Original subtitles

(theme music playing)

NARRATOR: Man lives in the sunlit world

of what he believes to be reality.

But... there is,

unseen by most, an underworld.

A place that is just as real

but not as brightly lit.

A dark side.

(typewriter keys clacking)

(distant dog barking)

MAN: Listen to this.

"Cody brought the mallet down with brutal force...

"splitting the breastbone

"and driving the tip of the stake deep

"into the putrid heart of Count Blavnakov.

The vampire let out a bloodcurdling..."

(mimicking robot): "Danger! Danger!

Danger, Will Robinson!"

What? What's the matter?

Boring!

Boring!

What are you talking about?

This is vintage Peter Prentice.

You have already used a stake through the heart routine

to knock off the vampire's securities analyst

in chapter ten, and the count's nephew in chapter 14.

You told me yourself that's the way you kill a vampire.

Yeah, but, Peter, there's more than one way to snuff a vampire.

Pound a stake through the pump,

exposure to sunlight,

the cross, holy water...

I am not writing a dissertation on vampire extermination.

Well, how about silver?

A vampire can be destroyed with something silver.

A silver knife.

Where is Cody going to get a silver knife

in the underground parking garage?

(gasps) I got it!

Cody was given a sterling silver pen by his mum in chapter three.

When Count Blavnakov corners him in the parking garage,

he pulls out the silver fountain pen

and plunges it into the vampire's chest.

(gagging)

I hired you as a technical advisor,

not a gag writer.

I'll provide the creative juice.

Sorry.

Stake through the heart works fine for me.

(sighs)

Let's call it a day.

Fine for me.

(mumbling): Fine for me.

Peter.

Why do you write these things, anyway?

You don't know anything about the genre,

and you don't believe in it.

The moola.

Dumb question.

Um, Pete.

You promised to call your agent

about reading some of my stories.

First thing in the morning.

Yeah.

(paper rustling)

(typewriter clacking, bat squeaking)

The vampire count pleads for mercy.

The silver fountain pen glittering

in the fluorescent light.

Pitiful vampire grovels at his feet.

Rubbish.

Vampires are incapable...

of groveling.

How dare you...

(thunder cracks)

Are you crazy?

You get down from there before I have my insurance canceled.

(sighs)

Fans.

I am... Draco.

Count Geoffrey Draco.

Vampire.

(laughs)

And I'm Vladimir Horowitz.

What, are you selling cemetery plots?

I'm calling the cops.

Put that down!

Look... into my eyes.

(gasping, wheezing)

Enough.

You don't want my blood.

I've had hepatitis.

I eat this stuff.

My blood's full of chemicals.

I am not interested in your blood, Monsieur Prentice.

I have a proposition for you.

Well, I'm all neck, ears.

What do you want?

When the sun shines,

I require sanctuary.

You want to stay here?

I believe you can accommodate me.

(mechanical whirring)

How-how did you know?

You will have to find another hiding place

for your, uh, stocks and bonds.

What's in this for me?

(nervous chuckle)

I offer you 900 years of vampire stories.

In return for the sanctuary of your home,

I will tell you such things

that no living man has ever heard.

Right from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

(chuckles)

Welcome aboard, partner.

(thunder crashing)

�

(mechanical whirring)

(mechanical whirring)

(mechanical whirring)

Ready when you are, Count.

First, I must feed.

We shall talk when I return.

(sighs)

Someone is coming.

PETER: It's my cleaning lady.

DRACO: Will she be missed?

Are you kidding?

They'll think Immigration snagged her.

Tonight, I shall dine in.

(doorbell ringing)

Bon app�tit.

Quickly.

(doorbell rings)

Mister, is Mr. Prentice here?

He said I should come now for my money

for cleaning.

Maybe I, uh, come back tomorrow.

Stay.

Close the door.

You cannot scream.

You cannot utter a sound.

Your heart is beating faster.

Faster.

Oh, you can feel the blood coursing

through your veins.

(moans)

I waste nothing.

I kill only when I must.

So, you have come for your pound of flesh.

Well, my readers are waiting for my next novel.

Then let us not waste this lovely night in idleness.

I will tell you the story...

of a French knight,

who one day heard of a vampire prince

whose castle was overflowing with gold and treasure.

Greed overcame fear.

And he rode out against this dark prince.

That was 900 years ago.

And the knight's name was Draco.

(chuckles)

I was once destroyed by a mortal man.

He drove such

a wooden stake through my heart.

But, for a vampire,

death is only temporary.

Jayne never told me vampires could be brought back

once they were destroyed.

From the ashes, they may become whole

by scattered blood or by...

a woman's tears.

Few who have learned this secret have lived to tell of it.

So, um, you decided to rip off this vampire prince...

No, I did not steal his gold.

I was a knight.

A man of honor!

I challenged him to a fair fight.

Why?

Gold.

Yeah.

(chuckles)

"Peter Prentice has taken the horror genre to new heights

with his latest vampire novel, 900 Years of Darkness."

(chuckles): Oh!

Listen to this one.

"The scene where the vampire count

"feeds on the cleaning woman

is perhaps the most chilling in modern literature."

(chuckling): Oh! Hey, did I tell you?

The movie people are starting to sniff around.

(doorbell ringing)

Oh, listen, I gotta go.

Jayne's here to pick up her things.

Yeah, I had to let her go. I was carrying her too long.

Ciao, baby.

Come in.

You could've at least told me yourself,

instead of having

your lawyer send me a letter.

This is business, kiddo.

Now, I put all your things in here.

Cassette, notebooks, pencil sharpener.

Yeah, well, I'm sure

that it's all there.

There's no hard feelings or anything like that, right?

You know, whatever I may think of you personally,

I have to admit,

900 Years of Darkness just blew me away.

But the only thing that I cannot figure out

is how a book like that came out of you.

I worked on five novels with you,

and I never once detected even a glimmer of originality.

I saw more of my ideas in those books than yours.

900 Years of Darkness was a fluke.

You will never, ever write a book like that again.

Oh, yeah?

Well, the New York Book Review called me a genius!

You know, I don't need you anymore!

I don't need anybody!

What are you staring at?

900 Years of Darkness by Peter Prentice.

My story.

Your name.

Isn't it past your feeding time?

I'm sure there's a nice, juicy drunk out there

with your name written all over him.

When I return, we are going to come to a new arrangement.

If my exploits are to be fodder for your third-rate scribblings,

I demand my share of the spoils and the glory.

There was no need to wait up.

I'm going on a talk show.

I thought my esteemed collaborator

might like to join me.

You know the sunrise is only moments away.

How silly of me, of course you can't come.

A few minutes in the sunlight, there'd be nothing left of you

but a pungent little puddle on the sidewalk.

You try my patience, little man.

I've decided to streamline my operation.

I don't need any ghostwriters or hangers-on anymore.

Without my stories, you are nothing but a hack.

Oh, you've already given me enough stories

to write 12 novels.

We will discuss this further in the evening.

(gasping and hissing)

You will remove those abominations from my coffin.

(hissing)

I had it sharpened razor sharp.

You will remove those things from my coffin immediately.

On the contrary, you will remove yourself

from my home and find yourself a nice little sewer to sleep in!

A little light on the subject!

Not a cloud in the sky, Draco, old buddy!

Do you think I have lived 900 years to be bested

by the likes of you?

(screaming)

(yelling and gagging)

Put the silver in the basket.

(grunting): I am!

(silverware clattering)

I'm doing it!

(grunting and groaning)

(strained): I can't reach it.

(yelling)

(whimpering)

(yelling)

(agonized screaming)

(groaning)

Help me!

Help me.

Help me!

(yelling)

(doorbell ringing)

(knocking on door)

Uh, yeah, yeah, wait.

What? JAYNE: Peter!

Come on, you open up.

I know you're in there!

Hurry up!

I'm not gonna wait here all day.

Yeah, okay, I'm coming!

(knocking continues)

Come on, Pete! (doorbell ringing)

Coming!

Just hold on there.

It's freezing out here. Oh...

Getting chilled to the bone.

(knocking continues) Ugh, gross.

(doorbell rings)

Peter!

(wall creaking)

(grunting): Come on.

(knocking continues)

(whispers): Oh, no. (doorbell rings)

Come on, Pete!

Hurry up! (grunting)

(knocking persistently)

(sighs) Come in.

You're drunk.

Your keen powers of observation never

cease to astound me.

Observe this, Sherlock.

You're suing me?

Breach of contract and outright dastardly,

disgusting, disloyal, dishonest plagiarism.

Plagiarism?!

What, are you crazy?

You had nothing to do with writing 900 Years of Darkness.

No, but I practically wrote the five books that came before it.

What is this, a shakedown?

No, it's a shake up.

Everything you have to say as an author

would fit on the back of a postcard.

There's no way you wrote 900 Years of Darkness.

I figure if I shake the tree hard enough,

the real author will fall out.

Oh, I almost forgot.

I found this knife on your front porch.

Ow!

You okay?

It's nothing.

Yeah, well, just watch the rug.

What's this?

A secret panel?

Peter Prentice, I'm impressed!

Don't be silly.

It's just a closet.

There's a bloody coffin in here!

I can explain.

What could you possibly want with a coffin?

Count Draco?

Well, no wonder 900 Years of Darkness

reads like a firsthand report.

Do you realize you're sitting on a gold mine?

Oh.

Here, let me get you something for that.

Oh...

Wow!

Uh...

Oh.

Pete?

I hope your vampire friend

doesn't mind a little more blood in his coffin.

I've sprung a leak. (sighs)

What?!

Something the matter?

(sighing)

(muffled groans)

(hissing cackle)

(chomps)

Peter, what's going on?

Count Draco, I presume.

I make it a rule only to kill for food.

But, in your case, I must reluctantly

make an exception.

(hissing)

I have a proposition for you.

I'm... I'm listening.

I continue where Peter left off.

I'll give you equal billing.

And, uh, royalties?

Right down the middle.

Oh.

The earrings.

Oh, sorry.

(clears throat)

A kiss is always better than a handshake.

(giggling)

(in sultry voice): Oh, I think

this is gonna be the start of a wonderful friendship.

(thunder cracks)

NARRATOR: The dark side is always there.

Waiting for us to enter.

Waiting to enter us.

Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight.