Faggots of wood crackled in the gothic styled fire place, slowly being consumed by flames.
The room was dark. It always was. Always would be. Sitting in the corner of the room was a man, who in contrast to the room, was as pale and as bright as the full moon. He was attired in a long crimson jacket. So dark was its’ redness, that in the gloom of the room, it seemed black. But it was indeed, red. It had high collars, unusually high collars. The kind of collar that if seen on the street, people, mainly children would point and say something along the lines of: oh that’s a bit strange.

He sat there listening to radio four, his ancient clay pipe hanging delicately on his bottom lip and letting the smoke slowly, satisfactorily billow from his wide mouth.

“Ahhh. Desmond Dekker. Vot sveet music zay make” He mumbled to himself. Desmond Dekker was interrupted by the door bell. Many a year had passed since he heard it last, and had almost forgot what it was. The apartment was now filled with the 8bit sounds of ‘old langsyne.’

He walked to the door, well, when I say walked, it was more like a glide. Before opening the door he looked at his watch, it was five o’clock and it was November. So it was safe. He opened it.
“Er mister Drac-ula? Is this a Mr Dracula of flat 2c, Noseratu gardens, Carpathian forest drive, Chiswick?” asked the man at the door.
“Yessss. Yesss it iissssssss, mate.” Dracula was pleased with his quick progression at learning the local colloquiums.
“Great. This is for you.” The man handed him a letter. It looked official. He opened the letter and gave it a quick glance. He looked back up at the man, who was drawing a wooden stake and a hammer out of his trendy man bag. On the bag, in large letters was wrote :
H.P.S BAILIFFS
“If you wouldn’t mind putting yourself into a horizontal position, I might get home in time for the re-run of Baywatch nights.” said the Bailiff while taking a few practice ‘Buffy the vampire slayer’ swings with the stake
“Izzz thissss a joke, my old cobber?” Dracula had learnt some of the colloquiums but never learnt when it was appropriate to use them. The head of the letter read:

NOTIFICATION OF IMPAILMENT The chief clerk of the borough of Hounslow demands the immediate dismem…..

“Oh no, we at Hackems, Phlegmly and Smite don’t do jokes. We take toys off kids, furniture off the adults, sometimes scalps off heads and in your case, (flipping through the pages on his clipboard) ….er ….er, wait a minute sir, oh yes! Impalement followed by dismemberment and then burning of the remains on sacred ground. They have booked St. Preston’s C of E on Stanwick road! That a lovely spot to go sir.” the bailiff said brightly.
“On vat groundssss? Vai do you sink you hav the the right to do thisss, this horrible zing to me?”
“Let me see, sir. Should I call you sir? Being undead and all, you’re more like a thing than a sir. Hmmmm. It’s all there on the list.” The bailiff handed Dracula another page..
“Vhat iss failure to obtain flight clearance from the CAA?” questioned the vampire. “That’s +the civil aviation authority, mate. You can’t just go round flying willy nilly. The sky would be full of idiots otherwise.”
“But I vos a Bat!”
“Makes no difference. That’s why you were also charged with flying without a licence.” The bailiff then started talking in a low, threatening tone through his tightly clenched teeth “And I don’t mind telling you, sir, if it wasn’t for those bastards at the WWF, I would take out all the other bats as well”

The visible sign of a shiver ran up Dracula’s spine.

“And vot isss extorting blood with menaces? Oh I zink I can guess that one.” The bailiff continued reading through the list. “There are also several anti social behaviour orders here” “Vai? How? I am a silent, unseen stalker.”
“Not when you are howling like a wolf, and going round shouting things like ‘woooh-hahahahahah’ at teenager as they pass and flapping that cape of yours around.” “But oohh, vot sveet music ve make.”
“Not according to Ms Bradshaw at number 32, she won’t ever go to Sainsbury’s delicatessen counter again, after you were seen there, ass in the air, face in the meat, sucking the blood off the rump fillets and shouting wooooooh-hahahahahaha.” The vampire slightly lowered his head in shame. “Yes. I vos going through a low patch zhen.”
“And not to mention, failure to declare your self, when arriving in the country, which makes you an illegal immigrant.”
“But….”
“Imagine, hiding your self in a box of dirt like that. You know most eastern Europeans these days, just walk into…… ” a sound from behind him cut the sentence short.

Into the corridor walked Frankenstein. Frankenstein’s sight wasn’t as good as it was. He always complained that his maker (same name, no relation) spent too long on the shape of his head and not enough time on proper eye sight and fully bending knees. He also felt stupid for having to wearing glasses. It wasn’t until he was some 10 metres away from Dracula’s door, before he realised who was also there.

“Oh bugger, not you again!” He exclaimed making an about turn and rushing towards the exit.
“Hey!” shouted the Bailiff, sprinting after Frankenstein. “Don’t you think you can get away from me again!” Dracula closed the door quickly and went back to the gloom of his living room, and his radio. “Ah Manfred Mann, zey also made sveeeet muzik.” He mumbled to himself as he sucked on a nice piece of raw sirloin and drank the blood of Ms Bradshaw previously of number 32.