Dracula’s grin widened as he moved slowly through the quiet orphanage. The children had long since hid, those that were still alive fleeing his dark form and hiding in places they hoped he would not search. The caretakers had tried to fight him off, but fell under his fangs. Nothing more than fodder for his hunt and his hunger.
A thunderstorm roared and howled outside, and the almost complete absence of light within the building made the atmosphere perfect for him.
A three way hunt had begun, much to his amusement. Vampire hunting children, hunters hunting vampire, vampire hunting hunters.
“Three blind mice,” his eerily sinister voice echoed off the walls.
He might not have even found the orphanage if not for the children playing in the forest. Their young voices sang a happy tune, filling the trees with their nursery rhyme song. They scared away the docile animals, the birds and rodents fleeing the intruders, and attracted the predators.
Children were always being naughty and running into the forest for fun, even after being told so many times of the danger that lurked. They had been his first victims that night.
“Three blind mice,” Vlad sang the same rhyme as he had heard the children singing.
Slipping through an open doorway, he peered about a room. He could hear their heartbeats, their quiet sniffles, and the soft shuffling as they tried to curl deeper into their hiding places.
Behind him, Dracula could hear the calm, determined heartbeats of the hunters tracking him down the hallway. Their desire to kill him so strong, he could almost taste it thick in the air.
“See how they run,” he growled, his voice taking a feral quality as lightning flashed off his jagged teeth.
A girl in the room let out a loud sob, and he lept upon her like a viper. Her sob ended in a gurgle as his fangs ripped into her young flesh. The room erupted into turmoil around him as the remaining children screamed and ran from their hiding places in frantic attempts to escape the room.
Vlad’s roar followed them. He ripped his head back from the girl’s throat, an arch of her blood glittering in the air as it escaped his mouth at the roar.
The child’s lifeless form collapsed as he lunged out the doorway after the others.
“See how they run!” Dracula roared, laughing loudly. The vampire’s eyes glittered a hellfire red, pupils narrowed as he locked his focus upon his next kill.
As he lunged for the child a bolt whistled through the air, catching the vampire in the side of his throat.
Dracula cut his attack short, focusing now on the burning wound the bolt had created. Snarling, he ripped it from his flesh, finding his prey had escaped, now hiding somewhere else within the orphanage.
Thunder crackled and boomed, shaking the building almost as if in sync with the vampire’s anger. Vlad turned slowly, red eyed glare landing upon a pair of hunters, one reloading his crossbow.
“They all ran after the farmer’s wife,” he kept up his morbid song, lunging upon the hunter still loading his weapon. A sharp pain stung his chest from the hunter’s partner. Ripping into the man like a wet paper bag, Dracula decorated the hallway with his innards and limbs. Locked in a macabre dance, he twirled, catching the second hunter just as he reloaded. The vampire slammed into him with such force that the weapon fell, shattering upon the ground.
“Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,” his voice was a deep, feral snarl, hardly forming words at all.
The second hunter was unable to form a sound before the vampire was on him, feasting in flesh. Throwing his head back, Dracula broke into mad laughter, eyes flicking at the stifled sounds of crying.
“Have you ever seen such a sight in your life?”
Madness and gleeful sadism lit his eyes bright as he ripped another child from his hiding place. Feasting upon the blood of the innocent elevated his mood, and e rooted out the final few children, then disappeared into the night.
Deep in the blood soaked hallways, the glazed eyes of children watched the sun rise. The rays broke through the storm clouds, scaring them away. The buzzing of flies began as blood dried and crumbled. Ghostly voices blended together, whispering and singing together as naughty children do.
“Three blind mice.”