An anxiety-filled stage-coach rolled along the road. Even the horses trembled in fear, each step becoming frantic. Every meter seemed to lead them closer to doom, hushed, unintelligible German filling the air around them, glances cast to the young Englishman in the seat beside them. He looked absorbed in some book he was reading or writing, seemingly unaware of the danger he was putting each and every one of them in. Three others were in the space with him, each one with a distrust for the castle upon the hill, looming over the nature around it. A bird’s screech sounded throughout the forest, sending a veiled woman into a fit of tears. About three years ago to this very night, there was a different scream. A scream that pierced the darkness. The scream of a mother, losing her child. A scream of shock, a scream of agony, and anger. Somebody killed her son. His body lay on the ground near the castle. Found a few days after he went missing. White as a sheet, with two wounds in his neck. As if…he was bitten. And the man writing in this journal. Was he someone’s son, too? An older man sat beside her, glancing over as she sobbed. She reminded him of his wife. Eliza had gotten sick. She started sleepwalking, and one night was found at the top of the hill. Everything got worse from there. He woke up one morning, and, well, Eliza was gone. Pale, as if something had sucked all of the blood out of her body. Someone sat next to the diarist, trembling slightly. His jaw clenched, mind teeming with guilt. Say something. Renfield. He was a nice passenger on the man’s route when he was a stagecoach driver. And the writer, he was going to the same place. Couldn’t be more than twenty, could he? Around how old Renfield was when… He didn’t want to think. And the coach driver wanted nothing more than to turn this carriage around, run away, praying that the rickety wheel he had forgotten to fix didn’t fall off. The last time he had made this trip- his hands trembled at the very thought, breath quickening- his wheel popped off. Around him, he could hear the wolves howling, reminiscent of that night when he saw the strange man. Up upon the hilltop, around a year and a half ago, he saw a man who seemed to glow red. He was twisted oddly and bent over something-- someone, maybe. At the time, he couldn’t make it out due to the panic coursing through his veins. And suddenly, another carriage pulled up beside him. The dead travel fast.
i'm in grade 6 if you couldnt tell- i know its sheet but yk the bear moves (ty scratch bgs)
