TATTLE TALES: True Love Sucks

Another entry for our Humor Meets Horror Month!

Mr. R.M. Renfield

Dr. Seward’s Asylum

666 Bedlam Lane

London, England


August 15, 1891


My Dearest Mr. Renfield:

I am writing in strictest confidence, as I surmise you and I are the only individuals enthralled by our mutual friend. I hope you are doing well and enjoying the Roach Inn I sent you. It’s difficult to know what to forward to the asylum, since you have such an exotic palate. The rats I found in the cellar at Whitby chewed their way out of the box before I could ship it.

My head and heart have been so tormented since I met our handsome Count Dracula. He excites me so much. His passion runs so deeply. It is like he hungers for me. Mr. Holmwood is a fine young man, but he pales in comparison to Dracula – and we’re talking very pale.

The count has such a countenance of style and flair. It’s like he is carved from the finest marble. I’ve never seen anyone carry off a cape quite the way he does. I guess men from Transylvania have exotic tastes and peculiar habits. I’ve never seen him enjoy a meal, although I’ve invited him to dine with us several times. He just gives me a dark seductive look and tells me he would much rather “Drink in my presence.”

Doctor Seward and his colleague Van Helsing came to visit today, and said they were concerned about my health. I think it is just a ploy that mother and Mina have instituted. They feel it is not in my best interest to spend time with the Count, since I am engaged to Mr. Holmwood. I believe that Mina is jealous of my handsome, foreign, paramour. Her betrothed, Jonathan Harker, is such a wallflower and lowly solicitor.

Previously, I was excited at the thought of becoming Lady Godalming when Arthur and I are married. Now, I restlessly dream of becoming Countess Dracula. What simple English girl wouldn’t want her home to be a castle?

They seem to think that I’m suffering from some Transylvanian flu which includes blood loss. What a pathetic attempt to keep me away from my passionate new suitor. We have created enchanting pet names for each other. I call him “Dracie” and he calls me “Fresh Meat.” I shiver every time he whispers it in my ear. It makes me feel so youthful– like a juicy fresh peach.

Oh, I must not go on so. As I think of Dracie, my heart grows fainter by the day. This afternoon the very eccentric Van Helsing brought in a smelly garland of garlic blossoms and a woven necklace of the same, and advised I should wear the necklace and adorn my four-poster bed with the rest. When I refused, he told me it was the current trend in all the finest salons in Paris.

I reluctantly agreed to his request, but the garlic makes me queasy and my boudoir smells like an Italian bistro. Van Helsing, of course, is lying to me. I see he has no sense of style. His boots are covered in mud, and he smells of stale tobacco and excessive flatulence.

Dr. Seward came to visit and wanted to put a crucifix above my bed. He doesn’t know I have Jewish ancestors and my bubbe Yentl would be meshugenah if I hung a cross in my room. I politely declined, telling the doctor the space was reserved for a portrait of the queen of the music hall Madame Streisand.

I don’t know why everyone is so intent on redecorating my room. Little do they know I won’t be here much longer. Last evening, during our midnight rendezvous in the garden, Dracie whispered he finally found a romance he could sink his teeth into.

I know a proposal is coming from my forbidden lover. He asked me to fill a box with dirt for our trip to Transylvania. It’s a strange request, but it must be some old country tradition. I do notice the Count often smells of damp soil. He remains a mystery to me, but I imagine he must love gardening. Hopefully he will plant beautiful roses around our moat.

The anticipation of becoming the bride of Dracula is killing me. I know you are in constant contact with him, so please put a bug in his ear about popping the question. I know it will kill my mother and destroy my friendship with Mina, but the Count must be my eternal love.

For such a kind favor, I will send you some fresh new spiders that are spinning a web right now outside my window. I’m forever in your debt and would ask you to be the best man at our wedding if you can get a day pass from the asylum.

My blood churns as I await the next interlude with my cape wearing sweetheart. Chills run down my spine as I think of his intense kisses. He truly is the king of hickeys. I must bid you adieu for now. I’m feeling a bit faint in my excitement. I will just close by stating if I don’t become Countess Dracula, I might as well be dead.

Forever in your debt,

Lucy Westenra




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