Vlad the Impaler: The REAL Dracula

The most infamous vampire of all time is undoubtedly Dracula (if you thought I was going to say Edward Cullen, then kindly remove yourself from this blog). Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel can be pinpointed as the origin of the modern vampire. Stoker took all the varied folklore on vampires from throughout history and compiled it into the iconic character of Count Dracula.

What you may not realize is that Dracula was a real person: not a vampire, but something perhaps even more terrifying.

His name? Vlad the Impaler.

AKA the World's Biggest Douche

Vlad III (1431-1476) was the Prince of Wallachia. Born in Transylvania, he was a member of the Order of the Dragon, which is where he got the nickname Dracula (dracul = dragon; ulea = the son of). His father, Vlad II, was “the dragon” in this scenario, making Vlad III the Son of the Dragon.

Vlad Tepes, as he was later called, was a terrifying ruler. He enjoyed torturing his enemies, and even his own countrymen, through a variety of methods, but his favorite, notoriously, was impalement.

Let me give you the low-down on what that entails: a blunt wooden pike is inserted into your nether regions so that it can slowly make its way up through your body without you dying immediately from shock. Eventually, the stake will emerge through your mouth, and you will die slowly, horribly, and painfully while suspended in the air amid your rotting companions.

To give you a hint about how gruesome this was, here’s a quote from The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Paranormal by Nathan Robert Brown:

An invading Turkish army actually turned around and went home after they spotted the mass amounts of bodies impaled upon wooden stakes along the Danube River, and Mohammed II, the “Conqueror of Constantinople,” upon seeing a forest of 20,000 impaled victims, also brought his army back home and never again went near Wallachia.

Vlad the Impaler was such a horrifying human being that the freaking Conqueror of Constantinople turned around and went home after seeing the atrocities he had committed.

While Vlad may not have actually drunk blood, he did clearly get a perverse pleasure from these acts of torture, which to me is far creepier than a seductive vampire poking holes in your neck. Who wouldn’t be intrigued by the most terrifying person in history? Clearly, Stoker was. Though we don’t know how much Stoker actually knew about Vlad Dracula, there are definite parallels between him and the fictional vampire.

Here’s an excerpt from a paper I wrote called “Finding the Missing Link in Literature” about Victorian literature’s response to Darwin’s theory of evolution (i.e. our genetic connection to animals, and what that meant for a society centered on creationist religion):

Perhaps the most renowned literary response to Darwinism is Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which effectively engenders fear of the half-breed character while simultaneously promoting religion as the primary antidote to the worrisome implications of evolution. The religious themes within the novel itself can be traced back to the historical roots of vampire origins through the real-life figure of Vlad Tepes, known also as Vlad the Impaler and Vlad Dracula. Vlad Tepes was the Prince of Wallachia, a region of what is currently Romania, from 1456 to 1462 and enforced a bloody and brutal reign. At war with the Turks, he was notorious for impaling his enemies, as well as his own people, on sharp stakes and positioning the rotting corpses around the city as warnings to others. Therefore, driving a stake through the chest of a vampire in order to kill it correlates directly with Vlad’s preferred method of execution. Vlad’s nickname, Dracula, originated from the Romanian word “dracul,” which later came to be associated with the word “devil.” The ending “ulea” in Romanian means “the son of,” so Dracula is sometimes translated to “Son of the Devil”, a fitting moniker for someone whose infamy is centered around his merciless torture of thousands of people, and a hint at his position as a force of religious evil. During his life Vlad renounced the Orthodox Church; like Stoker’s Dracula, he was a force against the accepted religion.

 

Other details of Vlad’s life and death can also be seen in the characters and vampire lore used in Stoker’s Dracula. Vlad Tepes had three wives, which are represented in Stoker’s creation in the form of the three female vampires who live in his castle in Transylvania. At the end of his reign, the Turks forced Vlad to flee, after which he went to the king of Hungary for help and was imprisoned in a tower. Russian narratives, which usually depict Vlad Tepes in a more positive light, relate that during his captivity, he would capture and torture small animals such as birds and mice. There is a strong connection here with Renfield, who, while imprisoned in the mental institution, captures flies, spiders, and birds and eats them in order to gain eternal life like Dracula. When Vlad finally escaped his imprisonment, he was killed in a battle against the Turks in 1476. Details of his death are uncertain, but in the end he was decapitated and his head displayed on a pike in Constantinople. Just as his use of stakes for impalement was replicated in vampire lore, the details of his death likewise translated into a method for killing vampires, which must take a stake to the heart and be decapitated to be truly destroyed. All of these details tie Stoker’s novel into history by connecting the character of Dracula with Vlad Tepes. This generated even greater terror, as the connection to actual historical figures suggests the possibility that such horror can truly exist in our world.

Stoker’s Dracula is alluded to as an antichrist figure: baptising his victims in blood and being warded off by crucifixes. And it’s pretty safe to say that Vlad the Impaler was the fucking antichrist.

Abandon all hope, ye who try to get anywhere near this crazy son-of-a-bitch

I could go on and on (and on and on) but you probably get the gist of it. Vlad Dracula is a fascinating person, and for a few years now I’ve had the desire to write something about him but couldn’t figure out what. Historical fiction isn’t really my bag because of a constant worry of getting details wrong, so that was out. I recently came up with a solution and was struck with a pretty exciting idea: what if Vlad the Impaler actually had been a vampire? That means he would be immortal, and he would proceed to spend the next 500 years invading European countries and amassing more and more land for himself, until almost the entirety of Europe was under his reign of blood and terror. Thus the Wallachian Empire was born.

I’m working out all the details of this book idea and writing a short story to complement it. The whole thing came from a simple prompt at Dark Moon Digest involving alternate histories; if I can get the short story up to snuff, my fingers are crossed that it’ll be accepted there. But in the meantime, I’ve got plenty of stuff to play with in this new world I’ve created, including an alternate map of Europe and the inner workings of a medieval-punk society. (Also, please don’t steal my idea. I usually don’t tell people about my ideas until they are fully fleshed out into manuscripts, so I’m breaking my own rules by posting this, and trusting all my lovely readers).

Maybe someday you’ll be reading about an alternate universe in which the Blood Prince of Wallachia becomes the sadistic Emperor of Europe, but in the meantime, you’ll have to satiate yourselves with popping open Stoker’s Dracula and reveling in the cleverly nuanced horror within each of its brittle, yellowing pages.

And Bingo Was His Name-o

Taking a break from horror posts for a moment to remember my dog, Bingo, who was put down yesterday. For almost 15 years, he was an important member of my family.

1997-2012

Now, this was a dog who was allergic to everything, from horses to grass to humans. He smelled horrible. His nose eventually became perpetually crusty, and pieces would fall off (sometimes he ate them). He occasionally ate his own poop, and had bad enough balance that when trying to pee on trees, he sometimes fell over. His farts cleared out rooms in seconds.

Despite all of this, we loved him.

This was also the dog who was nice to everyone, and whenever anyone came to the door he ran up to say hello, give them puppy kisses, and jump onto them in excitement. In his old age, he was docile and wouldn’t hurt a fly (though he did eat a cicada once). Children loved him. Grandparents loved him. He was very easy to love.

Bingo loved the simple things in life: his favorite treats were ice cubes and popcorn, and he used to enjoy carrots quite a bit. He was scared of fireworks and thunderstorms. We have a home movie from years ago of me doing something goofy in the foreground while Bingo sneakily jumps onto the table and eats half of a pizza in the background. One time, he ate a box of crayons that turned his poo rainbow.

Our favorite game to play when he was a puppy was hide-and-seek. I would throw a toy into the next room and hide behind a couch, or the TV, or the armchair in the living room, and when he came back with the toy, he would look around for me until he found my hiding spot. Then he would get all excited, like he used to do when he spotted my bus coming around the corner, signalling my return from middle school.

As he got older and older still, Bingo became my shadow. He would follow me from room to room, even when I just walked around aimlessly to screw with him. He would plant himself in my bedroom while I worked at my computer, and when I kicked him out for the night, he would scratch plaintively at the door to be let back in.

It is already profoundly weird not having him around. His ghost seems to wander the empty halls of my house, and I half-expect to see him flopped over somewhere taking a nap.

Such is life. Bingo passed away peacefully with his head in my lap. In my eyes, he will forever be the best dog anyone could ask for.

Welcome to Your Dystopian Future

If you’re reading this right now, you might notice that “Stop Censorship” banner in the upper right corner of the page, and if you popped over here on Wednesday, you might have noticed that Pandora’s Pen temporarily vanished into a paragraph about funny acronyms like SOPA and PIPA.

Sopapipa may sound like some kind of funky Spanish soup, but it’s actually potential legislation that would allow the government to censor the internet.

…Yeah, good luck with that.

The internet is huge, and if there’s one place where you can practice freedom of speech, it’s in the endless labyrinthhine URLs of forums, social media, and blogs. The internet is where it is acceptable to engage in political ramblings alongside pictures of cats with bad grammar. It is a wondrous wealth of information and poop jokes.

And as we move into an age where everything up to and including our entire lives is becoming digital, it’s fair to say that what books used to do exclusively, the internet now does for us.

Think about all those dystopian novels they made you read in high school: Fahrenheit 451 (burn all the books!). Brave New World (Shakespeare is for stupid people who want to feel). 1984 (Big Brother is watching). What do they all have in common? Government control and the destruction of creative intellectual property that doesn’t conform to said government (i.e., burning books).

And in this digital age, what is internet censorship but the 21st century’s version of burning books?

When the internet is censored, large websites like Wikipedia and YouTube are shut down because of the enormity of having to monitor the information posted by every user. The same would happen to WordPress, and blogs like this one might disappear. Personal expression, which has become such a wonderful commodity in an age where we can share our thoughts with the world (or our 2.5 dedicated readers), would suddenly be snatched away. And once our personal expression is gone, what is left of our humanity? Welcome to your dystopian future, because it is upon us.

Thankfully, SOPA all but dissolved after the internet blackout caused supporters to drop left and right. But the fight is far from over. If you’ve ever looked at the world around you and wondered if we could be living in the prologue to a dystopian novel, then it’s time to start thinking about what freedom means to you.

Because there’s one thing dystopian novels usually have in common, and that, aside from horror and emotional bloodshed, is an unhappy ending.

Pandora’s Pick of the Week: “Perdido Street Station”

PERDIDO STREET STATION

By China Mieville

Background: A 710-page leviathan of a book, this alternate-world story was published in 2001 to rave reviews. Mieville is brilliant at world-building. If I had to put this book into a genre, I think I would call it dark-slip-sci-fantasteampunk-politico-occultcrime-horror fiction.

What it’s about: New Crobuzon is a sprawling, seedy city in some alternate universe in which there are multiple species of sentience: humans, the cactus people, khepri (women with giant scarabs in place of heads), garuda (bird-people), vodyanoi (fat blobs of people who live in water), and even, unbeknownst to those outside of the Construct Council, artificial intelligence.

Isaac Dan Der Grimnebulin is an outcast scientist working on something called crisis energy, which would basically allow him to manipulate anything in the world. He is in a relationship with a khepri, Lin, which is a big no-no in their society. One day, a garuda whose wings have been ripped off comes to him with the request to make him fly again. Meanwhile, Lin, an artist, is hired by a crime boss / drug lord to make a sculpture of him.

In his research, Isaac studies flying things and grubs which will grow wings, and comes across a unique caterpillar that subsists on the drug “dreamshit,” which basically makes you trip everyone’s dreams for a while. When the grub cocoons itself and transforms, it comes out a dangerous and near-indestructable demon-creature out to suck the minds from sentient beings everywhere.

Lin is kidnapped by the drug lord, who absurdly thinks that Isaac is trying to take over the dreamshit business. Isaac, with a few friends, finds himself pursued by the government militia, the drug lord, the demon he nurtured, and pretty much everything in New Crobuzon, and he is aided only by a few friends and the Weaver: a giant spider that dances over the worldweb across multiple dimensions.

While nightmares ravage the city, Isaac must find a way to destroy the demon and its kin before all of sentient race is turned into mindless zombies.

Why it will keep you up at night: Obviously, there’s a lot going on here. The demonic winged creature is pretty freaky in its total power over you if you look at its mesmerizing wings. There are giant spiders, hellspawn, and even a rotting body being used by a robot in order to communicate with people.

Halfway through, you’ll be captivated by the horrible majesty of this world and wondering how all of the storylines are going to come together. This book is filled with nightmares and suspense and some thrilling action, interspersed by lots of description.

Could it have been cut down by about 200 pages? Yes, probably. There are points that slow the book down almost agonizingly in their long, drawn-out descriptions of the city. But at the same time, these descriptions really make you feel transported into this world. There are pros and cons to the utter lack of brevity.

The ending is bittersweet; heroic and tragic; surprising, triumphant, and heartbreaking. But it’s really the journey that you’ll remember… that, and all those crazy half-human hybrids.

Read Perdido Street Station now!

Pandora’s Pick of the Week: “John Dies at the End”

JOHN DIES AT THE END

By David Wong

Background:What started as a bunch of faux-autobiographical internet vignettes by the editor of Cracked.com quickly became a cult sensation, culminating in a full book in 2009. According to David Wong (real name Jason Pargin):

“It was a tale that  required 150,000 words to tell and 36 of them were ‘boner.’ I called it John Dies at the End because I realized most people were busy and would want to know the most relevant facts right away.

SPOILER: John doesn’t die at the end.

What it’s about: A mysterious drug called Soy Sauce is introduced to our two less-than-heroic protagonists, Dave and John, who work at a video store and have a really terrible band. When the Sauce begins unlocking their minds to other dimensions and allowing them to slip through time, John and Dave are pulled into a gorey and otherworldly adventure involving people who spontaneously explode, body snatchers, and monsters made of meat (you heard me).

But John and Dave are special. Of the people who have tried the Sauce, they are the only two who not only survived, but continued to be in tune with other dimensions after the effects wore off. As such, they become paranormal experts of a kind, like a weird mashup of the Ghostbusters, the Winchesters from Supernatural, and the guys from Clerks.

All of the evil stuff going down seems to be connected to Korrok, a Lovecraftian god-like mastermind (apparently) out to destroy the world or some such. A whole bunch of hilarious and absurd shenanigans ensue, leading to the realization of the master plan when John and Dave finally travel to other dimensions and meet Korrok for themselves. This meet involves mortal danger and fart jokes.

Why it will keep you up at night: An excellent mix of horror and humor, this one will probably have you laughing more than screaming, but there are plenty of cringe-worthy moments, like the worm-like bugs that start swarming in people’s bodies. The absurd and surprisingly convoluted plot will keep you guessing the whole time, and there are even some poignant moments at the end when a certain dead body is revealed. It’s just as clever and bizarre and hilarious as you would expect from the editor of Cracked, and a highly-recommended read.

I hear the sequel, tentatively called This Book is Full of Spiders, is currently in the works. Also, the book has been made into a movie, debuting at the Sundance Film Festival in late January. From the trailer, I’d say it’s lookin’ pretty baller.

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Read John Dies at the End now!

The Divine Comedy of Errors

I’ve been posting a lot about Hell, from that Dantean fiction post to my review of the kickass Mortality Bridge. So I recovered this silly story I wrote back in high school (that’s my excuse for the bad writing) about a pompous twit who finds himself in quite the predicament when he dies and enters the poorly-managed hierarchy of the underworld.

THE DIVINE COMEDY OF ERRORS

© Joanna Parypinski

I suppose you’ll want to hear all about how I died.

Well, that’s a shame, because I’m not going to tell you. I’ll tell you that it was very unexpected—so unexpected, in fact, that I wasn’t even immediately aware that I was dead. One minute I’d been enjoying my earthly corporeality as I waved to my neighbors on their way to Sunday morning mass, the next, I was standing in a gray room that seemed to stretch on for ages without windows or doors. Needless to say, it was a most peculiar sight, as was the line of dubious-looking scoundrels before me.

“Next,” came a thoroughly disinterested, dispassionate, and distrustful voice. “Name.”

The line budged forward, and I looked wildly about for some explanation as to my sudden appearance in this oddly blank chamber, waiting in line for what, I did not know.

“Next.” Pause, dull, silent, as the line inched up. “Name.”

“Excuse me,” I beseeched the person in front of me, a bulging man with balding scalp and bewildered expression. “Have you any idea where we are?”

“Ah, eh, um,” the man stuttered, round face turning a bright tomato-red. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, ah, see. Well. The maid was just—helping me, ah, with a situation, heh. Er. Yes. And then my wife, Marge, well, she, ah. Jumped the gun—so to speak!” his voice choked off at the word ‘gun’, and afterwards he broke into nervous chuckles. He pressed a hand to his chest. “I didn’t even… eh, didn’t even know we kept a gun in the hall closet, heh. Um. Apparently Marge did…”

What a peculiar person. Continue reading