Date: Thu, 8 Feb 1996 14:26:03 -0800 From: Leanhaun Sidhe Nouvelle Subject: Novel: Forever Dracula (1/8) Oh, guys. i flaked out so badly. i'm sending this because i don't have my priorities straight and i'm a world-class slacker. i need a job. And no apologies this time (i have the saddest author's notes), just blames. i'd like to thank all of you for this :) And a note to history, geography, and over-all established fact sticklers: Nyah. Forever Dracula a serious, utterly unhumourous response to the Novel Challenge really. honestly. don't read this if you want humour. because you aren't going to get it here. unless you want to laugh *at* me. that is okay. have fun. by Bram Stoker, James V. Hart (and irrevocably damaged by cousin eerie mere hall) copyrighted 1995 by Nightmareworks SHH, a subsidiary of We, The Morrigna Productions and distributed by Leanhaun Sidhe Nouvelle in association with Fleur du Mal [You may like to read this with your copy of _D_ handy, as I lifted passages virtually intact and simply ammended things. You get the full, bosomy, rich-bodied... uh, the full effect that way. Or maybe not.] Part 1 _____________________________________________ Chapter 1 Nicholas Harker's Journal (kept in shorthand and smallbrain) 3 May. Pompeii. - Left Rome at 8.35 p.m. on 1st of May arriving at Florence early next morning; should have arrived at 6.46, but didn't realize that Florence is north of Rome, having been engrossed in a flashback whilst composing my itinerary, and, hence, schedule was thrown off. Italy seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got from the plane and the little I could wander through the streets. I feared to go very far from the aeroport, as there were very many beautiful women with long necks and I am easily distractable as it is. The impression I had was that we were leaving the groin and entering the appendix, as the closer I came to my destination, the less I saw of those distractions mentioned above, and more tempting dishes of the culinary sort. At the outskirts of Pompeii, I stopped for the night at Chez Seamus. I had for dinner, or rather supper, a protein shake done up some way with red sauce (ketchup, perhaps?), which was very good but thirsty. (Mem., get recipe for Nat.) I was evidently expected, for as I ate, a cheery-looking eldery woman came up to me and said: 'The Signore Canadianman?' 'Yes,' I said, 'Nicholas Harker.' She smiled and handed me a letter:- 'MY FRIEND, - Welcome to Vesuvius. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. Have a mop handy, should you have any interesting dreams. At three to-morrow the diligence will start for Pompeii; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgissimo Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from Toronto has been a happy one (should've been if you'd only give in to what you are, at any rate), and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful club... land. - Your friend, 'D.' 5 May. -The Villa- When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had, by this time swelled to a considerable size, all made loopy, circular signs to their heads and pointed fingers towards me. One by one of the passengers offered me relationship advice, which they pressed upon me with the earnestness which would take no denial, ever wishing, according to one fellow-passenger who understood their signs, that I'd 'get a clue'. Heaven knows what such a quaint saying meant. We reached Borgissimo Pass a little after a stormy nightfall. At first, the road was an empty, sandy white road us but then, amongst a chorus of lusty screams about 'Getting NAKED!!' from the peasants and music to bump and grind by, a carouche, uh, barouche, uh, a caleche, with four horses (two of which shied in terror before me and two of which stood sedately - I suppose the writers got their episodes crossed), drew up beside the coach. The horses were driven by a tall, slim man; with brown hair dipping past his ears; strong, dark eyebrows; and an accent that could have been Russian and, at least Slavic. I moved to load my own trunks into the caleche but this cordial driver leapt down and called, 'Nevermind that, my friend' and hoisted them himself. What a jolly chap. Upon reaching the Count's villa, however, the driver tossed my affects upon the courtyard floor and cried, 'You're out of here.' With that, the caleche disappeared out the gates. Strike the last sentence of that paragraph above. Miklos is not the buddy I thought he was. He has betrayed me like everyone else. I knew I couldn't trust these mortals (this falls into the "Bad Blood" school of Bad Writing, so hush up about Miklos' vampire status). They think they can just walk all over Nicolas De Brabant. Where's a neck when you need it? I thought wistfully. Just as I had come to the conclusion that I can't depend on anyone and will no longer tie myself to a single woman, I heard a heavy step approaching behind the great front door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of coming light. A key was turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back. Within, stood a tall mature man, clean-shaven, hair short-cropped and quite a blinding shade of white, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of un-bleached or un-blackened colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which a flame burned with out chimney or globe of any kind. 'The light of the cross' was engraved on its base. The handsome man (oh dear, what will Nat say?) said in excellent English and sexy voice (now I *know* what Nat will say but erica is writing this and what she says about LC goes): 'Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will or I'll make you, you immature ingrate.' He made no motion of releasing me from centuries of obsessive hounding and psychological abuse so I stepped in, what choice had I? The instant I did so, he moved impulsively forward. Again he said:- 'Welcome to my house. Come freely, leave never. Go safely but if you disobey, so help me Zeus I'll make your life a living hell. And leave the guilt you bring, already!' I assumed this was more of those quaint, though cryptic local ditties the natives here are so fond of. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 2 Harker's Journal continued 8 May. - I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into such detail from the first, for there is something strange about this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I was safe out of it, or that I had never been born . I have been well-occupied with work, though. We have gone thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate at USA Network. The Count has asked me many questions and I have seen the evidence of his studious, intelligent, and educated nature in the vast library. I did feel compelled to tell the Count, however, when I saw the Jerry Lewis laserdiscs spread out across a grand table, that Canada is not France and to, instead, look to modern United States entertainment for examples of true North American culture. I gave him a list of Disney musicals that I thought were especially representative. I think he's grown quite fond of Hayley Mills. The estate is called The Raven, no doubt a corruption of the old Raven, as the club looks just as it originally did when Janette ran it, but now is just an excuse to fulfill my demographic expectations by ditching Nat once in a while to watch naked mortal women and the uncoordinated men who love them . When I had finished describing it, he said:- 'I am glad it is tasteless. I myself am of a odd family - very odd, and to live in a normal place with mentally and emotionally balanced people would kill me. A club cannot be made classy in a day; after all, Janette worked on it for two decades. I rejoice that there are yet more ways that I may corrupt mortals and embarrass Cousins, for to be predictable is to be boring and unworthy of ratings, and to do what's expected is to be easily controlled by writer, viewer, and fandom alike. Strip Night should scare the pants off these petty mortals. We Roman nobles love not to think that our bones may be amongst those of the common, averagely-built undead. I seek not gaiety or mirth, but the bright voluptuousness of Baywatch women in the sparkling waters which please the young and gay. And my heart, through weary years of mourning over dead flowers, is not attuned to mirth. But by Hasselhoff, my loins sure are.' And with that, the cock rose and, um, crew and he retired for the day. continued... erica Cousins erica and Bianca Hall How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW Forever Dracula a response to the Novel Challenge freely, brazenly, disgracefully adapted by e.m. hall from Stoker's book and Hart's screenplay c. 1995 Part 2 __________________________________________________ Chapter 3 Harker's Journal continued Later: The morning of 16 May (thanks to a rift in the space/time continuum)- I suppose I must have fallen asleep soon after the Count left; I hope so, most all of FORKNI-L hopes so, but I fear, for all that followed was startlingly real - so real that now, sitting here after we've seen such glorious episodes as "Night In Question" and "Sons of Belial", I cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep. I was not alone. Someone, or something else had come into my body and made me spit and speak in tongues, kiss women like I was eating ice cream and tease LaCroix about his demonic shortcomings. No, wait, VanDerWaal exorcised that... I was not alone. In the moonlight opposite me were four young women, ditzes and bimbos by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming when I saw them because, Lord knows, I have the hardest time attracting women, particularly dumb ones. They came close to me and looked at me for some time and then whispered together. One was dark and had a perky nose and short, bobbed hair. The other three were fair, two with long, taffy-yellow hair, and the youngest with short, golden locks and lovely soft, broad lips and nose. One said to the dark woman:- 'Go on! You were in the first episode, and we followed. Yours is the right to begin.' The dark one replied:- 'I just want him to hold me...' But then the angry-looking fair one interrupted:- 'Oh but I've had this one before, sister! Once he has your devotion, he *kills* you! And when you come back for revenge, he kills you *again*! I just want to *get* him..." The other fair woman added, rather spacily:- 'Where's his partner Schanke? He was such a good dancer...' At last, the third, young, fair-haired woman said:- 'He is young, strong, and contracted 'til the end of the season, at the very least. There are kisses for us all.' I lay quiet, looking out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation. The youngest, fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could fill the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, cotton-candy sweet, apricot-sweet, buttony-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the nerves as her voice - whiny and annoying, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in too many years in the sorority house and cheerleading squad. But I relished it and closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy, bordering on coma, and waited - waited with beating heart. Once every ten minutes. But at that instant another sensation swept through me as quick as lightning. The Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, not any of those times I tried to kill him. His eyes were positively blazing. He exclaimed:- 'How dare you touch him, any of you? He's my creation, made in my image, and if he's to be anybody's sex toy, it's mine!' The fair girl, with a laugh of well-connected coquetry, turned to answer him:- 'My dad says I can have anything I want! Cars, jobs, pets, boyfriends... And besides, you yourself never loved; you never love!' On this the other women joined, and with such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through the room that it almost made me faint to hear. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively (Now *he's* got ideas. Nat'll never forgive me now.), and said in a soft whisper:- 'Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so?' One woman muttered:- 'Some consider "Be My Valentine" the after-affects of sunstroke- ' 'Or a hole in your ozone from Woodstock...' said another. 'Enough! Now go! go! I must awaken him, for there is to be work done.' 'Are we to have nothing tonight?' said one of them with a low laugh, as she pointed to the Blockbuster bag which he had thrown upon the floor. For answer he nooded his head. One of the women jumped and opened it. If my eyes did not deceive me there were Jerry Lewis tapes and cups of pre-packaged Jell-O. The fiend! I thought we had made progress! Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 4 Harker's Journal concluded 19 May.- I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in the suavest tones to write three letters to my darling Nathelmina, dated June 12, June 19, and June 29 - the first one saying: 'Whatever we sorta had but never showed indisputeably onscreen to the bane of Nick&Natpackers and delight of Immortal Beloveds and Sandra Gray is as dead as lichen on a stone in the blazes of Purgatory where souls are Spaghetti-O'ed and (in an effort to put one at ease) God deems LaCroix as your spiritual guide', the second saying: 'I've been having late-night study sessions with Lucette Westenra, your best friend since childhood', and the last saying: 'I ate Sidney'. I know now the span of my life. God or Parriott help me! continued... cousin erica hall leanhaun sidhe nouvelle How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW Forever Dracula a response to the Novel Challenge from the people who brought you Dune, Stargate, "Crazy Love" and "Hearts of Darkness" (David Lynch, Roland Emmerich, J. Daniel Sexton, and William Schmidt operating under the mind-control powers of e.m. hall. i am woman, hear me barf.) c. 1995 Part 3 ______________________________________________________________ Chapter 5 Excerpt from letter from Miss Nathelmina Murray to Miss Lucette Westerna '9 May. Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tallish, longish-haired, stubbled, scruffy-looking, grungy man???' +++ Excerpt from letter, Lucette Westenra to Nathelmina Murray '17 Chatham Street, 'Wednesday. There is really nothing to interest you, Nat. Mr. Holmwood often comes to see us, and he and Mamma Amanda get on very well together. We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Nicholas, for whatever masochistic, self-denying reason. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! He has an immense lunatic asylum all under his own care, though Mr. Holmwood says that he must be reminded of this every few eps. He is too easy-going, I suppose. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study. That doctor gentleman says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe new fashions. Dress is a bore... Just a moment, Nat. Momma is calling for me to take my 9 o'clock Prozac... Alright, I'm back. What was I saying...? WHAT? "Dress a bore"?? Thank goodness for modern medicine! If I had delayed taking my medication a moment longer, I might have lapsed into discussions about charity, generosity, and the pettiness of clothier's finery. Now, to the good stuff: I stopped by Paris and got a shawl. I know what you're saying, I have 50. But *this* one is absolutely *exquisite*! It's trimmed in hand-embroidered lace and comes from a big-name designer...' [ed.'s note - Text clipped for your reading tolerance. You're welcome] '...But never mind; Vachie says that everyday. There it is all out. Nat, we have told all our secrets to each other since we were children. Oh, Nat, can you guess? I love him. I love him; I love him; I love him! I love Javier Holmwood! There that does me good. Mina, I must stop. Good-night. 'Lucette.' +++ Excerpted letter, Lucette Westenra to Nat Murray '24 May. 'My dearest Nat,- My dear, it never rains but it pours. THREE proposals in one day! Isn't it awful? Well, my dear, number one came just before lunch. I told you of him, Dr. Reese Seward, the lunatic asylum man (though he keeps insisting it's a police division). He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous all the same. My dear number two came after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, a Polish-Italian from Chicago, and he looks so large and cuddly that it seems quite possible that he has been out of the Academy so many years that those donuts have finally tracked him down. Mr. Schanke Morris sat down beside me and looked as happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he was very nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly:- 'Miss Janet.' 'Luc*ette*', I corrected. 'Miss Lucette, I know I ain't good enough to regulate the souvlaki fixin's of your shoes, but won't you just hitch up alongside of me and let us go down the long road together driving in double harness?' 'How many?' I asked, very puzzled. 'L.' 'P.S.- Oh, about number three- I needn't tell you number three, need I? Moo.' continued... erica Cousins erica and Bianca Hall How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW Forever Dracula a response to the Novel Challenge Running out of things to say. How about just a simple "I love you"? - e.m.hall c. 1995 Part 4 ____________________________________________________________ Chapter 6 Dr Seward's Diary 5 June.- The case of Screedfield grows more confusing the more I get to know the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed: selfishness, secrecy, purpose, utter unintelligibility. Can't understand a word the man is saying. Yet he intrigues me. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts. Just now his hobby is catching rats. He has got several very big fellows in a box. 11 a.m.- The attendant has just been to me to say that Screedfield has been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of fur and tails. 'My belief is, doctor,' he said, 'that he has eaten his rats, and he just took and ate them raw!' ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 7 Clipping from Toronto Sun 8 August. Toronto. (That wasn't a great leapt in time at all. You've just fallen asleep. PAY ATTENTION!) - A plane exploded over the starry skies of Toronto last night in what one eyewitness described as a firey ball. Noteworthy about this crash the great gray wolf that many people reportedly saw leap from the wreckage and disappear into the night. Also, sources close to the airline say that the plane carried two characters from a cult TV show but this is as yet unconfirmed... +++ Dr. Seward's diary 19 August - Strange and sudden change in Screedfield last night. About eight o'clock he began to get excited and to sniff about as a dog does when setting. All he would say was:- 'Tink aye'm gwine ta tolk t' ya? T'd be roight proper, t'would. Oy - the Master's at 'and. Rosebuuuuuuuud!' The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania, eating disorder, or severe displacement syndrome. I must agree. Someone from Ohio does not usually express himself this way. If I could only crack his code. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 9 (goodness, where have *you* been?) Excerpt letter, Nat Harker to Lucette Murray 'Florence, 24 August. My dearest Lucette,- 'I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we parted at Pearson International airport... I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity and perpetually clueless look which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, even worse that after we experimented with his physiology in "The Fix". He said to me very solemly:- '"Nathelmina"- I knew then that he was in deadly earnest (Deadly Harvest?), for he has never called me by that name since he asked me to go steady. Really! I don't CARE if you didn't see it onscreen! Do you think I'd keep hanging this long otherwise? It's that certain look he gets when we talk. You know, that faraway, dreamy look. He is infatuated with me, obviously. Or maybe stoned. Anyway, he said, "you know, dear, the ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin around..." (You can imagine my distress after that possession episode. But Nicholas assured me that it was just a figure of speech.) "The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage." 'I must stop, for Nicholas is waking. At least I hope it's Nicholas. At any rate, the man who looks like Nicholas but has pledged to keep no secrets from me which couldn't possibly make him Nicholas, until he backslides, anyway, is waking - I must attend to my husband! 'Your ever-loving 'Nat Harker.' +++ Letter, Lucette Westenra to Nat Harker 'Toronto, 30 August. 'P.S.- Mother Cohen sends her love. She seems better, poor dear. 'P.P.S.- Vachie and I are to be married on 28 September. He says, "Moo."' +++ Letter, Javier Holmwood to Dr. Reese Seward 'Old, Abandoned, Condemned Church Hotel, 31 August. 'My dear Reese,- 'I want you to do me a favour. Lucette is ill; that is, she has no special disease, but she looks awful and insists on wearing jogging sweats and curlers all day. I am filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as I can after you have seen her. Do not fail! 'Javier' +++ Letter, Stonetree Van Helsing, M.D., D.Ph., D.Litt., TPD.CA etc to Dr. Seward '2 September. 'My good Friend,- By good fortune I can leave at once, without wrong to any of those who have trusted me. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so swiftly the food poison from the chicken salad sandwich (hold the chicken) on that fishing trip in the Black Mountains years ago, you did more for him when he wants my aids and you call for them than all his great fortune, or lack of, could do. [ed.'s note - So the wound would be the oral cavity, okay? i thought "snake bite poison" would be too boring...] Please it so arrange that we may see the young lady not too late on to-morrow. Till then good-bye, my friend Reese (we'll catch up on old times again and gossip on our officers, eh?). 'S. Van Helsing' continued... erica Cousins erica and Bianca Hall deargdue@ucla.edu, vaimpir@primenet.com, www.primenet.com/~vaimpir/ How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW Forever Dracula a response to the Novel Challenge from an original concept by e.m.hall thankyouverymuch. c. 1995 Part 5 _______________________________________________ Chapter 13 Dr. Seward's Diary 20 September.- Schanke and I met with Van Helsing at Liverpool Street to discuss Lucette's condition. Javier found us there, by my note, and rushed up to us. Without a pause Stonetree said to him gravely as he held out his hand:- 'Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear miss. She is bad, very bad. You are to help her. She wants blood, and blood she must have or die. Lots of blood. She'll probably ask for lots of ice cream and a pair of fuzzy slippers to match her bathrobe but just blood will do for now. And she'll want many young and handsome men. But you three will do.' The transfusions seemed, at first, to be a great success. But after a few weeks, she was dead [this is long enough without drawing out the gory details of Janette's demise]. The funeral was arranged so that Lucette and her mother (who died suddenly, mysteriously, and, frankly, unjustly) might be buried together. The woman who performed the last offices of the dead remarked:- 'She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our establishment.' That was our Lucette. Even in death she exhuded the class and beauty that was Lucette. Later, I was undressing in my own room, when Stonetree entered and at once began to speak:- 'To-morrow, I want you to bring me, before night, a set of Vogue magazines from the past few months. And post-mortem knives.' 'Must we make an autopsy? And review the latest fashions?' I asked. 'Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. I want to cut off her head and take out her heart. And weigh her body down with those fashion magazines to keep the frumpy beast in her from escaping. We are fighting a terrible evil, Reese. One that must be stopped at all costs, if we want more air time to our own stories and added screen time for ourselves. Oh, and gather the boys - her fiance and that Chicago lad. We may need the manpower.' +++ Nat Harker's Journal 22 September.- In a cab. Nicholas sleeping. We came back to town quietly, taking a 'bus to Crombie Park Corner. I suddenly felt Nicholas clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his breath: 'My God! He's grown out his hair colour and come back from the dead!' I turned quickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him. He was very pale, even paler than usual, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and half amazement, he gazed at a tall, slim man. The man's face was a good face, though with a wickedly assured expression; it was hard, cruel, and sensual (Oh, what will Nick think?), and his white teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's. Nicholas kept staring at him (hey, wait a minute...), till I was afraid he would notice. Later.- A sad start to the new season - Nicholas still pale and dizzy under a slight relapse of his treatments (and after I shook him around a bit, after he revealed all those big secrets to me); and now a telegram from S. Van Helsing, whoever he may be:- 'You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Amanda Westenra died five days ago and that Lucette died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day.' Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words for in between the lines I sensed TPTB bringing in new, young, lobotomized characters to attract the demographics that don't even make up the majority of the FK audience, let alone those with lots of expendable cash, as the listmembers so aptly put it. Poor Mrs Westenra! poor Lucette! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Javier, to have lost such sweetness and common sense out of his life! God help us all to bear our troubles, especially those with no fashion sense and no strong, female leaders. How will I manage alone! +++ The Toronto Sun, 25 September A Metropolitan Mystery Downtown Toronto is just at present exercised with a series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of what was known to the writers of headlines as 'Blackwood Uncovers Fashion Blunder at Oscars', or 'Buttafuoco Caught with Pants Down Again', or 'After Vest and Lost Sword Pin Scandals, FK Costumer Comes Up With Ultimate LaCroixian Faux-Pas in Suspenders'. During the past two or three days several cases have occured of innocent men and women seized, dragged into secluded areas, and then stripped of their clothing and made to wear outfits of butterfly collars, corduroy, bellbottoms, and platform sneakers. The hardest hit have been Bob Mackie, Jean Paul Gaultier, Howard Hughes (risen from the dead especially for this holiday special), Calvin Klein, and other designers noted for popularizing and glamourizing the world's most beautiful and most torturous apparel and dangerous appearances in the name of fashion. In all cases the blubbering grown men were too shocked to give any properly intelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excuses is that they had been with a 'blooper lady'. +++ The Toronto Sun, 25 September Extra Special The Toronto Horror More Tasteful Citizens Attacked The 'Blooper Lady' Have just received intelligence (which is more than we can say about some of us) that the infamous 'Blooper Lady' has secured a deal for WalMart and its West Coast sister chain K-Mart to merge with Neimann Marcus. The deal, as far as we can tell from preliminary reports, allows the discount stores to run the latter, pricier ones. Other large chains to follow suit. Those rumoured affected - Saks Fifth Avenue, Gucci boutiques, and The Gap to be paired with Target, Pic-N-Save, and Dairy Queen. continued... erica Cousins erica and Bianca Hall vaimpir@primenet.com, deargdue@ucla.edu, http://www.primenet.com/~vaimpir/ How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW Forever Dracula a response to the novel challenge "From a dry skin sample, you're concluding, what, that he's some kind of a fat-sucking vampire?" Damn it, give him my number! (The X-Files) by Stoker, Hart, FK writers, and e.m. hall c. 1995 Part 6 _____________________________________________ Chapter 14 Dr. Seward's Diary 26 September. - To-day Van Helsing came and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock, and thrust last night's Toronto Sun into my hand. 'What do you think of that?' he asked as he stood back and folded his arms. I looked over the paper. It did not convey much to me, until I reached a passage where it described small puncture wounds on victims' throats and hideous wardrobes in their closets. 'Well?' he said. 'It is like poor Lucette's. How do you mean, Cap-, uh, Professor?' 'Do you mean to tell me, Cap-, jeez, now you have me doing it! "Captain"'s you, Reese, got it? ...that you have no suspicion as to what poor Lucette died of; not after all the hints given? You do not let your eyes see nor your ears hear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account to you. There are forces outside our consciousness, Reese, perhaps guiding our actions, perhaps writing our futures.' 'Good God, Stonetree!' I said, starting up. 'Do you mean to tell me that Lucette was bitten by a vampire and transformed into one of the walking undead who, in a strange, twisted mutation of her already abhorrent situation, is feeding not only off of the blood of her victims but gaining sadistic pleasure in dressing them up as morons?!' 'In so many words, yes. And now, we must...' But I had already begun to stalk the room like a man possessed. 'We must, in masterful stealth and iron resolve, venture into her vault of undead horrors, purge this demon from our midst, and return Lucette to her pure, unthreatening self by removing her head, stuffing her mouth with garlic, weighing her body down with tasteful and tantalizing magazines, after first driving a stake into her breast, symbolically re-claiming her for our own in a thinly-veiled metaphor of male sexual domination?!' 'You've already read this book, good! Gather up the lads, Reese, my man. We have a woman to tame.' And so, we left. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 21 Dr. Seward's Phonograph Diary continued 3 October. - After having killed Lucette in the manner described above (no, I'm not going to take you through it step-by-step, we're all unhappy enough about her departure as it is), Nicholas Harker, Stonetree Van Helsing, Javier Holmwood (looking very satisfied, indeed), Schanke Morris, and I, now quite sure that the newly arrived Count General Dracula is the monster responsible for all of this (Lucette gripped an autographed photo in her poor white hands), we all hurried and took from our rooms, in the asylum where we were had all been staying, the items needed to battle the undead. Now excuse me while I pass out after reciting that long sentence in only one breath... ...We met in the corridor. Outside the Harkers' door, where Nat was resting, we paused. Schanke and Nicholas held back, and the latter said:- 'Should we disturb her?' 'We must,' said Van Helsing grimly. 'If the door be locked, I shall break in. This is life and death. We must rally together and defeat the evil upon us.' He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We threw ourselves against it; with a crash it burst open, and we almost fell into the room. Nicholas did tumble in but landed on his head and, so, was none the worse for wear. What I saw appalled me. The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the room was light enough to see. Waltzing back and forth before us were Mrs. Harker and a tall, grand man, clad in black, both of them singing, in character, "Surrey With the Fringe on Top" from "Oklahoma!". Nicholas screamed betrayal - he'd wanted to play Jud to Nat's Laurey! The Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion for his role; the great nostrils of the white, rounded nose opened wide and quiveredat the edges; and the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth (for he had bit the poor Mrs. Harker severely in the neck - forgot to mention), champed together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his leading lady and dancing partner back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Contractual Agreements with Columbia/Tri-Star, guaranteeing all presently employed actors full-functioning, undead-free bodies until June, after which the production company's protection against Minions of Satan lapsed. The Count suddenly stopped, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as wee, lifting our Legal Forms, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang up under Schanke's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. continued... erica Cousins erica and Bianca Hall How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW Okay, i'm SAAAAAAAAAAHRREEEEEEE!! Being a procrastinator's not easy, you know! i promise that, from now on, i'll finish the stories *and then* send it out, not write while sending. i can't do that, apparently :) Forever Dracula a response to the Forever Knight novel challenge by Stoker (mostly), Hart (a little), the FK writers (alot), and me, your host for this evening's festivities. So, without further ado, let the bachelor bidding begin! Strip 'em off gentlemen. Your buyers need to inspect the product. Let's get STOOpid! c. 1996 e.m.hall Part 7 __________________________________________________________________ Chapter 23 Nicholas Harker's journal 4 October, morning. - During the night I was awakened by Nat. We had all had a good sleep, for the grey of the coming dawn was making the window into sharp oblongs, and the gas flame was like a speck rather than a disc of light. She said to me hurriedly:- 'Go call the Professor. I want to see him at once.' 'Why?' I asked. 'I have an idea. I suppose it must have come in the night and matured without my knowing it. He must hypnotize me before the dawn, and then I shall be able to speak." Two or three mintues later Stonetree Van Helsing was in the room in his dressing gown, all delicate ruffle at the neck and the muslin draped across his broad, sturdy shoulders dyed a lovely peach (you're welcome, Stonetree-ites). Mr. Schanke Morris, standing in his moose print flannel footed one-piece, holding a warm, hunter-green, cotton throw against the round of his belly (you're welcome, FoDs), and Lord Javier Godalming, clad only in ripe, man-scented suede shorts, his bare chest glistening in the gaslight (you're welcome, Vaquero/as), were with Dr. Reese Seward, who reclined against the doorjamb in a sensible lumberjack-themed top and bottom ensemble, which set-off his rich, dark skin beautifully (you're welcome, Pieces), at the door asking questions. When the Professor saw Nat, a smile - a positive smile - ousted the anxiety of his face; he said:- 'Oh, my dear Nat, this is indeed a change! You seem much better after your ordeal. And what am I do for you?' 'I want you to hypnotize me! Dr. Seward told us of your familiarity with such arts,' she said. 'Do it before the dawn, for I feel that then I can speak, and speak freely. Be quick, for the time is short!' Without a word he motioned her to sit up in bed. Looking fixedly at her, he commenced to make passes in front of her, from over the top of her head downward, with each hand in turn. Nat gazed at him fixedly for a few minutes, during which my own heart beat like a trip hammer, for I felt that some crisis was at hand. Don't ask me how - maybe it was those three bloodthirsty brides, maybe it was Lucette's bizarre change, maybe it was the fact that the General was a vampire and we were determined to kill him - but I knew something would happen. Gradually her eyes closed, and she sat stock still; only by the gentle heaving of her bosom could one know that she was alive. Nat open her eyes; but she did not seem the same woman. There was a faraway look in her large eyes, a sad, empty gaze. Do I *really* look like that when I flashback? The stillness was broken by Van Helsing's voice speaking in a low level tone which would not break the current of her thoughts:- 'Where are you!' The answer came in a neutral way:- 'I do not know. It is all strange to me!' 'What do you see?' 'I can see nothing; it is all dark.' 'What do you hear?' I could detect the strain in the Professor's patient voice. He must have wished she were one of his officers so he could threaten her with desk duty, if she couldn't come up with anything better than 'I don't know'. 'Whistles. Very loud. Wolf whistles. Tinkling noises like glasses met together in a toast. The voice of a tone-deaf, severely drunken man, amplified by microphone, trying to sing "House of the Rising Sun"...' 'Karaoke bar,' whispered Schanke. 'He's at a karaoke bar? LaCroix is at a KARAOKE BAR??' I squeaked, incredulous. 'No, wait!' Nat called out. 'Now I hear the lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and the little waves leap. I can hear them on the outside.' 'Then you are on a ship?' We all looked at each other, trying to glean something from each other. Or maybe we were admiring the others' PJs. I had the best, I'm certain. Nothing's classier than black, clinging silk (you're welcome, Knights/ies)... 'Oh, yes! I hear the sound of men stamping overhead as they run about. There is the creaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the check of the capstan falls into the ratchet.' 'Huh?' asked Javier, but Van Helsing hushed him, not wanting to break Nat's trance. 'What are you doing?' the professor asked. 'I am still - oh, so still. It is like death!' The voice faded away into a deep breath as of one sleeping and the open eyes closed again. She remained still for a few moments, and then, with a long sigh, awoke and stared in wonder to see us all around her. After the professor repeated the conversation to her, she said: 'Then there is not a second to lose: it may not be yet too late! The Count General is obviously making to escape back to his Roman home. That ship was lifting anchor as I spoke. There are many ships in the Port right now, too many of them bound for Italy. I suggest we take a plane and beat him there. Nicholas remembers well the way to his villa. I say now we ready ourselves for the immediate journey and the battle to come.' She faced each of us in turn. 'Mr. Schanke, book our flight and our transportation across the Italian countryside. Mr. Javier, gather our belongings, mine included. I haven't the time to arrange my own things, there's too much planning to do. Mr. Reese, please secure the necessary equipment to battle the un-dead - regular weapons as well as holy items. The Professor and I will discuss our attack in the meantime. Make haste, everyone!' The three men scurried out the door while Van Helsing busied himself in his bags and drew up maps and timetables. She turned to me, as in afterthought. 'Oh, and Nicholas, darling, make me some coffee,' she crooned, her sparrow-soft curls falling about her face as she bent over Van Helsing's papers (you're welcome NatPack). continued... Oh, wait! The Ravens/ettes will get me if i don't do something. Uh... : And Lucette continued to make the most lovely corpse. erica (Somehow, i don't think that was the wisest thing to do, in submitting a phrase...) Cousins erica and Bianca Hall How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW Forever Dracula a response to the Forever Knight Novel Challenge by Bram "Rolling Stiff" Stoker, James V. "Check out my latest film 'The Muppet Treasure Island', playing in theaters everywhere now" Hart, Fred "Hiya!" Saberhagen, the FK "Continu-hooey! We don't need no stinking continuity!" writers, and e.m. "I have crossed ohhhhhhhhhceans of time to mess up this novel" hall c. 1996 "I say, is the cahstle fah?" Keanu Reeves, ladies and gentlemen! Give him a hand! (Epigraph dedicated to Rebecca Howle :) Part 8 ________________________________________________________________ [ed.'s note: Forever Dracula is joined in progress.] Chapter 27 Nat Harker's journal 6 November. - It was late in the afternoon when Professor Stonetree and I took our way towards the east whence I knew Nicholas, Schanke, Javier, and Reese were coming, in their pursuit of the Count General and his Raven henchmen. When we had gone about a mile, I was tired with the heavy walking (Van Helsing and I having lost our horses to three hungry brides who tried to talk me into joining their sewing circle) and sat down to rest. Then we looked back and saw where the clear lines of the Count General's villa cut the sky; for we were so deep under the hill whereon it was set that the angle of perspective of the Carpathini mountains was far below it. In a little while Stonetree signalled to me, so I got up and joined him. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of natural hollow in a rock, with an entrance like doorway between two boulders. Taking his field-glasses from the case, he stood up on the top of the rock and began to search the horizon. Suddenly he called out:- 'Look Madam Nat, look! look!' I sprang up and stood beside him on the rock. He handed me his glasses and pointed. The snow was falling more heavily, and swirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginning to blow. However, there were times when there were pauses between the snowflurries, and I could see a long way around. Straight in front of us and not far off came a group of mounted men hurrying along. In the midst of them was a cart, a long leiter-waggon, which swept from side to side with each stern inequality of the road. I could see that they were peasants or gypsies or barflies of some kind. On the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as I saw it, for I felt that the end was coming. Perhaps it was the fact that the barflies were driving at break-neck speed toward the Count General's villa, perhaps it was the fact that I could then see our four valiant Vampire Hunters in close pursuit, perhaps it was the fact that this is Part 8 of 8 parts total in erica's adaptation, but, in any case, I felt that the end was coming. Stonetree said in a hollow voice:- 'They are racing the sunset. We may be too late!' He laid his Winchester rifle ready for use against the boulder at the opening of our shelter. 'They are all converging,' he said. 'When the times comes we shall have LaCroix's henchmen on all sides. I got out my revolver ready to hand, for whilst we were speaking the howling of excited Strip Night audience members came closer and closer. When the snowstorm abated a moment we looked again. It was strange to see the snow falling in such heavy flakes close to us, and beyond, the sun shining more and more brightly as it sank down towrds the far mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I could see here and there dots moving singly and in twos and threes and larger numbers - the bar partons were gathering for their prey. Closer and closer they drew. Professor Stonetree and I crouched down behind our rock, and held our weapons ready, determined that they should not pass into the villa's gates. All at once two voices shouted out to 'Freeze, police!' One was my Nicholas', raised in a high key of passion; the other, Mr. Schanke Morris' strong resolute tone of quiet command. The barflies may not have know the language (i.e., spoken without slur or whooping inflexion), but there was no mistaking the tone, in whatever tongue the words were spoken. Instinctively they reigned in, and at the instant Lord Godalming and Nicholas dashed up at one side and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris on the other. The leader of the barflies, an unshaven, unnaturally ruddy fellow, who sat on his horse like a pat of butter, ready to slip off at any moment, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to his companions some word to proceed. They lashed their horses, which sprang forward; but the four men raised their Magnum .57s, and in an unmistakable way commanded them to halt, cease, and desist. At the same moment, Stonetree and I rose behind the rock andpointed out weapons at them. Seeing that they were surrounded, the men tightened their reigns and drew up. The leader turned to them and gave a word, at which every man of the barfly party drew that weapon he carried, knife, pistol, or toothpick, and held himself in readiness to attck. Issue was joined in an instant. In the midst of the scuffle that ensued, I saw Nicholas making his way to the cart which held the Count General, with Schanke close behind. Schanke parried with his great dinner knife, and at first I thought he too had come through the ring of barflies in safety; but as he sprang beside Nicholas, one of the burly drunkards charged forward with a frightening yell, his own knife drawn and pointed directly at Schanke's bosom. Just then, Mercenary Christina Kamnikar leapt from... somewhere, i don't know, Schanke's pocket maybe, and deflected the blow with her sabre (which she probably pulled from somewhere behind her McLeod-issue trenchcoat), thereby saving Schanke Quincey Morris's life and probably further infuriating _Dracula_ purists but, then again, she begged (yes, this mercenary begged. i kept the message, if you want to see it for yourself. Well, begged, ordered, same difference.) me to keep Quincey alive and i was kind enough to do so. But i made her do it. And i'll want recompense. CERK, maybe? (Then Cousins the world over will worship me. Hu ha. Ho ha. Bhwa ha. HahahahahahaHA!) The barfly tumbled to the ground and, trembling below Christina's gaze, refused to fight any longer. The Mercenary then disappeared back into the pages of real life, leaving our heroes once again on their own. Nicholas attacked one end of the great chest, attempting to prise off the lid with his knife. Under the efforts of both him and Schanke, working in tandem like never before, like honest-to-goodness PARTNERS, the lid began to yield; the nails drew with a quick screeching sound, and the top of the box was thrown back. By this time the barflies, seeing themselves covered by the Magnums, and at the mercy of Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward, had given in and made no further resistance. The sun was almost down on the mountain tops, and the shadows of the whole group fell long upon the snow. I saw the Count General lying within the box. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew too well. As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in them turned to triumph. But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Nicholas' knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat; whilst at the same moment Schanke's dinner knife plunged into the heart... [ed.'s note: Excuse us as we change writers...] Nat moved quickly to grab up Schanke's discarded Winchester. Then she rushed to take a stance between the dying monster and her victorious friends (you're welcome, Valentines). To their vast astonishment, she leveled the rifle straight at her husband as he stood in their midst. "Nat!" LaCroix, his face now horribly transformed, becoming a very countenance of death, turned to her also. "Nat?" His tone was tender, loving, and caused erica to groan in absolute disgust, wondering why she didn't just plagarize Hart's screenplay and why she had to instead go to Saberhagen's "novel of the film", no offense to Saberhagen fans. For an agonizing moment she held the dying man's face. Then, when LaCroix averted his face and began a dragging progress to the villa's chapel, Nat backed slowly after him. Holmwood would have rushed at her and tried to grab the weapon away, but Harker, understanding now, put out an arm to hold them back. "No, let them go. Let her go." Nat backed slowly after LaCroix into the dark doorway of the chapel. She never wavered in her determination to keep the men away from him, until what was about to happen could be concluded. Inside the chapel, Nat and LaCroix had both come to rest upon the altar steps. She said now: "You cannot leave me. I want to be with you - always." And she gripped the handle of the dinner knife still protruding from his chest, and nerved herself for the effort to pull it out. LaCroix's fingers crept up the shaft to prevent her. He said: "You must let me die." At that moment, cousin erica implusively stepped into the computer and slapped LaCroix around. "Snap out of it! Come on, Uncle! and, if you've seen 'Black Buddha', you know what comes next..." HORMONES, PERENNIAL FAVOURITE "... Because, Kay, Ben Bass is standing outside your office door right now and he wants to get to know you. He's wearing only..." FLATTERY "... Because you're all kind-hearted fellows who know quality television when they see it." BLACKMAIL "Because, Kay, I'll tell everyone about that time in college when..." WUI (Writing Under the Influence) "... Because, frankly, ladies and gentlemen, erica rules this here world and what she says goes. And, by the way, she'd like Monsieur Bennett to coach-and-four deliver those plane tickets at 6 instead of 7, tomorrow, otherwise they might be late for the curtain rise. And be sure they're pricey Godiva chocolates, not one of those Whitman's Sampler things. Does he have her address...?" EVERYONE'S FAVOURITE PURPLE DINOSAUR "...'Cause we love you and we believe in you. Now let's go colour." WORST CASE SCENARIO because erica is, at most, a pessimist and, at least, a severe realist "...Oh, no reason why you should give us another season. Nothing I could say would probably convince you anyway. Just wanted to say my peace... Please? Please give us more seasons?? Please??" And because i don't want you to go away from this hating me (however much you'll be deluding yourselves :) THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH LaCroix stands up, perfectly fine (yes, with that steak knife bobbing in the middle of his chest). The whole FK cast/characters, crew, and staff gather around Nat, humming 'When You Wish Upon a Star', holding hands and swaying. Grace brings out a beautiful, three-story cake with candles. Tracy (back from the dead and none the worse for wear) puts party hats on everyone and hands TPTB (yes, through the phone lines) noisemakers, urging them to get up and join hands as well. "...Because I know that everything will turn out all right. The good guy always wins. But we're all good guys here. We're all part of the same, grand team. We must help each other out and, above all, love each other. Now come over here, give me a big hug, tell me we're going to get more seasons, all the characters, past and present, back. And then, afterwards, I'll take you to Disneyland. How does that sound?" TPTB nod, smiling broadly. Nat kisses them on the cheeks (yes, through the phone lines). [Insert: dry heaves from the back, where erica, your stage manager, watches in horror, yet with pleased fascination.] erica Cousins erica and Bianca Hall How can you trust someone who bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? - BGW