Page 122 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

I slid into the seat Ellen indicated, waiting with bated breath for the few present to turn around and note my arrival. Heads continued to face the front and the large screen upon which the film was to be projected. The room was already in darkness. The walls oozed anticipation and a sense of the forbidden. After all, this was an unlawful screening. A secret one. I recognised a couple of the silhouettes, even from behind. There was John Maynard Keynes, Mr Shaw, Mr Wells, Mr Montagu, and a couple of hatted women I assumed were wives. Did they know that the woman who sought to prevent this film ever being shown sat behind them?

Mrs Bram Stoker: Dracula’s unwelcome guest.

When Ellen invited me to a clandestine viewing for sponsors of the Society, my attempts to stop it having failed, I initially refused. Why would I want to see something that had caused me nothing but torment and trouble for years? A film that, through the delusional fixation of others, had achieved a life of its own.

Not to be dissuaded, Ellen telephoned me and insisted.

‘I can’t, Ellen.’ I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the exasperation out of my tone. ‘I told you; I can’t be seen to sanction what I’ve fought so hard to destroy.’

Ellen gave her deep throated chuckle. ‘Of course you can’t. So, we’re going to ensure you’re not seen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve thought it through. I’ll sneak you in just before the film starts, when everything is in darkness. If you sit at the back, then leave before the lights come on, no-one will know you were there. What do you think? It’s a grand idea, isn’t it?’

I fell silent.

‘Come on, Lemon, what have you got to lose?’

Everything, I thought. Except …

I gave a bitter laugh. ‘I don’t want to see it, Ellen. I want to kill it.’

‘Then deliver the death blow knowing thine enemy. Come on, Lemon, I know you want to …’

We’d argued back and forth a little longer, but it wasn’t until she assured me the Film Society was returning the film to Germany for destruction after the one screening that I reluctantly agreed.

‘I don’t understand why you would break the law for the sake of a film.’

Ellen sighed. ‘Firstly, it’s not breaking any British laws —’

‘Isn’t it? It’s breaking my heart.’

There was the crepitation of the phone line.

‘Secondly, this might be the only chance any of us get to view it. Think about it, Lemon. A cinematic version of Bram’s book. How can you not want to see it? There may never be another one.’

To the side of the screen, a piano played loud, discordant music, like a church organ in the process of dying. The sound plucked at my already heightened nerves. Flustered, my hands gripped my reticule tightly. What was I doing here? Why had I allowed Ellen to convince me? Beside me, she laced a reassuring hand through mine and nodded towards the screen. With a deep breath, I turned towards it.

Names appeared: the characters, cast and crew. Much to my surprise, the main female character was called Ellen. My Ellen and I exchanged a quick look of astonishment before the screen captured us once more.

An image, like a page in an old book, flickered. The word ‘Nosferatu’ appeared; below was a definition. I could make out the words ‘death bird’, ‘midnight’ and ‘blood’. A wave of cold struck me.

Once the film proper started, I found it hard to concentrate. How could I, when I was comparing every scene, every utterance, every character, to Bram’s novel? The names may have been altered, the size of the cast, the locations, too, but to me it was a poor and shameful copy of my husband’s work. It was also heavy-handed, with none of the subtleties of Dracula. The references to blood, the occult, werewolves, were so overblown. Jonathan Harker had become Hutter, and gormless in the process, his goofy grin and affability a weakness. Ellen, or Mina as she was so obviously meant to be, was a much more appealing character, only lacking British Mina’s skills or, it seemed, a mind. As for the Dracula figure – Count Orlock as he was renamed – he was the stuff of nightmares. Not even the advertisement I’d been sent years ago prepared me for the emaciated hunchback hulking over every scene. The black-ringed eyes, peculiar mouth and those rat-teeth. The claw-like hands that reached and grasped. He was demonic, made worse because he was aligned with the plague.

As the film progressed, I forgot my earlier reservations and found myself drawn into the narrative. Perhaps it was the music, the fantastical, gloomy imagery, the ravenous, busy spiders, carnivorous plants, wooden crosses, all laden with significance transcending their original purpose. Light, shadows and buildings became characters in their own right; the actors’ eyes, impossibly wide, filled with confusion, fear and dread, imbuing the tale with an unexpected malignancy.

The room contracted as the reel clicked and whirred, the small audience completely still. The jangling music filled my body and seized my heart, causing it to beat faster. Beside me, Ellen had inched forward. I glanced at her; the shadow cast by the screen count had swallowed her features. She too was a mere vessel for this dark tale.

When film-Ellen sacrificed herself, all I could think was: Why is it that women must always pay the price for men’s sins? Even inhuman ones.

The first rays of dawn struck the count, and he dissolved. I gasped. That was an innovation I hadn’t been prepared for. Bram’s vampire was weakened by the sun, but a blade through the heart is what turned him to ash that drifted away like motes in God’s new day.

When the film finished, I was exhausted and strangely elated. While I knew I could hardly be objective, there was no doubt in my mind that, destructive sunlight aside, this was a direct copy of Bram’s book. Every plot point was lifted from the novel. The film might be unique in its staging, but it owed its very existence to Dracula and thus Bram Stoker. I’d been correct to pursue Prana. If a Stoker could give a vampire life, then a Stoker could bloody well take it.

That was my right. I would choose what, where and when a new version of Dracula would live.