Communion

A Dracula and Bible Inspired Short Story

Contrary to what that slimy Bram Stoker said, I, Lucy Westenra, am not dead, nor lustful. After all, any good vampire hunter knows that stakes through the heart don’t work. One must burn the body completely before the vampire dies.

That’s the problem. I don’t die. I don’t age. And even though being a beautiful, ethereal being seems like a wonderful blessing, it’s not. I have many reasons to hate my new existence.

Reason One: my fiancé left me in a tomb to die and then married someone else.

Reason Two: I’m always thirsty, and the only drink that will satisfy me is blood. Sure, I drink the blood of criminals (not children! I’m looking at you, Bram Stoker!). But have you ever tried drinking blood? I doubt it. It’s nasty, and the coppery taste makes me wish I could be a vegetarian.

Reason Three: Dracula pursues me, intent on making me a member of his harem. As if I would ever want to be one of those succubi! Especially since they serve the vampire who made me this way.

Because of him, I fled London and am traveling the world. I never stay in one place, and I don’t make friends or boyfriends. That would get me killed. I dyed my hair more times than I can count, changing names and identities like clothes.

Sometimes I wonder: is there hope for me to be human again?

Knock! Knock! A loud pounding interrupts what I wrote in my journal. I stand slowly, tucking the journal into my suitcase.

“Miss Lucy Westenra?” a young man states.

Goosebumps pimple on my skin and the hair rises on the back of my neck. I don’t know how this man found me in a hotel in San Francisco.

“Who are you?” I ask.

I gather my clothes from around the room and stuff them into one of my suitcases. I need to get him talking, thinking he has me cornered, and then flee down the fire escape.

“My apologies, I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I? My name is Jack Holmwood.”

Holmwood. My heart beats faster at the mention of the last name of my ex-fiancé, remembering times of courtship long gone. How we walked side by side in the garden. When he leaned in, his lips brushed mine with a stolen kiss. His joy when I said yes to him and not to the others. Grief seizes my beating heart, weighing it down. I can’t help it. I whisper the words.

“I haven’t heard that name in a while,” I say.

“I suppose not. It’s been thirty years since then,” Jack replies.

I glance at the crumpled up newspaper. October 1, 1935. So much time has passed. I want to ask if Arthur is still alive, but the words stick in my throat. Before I could push past the block, Jack speaks up.

“My father died. That’s why I’m here,” he says. “He asked me to deliver his will.”

“How did he find me?” I ask.

If he’s found me, how much longer will it be before Dracula does? My palms become slick with sweat, and I resume packing.

“He said that the Helsings have a network,” Jack explains. “The Helsings know that you’re not as evil as they first assumed. They promise to keep your location a secret.”

I shiver as I put the final clasp on my suitcase. After the Dracula incident, Van Helsing found a young wife to bear a bunch of children, starting his own supernatural hunting agency. Many a vampire, werewolf, and faerie has fallen to his silver, holy-water laced, bullets. He always burns the bodies. Unlike my idiotic ex-fiancé.

It’s funny how one’s immortality makes one wish for death.

“I’m glad they’re so reliable.” My voice is layered with sarcasm as I inch toward the window and thrust it open.

“I know they don’t have the greatest relationship with your kind, but my father’s will reveals that they discovered a cure.” Jack strains against the door, rattling its hinges. “Won’t you let me in? I can show you.”

I stop as I straddle the window and the fire escape. I’m so close to getting out, to fleeing before someone a lot more dangerous than Arthur’s son finds me. Yet, the word “cure” is too tempting. I ease back into the room, cross over the small space, my heels clicking against the wooden floor, and open the door.

With curly brown hair, striking green eyes that match his checkered, green square suit, Jack looks every bit the Londoner he more than likely is. Tsking under my breath, I pull Jack inside and close the door behind him.

He reddens and clears his throat. “Is there any reason we can’t meet in the hall?”

I roll my eyes. “Dracula is after me. Propriety is the least of my concerns. Besides, haven’t you heard? Women can vote now. There’s no reason to be so self-conscious.”

“Right.” He says the words in a way that makes me think he doesn’t believe them, adjusts his tie, and opens up the letter. He reads it in a clear baritone.

“My dearest Lucy,

I am certain that you probably hate me for what I did. But you have to understand—you transformed, becoming something beautiful and terrible right before my eyes. Trust me when I say that I wish I had told your mother about why we had the garlic in your room. Maybe it would have stopped your terrible fate. She told me you sent her gifts. Before she died, she asked for you. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

As for my marriage to another, you can’t blame me, can you? How could I marry a woman who doesn’t age? Would you truly love me in the time of rheumatism? Beautiful, ageless, woman that you are, I doubt our relationship could’ve lasted.

Yet, I know I bear a certain amount of responsibility, and as I come to my last days, I decided to make up for it as best I can. I instructed my son to help you obtain the cure, in return for inheriting my fortune. Hopefully, you can spare him from your fangs until then? Dr. Helsing says that you do not partake of the innocent. My son is the paragon of virtue. Otherwise, I would not have sent him to you.

There is only one cure for vampirism: drinking the communion wine and bread. Of course, there is great danger in this undertaking. As you know, entering a church causes vampires great pain, and holy water causes mortal wounds. This is why I sent my son to you. He can enter the church, retrieve the communion wine and bread, say the words, and presto! You’re cured.

I suppose then; the choice is up to you. Free yourself from this curse by risking death and involving an innocent person, or continue to live in hiding for eternity.

Even though it may not seem like it, I loved you once. I hope this letter shows that.

Sincerely Yours,

Arthur Holmwood

P.S. My son has been instructed to leave if you choose not to do this. So you must decide immediately.”

I sway as I process the words of my former lover, dropping my suitcase on the floor. I eventually sit on the edge of the bed. Jack, for his part, stands quietly, looking at me with the patience of a saint.

I don’t know how long I sit there before I rise to my feet.

“You can leave,” I say to Jack. “You’ve fulfilled your father’s promise.”

Jack arches an eyebrow at me. “What’s your decision?”

I don’t tell him, but I plan to find some other chap to take his place. I can’t bear the thought of having Jack with me, endangering his life for a bloodstained vampire. Besides, I’m not sure this “cure” works. It sounds too easy.

“You don’t need to know,” I tell Jack. “Now, get out of here before Dracula comes.”

“There’s no way Dracula followed me,” Jack says. “I was careful.”

The lights flicker, creaking noisily before they sizzle out. Darkness envelops us, and an unladylike curse escapes my mouth.

“You brought him right to me! So much for being careful!” I grumble.

“I’m sorry! But don’t you think it’s worth it if you can be cured?”

“If I can be cured,” I repeat under my breath.

“What was that?”

I don’t answer. Grabbing Jack by his wrist, I snatch my suitcase and walk towards the open window, the only source of light in the dark room.

“Do you have your luggage anywhere?”

“With the hotel clerk, why?”

I glance at him. “Take the suit jacket off.”

He hesitates.

I reach for the jacket, but he removes it.

“Now what?”

“I’m sorry for this, but I promise it will only hurt a little and you won’t turn.”

“Huh?”

I lunge for his neck, sinking my fangs in. He groans, falling to his knees as I suck his blood. It takes every inch of my self-control to hold the blood in my mouth instead of drinking it. I take just enough and spew it on his jacket, leaving it on the bed. Glancing at him, he looks pale in the sunlight, but otherwise fine. Holding his hand to his neck, he stumbles to his feet, lost and confused, like a puppy I kicked. My heart pangs a little, but I ignore it. He’s not dead, I reassure myself.

“We’ll need to get you something to eat and a change of clothing.” I state matter-of-factly. “That jacket will only delay Dracula for a few minutes. Then he’ll be after us.”

I scoot out the window, my nylons scraping against the sill. One of them has a hole, but I have no time to worry about that. I lift my suitcase and put it beside me on the metal fire escape. I put out my hand to Jack.

Jack ignores my hand and hops through the window himself, shutting it behind him. We both begin descending the fire escape. The hubbub of the city below and the ruckus of the hotel staff reach my ears.

“What happened?”

“Where did that man go?”

“He looked rather pale, didn’t he?”

I ignore the conversation, intent on fleeing before Dracula sees through my ploy. We reach the bottom step when I hear an inhumane screech above us. I don’t glance up, but Jack does, his mouth agape. Clouds gather overhead, and the scent of rain mixes with cement and human sweat. I push forward through the crowds of people.

Automobiles honk as I cross, winding street after street. The rain is pouring now, and Jack follows me. I slip in a puddle in my haste, my skirt staining with mud, water, and God-knows-what. I’m about to stand up when Jack offers me a hand. With his white shirt and askew tie, he reminds me too much of his father. My heart pangs again as I rise to my feet and brush off my skirt. I feel a chill rush down my back and I know Dracula is drawing near. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him, his pale black hair and gleaming eyes hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

We run, and I see a trolley up ahead. I leap on, joining others, and glance behind me to see if Jack is there. The trolley bell rings, and I’m still looking for Jack. At last, I spot him, standing with his hands shaded over his eyes, squinting into a crowd. My hands fly over my mouth as I see Dracula approach Jack. The vampire looks so unassuming in his three-piece suit and tie, just another American among many. I want to shout, “No, stop, it’s Dracula!” But the words don’t fly out of my mouth as the trolley pulls away, chugging its way through San Francisco’s streets.

It’s sometime later when I hop off the trolley and begin wandering. Somehow, I find myself in Chinatown. The oriental buildings and garish red-yellow decorations blur together. The Chinese stare at me as I cross through their streets, their long braids and thin mustaches standing out just as much to me as I do to them.

For the first time, I thirst. It’s getting dark, and the riff-raff of San Francisco is already out. My eyes gleam as I find my target—a Tong gang member picking on one of the restaurant owners who owes him money. I wait until the member gets his pay and crosses into a dark alley. Like a lioness stalking her prey, I sink my teeth into his flesh and drink my fill. Putting his dead body in a dumpster, I look down at my clothes and know they’re ruined. I crouch behind the dumpster and change into an outfit more suited for my surroundings: a qipao. I hide my hair under a wide hat and hope that I’m not mistaken for a nightwalker.

I stride back out to the streets and find a hotel. Checking in with a few crumpled dollars from my suitcase, the innkeeper doesn’t even blink at my haggard appearance and un-Chinese-like features. He takes the money and jerks his thumb towards one room. I enter and try not to gag. It smells like booze, opium, and vomit. I opt for the chair, where I curl up to sleep.

Jack’s face haunts my dreams, and I don’t sleep well. At midnight, the innkeeper knocks on my door.

“Message for you,” he says with a thick accent.

“Slip it under the door,” I reply.

I hear the letter land on the floor. My hands tremble as I unravel it. I hope it’s from Jack, but I see the all-too-familiar handwriting of my stalker. Lucy, if you want your pet, meet me at the Golden Gate Bridge at dawn tomorrow. It’s time that you stop running.

Crumpling the letter, I know what I must do, and I hate it.

Somehow, I sleep, and when I wake, it’s dawn. Changing into more American attire, I choose a curve-hugging black dress and black heels. If I’m going to lose myself to Dracula, I’m going out in style, I think. I pay the innkeeper, who bobs his head at me, then I walk outside. The streets are quiet. Few are awake at this time except for the paper boys. One of them calls out and I toss him a coin.

His eyes widen as he says, “Thank you, Miss!”

His expression reminds me too much of Jack. I unfurl the newspaper and peruse the headlines as I walk, trying to distract myself from the rising butterflies in my stomach. Eventually, I toss the newspaper in the bin and make it to the meeting place. The orange-red wires, suspended like cobwebs, support a long bridge that connects San Francisco to Marin County. Recently constructed, the bridge still isn’t in full use yet. I wait at one end and look out at the sea.

I can see the fog unfurling over the ocean, coming alongside the waves. Seagulls cry overhead, and the mix of salt and sand fills my nostrils. The fog reminds me of London and why I chose this busy city as my shelter. The peaceful moment feels like a slap in the face compared to what’s ahead.

“So you came after all.” Dracula’s breath tickles the back of my neck and I shiver.

My vampiric instincts want me to turn around and embrace him, but the part of me that’s still me, still Lucy, resists. I turn and lean back, trying to put as much distance as I can between me and him.

Dracula is a tall, thin, pale man. Because of his frequent feedings, he has lost his white hair and replaced it with a black wig that makes him appear more debonair than dangerous. His suit is hardly crumpled from his encounter with Jack.

“Where’s Jack?” I ask.

“Don’t worry.” Dracula purrs, and he closes the distance between us, his mouth dangerously close to my neck where he first bit me. “He’s somewhere safe.”

I squeeze the railing behind me, turning my head away. My instincts scream at me, but my inner Lucy wins out.

“No Jack, no Lucy,” I say, inching away from him.

He frowns, knowing his vampiric abilities don’t have me under his spell.

“Do you really like that man more than me?” He pouts.

“It’s not a matter of liking or not liking. Tell me where he is, and I’ll go with you willingly.”

“He’s at St. Mary’s Hospital.” Dracula glances at his fingernails, as if he is not the least bit interested in the fate of someone he almost murdered. When he looks up, an animalistic gleam flashes in his dark eyes.

I gulp. My stomach is in knots, and if I could throw up, I would.

“Now, if you came here, that must mean you’re done running.” Dracula reaches for my cheek and I stiffen as he brushes his cold knuckles against me. “Are you ready to become my wife, Lucy?”

A whine escapes my throat, a mixture of terror and acceptance. As Dracula leans closer, I wonder if there’s anything more I can do. My mind races. If only the cure is real and I could escape. If only I ran when I had a chance. If only Jack hadn’t gotten involved. I squeeze my eyes shut, salty tears mixing with the moist air as Dracula leans in for a kiss.

“What are you doing out here, kissing a lady in broad daylight!” an old man’s voice breaks my frozen terror. “What has this world come to, the indecency! I say, it all started with women’s rights. If those cantankerous women hadn’t started…”

I can’t hear the rest of his raving as a laugh escapes my throat. Dracula looks ready to murder the bystander, but I wish I could shake his hand in thanks.

“You’re right, Dracula,” I say. “I’m tired of running.”

Then, squeezing through the steel webbing, I dive into the bay.

I stumble on to the shore, sopping wet and wishing that I didn’t choose to wear my best dress and high heels. Twisting the fabric of my dress, I try to empty most of the salty water on the pebble-lined beach. I wince as I wobble among the stones, making my way up to the street. I thread my fingers through my hair and try to squeeze water out of the blonde locks.

With determined steps, I make my way to the nearest trolley stop. Everyone stares at me as I step on, and the trolley trucks away, leaving the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge in my peripheral. My heart flutters in my chest. I did it; I think. I finally escaped Dracula.

Even though I’m relieved, I know Dracula will still be able to pursue me as long as I’m a vampire. I swallow hard. I know I need to be cured, but first, I have to make sure Jack is okay. Getting off the trolley near the hospital, I am still dripping despite my best efforts. As soon as I step into the hospital lobby, I feel it: the sign that this is a holy place.

The wet clinging to my dress steams. Heat fills my body, and I wonder if I have a fever. The nurses in the lobby greet me with concerned words, but I can barely hear them. I stumble forward, whispering the words.

“I need to see Jack.”

“Are you family?”

I nod. A lie, but in my mind, I justify it, thinking of how we could’ve been family if his father had married me.

“I understand, but perhaps you should get checked out first? You’re sweating profusely.”

“Please,” I beg. “I’m just a little warm. I’ll be fine.”

My eyes must have tears in them because the nurse nods numbly and leads me through the hallways. I stumble through, my vision spinning, until we come to a long room filled with beds and privacy curtains. The nurse points to a bed in the corner, where a priest is standing a little outside of it. Am I too late? Are they administering his last rites? My throat feels clogged, and I no longer care that I’m burning up in this holy place.

The priest turns and sees me.

“Jack is sleeping,” he says. “It might be good if you wait to see him.”

“Is he stable?”

“I think so, but I’m no doctor. Nurse?” the priest asks.

The nurse nods. “He’ll recover.”

I slump inward, about to collapse. The older priest puts his arm around my shoulders. It feels like stinging needles. I grit my teeth.

“Come,” the priest says. “Take a walk with me.”

He leads me out, and I’m so weak that I let him. As we turn down some hallways, I realize he’s leading me toward a chapel. I balk as I come to the threshold, and I’m filled with terror. I’ve been told vampires die as soon as they enter a church. That’s why my ex sent Jack. The priest lets me go and enters.

“I thought it might be quieter here. You seemed like you needed a moment.”

He is kind. So kind. But he doesn’t realize what I am. What will happen to me the moment I cross over the threshold? I fall to the ground against the wall of the hospital, trying to get my breathing under control.

“I-I’ll wait out here,” I say.

He nods, as if that happens to him often, and turns away.

At that moment, I reach out and say words I never thought I would say.

“Priest…could you…would you…administer communion to someone like me?”

The priest pauses, and his eyes are soft. “Communion is for anyone who believes.”

I falter, realizing I don’t have that much faith. I’m not even sure if I’ve spoken to God since the moment I’ve turned. A passage floats across my memory, something about having the faith of a mustard seed. I swallow. I think…I have that much faith.

The priest holds out his hand, and I realize that I have to undergo the pain of the pinpricks from touching a holy man again. My hands shake as I reach out and he lifts me to my feet. Pain fills my mind, and every instinct cries out to me to run away. Tears sting my eyes as I take a slow step forward over the threshold of the church, hoping and praying that I will not vanish right then and there.

Nothing happens. I’m still shaking as I take a seat in the front pew and the priest goes behind the altar to get the communion wine and bread. As I look at the candles and the image of the crucifix, I wonder why I wasn’t a pile of ashes. Looking at Jesus’s broken face, I put my head in my hands and think that somehow, God has spared me. I don’t deserve it, I think, and tears stream down my face.

Another idea occurs to me. What if Dracula perpetuated the lie that vampires would die near holy places so that he could continue to populate his race and control his people? It would be something he would do, and the blood reaction that he builds into his progeny discourages most from trying it. It seems too easy; I think.

“That’s grace,” the priest says, and I realize I spoke my thoughts aloud. “It’s simple and seems too easy. But it is only so because of what He did.”

I look up, and he is pointing at the crucifix again. I nod, astonished and numb.

“Now, here is the wine and the bread.”

The priest hands it to me and I take it, trembling as my hands envelop the goblet and bread.

“’Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, ye have not life in yourselves. He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day. For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed. He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood abideth in me, and I in him.’”

I listen, barely comprehending the words.

“This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.” The priest gestures to the bread.

I put it in my mouth, and its softness melts on my tongue.

“This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you.” The priest motions to the goblet of wine.

I drink it, draining it to the dregs, feeling the bubbles and acid coating my tongue. I give the goblet back to the priest, and he disappears behind the altar again. Waiting, I don’t really feel any different at first. Then, it comes.

I sweat and shake profusely. My vision spins, and my head pounds. I fall off the pew, and distantly, I hear the priest calling for help. All I can feel is burning, burning from the inside and sweating on the outside. I feel like I’m being ripped apart, and I flail even as the nurses and doctors surround me. I know I’m being lifted, but it’s like I’m seeing myself distantly, incomprehensibly. At some point, I black out.

When I wake up, everything has changed.

Jack opens his eyes and blinks. Once. Twice. He rubs them just to be sure, but he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Lucy Westenra sits by his bedside, her blonde hair messy, her blue Blondell dress with its white ruffle resting against her reddish-pink skin. She smiles at him, and that’s when he knows—she isn’t a vampire anymore.

“What, how?” he asks.

“Well, this is a Catholic hospital, after all,” Lucy replies. “It wasn’t hard to find a priest to perform the rites of communion.”

Jack eases to a sitting position, wincing from the pain. “I thought you didn’t believe in the cure.”

“Woah, there,” Lucy says, pushing him back on the bed. “The doctor says you should take it easy. You’ve been asleep for days.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

She looks out the window. “I didn’t believe it at first. But then the priest came, and one thing led to another, and…here I am.”

“It’s a miracle,” Jack mumbles.

Lucy nods. “By the way, I had the priest perform rites for you, too. Just in case.”

He clears his throat. “Thanks. But what about Dracula?”

“Oh, him?” Lucy turns to face him. “I reported his location to the Helsing branch here in San Francisco. Can you believe that they’re hiding underneath the Coit Tower? And here I thought that’s just a pretty monument.”

“And that…stopped him?” Jack questions.

Lucy frowns. “No, but it scared him, and with me being a human, the Helsing agency told me it would be harder for him to find me. They tried to recruit me, but I told them I’m too old for that kind of thing. Besides…”

She pauses, and he could see some nostalgia rising in her blue eyes.

“I miss London. I miss home.”

She flashes her beautiful smile again, and Jack observes she doesn’t have any fangs.

“Could you take me home, Jack?”

He chuckles. “Well, I am heir to a fortune now.”

“That’s true.” Lucy laughs with him. Then, her brow crinkles. “There’s only one thing that confuses me about all of this.”

“What’s that?”

“Why was communion the only cure?”

“I’m not sure.” Jack scratches his chin, realizing he needs to shave. “What did they say when they administered it?”

Lucy repeated the verse, then asked, “What does it mean?”

Jack tapped the side of his forehead for several minutes, pondering the passage. He snaps his fingers as he realizes.

“That passage is talking about Jesus’ blood, right?”

She nods.

“Well, Catholics believe that Jesus’ blood and flesh are transubstantiated. They believe it is literally the blood and flesh of Jesus, just transformed in a way that humans can consume it. If that’s the case, by taking the ‘blood’ of Jesus through the wine and the ‘body’ of Him through the bread, you were taking on the divine.”

“I’m not sure about all of that.” Lucy’s nose wrinkles. “Are you saying I ate Jesus?”

Jack chuckles. “I don’t know about that. But something divine must have happened, or you wouldn’t be the way you are.”

Lucy looks solemn. “Yes…I think so.”

“You’re uncertain?” Jack asks.

“I experienced something within this hospital.” Lucy bites her lower lip. “I definitely felt an inkling of faith, but it’s all so new for me that I don’t know what to make of it.”

Jack nods. He had attended church his entire life, but he had never really thought about its power. Lucy surprises him by reaching over and squeezing Jack’s hand.

“When we get to London, could we find a church and see for ourselves?”

Jack’s heart warms. “Yes, let’s.”

And that, ladies and gentleman, is the story of how I became human and lived happily ever after. I suppose it was written a little differently than Bram Stoker wanted, but oh well.

As for Dracula, he is still out there, hunting young women and turning them into vampires. Despite Helsing’s best efforts, killing Dracula is harder than it seems. Yet, there is hope. Vampirism isn’t permanent. For women like myself, it is freeing knowing there’s a way out.

All you have to do is to partake of communion.

Looking for more to read?

Enjoy this:

What divine mercy could ignite a man’s rage?

Angelo, champion of the sea god, is ordered to deliver hope to his most despised enemies. Instead, he boards a ship headed in the opposite direction. But divine assignments aren’t so easily ignored. Shipwrecked and pursued by the very forces he despises, he faces an impossible choice: cling to the hatred that defines him, or embrace the treacherous divine assignment he fled. The future of two nations, and his own survival, hangs in the balance. Can he abandon the bitterness that defines him, or will his rebellion doom them all?