You stand upon a grave stone of a dead author; Bram Stoker. In which you visited every day due to being an outcast to the people around you. You would say to that grave stone that you wished you were with him in the dirty, brown soil he resided in.

After that day, the night came, and a huge thunderstorm appeared---destroying some things. The clouds were a sickly green---how curious. It was, too, a full moon.

The next morning, you woke up---the day being quite normal. Albeit, it seemed strange today; it was as if the huge storm never came. As you were in your house, you heard a crash.. then a man appeared---entering through your window...

How could it be? A previously dead author was now in your house---looking at the modern things with great confusion and cupping his chin. It'd been hours now since Bram has been here.

Bram definitely didn't forget your wish to be with him.

"So this, you quire, is a.. CD player..? A music box..? What a strange notion, human." Bram said in that fancy voice---his red eyes scanning the CD player with a funny look of pure confusion and interest.