The darkness closes in on Kaeltripton! Last time, a storm brought the Demeter to Whitby—now Mina faces a chilling night as Lucy sleepwalks into danger, while Dr. Seward notes Renfield’s wild shifts. Harker’s absence looms larger than ever. We’re serving this free slice of Dracula with a teaser excerpt below, followed by the full text from roughly pages 96 to 112—covering Mina’s eerie encounter and Seward’s madhouse musings. We’re dishing out Dracula in chunks—keep checking back for more, or grab a $ subscription to unlock the whole tale now, plus my takes on its haunting turns. Ready for the night to deepen? Let’s step into the shadows!

Mina Murray’s Journal (Continued)
11 August.—No sleep now, so I may as well write. I am too agitated to rest. We had such an adventure last night, such a horrible thing! I must have fallen asleep after writing; I was wakened by a noise—Lucy was at the window again, fast asleep, and struggling with the latch. The room was dark, but I could see her white figure against the glass. I called to her softly, but she did not reply. I got up and threw on some clothes, and when I opened the door to fetch her back, she was gone! The room was empty. I ran to the window and looked out—there she was, moving across the lawn in her white nightdress, heading for the cliff. I dared not call out lest I wake Mrs Westenra, who has been poorly with her heart lately, so I grabbed a shawl and ran after her.
The night was warm but misty, and the moon was full, casting a ghostly light. I lost sight of Lucy for a moment as she passed the church, but then I saw her on our favourite seat atop the cliff, a white figure against the dark sea. As I ran up the steps, I thought I saw something else—something dark, bending over her—but the mist blurred it, and by the time I reached her, it was gone. Lucy was alone, asleep, her head tilted back and her throat bare. I thought I saw two tiny red marks there, like pin-pricks, but in the dim light I couldn’t be sure. I wrapped my shawl around her—she was cold to the touch—and fastened it at her throat with a big safety-pin. She stirred then, and murmured something, but did not wake. I led her home, my heart pounding, and got her into bed without waking her mother. This morning she seems pale and tired, and complained that her throat hurt where I pinned the shawl. I looked, and there are indeed two small marks, but I must have been clumsy with the pin. I feel wretched about it.
12 August.—Lucy slept late, and I did too after last night’s fright. She seems better to-day, though still pale. I’ve locked the door again to-night and tied the key to my wrist—I won’t risk her wandering off again. No word from Jonathan; my fears grow worse.
14 August.—Lucy is brighter; we’ve been out on the cliffs and to the harbour all day. She loves the sea air, and it does her good. Still no letter from Jonathan—I’ve written to Mr Hawkins again, begging for news. Lucy tried the door in her sleep last night, but finding it locked, went back to bed quietly. I’m beginning to dread the nights.
17 August.—No diary for two days; I’ve been too miserable to write. No news of Jonathan—it’s as if he’s vanished from the earth. Lucy grows paler, and last night I woke to find her at the window again, leaning out as if drawn by something. I pulled her back and locked the sash, but she seemed reluctant to leave it. Those marks on her throat are redder, and she says they itch. I fear she’s ill, though she laughs it off.
18 August.—Lucy was cheerful to-day; we sat on the cliff and watched the boats. But to-night she’s restless again, and I’m writing this with the key tied to my wrist. I saw a bat fluttering against the window earlier—it gave me a start. The air feels heavy, like before the storm.
19 August, 3 a.m.—I must write this quickly. Something awful has happened. I fell asleep in the chair, and woke to find Lucy gone again—the window wide open, despite the lock! I ran out in a panic, down the steps to the cliff, and there she was, on the same seat, white as a ghost in the moonlight. That dark shape was over her again—I’m sure of it this time—leaning close, but it fled as I approached, vanishing into the shadows of the churchyard. Lucy was cold, her eyes shut, and those red marks on her throat stood out starkly. I shook her awake, and she gasped, clutching at me. I got her home, trembling all the while, and now she’s asleep, but so pale it frightens me. I’ve barred the window and won’t sleep again to-night. What is happening to her? And where is Jonathan?
Dr Seward’s Diary
19 August.—Sudden change in Renfield last night. About eight o’clock he began to get excited—more so than I’ve ever seen him. He was pacing his room, muttering and sniffing the air like a dog. When I went in, he rushed at me, his eyes wild, and shouted: ‘The Master is near! I feel him coming!’ I calmed him with difficulty, and after an hour he grew quiet, sitting in a corner staring at nothing. This morning he was meek as a lamb, feeding his flies again as if nothing had happened. There’s a pattern here—I’ll watch him closely.
20 August.—Renfield’s calm continues, but he’s secretive now. He keeps his notebook hidden and smiles when I ask about it. The flies are multiplying again; he’s hoarding sugar to lure them. Lucy’s friend, Holmwood, wrote to me asking after her health—he’s delayed in town but hopes to visit soon. I wonder if Renfield’s outburst ties to something larger. The air feels charged to-day, like a storm brewing far off.