Note: These particular versions of Dracula, Frankenstein, Frankenstein's Bride, the
Wolfman are the property of Universal Pictures. The Alligator Man belongs
To 20th Century Fox.
Larry struggled futilely against the chains that held him. Again and again, the big man threw himself forward in a desperate attempt to wrench free of his bonds. His wrists were slick with his own blood, but Larry didn't care. Pain didn't matter; only his freedom did.
The heavy dungeon door opened. Larry whimpered as torchlight assailed his fragile eyes. "And how are you this evening, old friend?" The voice was as familiar as it was accented.
"Let me go, Count," Larry snarled. "You can't hold me forever. Sooner or later, I'm going to get free. And when I do—"
The Count laughed. "You have been saying that for over twenty years, old friend. And you are still chained."
Larry growled . . . a bestial sound. He could feel the moon calling to him as it had done for over fifty years. The full moon brought madness and bloodshed . . . but also power. Maybe – just maybe – power enough to win his freedom. He pulled on his chains again.
"I never get tired of watching this," the Count confided to Larry. "We are all beasts, old friend – you're just a more blatant example."
"What do you want?" Larry demanded. His eyes were starting to grow more sensitive. The light of the torch was dim, but it was enough for him to see the fine coat of hair that was beginning to grow on his hands.
"I just wanted to let you know my plans are in motion. I've summoned them to the castle – the Scientist's descendant and the latest – and last – of your line."
"Leave him out of this!" Larry could barely speak. His intellect was slipping away with his humanity, but he still felt keenly – perhaps even more as he changed – the ties of blood.
The Count laughed. "But, Lawrence, I am giving you the chance to have a family reunion. Surely you wish to behold your grandson."
"No!" Larry howled . . . and the last of his humanity was gone by the time that cry was finished. Only the Wolf remained now . . . only the Beast.
With a growl, the Wolf redoubled its efforts to break free. It knew the thing that stood before him – it looked like a man but its scent was anything but human – was an enemy. And the Wolf was just human enough to be able to hate . . . .
He snapped the chains.
The Count did not move as the Wolf came closer to him. The beast, for all its fury, was cautious. There was something about this not-man that warned him that the Count was the most dangerous creature he had ever faced.
"Elsa," the Count said softly, "bring it in."
The dungeon door opened again, and a woman walked into the cell. She carried a human body as though it weighed no more than a rag doll.
The Wolf sniffed the woman and backed away in confusion. She smelled no more human than the Count. The animal part of him warned that here was danger . . . even to him.
"I'll take that," the Count said, taking the body from the woman's hands. He glanced at the face and wrinkled his nose. "We were close, this time. But not close enough. Ah, well. At least we can recycle. Here, old friend. Eat well!"
And the Count threw the body on the floor in front of the Wolf.
The Wolf paused. The body smelled odd, but it was fresh . . . and still warm. The Change always made him ravenous . . . and here was easy meat.
Growling, he fell upon the corpse.
The Count cautiously walked backwards out of the cell. With obvious relief on his face, he closed the door and locked it. "Enjoy your meal, Lawrence Talbot. You do not have many left."
Laughing, Count Dracula turned and went to prepare for his guests.