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It had been over 20 years since Elmo had last set foot on Sesame Street. Here he was again, clutching a wooden stake, frozen with fear at the steps of the Counts mansion. Here to finish what once he could not. Sunny days, he whispered and stepped into the dark.
The musk of the air brought it all back. The interior almost entirely unchanged. The deep red of the carpet, the spattered antiques, the stairs where he had found Ernie, cold, eyes open. Dead. Still in his pyjamas.
The darkness that the cellar stairs lead into, seemed absolute. Elmo walked cautiously, counting them aloud - a habit from his childhood. His mind replaying that evening, sure he could hear the bats overhead, waiting for the Counts bloodcurdling cackle.
There is was. His moment of failure, the moment everything changed. The coffin. But he was a boy then and 20 years of fear, moving from town to town, living amongst the Grouches, always looking over his shoulder had come to its end. This time he would not fail.
The lid slid to the side and revealed the monster, unchanged after all these years. It’s hideous purpled skin, still youthful. Elmo looked at this creature, the sweat rich on his palms. Praying he would not falter. The silence all consuming. He lifted the stake high and struck.
It’s eyes bolted open, writing in agony. Elmo turned knowing if he held them the Count could mesmerise him, sending him - what was the term he used - Batty bat!
Go to hell you motherfucker! he screamed. For Ernie, for Grover for Big motherfucking Bird! And pulled the stake from his chest, blood spewing out from the endless feasts of centuries. Die, die, die!!!
Finally, there in the dark, 20 years on, it ended. The Count whispering his final words, 3, 2, 1 ah, ah, ah. And then all that was left was blood and dust. Minutes later Elmo emerged and looked to the skies. Sunny days indeed, he thought and walked to the end of the street.
