This is a slight crossover between Pokémon and the legend of Dracula.
The carriage stopped suddenly, the Ponytas braking the ground with their strong hooves. The night spread across the valley, the sun sinking slowly beneath the rugged line of the Carpathian Mountains. The door of the carriage flew open and the teamster, a chubby, blonde man, jumped outside, swearing hotly at horse Pokémons, which had thrown a fight.
"Stop, you damned animals!" he caught the harness, but the fire horse jerked away, ripping it from his hand and pushing the others aside. The man's hat fell off his head and landed on the moist ground. Another volley of curses fell above them. The door creaked open once again and a slender teenager stepped outside. He brushed a lock of purple hair off his pale face with an elegant move, watching slightly impressed the peaks of the mountains, colored in crimson by the setting sun.
The man had finally calmed down the Ponytas and was clutching the harness, afraid that they'll fight again. "Does this happen all the time?" the purple-haired said, a hint of coldness lingering in his rough, deep voice. The man fished his hat from the ground and placed it on top of his head.
"Only when they're going up there." He answered, beckoning up towards the path. Paul sneered. This was getting more and more interesting. A Zubat soared towards the black sky with a screech and the Ponytas tensed, squirming. The man's grip on the harness tightened to keep the Pokémons calm. Paul watched the bat until it disappeared into the dark skies, then turned to the man.
"Why, if I'm not being impolite." The man scratched his head under the hat right when a howl erupted from the depths of the forest, clouds of Zubat rising towards the endless darkness. The Ponytas neighed stirringly, pulling at the harness. The man tensed his muscles, fighting against the force of the horses.
"It's a local legend." He said, retrieving the hat which fell again when the fire horses jerked him. "The castle is haunted." Paul frowned, shuddering involuntarily.
"But, I've been invited here." The man looked at him like he was a crazy person escaped from the madhouse. Then he burst out laughing.
"Invited?" he choked. "By who?" Paul shrugged, playing with a stone-cut crucifix, held by a chain across his neck. His father gave it to him before he died and he was wearing it everywhere, every time. His finger traced the sharp edges of the cross. "He said…his name was Ash." He whispered, confused.
The man rolled his eyes. "Ash?" he said, incredulously. "You are the victim of a prank, boy. Nobody lived in that castle for centuries." Paul raised his head to the moon, which began to gain luminosity on the ink colored sky. Who would want to hoax him? It made absolutely no sense. And if there was actually somebody inside that castle, he wanted to find out why he called him.
"Anyway, I'm still going there." He said, decided. The man crossed himself, passing the harness from his left hand to the right one.
"This teenagers and their hunger for adventure." He mumbled to himself. "Well, you'll have to go up there by foot. I'm not taking them there." He pointed to the horses, which began to fidget again at the remote howls of the Mightyenas. Paul rolled his eyes. 'Coward'
"Alright!" he said. "See you later." The man crossed himself again. "That if you'll ever get back."
Paul rolled his eyes again. 'He's just trying to scare me.'
His eyes burst open suddenly.
All he could hear was his own heavy breath resounding inside the empty room. All this time trapped there, between the thick stone walls, alone. His fist hit the wall with force, making the bricks vibrate, plaster falling out them. It didn't hurt him. His body couldn't feel any pain, and sometimes he was regretting this. Sometimes he wanted to hurt himself, to keep himself busy with something.
All these years trapped inside. 'I'll finally break out.' His mind was tired. He would sleep, but he couldn't. He knelt on the red, dusted carpet and slammed his fists into the stone floor. Again, the only result was dull sound. All his frustration, tiredness and sorrow morphed into a sound of a body hitting stone. He raised his head towards the portrait of him and smirked at it.
"You'll see soon." He said, his voice cracking. "I'll show you all of my power."
And he knew it wasn't his imagination when the portrait smirked back at him.
Paul smirked at the sight of the high towers. He had finally arrived. The Bran Castle, the jewel of the Carpathians was rising proudly in front of him, like a statue of a hero, teething its impressing silhouette on the velvet-clothed sky. At the light of the moon, Paul could see the huge, carved oak front door and the small windows. There was no light inside. The man could have been right: nobody lived there. A Zubat landed on the roof of the highest tower, screeching sinisterly.
Paul approached the huge door. It had no handle. Paul pushed it, sure that he wouldn't ever impel it. Much to his surprise, the door opened slowly, soundlessly. He expected it to creak awfully. Unsure, he stepped inside. The light of the moon sneaked inside, revealing a long hall. The floor was covered with a green carpet from the front door to the stairs that could be seen on the opposite part of the hall. There where torches on the stone wall, but they weren't fired. Also there were lots of doors leading to other rooms of the castle. He looked around. Still nobody.
"I'm glad to see you finally came." A soft, low voice said, making Paul jump violently. His elbow hit the door and everything was overwhelmed by darkness.
Should I continue?