"Vampies aren't real," I say, trotting over vines with my heavy boots.

"If vampires aren't real, then why are you here, so far in these dark woods?" my father asked me, pushing past a wall of bushes.

"I'm only here because you made me."

"I made you do no such thing!" He turns to me, hitting the butt of his silver staff on the ground. The staff was silver for a reason: in case a vampire attacks. He can just stab that sucker in the heart and kill him. The top of the staff is a silver sphere as a grip. Yeah, not so stylish, but Dad likes it.

"You specifically said - -" I deepen my tone of voice, making it sound deeper than his, "Honey, if you're not doing anything this Friday night, I would like you to come camping with me. It will be fun. Then I asked you if I had to and your precis words were... yes!"

Dad smirked and turned around, starting to walk again. He adds, "It's getting dark." And I look up, seeing the sky becoming a dark, creepy color. The clouds seem to move along as if they were forced to. And then I see two bats. They flew around the creepy clouds and Dad's eyes go straight to them.

"There they - " he starts, getting excited, but I cut him off.

"They're just bats, Dad. Just bats."

"Vampires can turn to bats."

"This is reality. Do you really think there are vampires out here?"

Dad doesn't say anything. I know he's mad. He always is. When I bring up the thought of there not being any vampires. He's literally been up to this vampire hunt ever since I was three. He claims that Dracula visited him in his dream, said something that Dad won't tell me, about me, and he's been searching for Dracula. Dracula? I think it's a big hoax. There are no such things as monsters. Or vampires. If vampires were real, we would be hearing about them on t.v.

We set up camp. Under a wall of thorns that's six feet off that ground, giving us a make-shift roof for where we're going to sleep. I'm sleeping in a tent, in a sleeping bag while Dad decides that he wants to sleep under the starts, not under the thorn roof. And then I fell asleep.

Everything is too quiet, and I wake up to nothingness. I get up, rubbing my eyes open and pull my hair from out of its braid. Bad idea, because I remembered the thorns. I crawl out of my sleeping bag and tent, then crouch my way out of the thorn walls. My dad is no where to be found.

"Shit," I mutter. Then, I raise my voice. "Dad?" I crouch back under the thorn roof and into my tent, retrieving a flashlight, a jacket, a gun and my cell phone. I shove my phone in my bra, the gun in my boot and slipped on my jacket, holding my flashlight. I turned the flashlight on and began walking. I couldn't see squat. I still called out for my father. Still, nothing.

"DAMMIT, DAD! STOP PLAYING AROUND! WHERE ARE YOU?" I scream into the woods. I hear something behind me, and it doesn't sound like human footsteps. It sounds like an animal. A bat flies over my head, and I freak out, my arms flailing over my head. I scream and run. To where? I don't know. I just run. I still hear the bat, it's weird noise it makes, it's really close. I see a clear path, and I start to simmer down a bit. But then I trip over something and scrape my arm on a thorn bush. I scream out cuss words and get up, acknowledging that I forgot to roll the sleeves of my jacket down. I know I'm bleeding. I can feel my blood slowly making its way down my arm. I hear the bat sounds even stronger this time.

I run.

I notice I'm going up a hill and stop, looking forward. A massive home. A mansion. Maybe Dad's in there! I start my pace again, turning my head, checking for those pesky bats again. But, they aren't there. I turn back around and feel my arm throbbing even more intense. Maybe the people here can fix my bloody arm. I don't even touch it, because I can feel a few thorns in there already. I pass a sign and it reads: Hotel Transylvania.

The door is massive, and I knock softly, feeling woozy from not eating. "H-Hello?" I call, knocking louder. "Is anyone home? I'm looking for my dad. Is he here? And . . . I fell. And hurt my arm. Can anyone h-" Before I can finish, the door opens, and there stands a tall, broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair and dark clothing on. His face is pasty white and he's wearing a dark cape. It isn't Halloween, is it?

"I'm afraid your father isn't here, young lady," he says, and I see his canines. He's about to close the door, but I stop it with my good arm.

"Wait!" I say urgently. "Can you - - help me?" I hold out my arm and he looks at it, and I can tell he's holding his breath. He looks me straight in my eye, doesn't blink, and says, "Come in."

He moves aside, and I walk in, nodding my head and saying my thanks. My jaw practically hits the floor and I stop in mid-pace. I gawk at the beautiful scenery inside. It's like nothing I've seen before. Everything is so...antique-looking. Old, sort of. But I like it.

"Come along," he says and walks along the clean carpet. "My nephew Jonah should take care of your wound. He's very good with those things." He kept looking over his shoulder, his glassy, blue eyes looking at my arm. I hid it. Behind my back. I looked behind me and noticed tiny trickles of blood had landed on the carpet. I looked at my wound again. The cuts went from my wrist to almost my elbow. And it was deep. I didn't really see how big those thorns were, but by the looks of my wound, they were pretty big, and sharp as can be.

I don't even remember how we got to the third floor, it's as if I was brain washed. But the next thing I know, I'm lying down on a twin bed who's sheets are as red as my blood.

"Jonah should be here any second now," he said, turning on his heel to walk out of the room.

"Wait," I say, stopping him. "May I get your name?"

"I'm Drac - - Drake. My name is Drake."

"Drake? Okay, Drake. Thank you for helping me."

He nods, opens the door to leave, and there's a tall, toned guy with tousled black hair, as black as the night sky, and his eyes were bright blue. His skin as white as Drake's and he was wearing black, too. What a dark family Drake has here.

"This is Jonah," Drake says, gesturing towards his nephew. "My nephew will take care of your wound."

"So you bring her to my bedroom? I already changed the sheets this morning," Jonah says, waltzing in as if it was no one's business. "But, alright. If you insist. What's your probl-" Before he could finish, he saw my arm, and held his breath as well. Just like how Drake held his breath.

"Now..." Jonah said, clearing his throat. "Let me have a look."