I watched the stranger as dense fog slithered around my shoulders. Barely visible, he hobbled down the path that cut into a thicket of tall winter-bare trees, following a small dog. His cane harshly struck the paving stones.

Once or twice he turned as if sensing my presence. The brim of his hat hid most of his bony face. I saw only his thin lips, twisted into a grimace by a scar.

A church bell in the night. He stopped to count each doleful toll. Staring at the filmy moon, I counted with him. Twelve.

He walked on. I trailed behind silently. When he came to a small cemetery at the city's edge, he bypassed the newest graves. The dog led him to a small mausoleum centuries old.

Though frail looking, he had no difficulty pushing open the ancient door. He entered, and moments later so did I.

Abruptly he turned, his eyes gleaming.

"I felt your presence the whole way here," he said.

"You!" I hissed.

"Yes, Vlad."

Thrusting a silver cross into my face, he waved his pointed cane.

"Ha! You don't know vampires at all. Van Helsing."

I sank my fangs into his neck.