"Morning, June the 30th. These may be the last words I ever write in this diary. God preserve my sanity! I have never seen Count Dracula by day. At sunrise, at the first cock-crow, he is gone. I...I don't understand these things. I only know that the wolves are baying and that he is a man with hair on the palms of his hands, with sharp teeth and no blood on his face. He casts no shadow. He cannot be seen in a glass. And he moves like a bat across the shear face of the castle walls. He eats no food, and is mortally afraid of the crucifix. As I write this, I hear in the courtyard the rolling of heavy wheels and the cracking of whips. And there is in the passageway below a pound of heavy boxes being set down, boxes shaped like coffins, and I know what they hold. The boxes are filled with holy earth from the chapel beneath the castle. The last box being nailed down. And now I hear the heavy feet tramping again. The door is shut, and the chains rattle. In the courtyard and down the rocky way, the roll of heavy wheels, the cracks of whips. Help! Help! Help!! The wagons have gone. I'm alone in the castle. I'm alone in the castle. I'm alone in the castle! I'm alone! I'm alone! I'm alone!!"