Through the crack, a keen sliver of citrine light split the darkness before tumbling across the ancient flagstones. Shuffling deeper into the shadows out of its path, I heard a voice ask, "So, Renfield, is that all the applicants? Any take your fancy?"
"No, master Vlad," was the somewhat sheepish reply, "N-no g-good."
At that, their discussion became inaudible; desperate, I crept closer.
Twenty, thirty seconds. Silence.
I'd just resolved to retreat when the door whooshed open, sucking the air from the anteroom in which I'd stood, waiting (okay, hiding).
A huge silhouette burst through amidst a white-yellow halo. "Renfield," it admonished, "I thought we shut the door?"
Indecipherable apologies mumbled from behind the approaching shadow, which, upon seeing me, pantomimed, "My, what do we have here?"
I squint one eye open: yes, Vlad (I assumed) was addressing me. Unable to stop myself, I broke wind.
"Renfield," Vlad boomed, circling with a dramatic flourish, "show Fart McSqueaky into the office, won't you?"
Renfield peered around the door, gesturing me in.
"Sit," said Vlad. Unquestioningly, I did.
"You want the job, mm?" he asked
"I, I…" I stammered.
"Good, good," Vlad said, a dismissive gesture preventing any argument "It's been a long day. At least, I think so. Well, I'm hungry, so it must have been."
He circuited the desk, bent towards me; another unbashful squeaker escaped. His forefingers found my temples, whereupon I heard from inside my skull, "You really ought to address those bowels."
Withdrawing his fingers, he told Renfield, "Yes! He'll do."
Panicking, I went to rise, but Vlad said, "No, don't thank me. I'm off, mm, out. Renfield will take your particulars."
In a puff of smoke, Vlad vanished. Renfield approached, smirking.
"Please sir," I begged, "I only wanted to know where the toilet was…"
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