You bump into a man with black curly hair and wooly collared top coat. He apologizes and invites you to join him for a drink and a bite at the local pub.
"That's very kind of you," you say.
"No, problem. Least I can do, as you had the right of way. My name's Bram Stoker, by the way," he says clasping an arm over your shoulder as he guides you into a pub with a sign that says "The Hanging Man."
"Bram Stoker, like the guy who wrote Dracula?"
"One in the same," he said proudly tugging at his lapel.
"Yeah, right, there's no way you're over a hundred," you reply with a laugh at his joke.
He smiles broadly, "You're too kind."
You can't help but notice how big and pointy his teeth look. He orders two pints for each of you. You notice how cold his hand feels on your shoulder.
"You dining alone tonight?" the barkeeper asks as he sets the pints down in front of you and Bram Stoker.
You think that's an odd question, but Stoker's answer is odder.
"Yes, I think so, Vlad has other plans."