The End.

Dracula and his Dearly Beloveds are now come to Dust. Literally. But to recap a little:

Where was I? Oh, yes.

VH went by foot to Castle Dracula to despatch the girlies, leaving Mina at the mercy of the wolves. He reasoned, not unreasonably in the circumstances, that it was better she be eaten by a wolf than become a vampire. OK, got that. What was intriguing was the hint that good old upright VH felt the urge to canoodle a little before doing the dastardly deed; but, of course, he didn’t. He kept his nerve intact and his manhood in check and did the business, in spite of the fact that the girlies were wont to shriek rather unnervingly when skewered. Of course, had he cut their heads off first instead of last, they couldn’t have, could they? Maybe he didn’t think of that. So then he returned to Madam Mina who hadn’t seen the sign of a wolf all day, and off they trotted to head the Count off at the pass, as is usually the way of such things.

Meanwhile, the four men had joined forces and were closing on Drac’s entourage. The big man himself was stuck in his box loaded on a cart, the sun still being up and shining through the blizzard, but he was protected by a bunch of fierce gypsies and a pack of wolves. (Ah, so that’s why they didn’t eat Mina. I see.) The heroes closed on their quarry and a fight ensued, and the four Just Men won the day – so implausibly that it was difficult not to snigger, but never mind. Jonathan put his trusty kukri to good use prising off the coffin lid, and that was about that. The Count looked peaceful just before he went pouf, and the bodyguard of gypsies and wolves ran away. And the only one who bought it was the American. Quincy has gone into the hands of God. Shame.

Seven years on and the Harkers have a bonny, bouncing boy. They’ve called him Quincy. All’s right with world again and Dr Seward and Lord Godalming are married. Oh, sorry, just read that bit again. Dr Seward and Lord Godalming are both married. That’s different, right? Right.

So do you want a final opinion on the novel?

Tough.

Fin.

*  *  *

But what the hell am I going to post about now? Frankenstein – must get a copy of Frankenstein. That’s my Christmas wish list sorted.