No todos los perros van al cielo

Dracula was regarded as truly evil by the majority of those who dared to speak of him during his extended life. It was well known that he was more powerful than even the stories told. In the deepest of night, in many villages near the castle, shadows would swoop into the homes. Then, in the morning, loved ones were missing. Hundreds of years this continued until generational fury arose.

The villagers all banned together early in the morning outside the castle. They brought men, women, children and even their farm dogs. Everyone held a torch or a pitchfork, prepared to put an end to the terror.

Before knocking on the door, it opened slowly and eerily. The men pointed and all the dogs entered first. One was hesitant for a moment. 

“Dragos, go!” commanded one of the villagers.

Dragos was pampered his entire life. Now, they expected him to put himself in danger. He sauntered forth to the door, tail stuck between his legs. The yelps of the other dogs stuck him right where he was.

They were from deep within the castle, so the villagers assumed the immediate entryway was secure.

Hundreds of villagers entered the castle before the door slammed shut and darkness was greeted by slivers of sun through cracks in the wall. Dracula descended rapidly on each infiltrator, draining them of every drop of blood within seconds.

Backed against the door was Dragos, cowering. Dracula lowered himself to the floor, transforming back from monster to man.

“You did not come here for this.” he patted Dragos on the head. “You can go.”

Dracula waved a finger at the door and it swung wide. Dragos realized his owner was among those slaughtered. This new man didn’t seem so bad.

Dragos’ tail lifted and wagged as Dracula’s back was turned.

“You can go.” repeated the vampire.

Dragos brushed his head against Dracula’s hand, looking to be pet. Dracula backed away and transformed into something monstrous, the sight of which would likely stop a man’s heart. Growing in size, his body moved into the sunlight brought in by the open door. Dragos noticed the burning skin and moved to shut the door, biting the handle and pulling.

Dracula returned to his usual form and stood for a moment, perplexed. Without another word to the animal, he flew deep into the castle, back to rest. Dragos followed slowly, sniffing and exploring along the way.

Over the next few years, Dragos would greet Dracula every time he returned to the castle at night. During the day, he would explore and ‘protect’ his new master.

Dracula would bathe Dragos whenever his fur grew too grotesque to look at, and he didn’t enjoy it. He would often close his own door if Dragos was too loud for him to sleep.

On a particularly fruitful night for the vampire’s feeding, some new villagers decided to stage an ambush. They entered the castle, knowing Dracula was away. Dragos ran to the door at the sound to find them. He leapt to protect his owner, but was swatted away and sliced by a pitchfork. 

Dracula heard the yelp of Dragos and released his victim, flying home as quickly as possible. In a blink, he departed forty villagers and knelt beside his dog.

Only one option could make him whole.

Dracula sunk his teeth into Dragos’ whimpering neck, unsure whether it was even possible.

Hours passed before Dragos began to heal. He popped up from where he lay and brushed up against the relieved Dracula.

Many years later, the villagers got advanced weaponry and ambushed Dracula while Dragos was in the yard. He entered the castle hearing the door shut, and found nothing but Dracula’s clothing.

Dragos curled up into Dracula’s robe and awaited his master’s return, however long it would take.

He knew he would always be Dracula’s Dog.