Stephen Jones

Ah! Something which filled my very soul with horror. The Count, looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache are changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks are fuller, and the white skin seems ruby-red underneath; the mouth is redder than ever, for on the lips are gouts of fresh blood, which trickle from the corners of the mouth and run over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seem set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath are bloated. It seems as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood like a filthy leech. I must search, or I am lost. The coming night may see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those horrid three.