Bats and Blood and Bargains... oh my...
I will not write for long, for I feel so weak--it is to be expected as apparently all this time a bat has been drinking away my very life's blood. But if I do not write down all that I can remember and see it in front of me in blue and white, I shall begin to suspect my mind of madness. I saw the bat for the first time last night in the pantry. I hadn't taken more than tea in three days, and I suppose today makes four, and after an invigorating walk out of doors, I found myself with an appetite--and of course, Liza was nowhere to be found. I would have even settled for that boisterous Mrs. Lovett for though I have not tried it, her cooking has always smelled quite appealing. But after having left the doctor outside on the porch, I discovered the parlor, kitchen and halls all entirely deserted. The effect was eerie and reminded me of my first days here, but I was in no mood to be frightened by silly phobias and chose to take it upon myself to find something to eat.
I did not spend long in the pantry before a strange feeling of lethargy overtook me and I stopped to rest against the wall. I glanced up at the rafters and saw there the creature, winking at me with its black eyes and looking absolutely harmless. It seems strange to me now, but I had then lost my interest in eating and made my way back to the parlor, only to be informed by the doctor that I had been "bitten" again. Yes, "bitten," for apparently it has been true all along--This bat has been draining away all my blood. It did not look so very different from the bats we have back home, but then I've never made a close study of bats and doubt I would know at once a blood-drinking one from the ones that catch the moths in the barn.
But though I am pale, and my hand shakes, and no matter what I do, I cannot seem to find warmth, I am overall much better off than I have been on previous (presumably) encounters with this bat. Perhaps I am becoming used to its bite? I shudder at such a notion. Or perhaps the bites are not, as I fear more and more each day, the true cause of my weakening health… But I will not let myself think on that now.
Heathcliff joined us in the parlor and I could tell that he was still angry with me, but I was too upset to indulge his mood and soon gained his comfort. I had all but calmed myself then when the parlor was fouled by the arrival of that madman named Renfield. I immediately warned Heathcliff of his tendencies, and then the madman at once proved them by-All at once again I feel as if I will be ill…
* * * * * * * * *
I have opened the window and washed my face and will steel my stomach to try again to describe the madman’s actions, for these are the events which I cannot separate from reality and nightmare and know that if I do not record them now, my sanity shall suffer for it later.
The doctor was wounded two nights ago by his own assistant and sat near the hearth, tending to his wound, while I shivered in Heathcliff’s arms on the sofa. The madman, seeing the discarded, bloody bandage, snatched it up at once and proceeded to-eat it. He howled about his master and his penchant for cannibalism and the poor doctor, who it seems cannot keep himself from doing what is right even as he continues to suffer for it, took the opportunity to strike a ghastly deal with the man-creature who slathered and foamed, his mouth overflowing with filthy bandage. In our presence, the doctor offered the beast a cup of his own blood in exchange for answer-answers that from a madman’s blood-caked lips could be nothing more than twisted rantings of the insane! I begged him to reconsider, but when does he ever want to listen to a word I have to say? And they went off to complete their gruesome bargain.
I felt half-mad myself with the lunacy that surrounded me, and if Heathcliff had not remained so solid and calm, I am certain I would have beaten my head until I knew no more. He took me to bed and I begged him not to leave me alone. I do not even feel safe in my own room anymore, locked door or not. Bats and madmen have no respect for that which they can find a way to break into.
I vaguely remember the doctor joining us, and seeing him alive with no visible wounds must have been enough to allow me to relax into unconsciousness, for the next thing I knew, I was awakening with a sore headache and it was morning… If morning even exists in this place.
* * * * * * * * *
I must make note, before the memories are lost to me among those of dark horrors, of the conversation I had with the gentle and kind Mr. Gray much earlier yesterday evening after we escaped the volcanically stifling atmosphere are the parlor where the girls Lucy and Mina did not have much to say in the way of interesting conversation and Mr. Holmes seemed bent on making all present most uncomfortable. A most noble gentleman is Mr. Gray and I think I shall soon find in him a good friend, for there was not a point upon which we disagreed and it filled my heart at once with hope to find that he, unlike so many others in the place, too believes that something drastic must be done about the doctor’s assistant. I pity the doctor’s reliance upon him, but surely without forcing them apart in their working relationship, something quite substantial still can be done to curb his assistant’s vile and insulting ways.
Mr. Gray offered his protection and all but swore he would do something-something-about it. It is not that I desire vengeance, for I am not of a vengeful nature, but no one here knows the true extent of the injustice I have suffered save for the viscount who witnessed the episode. I had thought I could rely upon Heathcliff’s temper to satisfy my own, but in that respect I could see my memories of his wild youth have quite overestimated the strength of his changed adult nature.
If Mr. Gray’s actions can measure up to the strength of his words, perhaps I will be able to take pleasure in at least something amid all the wretched state of affairs of this dark and frustrating place.
I did not spend long in the pantry before a strange feeling of lethargy overtook me and I stopped to rest against the wall. I glanced up at the rafters and saw there the creature, winking at me with its black eyes and looking absolutely harmless. It seems strange to me now, but I had then lost my interest in eating and made my way back to the parlor, only to be informed by the doctor that I had been "bitten" again. Yes, "bitten," for apparently it has been true all along--This bat has been draining away all my blood. It did not look so very different from the bats we have back home, but then I've never made a close study of bats and doubt I would know at once a blood-drinking one from the ones that catch the moths in the barn.
But though I am pale, and my hand shakes, and no matter what I do, I cannot seem to find warmth, I am overall much better off than I have been on previous (presumably) encounters with this bat. Perhaps I am becoming used to its bite? I shudder at such a notion. Or perhaps the bites are not, as I fear more and more each day, the true cause of my weakening health… But I will not let myself think on that now.
Heathcliff joined us in the parlor and I could tell that he was still angry with me, but I was too upset to indulge his mood and soon gained his comfort. I had all but calmed myself then when the parlor was fouled by the arrival of that madman named Renfield. I immediately warned Heathcliff of his tendencies, and then the madman at once proved them by-All at once again I feel as if I will be ill…
* * * * * * * * *
I have opened the window and washed my face and will steel my stomach to try again to describe the madman’s actions, for these are the events which I cannot separate from reality and nightmare and know that if I do not record them now, my sanity shall suffer for it later.
The doctor was wounded two nights ago by his own assistant and sat near the hearth, tending to his wound, while I shivered in Heathcliff’s arms on the sofa. The madman, seeing the discarded, bloody bandage, snatched it up at once and proceeded to-eat it. He howled about his master and his penchant for cannibalism and the poor doctor, who it seems cannot keep himself from doing what is right even as he continues to suffer for it, took the opportunity to strike a ghastly deal with the man-creature who slathered and foamed, his mouth overflowing with filthy bandage. In our presence, the doctor offered the beast a cup of his own blood in exchange for answer-answers that from a madman’s blood-caked lips could be nothing more than twisted rantings of the insane! I begged him to reconsider, but when does he ever want to listen to a word I have to say? And they went off to complete their gruesome bargain.
I felt half-mad myself with the lunacy that surrounded me, and if Heathcliff had not remained so solid and calm, I am certain I would have beaten my head until I knew no more. He took me to bed and I begged him not to leave me alone. I do not even feel safe in my own room anymore, locked door or not. Bats and madmen have no respect for that which they can find a way to break into.
I vaguely remember the doctor joining us, and seeing him alive with no visible wounds must have been enough to allow me to relax into unconsciousness, for the next thing I knew, I was awakening with a sore headache and it was morning… If morning even exists in this place.
* * * * * * * * *
I must make note, before the memories are lost to me among those of dark horrors, of the conversation I had with the gentle and kind Mr. Gray much earlier yesterday evening after we escaped the volcanically stifling atmosphere are the parlor where the girls Lucy and Mina did not have much to say in the way of interesting conversation and Mr. Holmes seemed bent on making all present most uncomfortable. A most noble gentleman is Mr. Gray and I think I shall soon find in him a good friend, for there was not a point upon which we disagreed and it filled my heart at once with hope to find that he, unlike so many others in the place, too believes that something drastic must be done about the doctor’s assistant. I pity the doctor’s reliance upon him, but surely without forcing them apart in their working relationship, something quite substantial still can be done to curb his assistant’s vile and insulting ways.
Mr. Gray offered his protection and all but swore he would do something-something-about it. It is not that I desire vengeance, for I am not of a vengeful nature, but no one here knows the true extent of the injustice I have suffered save for the viscount who witnessed the episode. I had thought I could rely upon Heathcliff’s temper to satisfy my own, but in that respect I could see my memories of his wild youth have quite overestimated the strength of his changed adult nature.
If Mr. Gray’s actions can measure up to the strength of his words, perhaps I will be able to take pleasure in at least something amid all the wretched state of affairs of this dark and frustrating place.