Dracula: History’s Most Persistent Neck Enthusiast

Dracula. The name alone has more baggage than a Ryanair flight to Transylvania in peak spooky season. It’s got blood, bats, castles, impalement, and just enough historical accuracy to make your high school history teacher twitch. What started as a 19th-century gothic novel ended up becoming the universal shorthand for anything with a cape and a questionable dental plan. So, sink your teeth into these peculiar facts and myths about Dracula – because the truth is rarely daylight-proof, and the fiction is juicier than a rare steak.

Let’s start with the man behind the monster. Bram Stoker, an Irish civil servant with a fondness for theatre, ghost stories, and the occasional overlong plotline, published Dracula in 1897. He never visited Eastern Europe, didn’t speak Romanian, and likely based most of his vampire research on hearsay, folklore, and late-night pints with other writers in smoky Dublin pubs. And yet, without setting foot near the Carpathians, he conjured up a count who outlasted every pop culture trend from silent cinema to TikTok thirst traps, with an uncanny ability to stay undead in the cultural bloodstream.

Now, Vlad III of Wallachia, a.k.a. Vlad Țepeș (the Impaler), gets all the credit (or blame) for inspiring Dracula. Vlad was no stranger to PR issues. His idea of diplomacy involved stakes, bloodletting, and battlefield decor worthy of a Slayer album cover. His enemies ended up looking like kebab skewers on a particularly morbid food truck. While historians argue whether Stoker actually modelled Dracula on Vlad, the myth refuses to die – much like the count himself, who clearly has a top-notch publicist working round the clock from the afterlife.

One enduring myth insists that Dracula was based on a real vampire. Sorry to burst your coffin lid, but no. Vlad was very much alive, fond of impaling people, but not a fan of sipping plasma with a Chianti. That particular flavour came from centuries of European folklore and superstition. Medieval peasants were constantly blaming the undead for everything from plagues to premature baldness. And they had some truly creative ways to keep the vampires in check: garlic necklaces, iron spikes through the chest, and a firm decapitation before bedtime.

Dracula’s castle? A complete marketing invention with excellent mood lighting. Bran Castle in Romania cashes in hard as the so-called Dracula’s Castle, even though Stoker never actually mentioned it. It’s a lovely place, don’t get me wrong, perched dramatically on a cliff like it’s auditioning for a Gothic postcard, complete with fog machine. But it has about as much to do with Dracula as IKEA does with medieval torture – though admittedly, assembling flat-pack furniture can feel a bit like psychological horror.

The original novel wasn’t even a hit. Poor Stoker died before Dracula hit the mainstream vein. The book had lukewarm reviews and modest sales. It wasn’t until the 1922 German film Nosferatu essentially stole the plot (and got sued for its trouble) that Dracula really started to haunt the cultural imagination. By the time Bela Lugosi swooped onto screens in 1931 with slicked-back hair and a voice like midnight velvet, Dracula had gone full Hollywood.

Lugosi, by the way, never escaped the Count. Typecast like a pro, he was buried in a Dracula cape. The man was the vampire for decades, despite being Hungarian and, allegedly, not understanding half his English lines. Still, his hypnotic stare and theatrical delivery set the gold standard for every future bloodsucker. He also sparked the whole “sexy vampire” trend, which, let’s be honest, spiralled out of control faster than you can say “Team Edward.”

And then came the Dracula renaissance. Hammer horror films in the ’50s and ’60s turned Christopher Lee into a fanged icon, chewing through jugulars and scenery with equal enthusiasm. The ’70s brought weird softcore adaptations and disco Dracula. The ’90s gave us Gary Oldman in a wig that looked like a crimson soufflé. And in between, Dracula popped up in breakfast cereal ads, cartoons, comic books, and more parodies than you can shake a garlic bulb at. Dracula, it seems, never goes out of style. He’s like the little black dress of horror.

There’s a persistent myth that vampires can’t cross running water. Even Dracula got tangled up in this one. In Stoker’s novel, he needs crates of native soil to travel, like a gothic travel pillow stuffed with nostalgia and earthworms. The whole idea probably stemmed from ancient beliefs that moving water cleansed evil spirits. Good luck explaining that to your Uber driver as you lug a box of Romanian dirt across London.

Dracula never actually says “I vant to suck your blood.” That line is pure parody, a kitsch relic from Halloween specials and novelty t-shirts. In the novel, he’s far more poetic and disturbingly polite. Less bloodsucker, more brooding toxic boyfriend with a neck fixation and impeccable dress sense. He doesn’t bite, darling – he seduces.

Fun fact: Dracula was nearly named Count Wampyr. Stoker apparently toyed with titles like The Dead Un-Dead before settling on something with more bite. Wise choice. Wampyr sounds like a DJ in a Camden club who only plays synthwave remixes of Gregorian chants.

There’s also the myth that Dracula can’t enter a house uninvited. This gem came from Eastern European folklore, where household thresholds were seen as sacred. Vampires had to be let in, which makes them sound like oddly polite home invaders. Cue all the metaphorical readings about boundaries, agency, and that toxic ex who keeps showing up in your DMs.

Garlic? A classic. Some believe it works on Dracula because it purifies the blood. Others think it was just mediaeval peasant logic: garlic smells terrible, and if you’re undead, maybe you have sensitive sinuses. Also, vampires were often described as bloated, red-faced corpses in folklore – garlic might’ve been the era’s version of a detox juice cleanse.

Dracula could shapeshift, but he wasn’t limited to bats. In Stoker’s text, he becomes mist, wolves, and even a pile of rats. That’s not a shapeshifter – that’s a full-blown horror buffet. Forget invisibility cloaks. Be the fog and the infestation. Bonus points for dramatic timing.

The name Dracula probably came from Vlad’s dad, Vlad II Dracul, who was inducted into the Order of the Dragon – a medieval chivalric club with an excellent name and a fondness for smiting enemies of Christianity. “Dracula” basically means “son of the dragon.” Or, if you’re less into fantasy, “junior lizard.” Not quite as intimidating.

Romanian folklore is crawling with vampire-adjacent creatures. Strigoi are the undead who rise from the grave to torment villages, and they predate Dracula by centuries. They didn’t wear capes, but they definitely messed with your sleep schedule and your livestock. Think of them as the local paranormal pests.

Dracula’s real fear? Bureaucracy. In the novel, much of the tension comes not from bat attacks but from letters, shipping documents, and train timetables. It’s not all coffins and castles; it’s also admin horror. Vampires may be eternal, but the paperwork is always pending.

He also moved to England in the book. Because where else would an ancient aristocratic predator go but to the heart of empire? He relocates to Carfax Abbey near London, presumably because the local blood is slightly more colonial and everyone minds their business.

The original Dracula manuscript went missing for decades. It resurfaced in a Pennsylvania barn, of all places. Turns out, even vampires enjoy the occasional rural getaway. One hopes the barn had decent lighting and no garlic in the rafters.

There’s a myth that Dracula can’t be photographed. In folklore, vampires cast no reflection and don’t appear in photos or mirrors. Which makes them tragically unselfieable. Bad news for Instagram, good news for maintaining a mysterious aura. Also, fewer awkward group shots.

Despite all the murder and blood, Dracula is often presented as seductive. The novel practically launched the trope of the sexy vampire. And oh boy, has that escalated. From Twilight to True Blood, Dracula’s descendants have taken the undead thirst to new hormonal heights. Shirtless brooding? Check. Conflicted immortality? Check. Questionable relationships? Absolutely.

Dracula and syphilis? Yes, that happened. Victorian critics and modern scholars alike read Dracula as a metaphor for sexually transmitted disease, foreign invasion, and moral decay. Basically, he was the full-blown anxiety package of 1897, complete with capes and metaphors you could write a thesis on.

He’s also blamed for starting the vampire trend, but he wasn’t the first bloodsucker on the block. Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, published in 1872, featured a lady vampire with a penchant for young women. Gothic, sapphic, and bloody – what’s not to love? Carmilla walked so Dracula could hover dramatically outside your bedroom window.

Dracula made it to Broadway. In the 1920s, a stage adaptation kicked off the Dracula acting curse. Several actors who played the count reported tragic accidents, including deaths, financial ruin, and the odd undead pigeon. The theatre, as always, keeps things dramatic.

The Count from Sesame Street is based on Dracula. That’s right. The lovable Muppet with an addiction to numbers is a parody of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula. Apparently, some folklore said vampires were compulsive counters, so the joke is historically accurate. Count that as a win, especially if you’re into numerology.

Finally, Dracula never drinks wine. In the book, he says it with a flourish: “I never drink… wine.” The pause is important. It’s the kind of line you practice in the mirror before a date, if your date is a bloodsucking immortal with a flair for drama and a cellar full of regrets.

And yet, for all the facts and myths about Dracula, the count endures. He’s outlived his creator, his historical inspiration, and every horror trend you can name. Zombies came and went. Ghosts got ghosted. But Dracula? He’s still lurking, cape pressed, fangs gleaming, always ready to rise again. Preferably after sunset, with a fresh monologue and an excellent tailor.