It wasn't Halloween and it wasn't even a full moon. But he left his house with his cape and vampire costume on. To The Count it was not a costume, it was his regular every day attire. At home he had seven more of the exact same outfits which he had custom tailored for him in Romania, where the best vampire clothing was made.
He walked down the street getting weird looks from people, but he did not care because he was The Count. It was a breezy day and The Count always liked that because it made his cape flap in the breeze. He then quickly stopped in at a European deli and stood in line as he waited for blood sausage to be packed for him. He paid and then continued on to the blood bank to pick up a couple of pints of blood he had there for safe keeping. But at the blood bank there was some confusion as they could not find his blood. They told him it had been misplaced. Five minutes later they found it and he was on his way back home.
Upon arrival at home he sat down in his chair, hung the two pints of blood upside down and attached a tube to the plastic pint and inserted a needle into his arm to complete the blood transfusion of vampire blood imported from Romania. Within an hour the transfusion was complete. He got up and walked over to the washroom mirror and examined his face. It was gaunt, very gaunt and possessed a waxy grey look to it. He looked like he had been embalmed. His lips seemed much redder. Yes, he thought, I am looking like The Count more and more every day. He walked to the kitchen and cut up his blood sausage which was the core of his diet. The rest of his diet included liver, heart, kidney and almost any type of internal organs. No more fruits or veggies for The Count.
He started to get sleepy so he entered his room and walked up the three steps that led to his coffin. He lay down in the plush interior and loosened his collar and shut the lid and went to sleep as soon as the sun came up.
He awakened just as the sun was setting and crawled out of his coffin and walked back into the washroom to re-examine himself. He noticed that his hair was turning from black to brown. Maybe it was the light, he thought. His skin also seemed to be getting darker in a tanned kind of way. He went out that night walking the streets in his cape looking for future victims for blood, but the moon was full and this greatly agitated him, so he decided to go home and sleep. He lay in his coffin with the lid open. He stared out the window at the moon. Again he became agitated. He shut the coffin lid and tried to get some rest.
About a half hour into his sleep he woke up with a horrible cough. He tried to curse himself, but his voice had changed; he could barely talk. He got up and started scratching his chest and his face until it started to bleed. He went back to the washroom mirror and his eyebrows were extremely bushy and he now had a full beard. He went into the kitchen to eat some blood sausage but gagged on it. He was drawn back to the window where once again he looked at the full moon. He tried to talk to himself but couldn't. He was drawn to the door and then opened it. He dropped to his knees and instinctively started to howl at the full moon.
He quickly re-entered the house and slammed the door. Immediately he began to rummage through the garbage and found what he was looking for: the blood transfusion bags. He looked at them closely. It read, "Product of London", "Werewolf Blood." They had mixed up the bags at the blood bank. He dropped to his knees and howled in agony.