The stakes rise on Kaeltripton! Last time, Lucy wandered into danger and Renfield raved—now Mina reunites with a broken Jonathan, fresh from Dracula’s clutches, while Seward calls in Van Helsing to save a weakening Lucy. Hope and horror collide in this free slice of Dracula, with a teaser excerpt below and the full text from roughly pages 112 to 127—covering Mina’s relief and Lucy’s peril. We’re serving Dracula in chunks—keep checking back for more, or grab a $5 subscription to unlock the whole saga now, plus my takes on its chilling depths. Ready for a bittersweet turn? Let’s dig in!

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra.
(Unopened by her.)
Buda-Pesth, 24 August.
My dearest Lucy,—
I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we parted at Whitby station. Well, my dear, I got to Hull all right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I felt that I could hardly write until I had some news of Jonathan, and now I have him—oh, Lucy, he is alive! I found him in a hospital here, tended by kind nuns—he has been dreadfully ill, feverish and weak, but he knew me at once. I cannot tell you the joy of it, nor the pain of seeing him so changed. He trembles and starts at shadows, and speaks little of what happened, only that he escaped from that awful castle. I have nursed him day and night, and he grows stronger, though slowly. We were married yesterday by the hospital chaplain—yes, I am Mrs Harker now! I shall bring him home soon, when he can travel. Tell Arthur all my love, and kiss him for me when you see him. I must stop, for Jonathan needs me.
Yours with all my heart,
Mina Harker.
Mina Harker’s Journal
25 August.—Jonathan keeps his journal shut tight, and I dare not ask him to open it yet. He gave it to me to keep, sealed, and said it was for my sake—that I might be spared what he endured. I see the terror in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking, and it breaks my heart. To-day he smiled for the first time since I found him, and we talked of simple things—home, the sea, anything but that place. The nuns say he spoke of wolves and darkness in his fever, but he will not speak of it now. I must be patient.
30 August.—We are back in Exeter at last. Jonathan is much better, though still pale and thin. Mr Hawkins met us at the station and has taken us into his home—such a dear man, treating us like his own children. Jonathan sleeps beside me now, but he cries out in the night, and I wake to soothe him. I fear what he has seen has scarred him forever.
Letter, Dr Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.
2 September.
My dear Art,—
I must write at once with bad news—Lucy is ill, and I don’t know what to make of it. She was well when I saw her last, full of life after her time at Whitby, but yesterday her maid found her faint and ghostly pale in bed. I went to see her at Hillingham to-day, and she’s like a wraith—white as marble, lips bloodless, and so weak she can hardly speak. There’s no sign of disease I can find—no fever, no injury—yet her blood seems to be failing her. I’ve taken samples, but they show nothing clear. She smiled at me, brave girl, and asked after you, but I could see the effort it cost her. I’ve wired Van Helsing in Amsterdam—he’s the best man I know for odd cases, and he’ll come at once. I hate to trouble you when your father’s so ill, but you should know. Lucy needs you, I think, more than she lets on. Write or come when you can.
Yours ever,
John Seward.
Dr Seward’s Diary
3 September.—Van Helsing arrived this morning, and I took him straight to Hillingham. He’s older than I expected, grizzled and stern, but his eyes are sharp as knives. He examined Lucy with a quiet intensity, asking me questions I couldn’t answer—her diet, her sleep, any wounds. I told him of the marks Mina mentioned from Whitby, but they’ve faded now, and Lucy says they don’t hurt. Van Helsing’s face grew dark as he listened, and he muttered something in Dutch I didn’t catch. He took her pulse, listened to her heart, and then sat back, silent for a long time. At last he said: ‘This is no common case, Jack. There is something at work here I have seen before—but I must be sure. We will watch her closely.’ He’s ordered a nurse to stay with her, and I’m to report every change. Lucy seemed to trust him at once, which is a mercy.
4 September.—Renfield’s wild again. This afternoon he broke into a fit, screaming about ‘the Master’ and clawing at the walls. I had to restrain him—he’s strong as an ox when he’s roused. Then, just as suddenly, he went quiet, smiling like a child, and asked for his flies back. I refused, and he sat humming to himself. Van Helsing came by later and asked to see him; he watched Renfield for an hour without a word, then said: ‘This man knows more than he tells. Keep your eyes on him, friend Jack.’ I don’t know what he means, but I trust him. Lucy’s no better—paler still, and her breathing’s shallow. I’ve never felt so helpless.