It was a dark and stormy night. The carriage bounced and rolled along the muddy road. Soon the driver stopped. Evil Editor could persuade the driver to go no further. He could barely see the castle beyond the rain, but even so it looked as dark and foreboding as the townspeople had described.
Finally he reached his destination and knocked upon its door.
The door opened ever so slowly, its creaking grating on Evil Editor’s nerves.
“Good evening,” said a voice from the dark. “I am Count Dracula.”
“Ah, the Count,” Evil Editor said amiably. “I am Evil Editor. We had an appointment.”
“Yes,” Count Dracula said, leading Evil into the foyer. “I suppose we should get down to business.” He led Evil to his dining room, where a sumptuous meal lay.
“Ah,” Evil Editor said. “Mulled wine. Red—my favorite.”
Count Dracula smiled slightly as Evil Editor took a huge gulp. “Please eat,” he said. Evil Editor sat down and did so with relish.
“Tomorrow we shall work on my manuscript, no?” the Count said. “But for now I shall leave you to your meal.”
“As you know, I’ve already edited it,” Evil Editor said. “I’ve chosen your pen name. It is Bram Stoker.”
“Indeed,” the Count said, smiling again. “I have read it. We shall discuss your edits tomorrow. For now, enjoy your meal. Your room is upstairs to the left. You will know by the open door.”
After he ate, Evil went upstairs. In his room were the women he was expecting. They lounged on his bed, beauties all.
“Out!” he hissed. “Or it’s death for you all!” He took out his wooden stake and mallet to show he meant business.
Stunned, they left.
Evil Editor spent the rest of the evening admiring his Bram Stoker identification card.