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either dead or asleep, and

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I could not say which, for

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the eyes were open and stony, but

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without the glassiness of death. And

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the cheeks had the warmth of life through

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all their pallor. The

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lips were as red as

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ever.

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But there was no sign of movement, no pulse,

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no breath, no beating of the heart. I

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bent

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over him and tried to find any sign of life,

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but in vain.

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He could not have lain there long, for

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the earthy smell would have passed away in a few

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hours. By

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the side of the box was its cover pierced

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with holes here and there.

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I thought he might have the keys

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on him, but when

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I went to search I saw the dead eyes. And

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in them, dead though they were, such

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a look of hate, though

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unconscious of me or my presence that I fled

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from the place, and leaving the Count's

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room by the window, crawled again up the castle

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wall. Recaining my room,

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I threw myself panting upon the bed and

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tried to think.

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This

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episode featured Ben Galpin

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as Jonathan Harker, dialogue editing

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by Steven Indrosano, sound

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design by Tao Manier,

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featuring music by Travis Reeves,

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produced by Ella Watts and Pacific

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S. Obadiah, with executive

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producers Steven Indrosano, Tao

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Manier, and Hannah Wright.

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A bloody FM production.

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Thank you.