A New Vampyre (Part 1) - a fanfiction from the BBC mini-series Dracula
I do not own the rights to the show and all characters are copyright to its creators. This is merely for fun as a fan of Dracula and The Vampyre by underrated writer John Polidori.
It could have been the sound of the pelicans in the distance or the smell of sulfur that prevailed in the air as Ruthven washed up upon shore in the early hours of dusk. That first breath...it was everything as he opened his eyes to the horizon before him. How long had it been and how did he end up off the ship? Endless questions swirled in his head but were in the background as one objective maintain the spotlight. Something he had never felt before in his body. A hunger. It coincided with a pounding headache that reverberated through all of his muscles. It felt like a weight he bore as he tried to stand up. His tongue salivated as he was almost drooling in a haze. Just for one taste. Nothing else mattered to him which for a moment made him tremendously depressed. His love for Adisa...he considered him stronger than he could have ever been and maybe that’s why he threw it all away. A chance to be something he could have complete control over without social constraints which started at the mercy of...Dracula.
“I will drain you dry,” he whispered into Ruthven’s ear as he laid motionless on the cabin floor. In his last moments, he turned to his own bringer of death.
“I know...I know I am worth nothing...But I beg you to take a chance.”
Completely drenched in a dying man’s blood and flesh, Dracula burst out into hysterical laughter. He continued, holding his side and smiling at a confused Ruthven. It would have been an opportune time to find something to defend himself but he could barely move, anxiety on high.
“My good man, why on earth would I do that? You ruined my chance at obtaining esoteric knowledge that most human beings are stupid to care about. Even though I may eat you parasites, at least I allow your lives to live on within me. I don’t waste my food. So give me one reason,” he proclaimed to Ruthven.
What could he possibly offer a 400-year-old monster who held his life within his fingers?
“Give me a new life...as you are...as you said...you will inherit my fortune from Dorabella. We can say that I died. When you are wealthy, I will meet you in England and I will be your humble servant..I have learned and will continue to do so...” It was the best he could do with moments left.
Dracula sat in the pool of blood that surrounded the two of them for a few brief seconds, pondering the idea. His fondness for Jonathan was so short lived after Budapest. A bride that could have been one of his best. What could this vain, weak human have for him? With the body count of the ship rising and the unknown of a new country on the forefront, it was something he could try.
“I can tell you are close...The boy won’t bother you. If I do this and you cross me, I will put your head on a stake so you can watch your body burn. Do you understand?” He crawled over to Ruthven, climbing on top of his body and arched his back.
That last word lingered as Ruthven was able to stand and began to walk across the sand, hearing it crunch against his feet. His desires were answered as he saw a young man working on a docked sailboat, illuminated by an oil lamp, across the way. The man appeared to be of some Mediterranean descent as the flame’s light kissed his olive skin with black tresses of hair held back by a white ribbon in the darkness. He appeared to be lower class with clothing covered in a day’s work of sweat and dirt. Not that it would bother him in that moment.
“Are you all right, sir?” Ruthven didn’t realize that he had tred his path to his first meal so quickly as the Boatman spoke to him within arm’s reach.
“I...I was thrown overboard on a ship...I feel I am a bit perplexed.”
“Oh yes! I saw it explode in the distance. We sent for help and there should be a crew to see for survivors. Praise the Lord that you survived!” The man’s voice was warm and it only enticed him more to which he closed his eyes to savor it.
“Yes...I shall praise him...”
When he opened his eyes, the Boatman fell back against the hull of the vessel behind him and began to shake. The whites of Ruthvan’s eyes had turned red to which he smiled, looking up at the night’s blanket of stars. Out of his mouth sprouted a set of sharped canines, curved that protruded over his lips. He moved his right index finger across the tips of them and sighed in delight. A newfound instinct kicked in and he lunged at the man before him, sinking his jaws into his throat. This was better than any orgasm he had ever felt. When it had to be secret as he clenched his pillows and held his lungs from letting out a moan as he spent a night with Adisa. Or when he was a teenager, Ruthven’s father took him to a Chinese opium den. Nothing. Nothing at all could compare to the exquisite taste that filled every ventricle of his body at this very period of time that he was able to secure. And he drank and drank and drank until he felt the Boatman’s heart stop which he let his body drop once it faded away.
It had to begin this way.
