For what it's worth (which is nil for this brief, biased as it is wholly in favour of the living among novelists), here is/was my first attempt:
‘Blud flode from the gapping wooned in her nek, bare sholder shoing as the dark figger stoppd over her body in the bed with greedly gleaming eyes. Sudenly her maide enterd (probably becos of opend windo bangin in thunderstom comin too close it for her mistris) and imejiatly feyntid in garsly horrer. But first screemd. Up stares runs the hero with stake reddy and hammer apraised. (Luckly he just saw a dark shape fly in the window.) He leept at the monstrous Count who stepd bak blud dripping from his hooge shap teeth and hist. But it wos too layt the stake went home thud sqelsh and crumpld to a pile of hidiusly shuddering dust. Jonathan breethd a sie of releaf at the site. But then lots of blud from his viktims oozed out all over the capit (which was rooind and wud hav to be bunt). the End.’
[School essay by Abraham Stoker, ‘What I did in the Holidays’]
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