North of Los Angeles and south of Topanga Canyon was the former community of Mockingbird Heights. A former Spanish colony, it became so-named because it was once a haven for the abundant mockingbirds which lived there, but after the 1840s, it became an American port and had two historical housing booms in the 1890s and the 1940s. Now, the city extended north from the sea and consisted one of the top fifty best towns to live in Los Angeles County to raise a family. It wasn't as massive as Los Angeles or had the skyscrapers of New York City, but the environs of the city includes a city park to the north and several of the most charming homes weaving around and through several of the most quaint wooded lanes and electric lighted avenues. Situated among these quaint clapboard homes and Spanish-style villas was one of the oldest homes in the area if not possibly the oldest. A two-story Gothic Victorian fallen into neglect, much of it's original light grey paint and white trim had faded or become ruined by age and the elements. It's pitched roof and spires were topped by rusted ironwork looking down over a dead tree, brush growing untamed and vines crawling up the side of the house looking over a yard of weeds, crabgrass and poison ivy. During the day, the shutters flapped and hit the structure with every breeze and to complete the forboding image, a long black hearse often came round and parked out front as if to pick up someoneā€¦ or something. Neighbor Matt Hazlett stopped and watched as the sinister vehicle crawled to a stop out front of the stone gate around the old mansion. When the back end popped open untouched, he turned and fled into his home up the street.

This late afternoon, tall cadaverous Herman Munster slid out of the back of the hearse and dropped his legs to the ground. One hand on the exterior of the car, he reared up to his full seven-foot-three height, a large jovial smile breaking through his grey-green face, he waved good-bye to his friends and co-workers with whom he worked with at Gateman, Goodbury and Graves. He winced briefly at the bright sunlight and grinned jovially as his friends waved back to him.

"Don't forget..." Herman grinned with a low subtle chuckle. "Bury them face up, not face down." He laughed his boisterous laugh and closed the rear door before they pulled away. Tall and as handsome as a freshly buried corpse, Herman lightly hummed a funeral dirge to himself and continued through the front gate of his beautiful haunted house and entered through the front door into a narrow foyer filled with fresh cobwebs alighting an ascending stairway into a darkened interior.

"I'm home." He called happily content and exuberant. "Come meet your loving bread-winner." He looked forward to seeing his beautiful wife coming to meet him, but she didn't coming to greet him this time. Standing in the parlor to his left, she looked over her shoulder to him from the diminished light of the room.

"Oh, Herman..." A tall ethereal figure with a curvy figure and long tresses of dark hair cascading down her back, Lily shined as Herman kissed her, and she closed her beautiful azure eyes briefly with her husband's embrace. With her pale white skin and long black hair, she moved like an ethereal phantom bride in a long white diaphanous dress. As ethereally beautiful as the heroine in a tale by Edgar Allen Poe, she glided up and kissed him lovingly. "Dear, we have a little problem."

"A problem," Herman asked interested. "What is it?" He scratched his flat head.

"It's Spot." Lily's father came up behind her in his usual Transylvanian suit. Resembling a fat Jack the Ripper, the former count gestured and moved with quite a bit of his familiar aristocratic air of his long life still present in him. "He's depressed."

"Why?" Herman asked. "Is he getting too old to catch cars? He's only 1,100 years old. That's still the prime of his life."

"No... Nothing like that..." Lily looked at Spot's long scaly tail coming around the opposite side of the staircase in the foyer. "He and Eddie watched this movie on TV called "The Valley of Gwangi" and he began missing his brothers and sisters. He didn't even want to go play 'fetch.'"

"Well, Lily," Herman mugged with a slight smirk, looked over to the tired pet and turned back to his wife. "We got him from that litter owned by that lovely family from Crete. His pedigree goes all the way back to the Hydra, and with a pedigree like that, there're going to be hard to find."

"No, not hard..." Grandpa spoke up excitedly happy. "In fact, I called the Transylvanian Animal Society back home, and they told me that Spot has a brother, Bruce, who was adopted by a nice Scottish Family."

"That's wonderful." Lily grinned ecstatically. "Where do they live? How can we contact them?"

"They own a nice little castle in Inverness." Grandpa continued. "It's just a stone's throw from Loch Ness!"