Since he was last staked the noble undead one had declined in people’s imagination.
A new world was coming. Science was advancing, and how could superstition survive this onslaught of reason? And without superstition he could not take bodily form again, his memory condemned to be hidden from culture.
For he lived on fear, and if people no longer knew how to fear … ?
He thought long and hard about this as he roamed through the ether.
One day he found himself in a book filled study, and it occurred to him that imagination now existed in words; and if imagination was there, why not fear?
He looked at the man sat at the desk and made his decision.
He entered through his ear and soon found a comfy place within his mind to think. And as the man called Stoker began to write, the undead one knew he would rise once more.

For my eBooks see bookstore, above.
Poetry, more fiction & non-fiction.