Дракула

Jonathan Harker’s Journal Continued

           Ithoughtandthoughtwhatshouldbemynextmove,butmybrainseemedonfire,andIwaitedwithadespairingfeelinggrowingoverme. AsIwaitedIheardinthedistanceagipsysongsungbymerryvoicescomingcloser,andthroughtheirsongtherollingofheavywheelsandthecrackingofwhips. TheSzganyandtheSlovaksofwhomtheCounthadspokenwerecoming. Withalastlookaroundandattheboxwhichcontainedthevilebody,IranfromtheplaceandgainedtheCount’sroom,determinedtorushoutatthemomentthedoorshouldbeopened. Withstrainedears,Ilistened,andhearddownstairsthegrindingofthekeyinthegreatlockandthefallingbackoftheheavydoor. Theremusthavebeensomeothermeansofentry,orsomeonehadakeyforoneofthelockeddoors. 

           Thentherecamethesoundofmanyfeettrampinganddyingawayinsomepassagewhichsentupaclangingecho. Iturnedtorundownagaintowardsthevault,whereImightfindthenewentrance,butatthemomentthereseemedtocomeaviolentpuffofwind,andthedoortothewindingstairblewtowithashockthatsetthedustfromthelintelsflying. WhenIrantopushitopen,Ifoundthatitwashopelesslyfast. Iwasagainaprisoner,andthenetofdoomwasclosingroundmemoreclosely. 

           AsIwritethereisinthepassagebelowasoundofmanytrampingfeetandthecrashofweightsbeingsetdownheavily,doubtlesstheboxes,withtheirfreightofearth. Therewasasoundofhammering.Itistheboxbeingnaileddown. NowIcanheartheheavyfeettrampingagainalongthehall,withwithmanyotheridlefeetcomingbehindthem. 

           Thedoorisshut,thechainsrattle. Thereisagrindingofthekeyinthelock. Icanhearthekeywithdrawn,thenanotherdooropensandshuts. Ihearthecreakingoflockandbolt. 

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