Visit Whitby: Its History and Literary Legends Disclosure Policy Visit Whitby: Its History and Literary Legends Whitby, the picturesque fishing town perfectly positioned on Yorkshire’s Eastern coast and dissected by the River Esk, has to be one of the most beautiful spots in all of England. It has everything you could ever wish for: a half ruined abbey, a working harbor, narrow cobbled streets, red-roofed pantile cottages, perfect fish and chip shops (including Quayside, voted the best in the land), historical pubs serving real ale dozens of ghost legends and a close connection to Bram Stoker and Dracula as well as Lewis Carroll and Captain James Cook. I had the pleasure of exploring this charming town in February 2012, and despite the icy cold and bleak weather, had one of the most memorable trips I have ever had. On the crest of the East Cliff stands the spectacular ruins of Whitby Abbey, a sturdy reminder of the power once wielded by the Church during medieval times. It takes 199 steps to reach it, and I can attest that with each step taken you feel as if you are being transported back in time. Trust me; it is well worth the effort.

The Abbey was originally founded in 657AD by Oswy, who was the Saxon King of Northumbria. In 664, the Abbey, built on the east cliff overlooking the Esk and town of Whitby, was the site of the Synod of Whitby at which the Northumbrian Celtic church was reconciled to Rome. In 867, Whitby Abbey fell to Viking attack, and remained empty until 1078, when Regenfrith a soldier monk, under the orders of his protector, the Norman, William de Percy, occupied it once more. It was rebuilt in spectacular fashion. The second monastery lasted until it was destroyed by Henry VIII in 1540. The abbey has been in ruins ever since, but you can imagine how magnificent it was in its heyday. The sense of history is profound, and if you’re fortunate to visit it (and I urge you to do so) you can touch the walls, close your eyes and imagine all that happened on the very spot you are standing centuries before. Whitby is also home to two lighthouses that were built in the early to mid 19th century.

The tallest of the lighthouses stands on the West Pier and is now open for tourists to climb the steep, winding stairs, but only if they dare. For you see, it is claimed to be haunted by a one-armed ghost, who, as locals cheerfully may tell you, fell from the nearby cliffs to his death. They will also warn you that he may smile at you and attempt to trip you up as you make your way along the stairs. Bagdale Hall takes the credit for the oldest building in Whitby, as it was built in 1516. These days it is a hotel, and a rather magnificent one at that, but it was originally a Tudor mansion. Browne Bushell, a former owner of the hotel, was an English Civil war era naval officer who sided with Cromwell. In 1643, he publicly switched his allegiance to the Royalists, but was ultimately executed for piracy in March 1651. Many claim that he still walks the halls of the hotel to this very day. There is also a private museum in Whitby that is run by the Whitby Literary and Philosophical Society.

The museum contains a wide range of materials concerning Whitby, including many items related to Captain James Hook. Cook was an explorer, navigator, cartographer, and captain in the Royal Navy. It was in Whitby where he first became an apprentice seaman, and cultivated dreams of being an explorer. A statue of him stands in front of the Royal Hotel as a tribute to his historical significance. The museum also shows the significance of Whitby Jet in the town’s history. The black mineraloid jet has been mined since the Roman times. Whitby is famous for gorgeous pieces of jewelry made from it, which became hugely fashionable after Queen Victoria used it for mourning jewelry after the death of Prince Albert. Of course, as a writer of dark fiction, one of the reasons I love Whitby so much is its association with Bram Stoker and Dracula. Abraham Stoker- or Bram- was an Irish born author who had a strong appreciation for Whitby. He travelled there in 1890 and the many charms of it, which I have previously described, left him smitten. He adored the atmosphere of the town and returned frequently.

During his visits, Stoker was influenced by the local people and surroundings, and the town served as a backdrop for some of the best-known scenes in his book. The neighbouring address to ‘Bram’s View’, 7 Royal Crescent, appears in the novel as the address for Count Dracula’s solicitor, “Samuel F Billington”, who arranges for fifty crates of earth from the ship to be transported by the Great Northern Railway from Whitby to “Carfax, near Purfleet.” The Whitby Gazette reported in 1885 that “the Russian schooner Dmitri of Navra, with silver sand, came in suddenly, in heavy weather, but going ashore in “Collier’s Hope” became a total wreck.” Dracula, in the novel, arrived in Whitby aboard the Russian schooner, the Demeter, whose cargo consisted of crates of earth which Dracula needed for his rest. Stoker carried out some of his research into East European folklore at Whitby library where he first came across the name “Dracula”. It was in Whitby when he read ‘An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia’, written in 1820 by William Wilkinson.

This book includes the passage ‘‘Voivode Dracula’ whose history is explained by Prof. Van Helsing and based on the historical truth that Dracula won in battle against the Turks and ‘Dracula in the Wallachian dialect means ‘Devil’!’ The aforementioned Whitby Abbey, and all of its delightful gothic charm, was the inspiration for Dracula’s castle in the novel. Today, to recognize the influential part Bram Stoker and Dracula play in the history of Whitby, a plaque on a bench that overlooks Whitby harbour marks the area where he sat to write the notes for his “world-famous novel”. PS Gifford on Stoker bench I had the privilege of sitting on that very bench on my recent trip to Whitby, and my own imagination was running overtime by the eerie and beautiful views – views that are essentially very similar to ones that Bram would have seen. The tombstones in the graveyard of Whitby’s St. Mary’s church provided an eerie and creative source of names for Stoker’s characters and as a result, Whitby residents Braithwaite Lowery, Andrew Woodhouse, John Paxton, and seaman Swale shall live on forever within the pages of Dracula.

Another great literary legend was also inspired by Whitby: Lewis Carroll. His poems “The Walrus and the Carpenter,” and “The Lady of the Ladle,” were inspired by his many walks along Whitby Beach. He regularly stayed at Barnard’s Hotel frequently between 1854 and 1871, and a plague was unveiled in 1998 commemorating this connection. As a result of Whitby’s eerie charm and history, it has become a magnet for Goths worldwide. A musical event, known as the Goth Weekend , began in 1997 and has morphed into one of the biggest Goth festivals in the world. It’s held in April and again in October, although these days it is not just for Goths! Steampunk is the latest fashion craze, but all sorts of creative individuals, and those fascinated by the macabre descend on this usually quiet town. My last visit to Whitby ended on a rather pleasing note. It was a bitterly cold evening, and I wrapped up warm and headed down the beach front to the heart of the town.

Hail descended upon me as I traversed the path, yet I did not care, as I am so enamored by the town and was just delighted to be back. I reached my destination – a pub known as The Black Horse. It has been a pub since the 16th century but has also been used as a spirit warehouse, funeral directors, and even a brothel. I sat on the bar, and ordered a pint of best bitter on cask. I was on my second pint when it happened – the lights went out! Whitby is prone to black outs, and the entire town went dark. Despite it being just a little after 7:00 p.m., a deep darkness fell over the town. Cell phones and lighters illuminated the pub until candles and gas lamps were lit (they had obviously had practice!) Then the night carried on. The thirty or so people all began chatting to each other, as the music that had been playing became silent. The beer continued to flow (perhaps even more liberally), as the pumps run on gas and not electric. Laughter erupted as anecdotes were exchanged and new friends were made.

As I took a taxi back to my room at nearly midnight (admittedly feeling slightly intoxicated), I appreciated how fortunate I was to end my stay in such a fitting fashion. Paul Gifford is an English born full time writer who has called California home for many years. He writes under the name P.S. Gifford. He has had several dozen stories published in print and on-line magazine, been included in anthologies and has several collections of his works available at all good on-line book sellers . You can find his website here . Bram's View Stoker One of the most famous names associated with Whitby will always be ‘Dracula’, the central character of Bram Stoker’s novel that was published in 1897. Count Dracula is widely considered to be one of the most famous Gothic figures ever created. During his visits to Whitby whilst writing the book, Stoker was influenced by the local people and surroundings, and the town served as a backdrop for some of the best-known scenes.

The neighbouring address to ‘Bram’s View’, 7 Royal Crescent appears in the novel as the address (slightly amended to ‘7 The Crescent, Whitby’) for Count Dracula's solicitor, "Samuel F Billington”, who arranges for fifty crates of earth from the ship to be transported by Great Northern Railway from Whitby to “ Carfax, near Purfleet.” The Whitby Gazette reported on 24 October 1885 that “the Russian schooner Dmitri of Navra, with silver sand, came in suddenly, in heavy weather, but going ashore in “Collier's Hope” became a total wreck.” (Silver sand is a soft mortar sand used in building.) In Stoker’s novel, Dracula arrived in Whitby aboard the Russian schooner, the Demeter, whose cargo consisted of crates of earth, or “mould”, needed for Dracula’s safe repose. Bram Stoker enjoyed his first Whitby holiday in 1890, staying at No 6 Royal Crescent, a guesthouse run by Mrs. Emma Veazey (commemorated with a plaque by the front door).

The following week his wife, and their only child, the ten-year-old Noel, joined Bram and they stayed in the town for the next three weeks. It is probable that their bedroom was on the third floor and the sitting room would have been below, on the second floor. Whilst staying here and listening to stories told by the townsfolk, fact was easily woven into Stoker’s tale. His handwritten notes for Dracula, which survive at the Rosenbach Museum in Philadelphia, PA – include the pages he recorded in Whitby: Coast Guard reports of ship wrecks at Whitby; conversations with seamen about local legends; sketched maps of the town; descriptions of both day and night scenes; and a glossary of local dialect. The ship washed ashore in a storm, all hands aboard dead, and Dracula, in the form of a dog, bounded ashore and ran up the famous 199 steps to St Mary's church and the graveyard at the top. Local folklore tells of ‘Barghest’ or ‘Barguest’, the huge black phantom hound, said to prowl the Yorkshire Moors, with a particular preference for the Whitby area.

And, interestingly, the myths of “Demeter” involve her daughter, Persephone, who was abducted by Hades, and became Queen of the Dead. Also staying at No 6 Royal Crescent were three ladies from Hertford, Isabel and Marjorie Smith and their friend Miss Stokes, and it has been suggested that Bram based the characters of Lucy, Mina, and Mrs Westenra on his fellow guests. Stoker carried out some of his research into East European folklore at Whitby library and it was probably here that he first came across the name Dracula, when he borrowed a book with the title ‘An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia’, written in 1820 by William Wilkinson. This book included in one of its paragraphs ‘Voivode Dracula’ whose history (largely fictional) is explained by Prof. Van Helsing and based on the historical truth that Dracula won in battle against the Turks and ‘Dracula in the Wallachian dialect means ‘Devil’!

Today, to recognize the part Bram Stoker and Dracula have played in the history of Whitby, a plaque on a bench overlooking the Whitby harbour marks the area that Bram reportedly sat to write his notes for Dracula. By day Whitby is a beautiful scenic town full of life and activity. But when the cool mist rolls in at nightfall and the idyllic town takes on a strangely sinister feel, it might be best to retreat to ‘Bram’s View’ The tombstones in the graveyard of St. Mary’s church provided a list of names for Stoker’s characters, not all of whom were included in the final draft of Dracula. Whitby residents Braithwaite Lowery, Andrew Woodhouse, John Paxton, and seaman Swales, however, will live forever on the pages of Dracula. In praise of Whitby: Britain's spookiest town | Books | The Guardian In praise of Whitby: Britain's spookiest town It was a powefully atmospheric spot long before Dracula arrived – that's why he came High drama ...

the Abbey steps in Whitby Friday 30 October 2009 04.00 EDT First published on Friday 30 October 2009 04.00 EDT Share on Messenger Close If any place in Britain deserves the as-yet-uncreated accolade of Unesco Halloween Town, I would argue that the honour should go to Whitby . This pretty former fishing village on the North Yorkshire coast nestles in some of the most dramatic coastline to be found anywhere in these isles, and has earned a permanent place in the literary hall of fame as the place where Count Dracula first sets foot on English soil in Bram Stoker 's 1897 novel. Unlike Cologny, the birthplace of Dracula's spiritual cousin Frankenstein's monster, which Sam Jordison found rather lacking in whatever had informed Mary Shelley's creation, Whitby continues to exude the atmosphere that so entranced Stoker when he spent the summer of 1890 there, prior to writing his masterpiece.

The vampiric nobleman is carried to Whitby aboard the ill-fated Russian schooner the Demeter, which lurches into port all but abandoned, save for the grisly spectacle of the skipper's corpse lashed to the wheel. Upon investigation by the townsfolk, the ship gives up its secret: an immense black dog – Dracula in fiendish form – leaps from the hold and makes for the safety of the churchyard that sprawls around the Gothic pile of the ruined Abbey on the East Cliff overlooking the harbour. Thus are Whitby and one of the horror genre's founding principals utterly entwined. In the 112 years since the publication of Dracula, Whitby has settled rather comfortably into its role as Britain's premier spooky location. The Abbey looks down dolefully from its vantage point on the cliff, while the warren of narrow streets that wind down to the sea are pregnant with the promise of phantoms and skittering shapes, especially at dusk.

The brash amusement arcades, seaside tat shops and fairground rides on the way down to the beach provide a hectic counterpoint to Whitby's dark heritage; but even amid the slot machines and fish and chip shops you'll find the Dracula Experience , rendering Stoker's novel down to a quick thrill-fix in the dark. Of course, not everyone in Whitby relishes the relationship between the town and the macabre. When I last holidayed there in July this year, there was a letter in the local newspaper , the Whitby Gazette, on the topic of the suggested cancellation of a horror film festival planned for Whitby (which did subsequently go ahead). "Do we really want to encourage the atmosphere of blood-sucking, weird behaviour and murder and torture that are a large part of most horror films (including Dracula) in our town?" bemoaned the correspondent, adding: "We have shipbuilding, exploration, early railway history, alum and iron mining, the Abbey, St Hilda, the Synod of Whitby, Captain Cook, smuggling, early man on the moors and lots more. This is what Whitby and the surrounding area is about, not horror films." Does location inform literature, or is it the other way around?

Dracula, it might be argued, has made Whitby famous beyond the catchment area of those who would normally holiday in a town that has, admittedly, much more going for it than merely vampires. But something captivated Stoker enough to make the place almost a character in its own right in Dracula, and has done the same to other writers as well. A contemporary of Stoker's and a regular visitor to the area was Violet Hunt , a writer and socialite who published two collections of ghost stories. Lewis Carroll stayed there in 1854, and there is speculation that his visits may have informed his writing of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Wilkie Collins stayed at the Royal Hotel in 1861 and the following year published his follow-up to his ghost story The Woman In White, No Name, which includes scenes set locally. More recently, the writer Paul Magrs has mined the culture of horror fiction for his superb series set in Whitby and featuring the amateur sleuths Brenda and Effie – a kind of Hammer Horror Rosemary and Thyme. Magrs himself wrote: "In my Brenda and Effie Mystery books there is something at the heart of Whitby that works on the imagination of its inhabitants and creates real magic.

And I think that is true in real life, too – in the effect that the place has on people who visit there." It's the same something that attracts Britain's Goths to Whitby twice a year for their festivals ( there's one beginning today ). But it seems to me that the town has transcended its links with Stoker to emerge as one of the few places remaining in Britain today with genuine, palpable atmosphere. If you're at a loose end this weekend, you could do far, far worse than treat yourself to some of the innate spookiness that is as much a part of the psychogeography of Whitby as are the fossils that physically abound in its coastal cliffs. Dracula - Whitby Whitby Dracula Dracula One of the most popular stories ever told, Dracula has been re-created for the stage and screen hundreds of times in the last century. Yet it is essentially a Victorian saga, an awesome tale of thrillingly bloodthirsty vampire whose nocturnal atrocities reflect the dark underside of a supremely moralistic age.

Above all, Dracula is a quintessential story of suspense and horror, boasting one of the most terrifying characters in literature: centuries-old Count Dracula, whose diabolical passions prey upon the innocent, the helpless, the beautiful. Bram Stoker, who was also the manager of the famous actor Sir Henry Irving, wrote seventeen novels. Dracula remains his most celebrated and enduring work — even today this Gothic masterpiece has lost none of the spine-tingling impact that makes it a classic of the genre. Dracula Bite Dracula’s arrival in Whitby! “But, strangest of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below … and running forward, jumped from the bow on to the sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs over the laneway to the East Pier … it disappeared in the darkness.” from Dracula by Bram Stoker, 1897 Black Dog Looking across the harbour toward Whitby’s East Cliff, you can see the view that inspired the fertile imagination of author Bram Stoker, who stayed in the Royal Hotel on the western side of Whitby while writing his famous novel.

St Mary’s Church across the river in Whitby The extract is from a critical point in the book’s story-line, where the Russian schooner Demeter raced across the harbour before the blast of a massive storm, with its dead captain lashed to the helm, and crashed into the pier just under Whitby’s East Cliff and Whitby Abbey, whereupon the immense dog leapt onto English soil. The black dog was known to be one of the many forms into which a vampire could transform itself. Count Dracula had arrived in England. Dracula Chapter 7 Summary & Analysis from LitCharts | The creators of SparkNotes Download it! Mina is permitted by a harbor official to look over the logbooks of the ship, known as the Demeter; she is also permitted to read over a log found in a bottle lashed to the dead man's hands. Mina includes the account of this second log in her journal. Mina seems more than eager to solve the mystery of the ship, and she notes down the particulars of its strange journey. Although Mina does not yet know that this ship, Lucy's illness, and Harker's stay at the Castle are related, she nevertheless wishes to document "everything" she sees and hears.

Active Themes Captain's Log of the Schooner Demeter. The Demeter set sail from Varna, in Bulgaria, on the 6th of July. No significant incidents were reported for the first two weeks of the ship's journey, as it passed through the Bosporus and Dardanelles, and into the Mediterranean Sea. On the 16th of July, men began fearing that "something" was aboard the ship, that it was disturbing their rest and comfort, and that it appeared to be some kind of ill omen, a living evil spirit assuming the shape of a man. Although the reader knows that this strange disturbance, and the man not included in the ship's logs, is probably Dracula, that knowledge nevertheless does little to drain the suspense of this section, which owes a good deal of its power to the first-person narration of the ship journal. Stoker uses the first-person account throughout the novel to increase the characters', and readers', terror. Active Themes On the 17th of July, a crew member reports a tall, thin man is living on the ship, though he is not included in the crew logs.

The captain vows to looks for the thin man, but cannot find him, nor can any other member of the crew. The ‘thin man' is also a common term, in West European legend dating back to the Middle Ages, for the devil, or for humans in league with the devil—as Dracula might be considered to be. Active Themes Over the next week, men begin to be "lost" on the ship—the captain assumes they are jumping overboard, or being pulled over in the foul weather that besets the ship as it enters the Atlantic Ocean. Between July 24th and August 3rd, more men disappear, and the captain realizes that the ship has been enveloped in a thick fog, one that follows the ship as it travels northward. Whatever is on the ship, it is certainly frightening enough to cause hardened sailors to risk their own lives by leaping overboard. Sailors, like the villagers of Transylvania, are known for being particularly superstitious, and clearly the presence of the "thin man" has stoked their fears aboard the Demeter.

Active Themes By August 3rd, it is only the captain, the mate, and the "thin man" aboard, although the captain still has seen no sign of the latter. The captain takes over steering the ship from the mate, who goes under the deck, and hears the mate, later, in the hold, with the large boxes of earth. The mate screams once and then falls silent. The captain wonders if the mate has survived, if the thin man is real, and if he will ever get the ship to England. The captain seems prepared to follow the old sailing maxim, that the captain "go down with his ship." Although the captain is obviously afraid of the thin man, he seems, also, to be concerned about the precious cargo the boat is delivering to England—cargo that ends up being the wooden boxes used as safe havens for Dracula. Active Themes The captain realizes that the mate, too, has jumped overboard after his screaming fit down in the hold; the fog around the ship grows even thicker, as the ship approaches England's coast.

In his last log entry, on the 4th of August, the captain says that he must go down with the ship, that he will lash himself to the vessel in order to steer it to port, and that, if he dies, at least he will have died like a man. The log ends. This final scene, wherein the captain ties himself to the wheel and sets the ship on course to land at the harbor, is one of the novel's more jarring and shocking, and is notable only for its implied presence of Dracula, rather than explicit description thereof. Some of the novel's most suspenseful scenes indeed involve only the hint of Dracula and his evil. Active Themes Mina adds to the bottom of the account, in her journal, that it is unclear who this "thin man" might be, and that the ship's fate might remain another "mystery of the sea." But the town of Whitby is atwitter with the strange goings-on of the ship and the harbor. Of course, this "mystery" will be gradually unraveled, along with the mystery of Renfield and of Lucy's illness—Dracula is at the center of all these intrigues. Active Themes Mina's Journal. August 8.

Mina returns to an entry dated before the arrival of the Demeter in the Whitby harbor. Mina reports that Lucy, still, is sleepwalking, and that Lucy's desire to sleepwalk seemed to increase the night of the terrible storm that brought the Demeter into the harbor. Mina wonders whether Jonathan is returning to England by sea or by land, and if he is safe. It is not clear whether Lucy's sleepwalking predated Dracula's arrival by coincidence, or whether Dracula's arrival "activated" something within her, causing her to sleepwalk. In either case, Dracula soon takes advantage of Lucy's "hypnotized" state, outside, in the cemetery. Active Themes Mina's Journal. August 10. Lucy and Mina attend the funeral service of the captain of the Demeter, held in the cemetery high in the rocks where Lucy and Mina used to talk to Swales. Mina reports, with fright, that Swales was found dead, in the cemetery, just before the captain's funeral; Swales' neck had been broken, and he had a look of fear in his face.

Mina also says that dogs near the captain's funeral appear frighten by some kind of unseen spirit, although Mina is not sure what that might be. Again, some of the most horrifying of the events of the novel tend to happen "off-stage," and are only described by characters, rather than experienced by them. Here, Swales has died, probably of fright or shock, and Lucy and Mina only hear, later, about the look of extreme horror that was frozen on his face. Active Themes Mina reports, also, that Lucy appears to be troubled by strange dreams, although Lucy will not say what these dreams are about, nor will she admit that the dreams, or her constant sleepwalking, are serious conditions. Strange dreams appear to presage a "meeting" or involvement with Dracula—Lucy, Mina, and Renfield all experience them at some point in the novel. Dreams are subconscious and non-rational, and there is a sense in the novel that the "civilized", rational characters are vulnerable at that level. Active Themes Birth of a Legend Book by Paul M. Chapman Birth of a Legend Book by Paul M.

Chapman [] - £12.99 : GHSmith, Bookshop Count Dracula, Bram Stoker and Whitby Incorporating the 1897 text of Bram Stoker's DRACULA Birth of Legend is Paul M. Chapman's examination of the influence the Yorkshire fishing port and holiday resort of Whitby exerted upon the planning stages and finalised form of Bram Stoker's Gothic masterpiece, Dracula. The book focuses upon Stoker's visit to the town in the summer of 1890 and the discoveries he made there, including his first encounter with the name Dracula, which he stumbled upon in an obscure old study of the Romanian region on the shelves of Whitby's subscription library. Chapman also recounts how the actual 1885 wreck of the Russian ship Dmitry in Whitby provided the inspiration for Count Dracula's dramatic arrival in England aboard the doomed schooner Demeter. In order to provide a suitable context, the very specific influences of Stoker's 1890 Whitby holiday are presented within the wider framework of his life, much of which was spent working alongside some of the most celebrated names of Victorian London's artistic and literary elite.

Birth of a Legend also examines the remarkable and enduring cultural legacy of Dracula, one of the great milestones of popular English fiction. Included with Birth of a Legend is the full text of Bram Stoker's original novel, allowing the reader to discover, or re-discover, the power of this literary and cultural landmark. Add to Cart: Dracula's Demeter Add to Cart About the author: The last, quite possibly the least, Renaissance man, Doug Lamoreux (a father of three strong men and a grandfather), a lifelong horror film fan and child of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine, recognized his incompatibility with the rest of the world - and gave it all up to act and write. He appeared in Mark Anthony Vadik's The Thirsting (aka Lilith) and Hag. He starred in Peter O'Keefe's Infidel and Boris Wexler's The Arab. All interspersed with forty years in theater (during which he fell off the stage twice). Now he writes swell horror novels. The first-ever Igor Award recipient from The Horror Society, Doug is also a former Rondo Award nominee, and his novel, Dracula's Demeter, was a 2012 Lord Ruthven Award nominee for fiction.

Dracula's Demeter Authored by Doug Lamoreux In his classic 'Dracula', Bram Stoker, with a few cryptic entries in an unnamed captain's journal, offered hints of the voyage that brought the vampire king from his homeland to a blood-rich London. Now, the whole mind-rending tale is told. July, 1897. The Demeter sets sail from Varna, carrying fifty oblong boxes filled with earth. A month later in the middle of a raging storm, the derelict schooner runs aground in Whitby. The only living thing aboard is a huge dog that vanishes into the night. Join Doug Lamoreux, 2010 Rondo Award nominee and author of The Devil's Bed, for a rousing sea adventure, for romance, and for terror. Come aboard Dracula's Demeter. "A fiendishly clever and welcome addition to the Dracula mythology." -Aaron Christensen, Fangoria Magazine- Dracula's Demeter is a 2012 Lord Ruthven award nominee and a two-time Amazon bestseller in Vampire Horror.

Publication Date: Dracula's Demeter: The Vampire King's Stunning Sea Voyage eBook: Doug Lamoreux: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store By Pamela Foley on 2 Oct. 2016 Format: Paperback I’ve been a fan of Doug Lamareux’s writing since I read The Devil’s Bed. I had a blast reading that book, so I was looking forward to this one. As I got into the first chapter I stopped and went, Oh, one of those. I’m not a fan of literary writing like Moby Dick, Grapes of Wrath, etc. To me, it’s like reading technical manuals. But I was intrigued by the story matter and I knew if Doug wrote it, it had to be an awesome tale. I was not disappointed. There are no surprise endings here, as we know what happened after Dracula arrived in England. This is Doug’s version of what happened to the sailing ship Demeter and her unlucky crew. Better known as Fanfiction. Fanfiction has gotten a bad rap as a lot of it is badly written garage. But not this book. If you love Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula, you will not be disappointed.

I was impressed by how well-written the story was, the research involved, and the professional editing and proofreading. Rare commodities in Indie books or small presses. I did feel there was a tad bit too much background and detail. I found myself nodding off a few times with all the nautical terms. As for the characters, there was a wide range of them, from different backgrounds, that happened to be on that ill-fated trip. It was confusing at first about who was who. Especially when being referred to by their positrons on the crew, such as first or second. But as one by one, they met their horrific fates, I felt for each one of them. And horrific they were. Yes, he threw in spiders. ECK! You can’t help but fell sorry for Harrington, Swales, and Ekaterina. They were just pawns in Dracula’s game. Speaking of pawns, Jonathan Harker, Lucy, Mina, and Renshaw were woven seamlessly into the storyline, anchoring this tale firmly into the legend of Dracula. If you love reading literary masterpieces written in the vein of true Gothic horror, you really need to buy this book. I give it 4 fangs.

Dracula: Chapter 7 Dracula, by Bram Stoker, [1897], at sacred-texts.com CHAPTER 7 CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH", 8 AUGUST (PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL) From a correspondent. Whitby. One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in the neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of `tripping' both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from the commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of `mares tails' high in the sky to the northwest.

The wind was then blowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked `No. 2, light breeze.' The coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds, that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset colour, flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold, with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the sketches of the `Prelude to the Great Storm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.

More than one captain made up his mind then and there that his `cobble' or his `mule', as they term the different classes of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there was a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature. There were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers, which usually hug the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in the face of her danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of the sea.

"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean." Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a dischord in the great harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow booming. Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose in growing fury, each over-topping its fellow, till in a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster. White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the shelving cliffs. Others broke over the piers, and with their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour.

The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to clear the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night would have increased manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland. White, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort of imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were touching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which came thick and fast, followed by such peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm. Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and of absorbing interest.

The sea, running mountains high, threw skywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space. Here and there a fishing boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast, now and again the white wings of a storm-tossed seabird. On the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of onrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing boat, with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout of joy from the mass of people on the shore, a shout which for a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush. Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticed earlier in the evening.

The wind had by this time backed to the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they realized the terrible danger in which she now was. Between her and the port lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of the harbour. It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so great that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost visible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such speed that, in the words of one old salt, "she must fetch up somewhere, if it was only in hell". Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater than any hitherto, a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all things like a gray pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louder than before.

The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited breathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and the remnant of the sea fog melted in the blast. And then, mirabile dictu, between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on the deck at all. A great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words.

The schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many storms into the southeast corner of the pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier. There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of the `top-hammer' came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow on the sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat tombstones, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in Whitby vernacular, actually project over where the sustaining cliff has fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed intensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight. It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or were out on the heights above.

Thus the coastguard on duty on the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was the first to climb aboard. The men working the searchlight, after scouring the entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a number of people began to run. It is a good way round from the West Cliff by the Draw-bridge to Tate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good runner, and came well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted to climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman whilst actually lashed to the wheel. It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, for not often can such a sight have been seen.

The man was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and had dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor, Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place, who came immediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days. In his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the log. The coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth.

The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save some complications later on, in the Admiralty Court, for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already completely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand. It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place where he held his honourable watch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the young Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest. Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is beginning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour in the storm.

9 August.--The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in the storm last night is almost more startling than the thing itself. It turns out that the schooner is Russian from Varna, and is called the Demeter. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, with only a small amount of cargo, a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould. This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S.F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and took formal possession of the goods consigned to him. The Russian consul, too, acting for the charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, and paid all harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here today except the strange coincidence. The officials of the Board of Trade have been most exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with existing regulations. As the matter is to be a `nine days wonder', they are evidently determined that there shall be no cause of other complaint.

A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog which landed when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of the S.P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to befriend the animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to be found. It seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that it was frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it is still hiding in terror. There are some who look with dread on such a possibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for it is evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bred mastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found dead in the roadway opposite its master's yard. It had been fighting, and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away, and its belly was slit open as if with a savage claw. Later.--By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have been permitted to look over the log book of the Demeter, which was in order up to within three days, but contained nothing of special interest except as to facts of missing men.

The greatest interest, however, is with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was today produced at the inquest. And a more strange narrative than the two between them unfold it has not been my lot to come across. As there is no motive for concealment, I am permitted to use them, and accordingly send you a transcript, simply omitting technical details of seamanship and supercargo. It almost seems as though the captain had been seized with some kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and that this had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of course my statement must be taken cum grano, since I am writing from the dictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly translated for me, time being short. LOG OF THE "DEMETER" Varna to Whitby Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep accurate note henceforth till we land. On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands . . . two mates, cook, and myself, (captain). On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs officers.

Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p.m. On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago. On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something. Seemed scared, but would not speak out. On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong. They only told him there was SOMETHING, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet. On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of the crew, Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but would not say more than there was SOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them. Feared some trouble ahead.

On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm, when he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and disappear. He followed cautiously, but when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. To allay it, I shall today search the entire ship carefully from stem to stern. Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search from stem to stern. First mate angry, said it was folly, and to yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men, said he would engage to keep them out of trouble with the handspike.

I let him take the helm, while the rest began a thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns. We left no corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said nothing. 22 July.--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with sails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All well. 24 July.--There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he came off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear, sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do some violence.

28 July.--Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours sleep. Wind abating, seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is steadier. 29 July.--Another tragedy. Had single watch tonight, as crew too tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause. 30 July.--Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine, all sails set. Retired worn out, slept soundly, awakened by mate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate and two hands left to work ship. 1 August.--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted.

Had hoped when in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he Roumanian. 2 August, midnight.--Woke up from few minutes sleep by hearing a cry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells me he heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us, and God seems to have deserted us.

3 August.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel and when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might hear. "It is here. I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave it my knife, but the knife went through It, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took the knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, "But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see.

You work the helm." And with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest and lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving mad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those big boxes, they are invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as harmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay and mind the helm, and write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears. Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cut down sails, and lie by, and signal for help . . . It is nearly all over now.

Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate would come out calmer, for I heard him knocking away at something in the hold, and work is good for him, there came up the hatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. "Save me! Save me!" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said, "You had better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there! I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all that is left!" Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all these horrors when I get to port? When I get to port! Will that ever be?

4 August.--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce, I know there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm, so here all night I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw it, Him! God, forgive me, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man. To die like a sailor in blue water, no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that which He, It, dare not touch. And then, come good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act. . . If we are wrecked, mayhap this bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand. If not . . . well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust.

God and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help a poor ignorant soul trying to do his duty . . . Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to adduce, and whether or not the man himself committed the murders there is now none to say. The folk here hold almost universally that the captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral. Already it is arranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up the Esk for a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbey steps, for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The owners of more than a hundred boats have already given in their names as wishing to follow him to the grave. No trace has ever been found of the great dog, at which there is much mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he would, I believe, be adopted by the town. Tomorrow will see the funeral, and so will end this one more `mystery of the sea'. MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL 8 August.--Lucy was very restless all night, and I too, could not sleep.

The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the chimney pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed to be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake, but she got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and managed to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of her life. Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to see if anything had happened in the night. There were very few people about, and though the sun was bright, and the air clear and fresh, the big, grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves because the foam that topped them was like snow, forced themselves in through the mouth of the harbour, like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow I felt glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how?

I am getting fearfully anxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything! 10 August.--The funeral of the poor sea captain today was most touching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the coffin was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilst the cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came down again. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all the way. The poor fellow was laid to rest near our seat so that we stood on it, when the time came and saw everything. Poor Lucy seemed much upset. She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing. She will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness, or if there be, she does not understand it herself. There is an additional cause in that poor Mr. Swales was found dead this morning on our seat, his neck being broken.

He had evidently, as the doctor said, fallen back in the seat in some sort of fright, for there was a look of fear and horror on his face that the men said made them shudder. Poor dear old man! Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people do. Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the men who came up here often to look for the boats was followed by his dog. The dog is always with him. They are both quiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would not come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then angrily. But it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It was in a fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hair bristling out like a cat's tail when puss is on the war path.

Finally the man too got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The moment it touched the stone the poor thing began to tremble. It did not try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and was in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without effect, to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to touch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly fear that she is of too super sensitive a nature to go through the world without trouble. She will be dreaming of this tonight, I am sure. The whole agglomeration of things, the ship steered into port by a dead man, his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads, the touching funeral, the dog, now furious and now in terror, will all afford material for her dreams. I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically, so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood's Bay and back.

She ought not to have much inclination for sleep-walking then.

Question: Who, in fiction, arrived in Whitby aboard the schooner Demeter?
Answer: Dracula