The plot thickens on Kaeltripton! Last time, Mina soaked in Whitby’s charm while Seward puzzled over Renfield—now a storm crashes in, bringing a ghost ship and a massive dog to shore. Mina’s journal reveals her mounting anxiety about Jonathan as strange events unfold. We’re dishing out this free chunk of Dracula with a teaser excerpt below, followed by the full text from roughly pages 82 to 96—covering a gripping news report and Mina’s sleepless nights. We’re serving Dracula in bites—keep checking back for more, or grab a $ subscription to unlock the whole tale now, plus my takes on its spooky twists. Ready for the storm to break? Let’s dive in!

Cutting from “The Dailygraph,” 8 August
(Pasted in Mina Murray’s Journal)
Storm at Whitby.—One of the greatest storms ever known on this coast broke last night with a fury that has left its mark. The day had been fine, with a light breeze from the south-west, but towards evening the glass fell suddenly, and a strange stillness settled over the sea. The fishing-boats hurried into harbour, and the few ships in sight seemed to sense the coming danger. By midnight, the wind had risen to a gale, and the sea began to roar with a violence that shook the cliffs. Our correspondent writes from Whitby: ‘The storm came on so fast that even the old sailors along the shore were taken by surprise. The waves grew monstrous, crashing over the piers and sending spray high into the air. The lighthouse keepers reported a schooner, seemingly foreign, driving before the wind with all sails set—an odd sight, for no sane captain would risk such a course in this weather.’
‘By two in the morning, the gale was at its height. The sea-wall was battered, and the bell-buoy off Kettleness tolled wildly as the waves tossed it. Then, through the mist and rain, the schooner was seen again, closer now, rushing towards the harbour mouth. It was a fearful sight—her sails torn, her deck awash, and no sign of life aboard. The crowd on the cliffs held their breath as she struck the East Pier with a crash that echoed over the storm. A strange thing: the moment she grounded, an immense dog sprang from the deck onto the sand and bounded away up the cliff, disappearing into the darkness. No one could say whence it came or whither it went.’
‘At dawn, when the storm had eased, men boarded the wreck. She was the Demeter, from Varna, with a cargo of silver-sand and a few boxes of earth. The crew were all dead—some flung overboard, others sprawled on deck, their faces frozen in terror. The captain was found lashed to the helm, his hands gripping a crucifix, and his log told a tale of madness and dread. It spoke of a strange passenger, of men vanishing one by one, and a final desperate stand against an unseen foe. The last entry read: “Only God can save us now; I tie myself to the wheel with my cross.” The ship’s arrival has caused a sensation here; the dead captain’s body lies in state at the church, and the dog remains a mystery.’
[Full log excerpts from the Demeter, as reported:]
*‘17 July.—Second mate missing last night; crew uneasy.’
*‘25 July.—Another man gone; fog all day; fear growing.’
*‘2 August.—Saw a tall, thin man on deck—not one of us. Crew mad with terror.’
*‘3 August.—At midnight, saw him again; I struck at him with my knife, but it passed through air. One man left now.’
‘4 August.—Alone. God help me. He comes at night.’
The coroner’s inquest is set for to-morrow, but little more is expected to be learned. The storm has passed, but its shadow lingers over Whitby.
Mina Murray’s Journal
6 August.—Another three days, and no news. This suspense is getting dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I should feel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that last letter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitable than ever, but is otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, and the fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it and learn something about it. I have been reading up in the library about Whitby and its history—it helps to keep my mind off things.
8 August.—Lucy was very restless last night, and I could not sleep either, between her wanderings and my own fears. The storm broke about one o’clock, and it was terrific. I went to the window and saw the lightning flash over Kettleness; the wind roared like thunder, and the sea was a mass of foam. I feared for any ship caught out there, and sure enough, this morning we heard of the wreck. I went down to the pier with Lucy to see what I could learn; the coastguard said the ship was Russian, from Varna, and that its crew had suffered some awful fate. The poor captain was a brave man—they’re giving him a funeral with honours to-morrow. Lucy was fascinated by the great dog that ran off; she says it must have been frightened by the storm. I wish I could feel so light-hearted. I am anxious beyond words about Jonathan.
9 August.—The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day 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 seat on the cliff, so that we could see everything. The service was beautiful, and I wept to think of that brave man’s end—alone, facing some terror. Lucy was restless again last night; we both woke several times, and she tried the door in her sleep, though I had locked it as usual. She seemed disappointed to find it fast, and went back to bed with a sigh. I wonder if it’s the storm unsettling her—or something else.
10 August.—The poor captain’s funeral has affected me more than I thought. I dreamt last night of Jonathan, pale and lost, and woke in a panic. Lucy was up too, wandering in her sleep again; I found her at the window, staring out at the sea. She didn’t wake when I led her back to bed, but she seemed troubled. No letter from Jonathan yet—I am beginning to fear the worst. The coastguard says the storm brought strange weather; even now, the air feels heavy, as if something is coming. I must keep busy to stave off despair.