Baron von Schickelgruber adjusted his eyeglasses. He had inherited this old castle. Well, he had obtained the deed to it at least, through various legal finagling. As far as he knew, his family had never really owned the castle, but had tried by marriage and war to attain it. Eventually, the rightful heirs died off, or at least couldn't be found. He had a dubious document that attested to an ancient uncle's rights to the castle, and he had the documents that had proved it to be a forgery in 1845. Fortunately, the government buildings housing the original records were destroyed in the Second World War, and so without the documents proving his document was a forgery, the courts awarded him the castle.
Up close and personal, the damn place needed more work than he expected. Still for a few thousand dollars in legal fees, he had acquired legal title. He snickered to himself that while he claimed the property had been stolen from his family by the Nazis, he knew that his ancestors had been in league with the Nazis. This for him made his ill gotten gain all the sweeter.
"Rouse!" he shouted to the young men unpacking his bus. They had a lot of work to do to get the property ready for its inaugural opening to the public for the Oktoberfest. True the castle wasn't in Germany, but Oktoberfest knew no borders. He really wanted the castle so that he could name his beer after it, and legally trademark it against all others, because he owned the castle too. Nichtwald Brewery would soon be on everyone's lips.
The castle tasted the blood and sweat dripping from one of the young men who cut himself on one of the baron's crates.
The offering is acceptable moaned an inhuman voice from the caverns in the depths below the castle. The young man felt suddenly cold. He would be the first of many new victims of the castle.
"Hurry up, Karl, the baron isn't paying us to wank off," said Vlad hitting Karl on the back of his head.
Karl blinked, and said, "Ow!" But he hurried after Vlad.
"Help Erick with the fermentation vats," ordered the baron. He punched some numbers into his satellite phone, and spoke to someone loudly, "Yah, Merle, we'll be ready for MTV's Haunted Castle Party Week! You just email me the contracts, and arrange for the- Ya!"