Jonathan Harker’s Journal

1 November, Cardiff, early – Oh, what a night it has been. The Count has eluded us once more, but we are close, I can feel it in my bones.

I watch as Mina tosses and turns in her sleep. Her face is flushed, and her brow feverish on my lips when I kiss her. She murmurs at my touch before returning to her fitful slumbers. Of the terrors occupying her dreams, I know not.

The night began quietly until what some call the “witching hour”. Emerging from the direction of Sophia Gardens at speed, I was nearly upended by a young man, his face white as a ghost and his voice trembling with fear. After calming the poor fellow, I determined that the cause of his distress was a ferocious beast roaming Pontcanna Fields. My interest peaked, I set off at once to investigate, leaving the man in calmer spirits. The howls of the beast cut eerily across the park, guiding me to its location. Its monstrous shadow loomed before me in the moonlight as I cornered it, its snarls and growls reaching a crescendo. Slippery as a snake, it made its escape when I made to capture it, back to its den, I suspect, as no further sound of it was heard.

Back in the city on St Mary Street, a fine mist began to form as I found myself surrounded by three ghostly young women, whispering and laughing demonically. A thick red liquid seeped from the corner of their scarlet lips, and their tattered white bride-like dresses were smeared with thick red stains. As they closed in on me, I smelt the metallic tang of their breath. A commanding foreign accent saved me from their unwanted attention, and the vestal virgins melted away into the darkness.

In the early hours, news of the potential whereabouts of the criminal we have long sought, the Count, reached my ears, and I joined Morris and Godalming at what we believed to be his lair. Morris took the lead, breaking open the door to the old, disused chapel. The air inside was cold and musty, footprints in the dust covering every surface led us to a door that once would have been the vault. Torches at the ready and weapons raised, we rushed in. The air was damp, and an earthy, sweet smell from the large earth boxes that filled the large open space invaded our senses. The villain was, to our dismay, not there, but there is no doubt we are closing in on him. Seward and Van Helsing arrived shortly after to secure the place and prevent the Count’s return.

Now, to bed to fortify myself for the renewed hunt tomorrow, the comfort and sanctuary of my bed most welcome as the sun begins to rise.

1 November, Cardiff, Evening – Mina woke me with a cuppa when she got home from work. The poor love looked rough. She didn’t sleep well, she said, and thinks she might be coming down with a cold, schools are germ factories, so it’s not surprising she’s caught something. I suggested a Lemsip.

She told me she’d sponged something red and sticky off my uniform with a look of disgust and asked what on earth had happened during my shift last night. I told her it was just the usual Friday night on the beat in Cardiff with South Wales Police: Houdini dogs, inebriated students and drug lords. I went on to tell her that old Mr Jones’ chihuahua, small dog, big attitude, Eric, had got out again and was terrorising Llandaff. I’ve made a mental note to call in on Mr Jones and help him make sure that Eric’s escape routes are sealed for now, even though I know it’s a fool’s errand. The gloop on my uniform, I explained, was only ketchup from three worse-for-wear student brides of Dracula outside McDonald’s after a Halloween costume party at the Student Union. Thank God for Borys, the Polish Uber driver, who arrived in the nick of time and probably saved me from many ketchuppy kisses. I noticed a disapproving look on Mina’s face at the mention of the girls, so moved on quickly. She was impressed, though, by the raid on the magic mushroom farm in the chapel, exposed when redevelopment started on Howells, but was incensed that criminals would stoop so low as to desecrate a holy place. I said that’s why they are criminals and we both laughed. She knows that I was disappointed that no arrests were made and Count Doug, the Lord of Psilocybin, is still on the run, but reminded me that dangerous psychedelic drugs had been removed from the streets of Cardiff and the festival scene.

Before tonight’s shift, over our sausage, egg and chips’ tea, Mina casually mentioned that she was very impressed by the gothic style of my earlier journal entry, very Brams Stoker, she said, your creative writing course is really working. That’s what you get for living with an English teacher, I suppose! I’m not sure if I’m that comfortable with her reading my journal, though, so will need to find a good hiding place for it in future, I’m thinking my sports bag, even I avoid opening that if I don’t have to!