I will ward off the vampire, Bella, and then lustily remove my shirt. Just like the priest in "The Thorn Birds," but much fucking older.

“He bowed in a courtly way as he said, ‘I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, young Ms. Bella Swan, to my house. Come in, the night air is chill.’

As he was speaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, he looked as old as fuck. He was not one of those hunky young vampires Bella was looking for on craigslist. He looked like an effing corpse. She had an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy.

Bella: How old are you?
Count Dracula: 17.
Bella: How long have you been 17?
Count Dracula: About 6,000 years.

His face was a strong, a very strong, aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. The mouth, so far as Bella could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth, though they might have been dentures. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

Bella was completely grossed out. As the Count leaned over and his hand touched her, she could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over her.

The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim sort of smile, which showed more of his protuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. They were both silent for a while, and there seemed a strange stillness over everything. But as Bella listened, she heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. She really hoped they were hunky, shirtless werewolves, the kind that a teen girl would like, because so far this visit to Count Dracula had been a massive and creepy disappointment.

‘We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not Forks, Washington,’ said the Count. ‘Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things.’ Especially that strange old man smell, thought Bella. It was really stanky. She felt uneasy and wished she were safe out of this place, or that she had never come.

I shall cut off his head and fill his mouth with garlic, and I shall drive a stake through his body, she thought. But, no. The old freak’s breath already reeked of garlic, so she just took the keys from his arthritic hands and let herself out. He hobbled after her on his artificial hip into the sunrise. It was there the ancient dude melted into a puddle–a really fucking old puddle.”

Read other Ruined Classics.