Did you know that Bram Stoker's Dracula (the 1897 Gothic horror novel, not the swoonworthy 1992 Coppola film) originally began with a chapter that was cut from the book before it was published?

That lost chapter was posthumously published as a short story entitled "Dracula's Guest." And today we bring you part 2 of our gender-inclusive revision of that spine-tingling tale.

As always, use your headphones if you've got 'em! Mer bedecked this episode in a heady coalescence of hauntingly beautiful fragments of "Mare Desiderii" from A Blessed Unrest by The Parlour Trick.

And trust me, you do not want to miss out on the full unsettling and titillating impact of an unexpected piece of correspondence at the very end of our tale.

Please support Liminal Flares by rating and (where possible) reviewing the show on your preferred podcast streaming service.

New here and wondering what this podcast is all about? Check out our first episode, "A Prelude at the Threshold."

Writing/Editing & Narration by Maika

Music by The Parlour Trick

Piano composition in "Mare Desiderii" by Dan Cantrell, theremin and violin arrangement by Mer.

Audio Engineering by Meredith Yayanos

Cover photo by Maika

To learn more about Liminal Flares visit our website liminalflares.com

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New episodes every Thursday!

Gather round and welcome.

This is Liminal Flares, Bedtime Stories from Beyond and In-between,

readings of eldritch literature drawn from the public domain and amended to be gender-inclusive.

My name is Maika, and I am your queer, trans, nonbinary narrator.

Today we finish reading "Dracula's Guest," written by Bram Stoker.

Last week, our narrator, Jonathan Harker,

while staying in Munich en route to Transylvania,

you know, so that the Dracula novel can begin,

went on a daytime excursion through the hilly wilds outside the city.

Despite repeated warnings and pleas from his driver,

he parted with the coach and set off alone on foot in search of the ruins of a mysterious village.

The sudden arrival of a fierce snowstorm not only stranded him, but caused him to lose his way,

or so he thought.

We left him standing in a graveyard before a massive marble tomb

bearing a Russian inscription that reads, "The dead travel fast."

That inscription, by the way,

is a delightfully sinister tribute to Irish author Sheridan Le Fanu's 1872 Gothic vampire novella Carmilla.

A personal favorite.

I'm especially fond of Carmen Maria Machado's 2019 edition,

in which the queerness of the story is allowed to shine.

I would love to amend Carmilla for this podcast

and have even wondered if I might be able to get permission to work with Machado's edition,

but I suspect that's a heavily copyrighted long shot.

Anyway, it would likely require a few months worth of episodes to read the entire novella,

so it's not something I'll do unless there is considerable interest in embarking on such a lengthy piece.

Would you like to hear me read Carmilla?

Let us know via the website or on social media links in the show notes.

And now, back to our tale...

There was something so weird and uncanny about the whole thing

that it gave me a turn and made me feel quite faint.

I began to wish, for the first time, that I had taken Johann’s advice.

Here a thought struck me, which came under almost mysterious circumstances and with a terrible shock.

This was Walpurgis Night!

Walpurgis Night, when, according to the belief of millions of people,

the devil was abroad.

when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked.

When all evil things of earth and air and water held revel.

This very place the driver had specially shunned.

This was the depopulated village of centuries ago.

This was where the suicide lay.

And this was the place where I was alone,

unaccompanied, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a wild storm gathering again upon me!

It took all my philosophy,

all the religion I had been taught,

all my courage not to collapse in a paroxysm of fright.

And now a perfect tornado burst upon me.

The ground shook as though thousands of horses thundered across it.

And this time the storm bore on its icy wings, not snow, but great hailstones,

which drove with such violence that they might have come from the thongs of Balearic slingers,

hailstones that beat down leaf and branch and made the shelter of the cypresses of no more avail than though their stems were standing-corn.

At the first I had rushed to the nearest tree

but I was soon fain to leave it and seek the only spot that seemed to afford refuge,

the deep Doric doorway of the marble tomb.

There, crouching against the massive bronze door,

I gained a certain amount of protection from the beating of the hailstones,

for now they only drove against me as they ricocheted from the ground and the side of the marble.

As I leaned against the door, it moved slightly and opened inwards.

The shelter of even a tomb was welcome in that pitiless tempest,

and I was about to enter it when there came a flash of forked-lightning that lit up the whole expanse of the heavens.

In the instant, as I am a living human, I saw, as my eyes were turned into the darkness of the tomb,

a beautiful figure, with rounded cheeks and red lips, seemingly sleeping on a bier.

As the thunder broke overhead, I was grasped as by the hand of a giant and hurled out into the storm.

The whole thing was so sudden that, before I could realise the shock, moral as well as physical,

I found the hailstones beating me down.

At the same time I had a strange, dominating feeling that I was not alone.

I looked towards the tomb.

Just then there came another blinding flash,

which seemed to strike the iron stake that surmounteD the tomb, and to pour through to the earth,

blasting and crumbling the marble, as in a burst of flame.

The dead person rose for a moment of agony while they were lapped in the flame,

and their bitter scream of pain was drowned in the thundercrash.

The last thing I heard was this mingling of dreadful sound,

as again I was seized in the giant-grasp and dragged away,

while the hailstones beat on me and the air around seemed reverberant with the howling of wolves.

The last sight that I remembered was a vague, white, moving mass,

as if all the graves around me had sent out the phantoms of their sheeted-dead,

and that they were closing in on me through the white cloudiness of the driving hail.

Gradually there came a sort of vague beginning of consciousness;

then a sense of weariness that was dreadful.

For a time I remembered nothing,

but slowly my senses returned.

My feet seemed positively racked with pain, yet I could not move them.

They seemed to be numbed.

There was an icy feeling at the back of my neck and all down my spine.

And my ears, like my feet, were dead, yet in torment;

but there was in my breast a sense of warmth which was, by comparison, delicious.

It was as a nightmare—a physical nightmare, if one may use such an expression;

for some heavy weight on my chest made it difficult for me to breathe.

This period of semi-lethargy seemed to remain a long time, and as it faded away I must have slept or swooned.

Then came a sort of loathing, like the first stage of sea-sickness,

and a wild desire to be free from something, I knew not what.

A vast stillness enveloped me, as though all the world were asleep,

or dead,

only broken by the low panting as of some animal close to me.

I felt a warm rasping at my throat.

Then came a consciousness of the awful truth,

which chilled me to the heart and sent the blood surging up through my brain.

Some great animal was lying on me and now licking my throat.

I feared to stir, for some instinct of prudence bade me lie still;

but the brute seemed to realise that there was now some change in me, for it raised its head.

Through my eyelashes I saw above me the two great flaming eyes of a gigantic wolf.

Its sharp white teeth gleamed in the gaping red mouth,

and I could feel its hot breath fierce and acrid upon me.

For another spell of time I remembered no more.

Then I became conscious of a low growl, followed by a yelp, renewed again and again.

Then, seemingly very far away, I heard a “Holloa! holloa!” as of many voices calling in unison.

Cautiously I raised my head and looked in the direction whence the sound came; but the cemetery blocked my view.

The wolf still continueD to yelp in a strange way,

and a red glare began to move round the grove of cypresses, as though following the sound.

As the voices drew closer, the wolf yelped faster and louder.

I feared to make either sound or motion.

Nearer came the red glow, over the white pall which stretched into the darkness around me.

Then all at once from beyond the trees there came at a trot a troop of horseback riders bearing torches.

The wolf rose from my breast and made for the cemetery.

I saw one of the riders (soldiers by their caps and their long military cloaks) raise their carbine and take aim.

A companion knocked up their arm, and I hearD the ball whizz over my head.

They had evidently taken my body for that of the wolf.

Another sighted the animal as it slunk away, and a shot followed.

Then, at a gallop, the troop rode forward,

some towards me, others following the wolf as it disappeared amongst the snow-clad cypresses.

As they drew nearer, I tried to move but was powerless,

although I could see and hear all that went on around me.

Two or three of the soldiers jumped from their horses and knelt beside me.

One of them raised my head, and placed their hand over my heart.

“Good news, comrades!” they cried. “His hearT still beats!”

Then some brandy was poured down my throat.

It put vigour into me, and I was able to open my eyes fully and look around.

Lights and shadows were moving among the trees, and I heard people call to one another.

They drew together uttering frightened exclamations,

and the lights flashed as the others came pouring out of the cemetery pell-mell, like they were possessed.

When the further ones came close to us, those who were around me asked them eagerly,

“Well, have you found him?”

The reply rang out hurriedly:

“No! No! Come away quick—quick! This is no place to stay, and on this of all nights!”

“What was it?” was the question, asked in all manner of keys.

The answer came variously and all indefinitely,

as though the people were moved by some common impulse to speak,

yet were restrained by some common fear from giving their thoughts it.

“It—it—indeed!” gibbered one, whose wits had plainly given out for the moment.

“A wolf—and yet—not a wolf!” another put in shudderingly.

“No use trying for them without the sacred bullet,” a third remarked in a more ordinary manner.

“Serve us right for coming out on this night! Truly we have earned our thousand marks!” were the ejaculations of a fourth.

“There was blood on the broken marble,” another said after a pause, "the lightning never brought that there."

"And for him—is he — safe? Look at his throat!"

"See comrades, the wolf has been lying on him and keeping his blood warm.”

“He is all right; the skin is not pierced."

"What does it all mean? We should never have found him but for the yelping of the wolf.”

"What became of it?"

asked the soldier who was holding up my head,

and who seemed the least panic stricken of the party, for their hands were steady and without tremor.

On their sleeve was the chevron of a petty officer.

“It went to its home,” answered the other soldier,

whose long face was pallid, and who actually shook with terror as they glanced around fearfully.

“There are graves enough there in which it may lie. Come, comrades—come quickly! Let us leave this cursed spot.”

The officer raiseD me to a sitting posture, as they uttered a word of command;

then several soldiers placed me upon a horse.

The officer sprang to the saddle behind me, took me in their arms, gave the word to advance;

and turning our faces away from the cypresses, we rode away in swift military order.

As yet my tongue refused its office, and I was, perforce, silent.

I must have fallen asleep;

for the next thing I remembered was finding myself standing up, supported by a soldier on each side of me.

It was almost broad daylight, and to the north a red streak of sunlight was reflected, like a path of blood, over the waste of snow.

The officer was telling them to say nothing of what they had seen,

except that they found an English stranger, guarded by a large dog.

“Dog! that was no dog,” cut in the soldier who had exhibited such fear.

“I think I know a wolf when I see one.”

"I said, a dog."

“Dog!” reiterated the other ironically.

It was evident that their courage was rising with the sun;

and, pointing to me, they said, “Look at his throat. Is that the work of a dog, comrade?”

Instinctively I raised my hand to my throat, and as I touched it I cried out in pain.

The soldiers crowded round to look, some stooping down from their saddles;

and again there came the calm voice of the young officer:

“A dog, as I said. If aught else were said we should only be laughed at.”

I was then mounted behind a trooper, and we rode on into the suburbs of Munich.

Here we came across a stray carriage into which I was lifted,

and it was driven off to the Quatre Saisons—the young officer accompanying me,

whilst a trooper followed with their horse, and the others rode off to their barracks.

When we arrived, Herr Delbrück rushed so quickly down the steps to meet me,

that it was apparent he had been watching within.

Taking me by both hands he solicitously led me in.

The officer saluted me and was turning to withdraw when I recognised their purpose,

and insisted that they should come to my rooms.

Over a glass of wine I warmly thanked them and their brave comrades for saving me.

They replied simply that they were more than glad,

and that Herr Delbrück had at the first taken steps to make all the searching party pleased;

at which ambiguous utterance the maître d’hôtel smiled, while the officer pleaded duty and withdrew.

“But Herr Delbrück,” I enquired, “how and why was it that the soldiers searched for me?”

He shrugged his shoulders, as if in depreciation of his own deed, as he replied:

“I was so fortunate as to obtain leave from the commander of the regiment in which I served, to ask for volunteers.”

“But how did you know I was lost?” I asked.

“The driver came hither with the remains of their carriage, which had been upset when the horses ran away.”

“But surely you would not send a search-party of soldiers merely on this account?”

“Oh, no!” he answered; “but even before the driver arrived, I had this telegram from the Boyar whose guest you are,”

and he took from his pocket a telegram which he handed to me, and I read:

_Bistritz, Transylvania_

Be careful of my guest—his safety is most precious to me.

Should aught happen to him, or if he be missed, spare nothing to find him and ensure his safety.

He is English and therefore adventurous.

There are often dangers from snow and wolves and night.

Lose not a moment if you suspect harm to him.

I answer your zeal with my fortune.

—Dracula

As I held the telegram in my hand, the room seemed to whirl around me;

and if the attentive maître d’hôtel had not caught me, I think Ishould have fallen.

There was something so strange in all this, something so weird and impossible to imagine,

that there grew on me a sense of my being in some way the sport of opposite forces,

the mere vague idea of which seemed, in a way, to paralyze me.

I was certainly under some form of mysterious protection.

From a distant country had come, in the very nick of time,

a message that took me out of the danger of the snow-sleep,

and the jaws of the wolf.

Thank you for listening to Liminal Flares.

Our music is by The Parlour Trick.

Audio engineering by Meredith Yayanos.

I hope you've enjoyed our time together in this twilit space.

If you did, please support our show by subscribing and leaving your rating and a review on your favorite podcast platform.

And please share us with others who might enjoy our haunted and haunting, gender-inclusive story time.

Next week on Liminal Flares,

a pair of ghostly encounters in the form of a short story and a poem:

"A Haunted House" by Virginia Woolf

and "The Listeners" by Walter De La Mer.