His eyes flew open, red color blinding him, pushing his heart back into a dark void strangled in hatred. He roared; spittle went everywhere. Fangs, elongated, sharp, easily pierced skin o f the human body. He lunged, nails sharp, accurate. The unexpected bloodlust consumed him whole. In seconds he was tearing through them all, more red tainting the surrounding visage. Screams rent the air. Red slashes, everywhere. Blood. Spraying. He was flying. All at once he became aware of his breathing, that his chest was heaving up and down, his facial muscles contorted into something hideous. And all at once, it went away. His vision cleared the more controlled he became, his fangs receded. As his sense came back to him, he heard a baby's cries. Mavis!
"Mavis?" he shouted; his voice echoed against the blazing fires around him, going no further than a few feet. He sped away, blood trailing behind him. He came to an abrupt stop, looking back at the wrapped bundle he had almost missed. He froze for a moment. Then, cautiously, he crept up on it and… the woman next to it, one arm still cradling it. "Martha…"
Intense despair wrapped itself around him. He reached down, touching his dead wife's cheek. Mavis cried again.
Ah… the agony.
Count Dracula heaved in a deep breath as he awoke. His clear eyes darted back and forth. He realized he was in his coffin, safe, alive, and he shut his eyes tightly in pain. "Martha…" he whispered. The lid to his coffin creaked open, inviting him to sit up. Slowly, painfully, he did. He simply sat for a moment, letting go of the details of the dream, the nightmare, he'd just had. He gazed to the charred remains of his and Martha's portrait. Seemingly without touching anything, even the very ground, he glided to the painting. Fully dressed and without his cape, he gently stroked the blackened frame. "Today, my love," he said quietly. "Today our baby has been away for a year." His blue eyes moved to an area on the wall adorned with photos, trinkets and candles. The largest picture, which Dracula had easily placed in the center of the souvenirs, warmed his heart and brought a small, sweet smile to his lips. 'Mavy-wavy and Johnny!' were scribbled across the bottom in Mavis' hand. His baby and her human soul mate, Jonathan, grinned from the beautiful backdrop of Thailand. Dracula sighed happily. He gave Martha the same smile and sighed, this time with more contentedness in his heart. He spun around, purple magic shrouding him as he headed towards his open window. His coffin creaked closed as its owner, now enveloped in his dark cape, stared out into the night. The moon was full.
Dracula inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as a chilly wind pushed into him. "The night…" he drawled. He spread his arms. His eyes popped open. "Belongs to me!" He jumped for the window. Magic sprang from him—he was no longer there. Now, a large vampire bat flapped off into the distance, wings silent in the night.
Dracula soared through the air, strong, steady wing beats carrying him quickly. Her ventured far from the castle, into the haunted woods beyond his safe haven. He transformed back into a man at the trunk of a thick tree. He took a moment to admire the foggy land, essentially spooky and creepy. Only Jonny had ever wanted to go through these woods, but even so, he only ended up at the hotel because of Dracula's own doing. No other human would ever make it to those revolving doors again. He would make sure of that. The past year had taken its toll on the hotel, and Drac himself. Jonny was a good guy, but that didn't mean all humans were ok. Many monsters grew uneasy, refusing to return. Business hadn't been halted, but the number of monsters and ghouls missing was alarming. Dracula was about to mutter angrily to himself when he smelled something awful. His senses lit off; the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He gazed around, sensing something was amiss. "A monster…?" he asked himself out loud. He heard screams. Fearing the worst for some poor creature, Dracula fell into his bat form and took off. He flapped wildly, propelling himself towards the ruckus through the fog. He glanced down—and stopped in surprise. He stared down at the prints in the mud. Large, abnormal stride, a little bit of a limp maybe? A werewolf? No, too… round. A human…! Some hybrid, maybe. Either way, it was too close for comfort. Dracula heard the screams again and took off.