Chapter Text
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allen Poe
~~~
He was not one for murder. He was a graverobber, yes, a scientist, maybe, an assistant, certainly, but not a murderer. The bodies were already cold and dead when he collected them.
Ygor didn’t mind the graverobbing. He could work alone, under the cover of darkness and in solitude, away from the needy eyes of the tourists who loved to follow him around every part of town.
Ever since Darkmoor had opened its door to the world, it seemed they flooded en masse by the day. Sometimes it was even hard to breathe. There were so many. Ygor had become someone of a hot item amongst the tourists, he wasn’t quite sure why or how. Fame, Dr. Victoria Frankenstein had called it. They liked watching him as a king would watch a jester, amused by his movements and remarks. Some of them were kind, and they brought many gifts and treasures. They were not gifts of gold and mir, but something he cherished a little bit more. Trinkets, he likened them to be. Creations that mimicked his appearance, or perhaps sillier things, like strings entwined with small gems and beads and letters that made words (he recognized the ones with his name). Others, well, others were like a flea he couldn’t kill. They’d try to touch or grab or lunge at him like he was a piece of meat for their hunger. They’d follow him, stalk him, push him into pictures. He hated these ones.
But, with a bracelet around his wrist and his bag with an extra sheet of paper with an inscription that resembled his own appearance, sometimes it made the bad ones tolerable.
Ygor did not mind the attention overall, but he preferred his time of isolation. He was a creature of habit, a being of solitude. Tourists could interrupt these things, and throw off the rhythm and routine of his day.
There was also the theory in his mind that Dr. Victoria sent him out during the day so she herself could watch him be ravaged by the visitors. Him being their entertainment and having his photograph taken hundreds of times and coming back with all his new trinkets and charms and pictures was perhaps the sugar in her morning tea.
Dr. Victoria never left the manor like he did, and when she did she’d slip quietly out the back and walk amongst the tourists, like a lioness amongst the sheep. They would be none the wiser to her, not like Ygor, who stuck out to them as a rat would stick out in a kitchen.
His routine was simple, he’d awaken before dawn, he’d eat what scraps he had lying about (usually leftover from his dinner the night previously), he’d wash his face in the small bucket in his room, he’d don his apron and gloves, he’d say goodbye to the cage of rats in his closet, and he’d shuffle to the main lab.
Dr. Victoria liked that he’d already be setting up for the day by the time she’d come in, she took longer in the mornings, she’d sip tea and journal her thoughts for the day, she’d make sure she was presentable to the masses that would come in, and she would set to her work as she always did.
Throughout the day, she’d send Ygor from the lab to the streets of Darkmoor, collecting more limbs, more limbs, more limbs-!
They would work until the late hours of the night, and then she would dismiss Ygor first, she would be up later and in need of her privacy.
Much like Ygor, Dr. Victoria was one for her alone time when she requested it. Ygor wouldn’t object, however. He would go back to his cupboard of a room, where he would then fix something for dinner and then work on the small wooden carvings of his that he had grown rather fond of.
They were almost like toy soldiers, only much more geometric and bare. Perhaps puppet was the better word to use for them.
He would find scrap wood from the fireplace or in town or wherever else he would go, and stuff it into his bag or his apron. Once back in the privacy of his own quarters, he’d take a file or a knife and slowly peel back chunk by chunk of wood.
More often than not, they’d take the shape of the many monsters that were rehomed inside the manor walls. Larry, the gillman, the monster, Count Dracula—
The name made him pause in his carving. Ygor glanced at the very small window in his room, peeking outside as if the vampire was listening.
Count Dracula.
The doctor was working harder than ever after the last experiment. She was able to convince the public (and it was the story Ygor told as well) that it had merely been a drill, an exercise in case something did go wrong.
Which, something had.
The Torment Rings were not strong enough for what they had been needed for. She had wanted to subdue the Lord of Darkness, to show the world (or Darkmoor for that matter) that she was the tamer of the untamable, the calming hand that could soothe any beast.
Dracula was her crowning achievement. He had been buried in the catacombs long before she had gotten there, and there she kept him until the Torment Ring had been built.
Designed to hold and contain the monsters, it was supposed to have subdued the Count, calm his mind and deliver waves in which he could be soothed into submission.
When they flipped the switch, to put it curtly, the mechanisms within broke down, and the Count had been free long enough to cause enough chaos that Ygor was still cleaning up the mess.
The doctor had managed to capture the Count once again, of course, herding him with the pressure of sunlight and force. She secured him back within the vampire’s coffin until the Torment Ring was repaired.
Ygor would have preferred if the Count had been kept in his coffin, but Dr. Victoria insisted that he be kept contained with the Torment Ring, they would try again once they worked out all the small hiccups.
He shivered, looking down at the carving in his hand. Carefully, he sat it on the last bit of empty space of the shelf he had tacked onto the wall. He turned down the oil lamp, the room only illuminated by blue moonlight, the silhouette of light from his window framing his spot of choice for sleep nicely.
Ygor was not religious, nor was he a believer in any such thing. His mind believed in the promises of science. However, in his youth, his aunt (may her body rot in its grave) had raised him strictly to say his prayers by night. Saying them now was another habit of his, one he dared not break for the fear of his demonic aunt returning from the grave to kill him.
With the rosary gifted to him by her before she and his uncle, (may his body be food for the worms and maggots, Ygor believed his aunt had murdered him by slipping him deadly nightshade, but he had never confirmed this theory), shipped him off to the asylum, he softly mumbled a little prayer.
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.”
He sat the rosary on the windowsill, where he always kept it. Burrowing under the few thin blankets he had, he clawed himself out a space of his own. As he closed his eyes, he thought of his prayer, and of that thing Maleva Whaterva She-got-on-his-nervas would say when she spoke of her wolfmans.
“Even a man who is pure of heart, and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf, when the wolfsbane blooms, and the autumn moon is bright.”
This made him laugh to himself for a spell, before it died silently into nothing.
It was quiet, besides the rustling of the rats in their cage. It was quiet. He was alone.
“Goodnight lab rats…” he said softly. They did not respond.
Ygor was a thing of solitude. He had no person beside him at night, nor anybody to keep him warm. He would never be courted, nor married off. He had no suitors, nor objects of affection.
Ygor was alone.
This was okay. He didn’t mind being alone. It was something he had always been, from the moment of conception and probably to the moment of cremation (if he was so lucky to be cremated). The isolation was something he was used to.
Ygor was alone.
He turned over on his side, looking out the window once again. It was still, there was not even wind to rustle the branches of the tree against his window.
Ygor was alone.
He closed his eyes again, shifting his head onto his arm and getting comfortable enough to sleep.
He had always been alone, and alone is what he would forever be.
~~~
They were doing work deep in the catacombs today.
Days in which they worked in the catacombs weren’t uncommon, however they were long and drawn out, like dragging a ball and chain, searching the depths for things they did not know, or testing on what they did know. Dr. Victoria often led the expeditions into the unknown, she was a pioneer in her own right when it came to mapping the many ways of the catacombs. When it came to staying within the areas they did know, under the electric lamps and the many mapped corridors, Ygor was able to work more so by himself.
It wasn’t that the doctor distrusted him, oh no, it was that she was afraid Ygor would end up as the lunch of some monster lurking around the corner. Ygor’s strengths came from the bowels of his mind, not the brute of his muscles. She would rather not waste the time nor the power to resuscitate him, though even the fruits of these precautions could be wasted. Even under all the lights they had installed, “accidents” were more frequent than she would have liked.
She thought of the experiment of days prior, and scoffed.
“Make the waves more frequent,” she instructed Ygor, checking over her work once more. The wires within the ring seemed connected correctly, and the electricity inside was conducting well.
She moved on to the next panel, checking each bolt and wire.
Ygor slowly moved the knob of the control up, looking up at the sleeping figure contained within the Ring.
Count Dracula.
He took a small breath in, holding it inside of him for a moment as if he was preparing himself for a blow. Slowly, he crept towards the doctor.
“Why couldn’t we just put him back in his tomb?” Ygor asked, keeping his distance from the sleeping Count. “I mean, would be a lot safer-”
“This is entirely safe, Ygor. Do you not trust the work we do?” Dr. Victoria asked, though she did not look at him. She was far too enraptured by her work to do that. Ygor used the lack of eye contact as a source of strength to continue.
“Of course I do, doctor, you know that. Ygor has a lot of faith in you and the experiment. But-” he composed his next sentence very carefully. “I mean, after last time-”
“Last time won’t happen again,” Dr. Victoria asserted, tightening a bolt. “We learned much from it, and besides, no one knows it was a real catastrophic failure.”
“See, that’s my point-” Ygor fidgeted with his gloves, tugging them on but they would go no further down his hands. “Shouldn’t we, you know, and I’m just brainstorming here, but shouldn’t we test it again on a less…powerful monster? Before going whole hog again on Capital D here?” he asked, wringing his hands together. “We could use that vampire bat again, or we could use one of the brides-”
“We’ve lost too much time already,” Dr. Victoria sighed, her head dropping ever so slightly and her gaze moving down. She seemed distant, lost in thought. Ygor was never sure what she meant when she would reference time. She acted as if they were working under a deadline, a hard date in which had already come to pass. If there was a deadline, Ygor did not know of it. “And besides,” she continued, going back to her work. “We already lost one of the brides in the experiment, I don’t want to lose anymore.”
“Why-?!” Ygor blurted out, though he regretted this instantly and looked away like a submissive dog. “I just, I mean, doctor,” he floundered, trying to back pedal.
“Ygor, our goal is to control monsters, not to kill them,” Dr. Victoria said, like a parent scolding a child. “It’s why we rehome them here. You know this well.”
“Yes doctor,” Ygor grumbled, looking back at her. “Ygor knows all too well,”
She finished her last panel and stood, checking the small watch in her pocket. “I’m late,” she hissed. Turning to Ygor, she said. “Finish the other side of the ring, and turn the waves down low when you’re done, if they’re high for too long, it could cause damage to his echolocation.”
“Again, why is this a bad thing?” Ygor asked as she gathered herself. She pressed a button on the platform in which they stood, it lowered to the ground carefully, and she stepped off. “I feel like dampening his powers would only be beneficial to us,”
“He can also grow used to it, you know, like bacteria against certain medicines. He’ll grow immunity,” she said, though it sounded almost like she was teasing. He huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Yes doctor,” but it was less of the tone of an obedient assistant and more of that of an annoyed acquaintance.
Dr. Victoria smiled at him, and she shook her head. “Don’t take long down here,” she said. “I have more important things to do then resusitating my assistant.”
“You got it boss,”
Satisfied with this, she left him alone with the vampire.
Ygor tried not to pay the suspended figure any mind, going to work instead on the panels. Clicking the button once more, the platform raised up to be level with the metal ring. He scoffed at the barren feet in his face, moving quickly from the bottom pieces to the middle. Here, he took a breath, and worked a bit more diligently.
It was the same routine for each, remove the metal covering, examine each wire and nut and bolt carefully, test the conductivity, document results, and move on. He noted down corrosion on a couple of the intersections where the wires connected. Perhaps a result from the last experiment. The corrosion itself had a flaky red substance brittled around it. He flecked a piece off and crumbled it between gloved digits.
It almost seemed organic, and at first he was horrified to think it might have been blood.
Ygor may have worked in bodies and parts and everything of the sort, but everyone had their Achilles heel. His, unfortunately, was blood. It wasn’t that it particularly bothered him, no he could stand the sight of it for a certain period of time, he likened it to the same vein of being upset at the sight of puke or bile. It disgusted him.
This affliction to the organic substance always perplexed him, he was never sure why it upset his stomach so terribly. Perhaps even more now, the idea that a machine of his own creation would be caked in something that disgusted him was even more so disturbing.
He sniffed the flakes carefully, though he could not pick up a scent.
Taking these notes down quickly, he closed the panel. He would consult the doctor later on her thoughts, perhaps she could get a sample of it and run tests. If he weren’t alone, perhaps he would have changed the wires, but not now, not with Dracula so close.
And he was close.
Ygor dared to look at him, just once. His vision drifted behind the metal in front of him, where he found himself looking up at the vampire lord.
His eyes were closed, but his jaw was clenched tight. Should that have been? Dracula was supposed to be in a deep hibernation, every muscle relaxed. Ygor didn’t want to think too much about this and its implications. He would tell the doctor later, he told himself.
His gaze travelled over the vampire's jaw, to his lips that were chaffed and weathered, and he could see only ever so slightly, the glint of a fang underneath the tired skin. His nose was arched, but not so like Ygor’s, it reminded the lab assistant of the pillars of the castles and cathedrals he’d see in the doctor’s books. His gaze drifted upwards still, to the furrowed brow of Count, with a crease ever so slightly visible. His shut eyes were darkened in the socket. His hair was a suggestion of how he might have once styled it so long ago, though now it was a messy tossel with flecks hanging over his forehead.
He was unnerving, even in his slumber. Sleeping almost felt like a facade, and at any moment the vampire would spring to life and attack Ygor then and there. He was asleep, but he did not breathe like a man. His body was as still as a statue, and his eyes, though closed, still felt wide open, almost like they were looking directly into Ygor’s soul.
Something overcame him, an urge that he could not control. His hand raised slowly, quivering and shaking and trembling like the very earth as the plates shifted. The rattle of his hand grew much more fierce as it drew towards the vampire’s face.
Pull away! He begged to himself. Pull away from the monster! This is madness!
His fingers met cold skin he could not feel through the thick rubber of his gloves. As they prodded him, the vampire did not awaken.
He was asleep.
Relief washed over him, and growing a bit more confident, Ygor properly stood in front of him, fingers still touched to his skin. This moment he found himself in, he stood in it for a spell; fingers touching the skin of Count Dracula. His hand shifted more, and gingerly did he rest the palm of his hand against the curve of Dracula’s jaw.
His heart was beating fast, he could feel it pounding in the depths of his ribcage. It was so hard and violent Ygor thought he might faint just from shock alone.
Applying a light bit of pressure, his hand moved Dracula’s head slowly to the side, and the muscles did not fight him. His thumb moved slightly down, pulling the muscles of the chin with it, revealing the bottom row of teeth. They were almost pearlescent, glinting under the lights of the catacombs. Ygor stared at them for a moment, enraptured by the structure of them. He pulled his thumb back to rest it properly once more, and the Count’s lip returned to its natural pose.
In another life, Ygor would have called him handsome.
The very thought sent a hard chill down Ygor's spine as he pondered the thought, and he was quick to pull back from Dracula’s skin as if it were hotter than a blacksmith’s forge. He? Calling Dracula handsome? He had truly gone mad!
But what was wrong with admitting to that? What was wrong with admitting what was true? Dracula was handsome, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that the point?
Ygor clasped his hands together. No, he should not be thinking these things. This was not something one should think, he should have thoughts of work. What was he thinking? Touching Dracula?
He looked away from the vampire, turning sharply on his heels. Clicking the button again, he descended down to the floor and promptly stepped off the moving platform.
As he went to the controls, his mind pulled apart the abstract thought of Dracula and attraction. He was handsome. Any fool could see that. It was only an intrusive thought, Ygor could not control such things. It was natural.
But it was better to scold such a thought so it would not occur again. It was better to not have these thoughts at all.
His hands clumsily found the knobs and the levers.
It was just a thought. Nothing more. It was like thinking the sky was blue or the mountains were tall. It was only a fact.
A fact? A proven fact? By whom? By himself? Did Ygor have the scientific authority to say without a shadow of a doubt that Count Dracula was handsome? Facts were reality, opinions were subjective. Dracula being handsome was an opinion, and one that Ygor apparently held.
But the Count was a vampire! They were supposed to be seductive!
Seductive, but not handsome. Not attractive simply by just sleeping.
“Balderdash-!” And Ygor pulled a lever a bit too hard. Realizing this, he flicked the lever back to the proper position. Heart racing, he glanced back up at Dracula.
The Count was still asleep, harmless as ever.
Ygor composed himself again, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. Relax, just relax, think of something else.
He wouldn't be telling the doctor of this.
~~~
The Torment Ring had almost worked again, almost.
Dracula had many senses, some attuned to the hunt, some attuned to thought, and some, to emotion. It was the smell of passion that had brought his consciousness back to him. At first, he almost mistook the origin of it as being from one of his brides, but he knew of their yearnings and desires, and this was not that.
This was new to him, this pulsating attraction that was so intense it was almost too much to bear, but strong enough he could navigate back to his mind and body. As quickly as the attraction came, it was gone, replaced by those numbing sensations throbbing at his temples.
But he would not let this gift of consciousness go to waste. He worked on finding his fingers, quickly, writhing and moving whatever he could. First his fingers, then his hands, and then his arms. In one monstrous heave, he roared loud and PULLED, every fiber of his body going forward. There came the loud sounds of glass shattering, of electricity pulsating through the air, of circuits bursting into flame.
He fell to the ground in a great motion, collapsing onto the cold stones below. His eyes opened, adjusting to the darkness around him. Chest heaving to gather his remaining energy, he looked around the environment.
The catacombs under Frankenstein Manor. He made a loud hiss in frustration, going to stand, but stumbling under his own weight. The feeling of patheticness was one that was sickeningly humbling, he held himself against the wall to steady his footing.
It took a moment, but his vision slowly came into focus. There had been what seemed to be lights, bolted to the ceilings, but they had blown and shattered to the floor. What once had contained him, the “Torment Ring,” was sparking at the seams of metal.
Dracula collected himself again. He had to gather his brides and leave immediately, to Hell with Victoria and her machines of horror. Going to move again, he fell to his knees. As he recalled, his last attempt at escape had resulted in failure, earning him a scathing coating of sunlight that he could still feel the burn of.
Something of Victoria’s creation, no doubt, but he did not know the specifics. He recalled that moment as best he could, as best as his memory would allow. The location of his brides he was not certain, he could not remember what had become of them.
He remembered teeth, gruesome teeth, and the screams and cries that slowly died away as flesh was shredded into nothing. The horrific realization sent him into a frenzy, he wailed aloud to no one in a high pitched tone.
Damn Victoria! Damn her!
His heart was burdened, heavy with frustration and a new emptiness. His brides were a culmination, a product of his efforts. Did she know how much of his blood, sweat, and tears went into shaping his brides?! How dare she? How dare she and that mangy mutt take something so precious from him? And now, three precious things so dear to him had become two.
He would kill her, and perhaps that dog too, but Dracula was not a fool. He hardly had the strength to stand, let alone fight that awful creation of hers.
What he needed was blood. Fresh blood. And a lot of it.
He took a long drag of air again, filling his lungs not to breathe, but to smell. Ah. There was that passionate desire from before, perhaps that could be a place to start. It was strong enough to call him back from the void, it would no doubt be the perfect vessel to feed upon.
Once he fed enough, and his energy had returned to him, Dracula would find his brides, wherever they might be. Then, they would return home, and leave Frankenstein Manor behind.
Carefully, like a lizard climbing the walls, he scuffled over the stones, searching for the scent he had craved. There was the stench of wolf and man, something that repulsed him terribly. The smell of water, the smell of mold, of death and decay and rot, but there was no smell of the sweetness of desire.
Frustration pounded deep within his skull. He paused for a moment, taking in the air again.
Nothing.
Famine plagued him like a virus. He had to have something. The fluttering of wings was enough to instantly draw his attention, and he followed the sound down the depths of the catacombs, lashing vigorously at whatever it was.
A beetle, but it was alive.
He pushed the bug into his jaw without hesitation, crunching unsavorily on the small creature. How low, the king of vampires, eating bugs off the floor.
Then, came the sound of singing.
“Rats, aaaahhhh, rats-“
The Count drew his gaze up to the grate above, and slowly crept along the wall to peak out the small metal covering.
The streets of Darkmoor were above, and he slowly put together the puzzle of who the voice belonged to.
That pesky lab assistant of Victoria’s, what was his name? Yak? York?
No. Ygor.
“Are you on the square? Are you on the level?” The voice slowly drifted away. Where he went, surely there would be food. It would be foolish to feed on the streets of Darkmoor so openly, not while he was so weak.
No, he would go to Victoria’s manor. Violently did he smash a fist against the metal grate, and it bent easily under the force of his blow. He reeled back his fist and tried again, clawing and thrashing at it like an animal in a cage.
Finally, he twisted the metal away, and wiggled himself through. It was dark, thankfully, the sun had long set behind the high moors in the distance. Listening again, he could hear so softly in the distance
“Crying-! Crying-! Everybody knows-“
There he was-! He took off quickly, flying tree to tree until he spotted the assistant below, singing his nonsensical songs and lugging his bag.. The vampire was quiet, as the dead were, watching his movements and waiting in baited breath. Ygor came upon what seemed to be a great door. He went into his bag, fumbling for a large set of rusted keys that clanked together as he held them up to the keyhole.
Sensing his moment of opportunity, the Count shifted forms, shrinking down to a dark bat. Small and nimble in this state, he slipped easily through the top crevice of the door as Ygor swung it open. He was quick to hide himself away in the dark of the ceiling rafters, watching the assistant struggle a few moments more with closing the heavy iron door. He locked it behind him, and slowly made his way down the hall, whistling to himself.
The Count pondered his next move. Part of him yearned to hunt down Victoria, to kill her where she stood and drain her of every last drop, and then next onto that horrid hound in the catacombs below. The other sought to follow the lab assistant, see where he would go. Perhaps he could lead to food, or maybe he was the food, a quick meal to regain strength.
Food. Yes, that was his top priority.
Following the roach and enrobed in shadows, Dracula watched as he walked down the corridor, his whistling pausing as he went through another doorway.
What is he doing?
The Count watched him set his bag down on the floor. He muttered something under his breath about “interns,” whatever that was, and went into his bag, to which he pried out a jar of rocks.
This is pointless. Kill him now. But the Count dared not indulge this thought, it was better to not let Victoria know her masterpiece had escaped. While she may not find him, she would find the body of her assistant, drained and void of life, and when she brought him back from the dead, he would certainly reveal the Count's escape.
Ygor had gone. The Count had no interest in following him. Perhaps he should rest a spell, that would do him some good. Real rest, not that induced state he had suffered through long enough.
Wings curling around his form, he closed his eyes.
~~~
The doctor was working on the last traces of oil in her lamp when Ygor had gotten to her. She was shaking her head, rubbing the back of her head.
“Not good,” she muttered. “Not good at all.”
“Is there something you want Ygor to do?” He asked, setting his dinner on the table in which she worked. Victoria scoffed at his meal of choice.
“Why do you make that horrible stew?” She asked. “There’s plenty of better food in the kitchens.”
“Eugh,” Ygor grunted. “No thanks. Besides, it’s easy, soup in a jar.”
“I hardly think stones and worms count as nutrition,” she huffed.
“Now is not the time to discuss Ygor’s eating habits,” he said. “What’s this?”
Dr. Victoria tapped the middle of the paper. “These readings from the Torment Ring, they’re from the day of the accident. Do you notice anything wrong with them?” Glancing over her tall shoulder, Ygor’s eyes glossed over the page.
“Eh, no-?”
“Exactly my point.” Dr. Victoria turned back to the paper. “By all accounts in which I could find, everything had worked right that day, so why did it fail? What is it about the machine that’s wrong?”
There must have been fleas or lice or something on the back of his head, Ygor itched it rather a lot. “I-” he hesitated. “-did find some corrosion. Strange corrosion, while I was checking all the panels.”
“Corrosion?” Dr. Victoria looked over at him. “That can’t be.”
“I don’t know what else it was. It was collecting around some of the servos and bolts.”
The doctor looked back to her paper, her eyebrow furrowed.
Oh joy, Ygor scrunched his nose. We’re going back to the catacombs.
Almost as if hearing his thoughts, Dr. Victoria shook her head. “It’s late enough already, I’d rather work in the light of dawn around Dracula. I’m sure even in that state, he can sense the nightfall.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Bright and early,” Dr. Victoria said. “Away with you tonight, eat your-” she grimaced at his jar. “-rock soup.”
“Goodnight boss,” Ygor hummed, taking his jar from the table.
Ygor returned to the small cupboard of a room he called his own. Rummaging through his things, he pulled a dented pot and a small burner from the shelf beside him.
The jar in his hand was full of numerous pebbles and stones, seasoned by the flavors of the earth. A worm or three were thrown in, and he topped it off with water from an overfilled drain pipe. It all went into his dented pot and was heated until boiling.
He had learned to only sup at the water, the rocks he tossed back the next day to be seasoned once again, and the worms went down his gullet.
Satisfied with this meal, he turned down the lamp in his room once again and pawed out a spot in his bed. The rats quieted down in their cage, which in particular drew his curiosity. Usually, the rats would squeal and stir into the odd hours of the night, but tonight, they were silent.
The total quiet made him uneasy. “-rats?” he asked the dark. They did not answer. Shifting his body and lying on his back, Ygor looked at the high ceiling above, and with only the faint glow of moonlight lighting his room, it seemed to go on forever. His back was bad, of course, it was a familial gene that he had learned to live with. Laying here was not comfortable in the slightest, and it was why he usually preferred sleeping on his stomach.
Whistling of the wind outside brought scratching to his window, and he knew it was from that pesky tree that grew close to the walls on this side of the manor. He welcomed the noise, for total quiet for too long would lead him to think.
Perhaps it wasn’t the thinking itself that bothered him, no Ygor loved to think, but rather it was the thoughts themselves he warded off. He often found when he was alone, in nothing but the quiet and dark of his room, he thought again of how he was alone.
He wondered about what he had read once in a book, about how every living creature on earth had a match. Surely that couldn’t be true.
Could it?
Jack Griffin once had Flora, and he knew that the conman would visit her grave every half moon. The monster surely didn’t have anyone, although Ygor was almost positive there were nights he would sneak off doing who knows what (he suspected meeting someone). Dr. Victoria was alone, but Ygor was also aware of a tiny locket she kept hidden away at the bottom of a strongbox she kept out of sight. He happened upon it by accident, entering her chambers unannounced and earning a harsh scolding. Even Dracula, heartless of all creatures, had three brides to call his own.
Well, two now, after Larry had his way with one.
Am I truly alone? There must be someone for me. There has to be. What if they were on the other side of the world? And they laid awake at night and wondered where I was? What if we were to never meet?
A sharp pain in his back and a hard scratch from the window broke him from his thoughts. He turned onto his stomach, closing his eyes. Huffing, he chased away the thoughts of loneliness with a scoff.
Why would he want someone anyway? Lifelong commitment, a horrible little torment ring of his own wrapped around his finger, boiling in hot oil sounded much more pleasant. Being tethered down and suffering under the ruthless tortures of affection hardly sounded ideal. Instead of thoughts of romance, he thought of a riddle Jack Griffin told him once.
What travels the world but remains in a corner?
A bird?
A bat?
A fish?
A…
~~~
There came the familiar scent that he knew all too well. That desire that had called him back from the deepest depths of his mind, it had returned once again as he rested. This time, it was much easier to awaken from his slumber.
Taking in his surroundings, the manor was still dark, only illuminated by the faintest glow of lamps and moonlight. Comfortable now, he became a man once again, stepping on the floor below in the quietest movements.
The feeling of unanswered passion was all around him, pulling and lulling him forwards slowly. Such needs were a rare delicacy he hardly ever had the pleasures of sensing anymore, especially one as strong as this.
He guessed that it was by chance, Victoria, she seemed that she was all alone and loveless. It only made sense that it would all catch up to her this late at night. Maybe he wouldn’t kill her, a desire this intense shouldn’t be wasted on death. The idea of turning her to a bride circled his mind, perhaps that would be a fate worse than death for her, one he would rather enjoy to impel upon her.
But the invisible trail he was on led him not up to her chambers, but down that of a narrow corridor, to a little rickety door that could not be that of the doctor’s.
Then whose door was it?
He almost hesitated in opening it, but curiosity would kill him if he did know. Long fingers twisted around the knob, and the door opened with a hard hiss of a creak. Without a sound more, the Count crept into the cluttered space, piled up high with things. Mostly little things, objects of no value; they cluttered the shelves and floor and wherever else the owner could stuff them.
Jars of nonsense and strings of worthless beads, for a moment the Count thought he had stepped into a supply closet. Had his senses been wrong? He had been asleep for quite a long time, perhaps the agony of the Torment Ring was finally getting to him. But that yearning, surely that had to come from somewhere.
His doubts made him cast one final glance over the stuffy room, and finally he saw what he had been looking for. There, burrowed under a thin quilt and an assortment of rugged pillows, was the one who had called him free of his torment.
That pesky lab assistant, Ygor.
Surely not!
The Count almost scoffed, moving over to get a better look at him. This creature? This frail creature had been the one to call to him with such intention? The one with the strongest of passions and the loneliest of desires? It couldn’t be so.
Could it?
Looming over him and looking over his sleeping form, it was rather peculiar that this creature slept with his goggles still on. Was it a sign of loyalty? A willingness to answer the call to arms of his horrid doctor at any hour, awake or asleep? Or was it simply a sign of habit? A mistake that had not been rectified, a slip of judgement that rarely ever happened?
This was an ugly creature before him, wasn’t it? Obnoxious features so prominent, tired creases along his skin, veins spindling over his cheeks.
Then again..
The Count reached down carefully, as to not awaken the creature below. He softly held Ygor’s chin in his palm, tilting his head slowly from side to side, as if he was examining a work of art, appraising it of its value.
“The doctor’s little assistant,” he muttered with a smile. “Such a lonely thing, aren’t you? Something so vile, craving for a mate of your own…”
He gently let Ygor’s chin go, looking at the way the moonlight caught on the crevices of his form. “You summoned me, whether willingly or not,” he muttered under his breath. This creature had caught his interest, that much was certain. Ygor was loyal to his doctor, but his heart betrayed him, singing long into the night about his true needs and wants, and perhaps this was the ticket to enthralling the creature for blood. He leaned down, almost as if to kiss him, brushing a hand over his hair and hovering over his ear.
“I will call for you tomorrow night, creature. You will answer this call as you slumber, do you understand this?”
The creature made no response, only a small shift and a pawing of his hand. Dracula withdrew, his eyes locked on the sleeping figure as he went. “Tomorrow night then.”
He left the other to his rest. The Count would return to the ring; Victoria would be none the wiser to his escape. It was better to play along for now, only until his strength had returned. He could be patient, the first rule of immortality was patience, a lesson the Count had learned long ago.
~~~
The corrosion seemed to be weakening the strength of the Torment Ring. Although, the good doctor wasn’t sure how it had come to be there.
They had used only the purest of materials to craft the ring, Dr. Victoria herself had carefully gone over each bolt and panel of metal to select what she had wanted. It wasn’t rust, nor was it mold or any other spore. She was perplexed, and gathering a few scraps of it in a bottle for testing, she turned to her lab assistant to give an order.
But Ygor’s eyes looked elsewhere. Staring up at the suspended figure above, his hands pathetically wrung behind his back, she had to clear her throat to simply get his attention, and he jumped and quickly shook his head.
“My apologies, doctor. I didn’t sleep well last night,” he said, chipping a chunk of corrosion from the panel in front of him and placing it into his test tube. Victoria studied him a moment, her eyes drifting back to her work. “Why’s that?”
“Bad dream,” Ygor said with a grumble.
“Well, what about?”
Her lab assistant sighed quietly. “It’s hard to explain. I was in the manor, and I was walking, but it felt like something was watching Ygor. Something was hiding in the dark, and Ygor saw its hands reaching out from the shadows but…I never saw its face.”
Victoria listened, a brow furrowed. There was nothing peculiar about a nightmare, but dreams and the human psyche intrigued her none the less. She had written a small paper on dreams once, a minute work in the grand scheme of things, a small stepping stone towards one of her degrees. But she found in the short time she had researched the phenomena, it captured her interest immensely.
“Do you often dream?” She asked. He shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
She pulled another piece of corrosion from a bolt head, looking it over with a face deep in thought.. “Dreams are often our brain’s way of breaking down thoughts and ideas, combined with memory of course. Nightmares are born when a stressed brain dreams. The anxieties of the day bleed into the human psyche at night.” She dropped the fragment into her test tube, it made a small noise like a bell.
“I haven’t changed anything,” Ygor mumbled. “Silly it would affect Ygor now.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not, even the subtlest of changes can cause a ripple effect,” Dr. Victoria said. Ygor thought hard, but he could not recall any sort of change to his habits. He kept to his schedule, he kept to his routine, there were no sudden changes that he was aware of.
“Well, whatever the case, I wish you better rest tonight,” the doctor said, and she drew away. “That should do with the cleaning, finish up quickly. I want to get these tests going as fast as we can.”
“Yes doctor,” Ygor said, and he closed up his panel with his screwdriver. Dr. Victoria clicked a lever, and the work platform lowered once again. As she stepped off, she drew towards a gathering of monitors, haphazardly thrown up against the walls in an avant-garde way. They were something of her own invention, screens displaying feeds of containment of the many monsters under her keep.
These screens all were controlled by a series of knobs and levers and a reworked typewriter, which Ygor could hear her clacking the buttons of.
“Something is wrong,” she said.
“What else is new,” Ygor said, and over he went to her, looking up at the screen. “What is it?”
“Look at the feed of Dracula,” she said. She turned a knob, and the video started. As she turned the knob up, Ygor watched the speed of the live feed increase, going faster and faster until it abruptly cut off, all of it, the video, the monitors of the Count’s vitals, the measurements of the sound waves, all of it.
“Has it come back on?” Ygor asked. Dr. Victoria clicked more at her typewriter, turning a few more knobs and looking at the screen. “I don’t know, I’m not sure–”
She took up the lantern from the desk before her, looking to one of the dark hallways before her. A snap of a hard lever almost made Ygor jump, and he recognized it to be the switch for the electric lights on the walls.
When they didn’t come on, the doctor held the lamp out to him. “Ygor, go check those lights.” she said. “Check them all.”
With a great sigh, Ygor took the lamp and slowly made his way down the stone corridor, looking up at the lights above. The glass of them had been shattered, blown to smithereens as if smashed with a hammer. In fact, he could even hear the crinkle of glass underneath his foot as he walked.
This pattern continued with every light he checked, broken glass and unlit lights. He returned to the doctor, who was still fighting to get her feeds back online.
“You don’t think…could he have gotten out?” Ygor quietly asked, as if the Count could hear them. The doctor didn’t reply at first, she only pursed her lips and frowned.
“I’m not sure,” she confessed. “There’s evidence he could, but also evidence he couldn’t. We need to get this feed back online-” she paused, and by the confused look of Ygor’s face, she explained. “Online, as in working, another word for that.”
Ah, Ygor nodded his head. “Is there anything Ygor can do?”
“No, unless you know how to work this,” she said. “I’ll take care of it. Take the samples to the lab, I’ll see to them once I’m done here. Go into town, see if any of the locals heard anything last night.”
“Ooh, not the town, doctor-” Ygor groaned, but he obediently obliged, gathering the test tubes in each of his apron pockets.
~~~
She had made no progress in getting the cameras or monitors back online. No matter what she did, they simply refused to run. Victoria looked over the wires herself, and found each one had been blown.
Each one had to be replaced. By hand.
Cursing the nothing around her, she got to work in cutting the dead wires from their workings. Yet another long and drawn out project she would have to commit her time to.
“...I shall call his name…”
Victoria stopped her movements, glancing up into the darkness. It almost sounded like a voice caught on the wind, and yet the air was still and unmoving. She shook her head, cutting another wire free.
“...As the hand falls upon the hour of three…”
There it was again. She took her lantern up and held it out in front of her, looking into the darkness. “Hello?”
“...When darkness falls, when the mind is weak, I shall call his name to me…”
Breath catching in her throat, she turned to each empty tunnel, though the light from her lantern did nothing to expose the stalker. “Laurence.” she said. “Griffin.”
Yet they did not answer her. No one did.
She looked up to the Count, he was still and unmoving. Just as she had left him many times before.
It was time to go. Her mind was obviously fatigued by being down here, there would be time later to fix the machine. She needed to see the light of day and feel the warmth of the sun on her face, the dark and quiet of the catacombs was plaguing her mind with delusions.
She quickly pushed whatever was absolutely necessary into her pockets, and took her chance to leave.
~~~
The sun was starting to set as Ygor drew away from the crowds of Darkmoor. None of them had noticed any peculiar activity, but then again, they were dumber than cattle. They wouldn’t notice a strike of lightning right in front of them.
Ygor returned back to the manor, where he found Dr. Victoria in her study, examining a sample under a microscope. She seemed restless, anxious even, she wrote feverishly in her journal as she looked down the long lens. Ygor hated to interrupt her in this state, so he quietly cleared his throat to announce his presence.
Dr. Victoria turned sharply, meeting his eyes with a piercing gaze that slowly softened.
“It’s oxidation,” she said.
“Come again?” Ygor asked.
“The corrosion? It’s oxidation. And it’s old.”
Ygor furrowed a bro, slowly moving over to her. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
She allowed him to look over her journal, turning her attention back to the microscope, focusing in again.
“Something is making the metal oxidize. But what’s intriguing is how it looks aged, like it’s been here for awhile,” she said.
“Could that also be why your machines can’t come back-” Ygor thought of the word the doctor had used earlier that day. “-online? Yes?”
“It’s unlikely, but not out of the picture,” she sighed, rubbing her head. “Just what we need, another delay…”
Dr. Victoria turned away, her face angled out of a window, looking down at the streets of Darkmoor below. “Did anyone see anything?”
“No, but they’re all morons, it doesn’t surprise Ygor,” Ygor mumbled. “Could it have been a power surge? All the blue energy?”
“Doesn’t explain the oxidation.” She shook her head. Small beads of rain gently tapped against the window, a bigger storm threatening in the sky. “We’ve lost too much time already…”
There it was again, that reference of time. What time? What time were they keeping? What due date should Ygor know of?
He dared not question the doctor on this any further. He did the work she gave him, surely that was enough to satisfy her.
The outside world grew darker by the moment, as the clouds churned and swelled in the sky, with a hard flash of lighting. The sun was just starting to set below the horizon when they had first begun to settle in.
It was always right before storms when it seemed like the manor came alive. The prickles of electricity seemed to pulse through the walls and the floors, anticipating the next strike of lightning to the Earth. Ygor could almost taste the sparks in the air.
The doctor locked herself into her personal study, sending Ygor away to leave her be for the evening. He had no doubts she would obsess over the oxidation, or maybe her machines in the catacombs, maybe she would think about time again.
Whatever it may be, Ygor did not fight back. Instead, he busied himself with smaller tasks; updating intern lists, signing for deliveries, secretary tasks he did not take joy in.
Part of him wondered if the doctor was still mulling over the last failed experiment. If the corrosion that didn’t actually matter and the broken monitors were all just salt in the wounds of her failure.
Ygor did not think she failed. Tests happened, failures happened, it was all part of the process that was science. Sure, there may have been safer ways to fail, but the doctor was never one for taking the easy way out.
Hunger clawing at his guts made him aware of the time. He decided to call it quits here, no doubt that they would once again be back in the catacombs in the morning.
He set off to his room, in which the rituals of the night progressed.First came tadpole stew with dried borage and moss for his meal, and then came his brief moment of repose, with which he delicately carved the starts of another werewolf puppet out of wood.
The fluttering of his eyelids was the signal that it was time for bed. First, he muttered the little prayer that his aunt had drilled into his brain since the day he was left on her doorstep. Next, he turned down the oil lamp and dragged himself into bed. He finished his routine by curling under a thin woven blanket and listening to the sound of rain outside.
The lab rats were awake this night, turning over in their cage and sniffing.
“Goodnight lab rats,” he said to them. They did not reply. They never replied.
Ygor closed his eyes, thinking of that riddle again. He had almost solved it by the time he had drifted off to sleep.
~~~
“…in the depths I call to you, you will awaken to my voice,”
The voice reached deep into his soul, deep into his mind. It hooked its jagged fingers into him, curling around his senses and uprooting him from sleep. He was awake, but not in a lucid state. No, his inner soul, the one in the depths of his mind that acted on instinct and his deepest desires, drew forward to arouse him from slumber.
“You will come to me. You will come to me now, Ygor. Come to me.”
It was as if he was still dreaming.
With bated breath, he placed one foot forward, and one after the other, he went forwards. He drew his door open, and slowly he found his way down the corridors of the manor, navigating the total darkness without a need of light.
“Come to me, deep in the catacombs. Do not make me wait.”
The voice was soothing, alluring in its timbre and dripping with gentleness. It was barely more than a whisper, a faint hushed noise with an unknown origin. It entranced him, it was almost hypnotic in nature.
The lights of the catacombs had not yet been repaired, but Ygor did not need a lantern. No, it was only the guidance of his mysterious suitor that he needed, walking in the dark as if it was midday.
There was the Count.
Why was he broken free of the Torment Ring? Why was he here before him?
But Ygor could not awaken from the pull he was under, nor was he even conscious enough to ponder these questions. His subconscious smiled at the vampire, as if receiving an old lover once again.
The Count held a hand out to him. “Come to me, creature.”
Ygor, ever so obedient and loyal, stretched a hand out to meet Dracula’s, feeling the touch of clammy cold skin under his flesh. The Count’s fingers curled around his hand, pulling him into his embrace.
“You called for me…” Ygor whispered with a grin, his breath hitching in his throat. “You called for me…”
“Be still, creature,” The Count said, and he drew a hand over Ygor’s temple. “I will feed tonight, and you will return to your chambers from which you came. I will call for you again tomorrow night, when the clock strikes three,”
“Yes, yes…” Ygor whispered to him in agreement. “I will answer you.”
Dracula smiled, pleased with this obedience. He traced a hand over Ygor’s jaw, down the nape of his neck. Ygor did not fight, nor squirm, but the Count knew better than to place his bite upon a spot that would be found come sunrise.
He looked Ygor over, and his hands moved down to his shirt, pushing open a button or two. Searching over his ribcage and down his side, the Count found a lovely little vein just below his collarbone.
One hand on his back, the other on his hip, the Count bent Ygor backwards, arching his spine and digging teeth into flesh to puncture a wound.
The first real taste of blood was like honey and milk, sweet and healing in taste. There was a burst of energy within him at the passing of plasma over his tongue, and with this new found strength he grabbed the lab assistant a little tighter, pushing his head closer and lapping hungrily at the bleeding wound.
Ygor made no yell of pain nor a cry for help, only a loud sigh, followed by soft muffled whimpers. His hands found the back of Dracula’s head, gently caressing them on the base of his neck. “Oh yes…yes…” he spoke in a hushed tone. He pulled the Count in closer, the loose tug of a smile dancing over his features.
The Count dared not drain his food source to death, he would only take a little on this night. Yes, a little at a time, just enough to quench the hunger and recover just a little bit more of his power. It would be a daunting task, rebuilding once great power over such a long period, but Ygor was more than a willing source of plenty, and one that would not be wasted.
With almost a great reluctance, he let go of his prey.
But the creature whined again, almost like a baby fawn caught in a snare, pawing pathetically at the vampire’s shoulder. “No no no, please, please, it’s been so long since someone touched Ygor…”
“Oh poor lonely creature…” the Count’s mouth was adorned in red, and yet Ygor could still see the white glint of fangs beneath his lip. He dared to touch his hand to Dracula’s face, thumb pushing against his lip. The vampire entertained him for a moment, allowing the assistant his tender moment whilst the Count buttoned his shirt and covered the wound.
“Be good now, creature,” the Count said kindly, cold red eyes staring so sharply into the lab assistant he could feel it ignite fire inside of him. “You will return to me,”
Ygor’s smile was unbreaking and calm, but the Count could hear the rhythmic pulse within his ribcage. It was quick like the gallop of horses, pounding and frantic, but yet still in a steady rhythm.
“I will return to you, Ygor will return to you.”
Pleased with this, the Count drew back, his cold embrace leaving Ygor behind. “Go now. Back to your chambers from whence you came.”
The Count withdrew into the dark, watching him leave back the way he came. Such a good creature. He smiled, and a tongue traced over his lips to receive the final traces of blood.