Chapter Twelve: The Real Musical Interlude and Descent on Dracula's Castle

"This is absolutely ridiculous," complained Carl. "Its raining, and I'm soaking wet, and I'm hungry, and I'm soaking wet, and you made me leave without saying goodbye to my girlfriend, and I'm soaking wet, and—"

"Shut up Carl," said Van Helsing. "You're the only one with a cloak. You should be fine."

"Frankenstein has an umbrella," said Carl, sulking.

"Duncan," said Frankenstein's monster angrily, "and it is a parasol."

"Umbrella, parasol, whatever."

"What exactly makes it a parasol?" inquired Van Helsing curiously, with the kind of inquisitiveness that you would normally find in a mentally challenged five year old.

"The little polka dots," answered Carl, jeering slightly.

"Actually," said Frankenstein's monster, "it's the ruffles round the rim. Gee, that sounds like a song, doesn't it?"

From seemingly nowhere, an orchestra struck up, and Frankenstein began to sing.

"Its not the dots and polkas, aye, its not the long-held superstitions

That makes a monster true a monster, not for any amount o' wishin'

For Dracula and Frankenstein bring fear right up to the very rim

They do it on account of the perky ruffles round the rim!

Come on, join in!"

Carl and Van Helsing sang back up, gamely. "Oooo—ooo— oooooooohhhh...."

Frankenstein jumped off his horse and sang gently into the camera:

"Night-time horrors

Scared with all the senses

Darkness stirs and

Overcomes defenses—

Quietly the undead

Try to become the re-dead—

Da da-da-da-da-daaa-da-da-da-daaaaa—

And its all because o' the

Ruffles round the riiiimmm...."

Andrew Lloyd Webber poked his head out from behind a tree and began to complain, but the Phantom strangled him with a rope and then ran off cackling maniacally.

"Ooooo, bay-bee bay-bee—" sang Carl, eyes closed in rapture. Van Helsing whapped him upside the head, as he was wont to do.

"Those aren't the words!"

"Well it's better than all this opera crap," snapped Carl.

"Come on, Carl, be tolerant. There's— there's nothing wrong with "The Phantom of the Opera" that a little less singing wouldn't fix. Or," Van Helsing added, upon reflection, "a lot less singing."

The voice of the Writer floated across the screen. "Actually, I quite liked it," she said brightly.

Van Helsing rolled his eyes. "Come on, Frankenstein—"

"Duncan!" said Frankenstein, his lip quivering.

"Whatever. Come on, I thought you wanted to save Anna."

"Why does it matter? She's in love with Carl," moaned Frankenstein.

"This is fantastic," said Carl. "First Van Helsing the drunk, now Frankenstein's monster has angst. This is fantastic."

"You said that already," said Van Helsing.

"And Carl the repeater," said Frankenstein spitefully.

"Never mind that, can we please get a move on?"

They got a move on. Actually several moves on, as Frankenstein was still la-la-laing to himself and trying to dance, which seriously disturbed the horse he was riding and caused the poor equine (who's name was Fig Newton) to enter counseling shortly afterwards. This was very expensive and virtually impoverished his family, and ever afterwards Fig's son, Figsson, hunted Frankenstein with a deadly passion. Unfortunately, as he was just a horse, he wasn't able to do much apart from occasionally try to trample Frankenstein— which didn't really work, as Frankenstein was a good bit bigger than the horse, which was why Fig was so disturbed in the first place. So its really a vicious circle, you see, and isn't Gerard Butler kind of cute?

They approached Dracula's castle expecting to be frightened out of their wits at any moment, but were disappointed as the sun came out and flowers began to bloom. A small orange sign on the side of the road said Vampire Xing, which made Carl rather nervous but didn't much bother anyone else.

They reached the front door and Van Helsing said, "Shall we knock?"

"I don't know," said Carl. "Mrs. Hairloss's Book of Etiquette doesn't exactly cover this situation."

"I mean, should we let him know we're here or shall we just go right in?"

"If it was up to me, I'd turn back immediately."

"It isn't up to you."

"Then why don't you decide for yourself?" said Carl, and sulked violently.

Van Helsing exchanged glances with Frankenstein's Duncan, shrugged, and kicked down the door. Or tried to, anyway. The first time he just hurt his foot, and hopped up and down for a few minutes cursing. Carl looked absolutely delighted.

Dracula opened the door and looked out on them. "You knocked?" he inquired politely.

"No we bloody didn't!" spat Van Helsing, reached in and slammed the door shut. He stood for a while and regained his composure, then took a deep breath, moved away a few steps and ran at the door. This time he bounced off and landed on the ground.

The door cracked open a bit again and Dracula peered out. "This time?"

"No!" howled Van Helsing from the ground.

"Give him once more," said Carl apologetically. "He's stubborn about his pride."

Dracula shrugged and closed the gap again, only this time he did not close it all the way. Carl noticed and smiled slightly.

This time Van Helsing walked for five minutes before he turned and ran. He ran quickly, lightly, feet pounding the ground, breath hissing out, eyes squinted against the wind, mind wishing he had blond hair, then maybe he'd be successful with the ladies like Carl. As he reached the door it swung open and Van Helsing carried on through, rushed on by his momentum.

"OoooOOOOO CRAAAAAP!"

Carl, unfortunately, missed the landing, but he heard the crash and a delighted smile appeared on his face. He turned to Frankenstein, who simply didn't appear to be equipped with the muscles that you need in order to look pleasant— which was, perhaps, why people reacted to him the way they would to a marquee star. Carl's smile faded and jealousy grew in his heart.

"Why don't I have a fan club?" he wondered to himself.

There and then he swore to himself that someday he would, even if he started it himself, and thus the David Wenham Rocks Havers Fan Club began to stir into exotic life. Words are fun today.

Dracula stood over Van Helsing and looked down on him, allowing his dark hair to hang sexily over his face. Fangirls swooned and the Writer rolled her eyes. Eventually Dracula found it necessary to move his hair in order to see the man who lay on the ground before him.

"Is this your silver stake?" he said, holding the said silver stake out to him.

Van Helsing blinked at it. "No, not mine. Never seen it before."

"Ah. It must belong to one of the Dwergi."

"Sorry I can't help you there."

"That is alright. So, you have come to kill me?"

"Have I?" asked Van Helsing blearily. "I don't know. I have just recieved quite a knock to the head, you know, and my memory is not what it once was. At least I don't think it is. I may be mistaken about that."

Dracula smiled gently at him. "Well, that's just fine. I expect you're just making a friendly call."

"Ah, yes, that seems much more likely."

"Tea?"

"Yes please."

And so they retired to the sitting room to lounge in flowered armchairs and imbibe tea and crumpets. And thus the saga of Van Helsing and Carl the Comic Relief Friar was ended.

Or was it?

Find out next time! If there isn't a next time, you know this is the end!