The frog leaped at the Count’s purple neck. It gripped a hold with it’s vampire-like teeth and bit down with all of its strength. I suppose this frog now has teeth he though as he felt the teeth digging into his cloth skin.

“One…two…three. Three bites. Ahahahaha.â€? He declared in his Transylvanian chortle. The count rubbed his neck, feeling the cotton-like substance leaking from his wounds. The feral frog continued to glare at him with his googley red beady eyes from the pavement.

“One…two. Two glaring eyes. Ahahaha.â€?

Danny and Ray ran out of the morgue to see the cloaked purple figure and the frog looking at each other fixated.

“Dude, should we call like PETA or someone?â€? Danny asked his co-worker.

“If we call them they are going to send us to a mental hospital.â€? Ray replied. The frog hopped around and then looked right at the two men standing in the doorway of the morgue. He took a few hops towards them.

“One…two…three hops. Ahahaâ€?

“Shit man,â€? Ray whispered.

The frog sped at them.