[I wrote this for a fun little contest that will be over soon. Had to take a scene from a classic and rewrite it in the style of another classic. For further details and the source “scene”, read this. Here you go.]
“When I told Mina,” Harker wrote in his journal, and then he stopped. He stood up. He went to the cupboard and poured himself a whiskey and drank some of it. He took his journal and lied* down on the floor. Of course, he forget his pen on his table. He hauled himself up, saying, “Stupid, stupid.” The pen wasn’t on the table. He went looking for it and found it beside the whiskey bottle. He lied down again, and wrote, “I just hate this lingering tension. That red scar on Mina’s forehead reminds me of–“
He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He looked at what he wrote, and then he tore out the page and crumpled it.
“I am not writing this down,” he said. “I am not thinking of that.”
He would have liked to write something. He looked at the whiskey, and then he looked back at the journal. He grabbed his pen. “When I told Mina the Count is gone from the country, she went to sleep,” he wrote. “She didn’t sleep so well in ages. When she woke up, we kissed. Like in the old days.” Harker closed his eyes again.
He put the pen down, and then he opened his palm. He mimicked caressing Mina’s head, sweeping her hair aside from her forehead. He gasped. Even now. With eyes still closed he ran his index finger along the scar above Mina’s eyebrows. He opened his eyes and then he stared into the empty air.
“She is here,” he wrote then, “yet she is not here. And she will not be fully here with me until we kill that bloody monster. For he is here and not here too. Oh, Jesus. Sometimes I forget, thinking we’re done with him. But then sometimes he seems more real than any of us. He has lived for ages. We must stop him. Not matter how small we seem compared to him. But why us? Mina said it may be our destiny. I think she is right. He is not our doom. We must be his. And then that scar will be gone.”
He put the pen down, and then tore out and crumpled this page as well. He got to his feet.
“I will write this some other time,” he said. “Mina is working on the older diaries,” he said. “What am I doing here without her? It’s already three o’clock. We must work together. And then try again to make love. At dusk, when she is free.” He grabbed his journal and the whiskey bottle.
“You won’t stand between us, you horror!” he heard himself shout. He opened the bottle and then drank a long sip. “No, you won’t,” he said. He stepped to the door. He opened it, and entered the dark corridor.
Hope you like it.
* Yes, I know it’s “lay” (and there are other mistakes too.) It’s on purpose, believe me. (See, for some obscure reason I wanted to achieve an unedited and rushed feel, as if the whole thing was written in a small pub or something, during a lunch break.)