The next evening, and the evening after that, Dracula sat down to his mug and the same crossword puzzle on the back of the folded newspaper, eternally perplexed at 22-down but determined. “Six letters: Poignant want. Hmmmm.” On the fourth night it finally hit him: “DESIRE! No wonder I couldn’t think of it,” he chuckled into his coffee. He stood, furled his cape, sighed, and headed out into the night.