Jameson, Alexander’s butler, was out on the town catching a late-night flick with his girlfriend, Ruby White.

It couldn’t have been him. It was too late for deliveries, and no Dullsvillian in his or her right Ivy League-

schooled mind would dare venture out to the old lonely Mansion and up its spooky driveway in the middle of the night.

“Perhaps it’s a ghost,” I teased. “Begging for souls.”

For a few minutes, there was silence. I was relieved.

Then, suddenly, a louder bang.

“I’ll only be a minute,” he said, rising.

“And leave me here alone?” I argued.

“You aren’t afraid, are you? I thought you felt like the Mansion was your home.”

The cellar was certainly spooky, dark, and foreboding, and I was far more comforted by it than I was afraid.

However, there was nothing I could do alone, and since Alexander and I were destined to be separated by the sunlight, our darkened moments together were priceless.

“Me? Afraid? Only of being apart from you.”

It sounded corny, something from a greeting card or a sappy TV movie, but I meant every word.

Alexander extended his hand and led me up the basement stairs and past the candelabra flickering in the hallway.

We reached the foyer, and Alexander grabbed the door handle. I took his hand before he opened it. “Aren’t you going to look out the peephole before you answer?”

Alexander glared down at me. He was, after all, a vampire. Who could be on the other end of the door that could frighten him?

The Mansion door slowly creaked open, and I waited anxiously to see who was brave enough to be standing in the shadows on the broken steps.

Candlelight streamed out from the Mansion, partially illuminating an unfamiliar figure. I craned my neck to get a better glimpse of the stranger. A handsome guy, appearing to be around Alexander’s age, with wildly wiry short blond and brown dreadlocks, boot-shaped sideburns, goatee, and a thin, ashen face, stood before us.