Note: This story is written from after where the Universal movie Son of Dracula leaves us.

Count Alucard stood on the bank of the swamp, gazed at the charred remains of his former coffin, looked at the plastic Halloween skeleton’s hand with its faux ruby ring, and wept. He’d been there in the form of mist, in the cell of Frank Stanley when Katherine Caldwell told Frank that she’d never loved Alucard—never intended to actually be his bride—only used him for the vampire’s powers and promise of immortality that he possessed. He knew they’d come for him, and probably try to kill him. So he’d bought that plastic skeleton and submerged it in such a way that it lay concealed by a pile of leaves. When the fated time came, he transformed into mist, shading himself under the cover of trees, until he reached a nearby cave, where he transformed into a bat and slept fitfully until nightfall.

In his dreams, he saw Katherine, shot by Frank and then running off with him. Count Alucard now had no worldly possessions except the clothes on his back and the ring that his father gave him, long ago, and of course, his immortal life.

“You’re Count Dracula!” Frank had surmised. So had a lot of people, through the years, who figured that Count Dracula would have disguised his identity through a mere name change. What fools mortals are! Count Dracula had not survived countless ages by employing tricks that a five-year-old could figure out. No; Alucard’s father was not merely old, but also extremely cunning.

I have to wait ‘til nightfall, and then make haste toward the home of my father, Alucard told himself, realizing that he had no other choice. He’d wanted to stay in America, with Katherine as his wife, but that could not be. She’d betrayed him, just as Frank had betrayed her and burned her up as soon as he’d found her turned into a vampiress. It was just as well. There were no counts or countesses in America, anyway.


After a lengthy, tiring journey, Alucard arrived at the steps of Castle Dracula under a full moon. Off in the distance, Count Alucard heard the howling of a wolf. It feels good to be home, he thought. He knocked loudly on the door, and when the servant—a scared-looking older gentleman—appeared, he seemed to recognize the Count at once. “Prince Alucard, what a pleasant surprise. Come in, won’t you? I’ll alert your father that you’ve arrived.”

Alucard stepped onto the white marble flooring of his father’s castle and looked around. He’d remembered the proliferation of cobwebs that had rested on nearly everything during the days of his youth, but these were now gone. The servants were obviously doing an exemplary job of keeping the place cleaned. As Alucard entered the main hall with its grand, sweeping stairway, the servant handed him a chalice full of blood.

“Freshly squeezed this morning,” the man joked. Count Alucard took a sip, instantly feeling a sense of rejuvenation overtake him in a most pleasing manner.

His father, Count Dracula, appeared at the top of the stairway in his tuxedo and cloak.

“My son,” he said, “Good evening. I bid you velcome. The Prodigal Son has returned. It seems that the dead travel fast—the undead, even faster. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you enjoy your stay in America?”

At this, Count Alucard thought of what to tell his father—about his bride, and them getting the house, and Frank shooting her, and him turning her, and Frank killing her and then trying to kill him—but he felt his lip begin to quiver and his eyes well up with tears, and instead of explaining anything at all, he wept.

“Oh, my son,” said Count Dracula, descending the steps, “America has not been kind to you.” He put a cloaked arm over his son’s shoulders, and Alucard continued to weep, soaking the Count’s shoulder with his tears. In time, Alucard told his father about everything he’d gone through, relating all the events that had taken place since that fateful day when he’d met Katherine at an Oktoberfest celebration in Hungary.


Now, Count Alucard sat across the table from his father.

“What do you think I should do now, father?”

“You shall stay here in my castle for some time. There are periods in history when the humans are more violent and vicious than they have previously been. It may not be safe for you to return to America. But if one day, you do…” He puffed up his chest and for a moment, his eyes seemed to glow with intensity as he said, “YOU SHOULD IMPALE FRANK STANLEY FOR HIS INSOLENCE!”

Count Alucard nodded, sipping from his goblet of blood. Revenge sounded well and good, but all his thoughts were concerned with matters of the heart. His father calmed down enough to speak rationally again. He opened his arms in a wide gesture. “And when you go back, my son, for the love of all that is unholy, do not let your resting place be a swamp!”

Count Alucard rolled his eyes at this. He liked that old swamp; no one ever bothered him there. He could sink his coffin into the swamp water and transform into mist and sleep there submerged with no fear of being interrupted by anybody. It had its peaceful charm.

“Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong with the swamp?”

Count Dracula threw his hands up in a dramatic gesture. “What’s wrong with the swamp?! Well, water, for one thing. Do you know what water does to a wooden coffin, in short order? Do you know how much coffins cost these days?” He threw his hands up again. “What’s wrong with the swamp? Oy!”

“Alright, father—what would you suggest for a resting place, then? Remember, they don’t have castles in America…”

Just then, the servant came in and said, “Master, urgent news!” He proceeded to whisper hurriedly into Count Dracula’s ear and then took the folded newspaper from under his arm, pointing to a particular article.

Count Alucard listened, silent as a tomb. When the servant was finished, he returned to his chores. Count Dracula, with a smile that lit his face in an otherworldly manner, gazed at his son, folding his hands before himself on the table. “Well, son, it’s your lucky day,” he said. “You won’t have to go to America and impale the traitor, Frank Stanley; he’s already done himself in.” The Count took the newspaper and held it upright, showing Count Alucard the article: “Cliff Driving: A Deadly Trend.” It showed Frank Stanley’s vehicle, crunched, at the bottom of the ravine. All that was left of Frank Stanley was a heap of mangled body matter and a giant blood spatter under the car. “Police have stated that they have no reason to believe that drugs or alcohol were a factor in the mysterious death of Frank Stanley, 43, who drove his vehicle off of a cliff and into a ravine on Saturday night. They stated that the tire tracks found at the scene were consistent with what you’d expect to find from someone who fell asleep at the wheel.”

Count Alucard felt a sense of relief wash over him. He was, after all, a lover and not a fighter. His father had no qualms about impaling anyone who got in his way, but Alucard was not his father. How anyone could have mistaken him for the renowned Count Dracula himself was beyond him.

So now he had no revenge quest to undertake and nothing to go back to America or to give up his “Count” title for. A whole world of possibilities was open to him.

“So what do you want to do now, son?” Count Dracula asked.

“Well,” Alucard answered, “Have you ever thought about setting up Internet here?”


The bats of the castle held the cords up to the walls and ceiling as Castle Dracula was wired for Internet, ready to be connected to the outside world. Alucard was ready to try and mend his broken heart and put himself on a dating site or two. I love long walks in the moonlight, he wrote. He took a sip of blood and pondered what to write next. Must love swamps. He scrolled through a list of profiles until he found a woman posing next to her own little homemade cemeterrarium. Gothic/Romantic, her profile stated. Her name was Vampira and she looked incredibly beautiful. Count Alucard clicked the button that said “Click Here to Express Interest” and then left his computer for the moment. “That’s enough work for today,” he said. There was still something that he wanted to do, something he hadn’t done for a very long time.

So he took off his cloak and hung it on a wall hook in his chamber. Then he descended the long flight of stairs, and headed toward the front door.

“Going somewhere, Master Alucard?” the servant asked.

“Just getting some fresh air,” Count Alucard replied. The servant nodded, knowingly. Count Alucard opened the double doors and stepped out into the moonlight before transforming into a wolf. He howled a long, sonorous note and then took off into the woods in a sprint.