HomeAll postsDracula vs Frankenstein’s Monster (short fiction story)

Dracula vs Frankenstein’s Monster (short fiction story)


I like asking questions about who would win in a fight between fictional peers. So when Nalini requested questions for an upcoming interview she had with Laini Taylor, I did what I do best with questions and asked ‘who would win in a fight between Dracula and Frankenstein’s Monster?’

Never would I have guessed that the question would then be reversed and I would be forced to choose between two iconic horror movie creatures. What was a girl to do but to put pen to paper and allow the creatures to reveal their own fates?

Here is my hastily written short story: Dracula vs Frankenstein’s Monster.

Dracula vs Frankenstein’s Monster

He ran through the sewers, the splashing of the puddles and his footsteps echoing around him. The book he held was wrapped in centuries-old cloth and his grip on it was impenetrable. He came to a stop at the ladder that would be his exit and climbed it with one hand, the precious book still held tightly with the other. When he pushed open the manhole cover, he was hit with a torrential downpour. He reluctantly put the book in the pocket inside his overcoat and ascended to the surface.


He waited patiently on the rooftop, his gaze unwavering from the secluded courtyard. The monster had been underground for hours, but he was in no hurry. Time was a commodity of which he had plenty.

Suddenly, the manhole cover burst through the sky and landed several metres away with an earsplitting clang. The monster pulled himself from the sewers and began to run hunched through the rain.

Dracula straightened, spread his arms and glided down. He landed squarely between the monster’s shoulder blades, forcing the monster to the ground with a heavy thud.

Dracula crouched on the monster’s back and sneered, ‘Good evening, abomination.’


‘You have something for me,’ the vampire stated.

‘Never!’ the monster exclaimed as he grasped the vampire by the throat and flung him into a nearby stone wall.

‘That was unnecessary,’ Dracula muttered as he dusted himself off. The vampire leapt nimbly out of the path of the monster as he charged into the wall, sending stone fragments tumbling to the ground.

‘The book is not for you, blood-demon. Leave now or die.’

Dracula responded by moving in the blink of an eye to grasp the monster’s wrist. The vampire paused to smile wickedly at the monster before hurling him into a pile of discarded wooden crates. In another swift movement, the vampire held the monster face down with a foot on his back like a hunter posing with his trophy. Dracula held the monster’s arm upright and spoke calmly.

‘The book.’

‘Never,’ the monster repeated.

With the snap of bone and grating of ripping muscles, the vampire tore the monster’s arm from its body. The monster howled, not in pain, but in rage. As the vampire raised the arm to strike at his foe’s head, his ankle was clutched by the monster’s remaining hand and he was flung aside. Dracula lost hold of the arm, sending it spinning down the manhole and into the depths of the sewer.

The vampire turned, his eyes blazing, and lunged towards the monster. In a single movement, the monster tore a sharp fragment from the destroyed wooden crates and twisted to face the attacking vampire. The wood impaled the vampire through the left of his chest and protruded below his shoulder blade. Dracula collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap.

‘Never,’ repeated the monster a final time, patting the book through his overcoat. He turned and walked through the dark alley to the main roads.

As he reached the alley’s exit, the monster felt a vice-like grip grasp his head. A Transylvanian voice snarled, ‘Close, but no heart.’

The last noises the monster heard were the tearing of flesh as his head was ripped from his body; the thud of his head hitting the wet cobblestones; and the crunching squelch of his skull crushing his brains under the foot of a 600-year-old vampire.

Dracula, satisfied the monster was defeated, searched what was left of the body and tucked the book inside his own coat. Looking down at his shoes he sighed, ‘Italian leather — ruined.’

The vampire made his way to the road and put his hand up to hail a cab. As he did, he remained unaware of the golden eyes watching from the darkness. Their furred owner let out a low growl as Dracula climbed into the yellow vehicle.


Nalini is an award-winning writer and artist as well as managing editor of Dark Matter Zine.


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