Out for the Count

  OUT FOR THE COUNT

                       By David Silver

A hesitant but persistent knocking on the castle front door roused Count Dracula from his deep daytime sleep one cold but bright winter's morning.

Reaching into his pyjama pocket for his Raybans, the Count slid aside the lid of his coffin, climbed out and stumbled downstairs.

"Might I point out that I do not do daylight hours," Dracula reprimanded his bewhiskered, red-suited caller.

"Sorry, sir, but this is an emergency," responded Santa Claus. "It's Christmas Eve and I'm down two reindeer. The idiots attended a festive stag party last night and are too hungover to drive my sleigh."

"And that is my problem how exactly?" snapped Dracula.

Santa tried a placating smile. "Well, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind flying around for a few hours delivering Christmas presents in your . . . er, neck of the woods. It would certainly ease my burden."

"Ho! Ho! Bloody Ho! Are you having a laugh? You do realise the shenanigans I get up to after I gain entry into people's houses? I like taking a bite and a long soothing drink from the sleeping occupants."

"But the Xmas gifts are for the kiddies," Santa pointed out. "Surely, you wouldn't want to disappoint them."

Dracula thought over the situation. Maybe doing something respectable for once in his otherwise long, evil life might boost his public image a tad. "Very well. I must be crazy but I shall fetch my cape and wing my way over to yours to pick up the pressies."

Santa Claus grinned with relief. "I always suspected you had a soft heart."

As he slammed shut the castle door on Santa, Dracula mused: "Actually, even if it doesn't do me any good, I still have seven soft hearts in my icebox."



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