THE QUESTIONABLE ADVENTURES OF
Count Campula

Prologue

The castle lay at the very peak of a surprisingly pointy mountain, towering menacingly over the small hamlet village whose occupants lived in constant fear of what they felt sure inhabited the stone monstrosity.

What they didn’t know was that the castle had, for years, lain dormant and unoccupied. Its sole habitant had been scouring the world for God-knows-what evil purpose for nigh on twenty years, leaving only the paltriest of paltry security to await his return.

And tonight, he was returning.

The stagecoach clattered up the tightly wound path. The horses pulling it were tall and jet black. Its one window had a luxurious purple curtain pulled lazily across. The driver was hooded.

Whoever was inside the stagecoach clearly wanted people to notice how inconspicuous they were being.

As the coach drew near to the castle, a sense of evil seemed to pervade the very air, stifling, stifling…like a long-drawn-out death rattle, the huge wrought iron gates wheezed slowly open to greet the coach. The horses neighed, were whipped onwards.

Finally, the coach drew to a halt outside the great double doors. The driver climbed down, opened its door…

A figure stepped out of the stagecoach, wrapped in a long black cape. He walked over to the double doors, his gait graceful and lithe like a dancer’s. He rapped, once-twice, on the wood. The doors creaked slowly open.

He smiled, and threw back his cape, revealing the most outlandish outfit since vampires started shopping at Gucci.

“Hello kitty!” announced Count Campula.