For Alfie & Felix with much love and a toothy grin, from your ancient grandfather (Papa)
First published in 2018 in Great Britain by Barrington Stoke Ltd 18 Walker Street, Edinburgh, EH3 7LP www.barringtonstoke.co.uk This 4u2read edition based on Young Dracula (Barrington Stoke, 2002) Text Š 2018 Michael Lawrence Illustrations Š 2002 Chris Mould The moral right of Michael Lawrence and Chris Mould to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in any part in any form without the written permission of the publisher A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library upon request ISBN: 978-1-78112-794-0 Printed in China by Leo
Contents 1
Wilfred the Bold
1
2 Followed!
15
3
The Night Hunter
23
4
Smirk’s Gift
35
5
A True Vampire
43
6
Dreams Come True
55
Chapter 1
Wilfred the Bold I’m sure you’ve heard of Count Dracula, the evil vampire who could turn himself into a bat. The creepy fellow who always wore black and enjoyed a neck of warm blood more than anything. Yes, everyone’s heard of Count Dracula. But do you know what he was like when young? Before he grew tall, swept his hair back and hung around in graveyards? Not
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likely! Because until now, the story of young Dracula has been a secret – a secret that I (a very nosy writer) have at last unearthed. But before I tell you this secret story, you must learn about life at Castle Dracula before young Dracula was born. Listen up. This bit’s important. Once, far away in Transylvania, there were two rival vampires. One was Count Dracula. The other was Baron Gertler. The Count and the Baron lived in tall black castles on opposite sides of the valley. Far below the two castles was a village. Late every night, village bloodmen – like Transylvanian milkmen – rode up to the castles with bottles of fresh blood for the Count and the Baron. The bloodmen collected a cup of blood from all villagers aged between 10 and 80. The villagers had no choice. It was a very old law. 2
Give blood freely or the vampire lords will come for it themselves and take it from the neck, which is painful
Now, for a long time, neither Count Dracula nor Baron Gertler had children to follow in their bloody footsteps. But one year, the Count brought home a wife. And the year after, Countess Dracula gave birth to a son. They called him Wilfred. 4
When Baron Gertler heard that the Draculas had a son, he turned green with envy. Then he turned himself into a huge bat, flew to the castle and snatched the baby from his mother while the Count clipped his toenails in the bath. Then he flew off with the baby. The Countess rushed to save her darling son, but as she reached for him, she leaned too far out of the window and tumbled to her death far below. The Count jumped dripping from the bath and when he saw what had happened, he gnashed his vampire teeth, turned himself into a bat and flew after the Baron. The Baron escaped, but the Count saved baby Wilfred and took him home. Two nights later, the Count sneaked into Castle Gertler before the Baron was awake, and hammered a wooden stake into the Baron’s mean old heart. 6
Twelve years passed. Count Dracula was now half the vampire he had been. He couldn’t turn himself into a bat any more. He never went out at night. The villagers didn’t fear him. The bloodmen didn’t deliver. He had to drink the blood of the rats that ran around the castle. One gloomy midnight, the old Count gazed out from his high tower. He saw the ruin of Castle Gertler across the valley. No one had lived there since the Baron’s death. “Ah, those were the nights,” the Count said, a tear in his eye. He missed having an enemy. He missed going out for a neck or two of human blood whenever he wanted. There was no one to talk to. No one that mattered. It was no use talking to Wilfred. They had nothing at all in common.
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“Are you all right, Father?” The Count jumped. He hadn’t heard Wilfred come up the stairs. “What do you want?” he snapped. Wilfred was a kind lad – and he was worried about the old vampire. “Would you like a bowl of toad and tomato soup, Father?” The Count scowled. “No, Wilfred, I do not want soup. I want warm blood, bit of froth on top, no sugar. If you cared about your poor old father you’d go down to the valley, drag a villager out of bed, and drain his blood into a jug for me.” “But, Father, you know I hate doing that,” Wilfred said. The Count sighed. “One day,” he said, “you’ll be head of the House of Dracula. I 9
wouldn’t be surprised if the first thing you do when I’m nothing but dust is put flowers everywhere. You’re not a vampire, Wilfred, you’re a wimpire!” These harsh words stung Wilfred. He so wanted to be like all the Draculas before him. Why was he different? He went to his room and got sadly into his coffin. Wilfred fell asleep. It was never easy for him to stay awake at night – another thing that upset his father. The Count was old-fashioned. For him, vampires should sleep in the day and be up all night, sipping the red stuff. But for Wilfred the good thing about sleeping at night was the dreams. Night dreams were sweeter than day dreams. Tonight he dreamed that he didn’t have to live in a cold, gloomy castle or file his teeth before getting into his coffin for the night.
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Nor did he feel like a wimp for liking milk better than blood. He had a cow of his own. In the dream he could lie under her in the straw and dung, and drink fresh, warm milk to his heart’s content. In this wonderful dream, Wilfred ran through open fields in the sunshine, singing at the top of his voice. The sunshine didn’t make him cry out in pain when it touched his skin, like it did in real life. In the dream, Wilfred was who he wanted to be. But when he woke, the dream vanished in the gloom of the castle. He heard again the Count’s unkind remark – “You’re not a vampire, Wilfred, you’re a wimpire.” “I so want Father to be proud of me,” Wilfred said, determined to prove that he was a true vampire after all. All that day, Wilfred waited indoors, hiding from the sunlight. Then, as night fell, 13
he slipped out of the castle. He took with him a jug to bring back his father’s favourite drink – human blood. Wolves howled as Wilfred went down Bram Hill. He trembled, but on he went, down into the valley. He had no idea that his life was about to change – for ever.
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