The Carfax Files

The Hampstead Daily News – July 25

The Carfax Files

Another person has been found disoriented at the abandoned Carfax Estate in Purfleet at six AM this morning. Walter Scott (age 32), a self-employed ghost writer, was the third person within the past five weeks to awaken from an unconscious state and find themselves alone and disoriented at the Carfax chapel. Just like in the cases of the other two people, Scott claims that he was on a date with a woman, alleged name Mina Harker (alleged age 25), who he had met that evening on an internet dating app. According to Scott, the last thing he remembers from the evening is kissing the woman goodnight. The next thing he knew he was waking up disoriented on the dirt floor of the abandoned Carfax chapel twelve hours later. Scott was admitted to the St Thomas' Hospital in London at 8 AM this morning. Authorities are withholding details concerning Scott’s medical condition. We are left to wonder why he was taken to the prestigious St Thomas' Hospital in London rather than a local establishment. Was Scott a victim of a roofied drink? Or are the authorities hiding a much worse fate? What happened during those twelve hours that Scott was unconscious? Why is the abandoned Carfax chapel the repeated site of these mysterious cases?

Follow the Hampstead Daily News for updates on the Carfax Files case.

Email to Lucy Seward and Quincy Presley sent from Tom McMillan Professor of Genealogy at Columbia University – July 25, 11:05 AM

Lucy,

I have reached out to a colleague at Oxford who has agreed to grant you access to the Seward Asylum’s collection of manuscripts. Dr. Presley will meet you on July 30th to help you find the boxes of interest to support your senior thesis research. I have Cc Dr. Presley on this email to formally introduce you to each other.

Best of luck in your research. I look forward to reading your preliminary findings in the Fall.

Best,

Tom McMillan

Email reply to Lucy Seward and Tom McMillan sent from Quincey Presley Professor of History at Oxford University – July 25, 12:25 PM

Thank you, Tom, for this introduction.

Lucy, I have heard wonderful things about your current research on your family heritage and John Seward’s contribution to psychological research and development. I look forward to meeting you in person in a few days. In the meantime, please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions as you settle into our lovely city. I have attached my contact card to this email.

Looking forward to our appointment,

Quincey

Lucy Seward’s Diary – July 26, 12 PM Entry

Fifteen years. Fifteen years since I stepped foot in the Seward Estate. Fifteen years since Mum and Dad passed away. Fifteen years since I lost my home. Dad used to tell me stories of my great great grandfather, John Seward, of the things that would go bump in the night. I never believed him. They were bedtime stories told to scare me. But Dad always kept to his story.

He would say, “Not everything in this world can be explained,” and then kiss my forehead before checking under my bed for hidden monsters.

Back then I laughed. Now I cannot remember the last time that I laughed.

As my taxi driver pulled into the driveway of Seward Estate, I knew I was coming home. I could feel it in the damp air as the raindrops slicked back my dirty hair. I could feel it in the soft hum of murmured voices that always sailed on the air of the property. At some point in my childhood, I stopped asking people if they could hear the voices too. They never could.

I took my time standing in the drive watching the dark charcoal rain clouds fly across the sky as if in a hurry to go home. Home. I played with the chain that always hung around my neck and then pulled it up over my head, revealing the key that lay between my breasts. A cold metal reminder of what I lost those many years ago.

I stepped forward into the old Seward Asylum.

The Truth Finder (Online Conspiracy Site) – July 26, 3:33 pm

The Carfax Files Revealed

Authorities have been suspiciously vague in their refusal to disclose any information regarding Walter Scott’s current condition. But this would not be the Truth Finder, your go to source for the truth, if I did not have additional information for my trusted readers. A personal source within the London police that would like to go by the alias, Van Helsing, has informed this reporter that every victim thus far in the Carfax Files was found with two puncture wounds on their neck, pale, and suffering from severe blood loss. Could this be a new pop culture kink or do we have a real-life Dracula terrorizing the singles of London? We will keep you updated as more information is released to the public (or acquired by your go to Truth Finder).

Text to Lucy Seward from Eleanor Bright – July 26, 6:35 pm

El: Did you make it?

Lucy: Yes.

El: Did you get food?

Lucy: No.

El: Are you just sitting in that padded room?

Lucy: Maybe.

El: Luc, get your ass out of that crazy asylum and go out to a pub or something. You are in England. GO HAVE FUN!

Lucy: Eye roll emoji

El: Call that professor guy or something. I’ve heard your stories about that room. Get out of there.

Lucy Seward’s Diary – July 26 11:29 PM Entry

I am still shaking after the events of this evening. To make sense of it all, I have to go back a few hours to right after El texted...

El does not understand. I laid my head against the padded wall that was once clean, sterile, and white, but now was crusty moth and mice eaten, with mildew stains covering its yellowing surface.

The house was abandoned just as I had assumed. When the title was transferred into my name, I hired a person to come check on the property every few months. No one had lived here since they took me away.

I closed my eyes. The murmurs seemed louder than when I was little. So many voices sung like a chorus in this house. But they were particularly loud in this room.

Eventually I took El’s advice and went to take a walk around the property. Time warped its appearance in my eyes a long time ago. It played its devilish tricks in my head and by the time I stepped outside the sun had already fallen to its slumber. The rain had stopped and the only light washing through the haze was the bright full moon overhead casting a silver shadow over the overgrown hedges.

Dark tendrils of shadow slithered their way up the white stone wall surrounding the estate. When I was little, that wall seemed impenetrable, an ice burg blocking our little kingdom from the rest of the world. But today I realized how incredibly small it truly was. Or maybe I had just grown since those distant years that now felt like whispers of mist in my memory.

I had been following the Carfax Files story from New York and read today’s Truth Finders post as soon as it aired. I could not stop thinking back to those bedtime storis.

“Luc,” Dad would start. “Did you know that your great great grandfather was a vampire hunter?” He would nod his head, “John Seward saved thousands of lives by killing a vampire that lived right next door at the Carfax Estate. They say that to this day the dirt that litters the floor of the chapel is pure Transylvanian soil.” His fingers would creep under my covers as he spoke getting ready to scare me at this part of the story.

“Dad Dracula isn’t real.”

“But wasn’t he?”

Now I was not so sure.

Climbing over the stone wall, I landed on the soft ground of the abandoned Carfax Estate. The mud squished under my shoes, painting them with rich streaks of pigment. It was darker on this side of the wall. The thick summer foliage of the trees blocked out the moonlight and everything felt still, quiet, except the gentle dripping of water off the overhanging leaves.

Careful where I stepped, I started walking toward the old chapel. I remembered the direction. In the distance a dog howled.

The tree lined path soon opened to a sprawling yard. The silver glow of the moon shone a beam of light over the ruined chapel. I can still see it imprinted on my memory now. The stone edifice covered in the hands of nature. Ivy devouring the grey stone, pulling it down to the earth from where it was once stolen. The steeple of the roof long gone was now a gaping hole, inviting one into the mouth of the past.

I hid for a few minutes behind a nearby bush, aware that the police may have set up surveillance or posted an officer to watch the site after yesterday’s discovery. But I was the only one here.

I walked forward in anticipation. I did not know what I would find, but something in me pulled me closer to the chapel. Something in me needed to know if those bedtime stories were real.

That is when I saw the white figure glide silently out of the ruins. Her long white dress draped effortlessly over her body and the moonlight glistened off her long perfectly crimped chocolate brown hair. As she turned, I ducked down close to the ground praying that she could not see me in the darkness.

But I could see her. I could see the perfection of her tanned skin. I could see the danger glistening in her eyes. I could see the sharp teeth peeking through her voluptuous red lips...