May 21ST, 1916
It is late tonight. I have decided to keep a journal of my thoughts, as I often like to look back on my life and remember the times that have passed. My name is Eric Lecarde. Today was the most important day of my life.

Gwendolyn, my life long love, has become my wife.

I had been moved to England at the age of six with my family and was brought up there (my birthplace was in Segovia, Spain). There I met her, living just down the block. Ever since then, we were friends. As we entered our teenage years, it soon became more than just a normal friendship. We began to fall in love with each other. One spring day, when I was nineteen (that was just under five years ago, I cannot believe how long it has been) I proposed to her, and she accepted with great delight. How happy I was that day!

And the day of union finally arrived. We were wed in the early afternoon at the church here in Veros (we agreed to go back to her hometown in Romania to live), and settled down in the house we bought for ourselves a week earlier. Now, I lay here in bed, having just forged the ultimate bond between my wife and I, writing in this diary. My dear Gwendolyn, how beautiful is she! She lies there in comfort, knowing that I will protect her, watch over her, love her. It is such a wonderful feeling to have someone care for your more than anything in the world. I should probably go to bed now, as I am getting a bit sleepy. I still have to work tomorrow. I am a traveling bodyguard to the mayor of the town. The wretched snob would not let me off the day after my wedding. Such is life. Good night, diary.

May 22ND, 1916
I must say, our first full day as man and wife hadn’t quite been what I had expected. The mayor, Nicholas D’arby, kept me late, so it wasn’t until the sun had set that I saw my Gwendolyn again. She had been cleaning the house, and prepared a delightful dinner of roast chicken for me. I told her of my day. Nicholas would be traveling to a nearby town, and needed me to come with him. I protested vehemently—how could I leave my new wife behind? He seemed to be unsympathetic. Cold old man, father of five, years out of a failed marriage, probably never even courted a lady since. Anyway, he said it would only be one day. I could see a light of disappointment in her eyes when I spoke those words, but she was understanding, and acknowledged that this job was putting food on the table and keeping us well. She said she was sleep from the work that day, gave me a kiss and retired to bed.

A day. But that time period, it would be torture! I long to see her everyday! I do not wish to make her lonely, but what must be must be. I must leave tomorrow morning.

May 23RD, 1916
This town our mayor has rode into is rotten and vile. He is visiting some old friend of his. I can barely stand the smell outside of my chamber. I must stay awake this time, for the safety of the mayor (although personally, I would much like if someone would sneak up while he was in his sleep and slit his throat). I cannot help but think of Gwendolyn. Perhaps the reason I am forlorn is that I keep thinking about her. She is an independent woman, I’m sure she can take care of herself. That is all I shall write tonight.

May 24TH, 1916
Today was a day of utter panic for me. When I returned (it was night, as we had a late start), I found it odd that Gwendolyn was not only missing, but she had not left a note as to her presence. Knowing that no police officials would be open, I climbed into bed with a sense of utter despair. I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight, as my stomach is turning in fear even as I write this.

May 26TH, 1916
As I started out the day in search of Gwendolyn, I was made aware of some quite disturbing news—Mayor D’arby had been murdered in a most gruesome fashion (decapitation) in his home, his daughters missing without a trace. Even a man like D’arby did not deserve a fate as grisly as he received. There was, of course, nothing I could have done to stop it, but I can’t help but feel I somehow failed in my duties as bodyguard.

Gods, could this be the fate that has befallen my dear Gwendolyn? Did I fail her as well?

No, I can’t even begin to start thinking like that. Well past time for bed.

May 30TH, 1916
I had only gotten a few hours of sleep last night, and that was only out of utter exhaustion. I ran around the house, hoping to find that Gwendolyn had returned, but with no results. At first rising hour I dressed, ran to the local officials, and asked the chief, McGregor, if anything had been spotted while I was away. It was a good thing that he was an old friend of Gwendolyn... I could get inside information that they would not normally give away. He said that this was the first disappearance that had been reported. There had been some strange things happening while I was gone... some cats were found dead on the streets, drained of blood, as well as the bloodied of remains of dogs, chickens, and even cattle found in parts of the village.

The only suspect is custody was an old woman named Drolta Tzuentes, a suspected black magic practicioner who was being kept for witchcraft and attempted murder, under the penalty of death. She had been apprehended five days before. The constabulary where already looking for her, as there were reports from the villagers that she was (rather foolishly) standing in the middle of the town square, slitting the throat of a rooster while in a pentagram made of palm ashes. According to McGregor, she had been apprehended when she attempted to break into a house. She was found holding an unholy sacrificial dagger, and was immediately put into custody.

My first question was: why did this woman try to break into this house? I was told that the owners were already questioned, and they had never seen the woman, nor had any idea what she would be doing. An idea struck me... even though it seemed to be a stretch, maybe I could get some information out of this Drolta...

It had actually been back on the 25th of this month that I had entered her cell and explained my situation. I hadn’t intended on being very threatening, but as a bodyguard, I have to be menacing to some degree.

To my surprise, while she’d been described to me as “an old woman” (to which her records conclusively backed), the Drolta I saw before me appeared at the height of her youth, certainly no older than twenty or so years of age and rather attractive. As I quickly discovered, this Drolta was a very stubborn “old woman,” but she listened intently to what I had to say, how my wife had disappeared and if she knew anything about it.

All of a sudden, the look on her face changed from that of thought to that of subtle malice. She hinted that she maybe had an idea what was going on, but only if I could give her something in exchange. For a human on death row, that meant freedom. I wasn’t really sure if I could consciously do that... letting a mad woman roam free for my own selfish purposes. But I knew that I had to do everything in my power to find my Gwendolyn, even if that meant doing something erratic. I agreed, even though I had no legal power to do this. I exited the cell, talked it over with McGregor, and he reluctantly gave in. I know he cared deeply about Gwendolyn...he was almost like a second father to her.

I went back into the holding chamber and drilled Tzuentes for information. What had happened? Where had my love gone? Did it have any relation to the nonsense she was carrying on?

Only one word escaped her lips: “Vampire.”

I had heard of vampires in legends. Unlike many of the townspeople, I actually believed them to be true. One of my closest friends, John Morris, had watched his father fight and be killed by Count Dracula, the father of the Undead. He would tell me of the nightmares that he would have, fearing that someday he would face the same fate. I have lost contact with him as of recent, but I knew John to well to know that he wasn’t making this up. But what did this have to do with what I was investigating? I asked to this Drolta, who seemed a bit giddy to get out of the stinking cell she was now in.

“Confused, Lecarde? Good. It gets worse.”

Again, her next response was extremely brief: “Castle Bartley.” She claimed that was all she knew, apart from the cryptic “That is where your destiny lies.” Her “magical” powers had sensed an aura coming from that place. I had a strange feeling she was lying about this magic of hers, as she did not strike me as a very bright old lady. I threatened her, I wanted to know more! What did that old rotting castle have to do with anything? It had been uninhabited for years, and it was falling apart! Even at the face of death by my hands, she did not say any more. I left the cell, chatted with McGregor for a quick second, then watched as he unlocked Drolta’s chamber and escorted her to the street.

I had a lead now. It wasn’t much of a lead, but at least it allowed me to plan. I must think of an approach to this... tomorrow, I shall journey to England and explore this Castle Bartley, and see what the black magic witch was talking about. I think I shall need my rest.

May 31ST, 1916
Sleep did not come easily last night. I awoke just after dawn and prepared for my siege. I opened the locked cabinet in the basement... the one which held the Lecarde family heirloom, the Alcarde Spear. Legend stated that centuries ago this very spear was used to thwart an evil malefactor. A nobleman was able to liberate this land with the spear’s help.

The weapon had not been used in ages, but I knew the time was right for it now, my obligation being to carry this sacred spear into battle against an unknown foe. Being somewhat familiar with vampire lore, I took my knife and sharpened the wood end of the spear, forming a small stake. Taking along my cape, I left my house, purchased bus tickets to England, and began my trek toward Castle Bartley.

From the house in England I had grown up in I had seen the remnants of the castle—still standing, for the most part—in the distance before my moving to Veros, though it was quite a distance... from the final destination of the bus ride to England, it was going to be a long hike, probably several hours. I had already checked with the local stagecoaches, none would go near the castle.

I had asked Gwendolyn about the castle when we arrived. She said it was an ancient castle, long deserted. The Bartley family had evidently died out many years before, for one of their daughters, Elizabeth, was tried and convicted as a vampire in the early fifteenth century. Thus being associated with the wicked Tepes lineage, the family was run out of town and later killed off by various bounty hunters.

I thought of this as I walked through the woods, up the path to the castle. Vampire? Perhaps the townspeople did not know how to kill a vampire. Maybe... could it have been possible that Elizabeth Bartley had risen from the grave again? But how? Then the whole thing struck me... perhaps Tzuentes had inadvertently resurrected Bartley from her unholy grave!

Around noon, I stopped on the trail and ate my lunch. I had already traveled quite a bit, and I was getting tired already. The castle loomed closer, but was still a good distance away.

It was well into the afternoon before I came across the castle. There was no moat, and oddly enough, the rustic front door at the gate was unlocked. Pushing the gigantic double doors aside, I entered into the dank old castle. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, bats flew from the places and spiders scampered. Apparently, it had been a long time before anything living had set their feet in this area. The old place was dusty, but imagined that many years ago, in its prime, the castle would have been beautiful.

Seeing no where else to go, I walked up the stairs. The echo of my footsteps resounded throughout the place. It was very lonely indeed, but I promised myself that it was all for a good purpose.

I entered into the door at the top of the stairs, and was utterly frightened when the door behind me slammed shut. Without any warning, a lumbering corpse came upon me. I hit it with the butt of my spear, sending to the ground, where I drove the tip through its rotting head. A zombie? Such things existed? I reminded myself this was a house of living horror, beyond the realms of anything I had ever know before.

More of the zombie brethren close in on me. With one very strong swing, I chopped all of them into two pieces. Relaxing in my victory, I let my guard down... giving the five young vampiresses lying in wait for me just enough time to strike. The sisterhood of evil encircling me, I wasted no time in removing myself from the situation with an agile leaping spring of my spear.

The question became poised in my mind—if the mayor’s children had become vampires, what had become of...? Rage consumed me, and I swung my Alcarde Spear with such marksmanship that it seemed to move of its own volition.

When my work was done and the five sisters lay in heaps about the chamber, a sinister cackle came from behind one of the columns. The voice seemed oddly familiar. Drolta.

“Ah, the deary has fallen for the trap! Master always wanted the fresh, young blood of a strong warrior! She says that it tastes the best.”

Blood rushed through every part of my body as I screamed, “Enough treachery, foul sorceress! Tell me where my Gwendolyn is or meet the same fate as your demon brood!”

The woman glared at me with venomous eyes behind her darkened bangs. “You will find out where your wife is in time. But know that she no longer belongs to you.”

Rage shot me over the edge. Something had been done with my love! Without even thinking, I charged Drolta, spear-first. Truthfully, I don’t think she expected me to act as fast I did, for she didn’t get out of the way fast enough. I drove the spear through her supple body and withdrew it. Blood flowed from her throat as she collapsed to the floor and gurgled where she lay, now in her death throes.

“Eric!”

Someone called my name from side as I watched the witch die. I turned around, and to complete delight, I saw Gwendolyn! Yet something was different about her. She was dressed completely in a white dress that flowed behind her. Her skin was pale and her lips bright red. But she still welcomed me closer.

“Have you trekked all to the way to this horrible castle to save me? Why, my love, I owe you so much! But I am fine now. Come, walk over here and give me a kiss.” Gwendolyn opened her arms, as if seeking my embrace.

Once again, emotion got the better of me as I ran toward her and put her once again in my arms. But her grip tightened, as if almost to squeeze the life out of me. She put her head on my shoulders and began to approach my neck.

I knew something was wrong. I pushed her away and saw her eyes gleaming an unholy red. Gigantic fangs, dripping with saliva, was exposed from her mouth. I knew what had happened. I was too late. Gwendolyn had become one of the undead. My love was lost.

“Come here, sweetie!” she beckoned. “We can be together forever!” Her eyes once again fixated on my neck. This was no longer the Gwendolyn I once knew and loved. This was a horrible monster, one controlling her tormented soul. I knew what needed to be done.

She had to be freed.

I ran forward and butted the temptress with my shoulder and she went flying done on the floor. I walked over to her. Her eyes were still glowing red. She cried out for mercy. “Please, my love! You don’t know what you are doing! We can live together eternally!”

“As the undead?” I responded. “As mindless beings controlled by evil? My dear Gwendolyn, I would rather die now than live forever as a slave!” Fear rushed through me now. There was no other choice for what I had to do.

I turned the bottom edge of the spear toward the ground and dug the sharpened stake into Gwendolyn’s breast.

A banshee’s shriek echoed throughout the hall, causing the windows in the room to shatter. No light shone through from the windows, as it was now dark. Great amounts of blood sprayed from the wound. With agonizing pain, I pushed harder on the spear still in her heart. The blood stopped shortly thereafter, and I removed the spear.

I looked at Gwendolyn’s face. Her flesh was no longer white, but was its normal color. The fangs disappeared from her mouth. She opened her mouth, and whispered her final words:

“Thank you, love.”

Her head turned aside, and she was dead. I knew how to complete the ritual... if I were to prevent her resurrection, I would have to cut off her head. But I did not have the strength to do such a thing. Tears flowed from eyes as I knelt over Gwendolyn’s corpse and wept.

A cloud of smoke appeared before the body. A figure of a woman clad entirely in red appeared. She giggled sadistically at the sight of my sobbing.

“Eric Lecarde... are you the one that made this mess?” came her sardonic voice. “You killed my mate... massacred my concubines and killed the young girl who brought me back from the grave, to say nothing of shattering all of the windows to boot! Tsk, tsk, you need to be taught a lesson... but first if I may I introduce myself. My name is Countess Elizabeth Bartley.” Her eyes once again turned the horrible shade of red and the fangs extended. “Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

She began to come closer to me. For a few seconds, I wanted to let her have me. I wanted to die. There was no reason to live, to continue the torment of letting my love out of my hands and killing her myself.

But sense struck me. This was a fate worse than death, I had told that to Gwendolyn. And I would let myself succumb to the evil Countess? Never! Vengeance must be had.

“Because of you, I shall never again see Gwendolyn’s smile or feel her sweet embrace,” I boomed at the Countess.

Her ruby lips twisted in a smile. “I, too, shall miss her sweet embrace.”

She began to descend on me, but with amazing reflexes I rolled out of the way. Bartley hissed and began to run toward me again. Ducking out of the way, I took my spear and stabbed her through the back.

“I know this spear...” she seethed, her smile returning. “It belonged to Master Alucard.” With amazing strength, Bartley turned around, removed the spear from her spine and wrenched it from my hands. She broke the spear in two and tossed the parts aside. With no weapon, I was almost defenseless.

In my combat training we learned that, if unarmed, use any other item you can find to defend yourself. Finding myself near the windows, I picked up a large piece of shattered glass from the floor. It cut through my own flesh, but the pain did not matter.

Bartley once again approached me, but again I jumped out of the way. I struck her arm with the glass, causing a gash. Bartley screamed again and paused. I use this opportunity to strike again. I ran forth and raked the glass across her stomach, stabbed her, and forced her to the ground. She still wailed in pain. As I began to bring the glass shard upon her head, she suddenly turned into a mist and began floating away. I heard her voice.

“You aren’t worth it, even for a delicious young man such as yourself!” She floated toward the open windows, where she morphed into a bat and flew out into the night sky. She called back as she departed, “But you’ll pay for this soon enough. The resurrection of Dracula draws nigh!”

“Come back, you rotten fucking bitch!” I yelled. But I knew no words would do anything to her.

It was all I could do to go back to the body of Gwendolyn and pray. I would have my revenge. Everything from my life was gone. I will track down Bartley, and kill her. I will drive a stake through her heart and tear her fucking head off with my bare hands and send her back to the pits of the hell from whence she was spawned.

I must destroy Bartley. For my own inner peace I will do this. And for Gwendolyn.