You huddle in the dark with your family. Windows and doors boarded up. The lights out. Hoping it will pass.
There's a lull in the screams that fill the night air. A lull that's replaced not with any kind of human sound, but the dark, churning notes of bagpipe music.

The music's soft at first. You hope maybe they've had their fill. That they're leaving. But no... Its growing louder. So. Much. Louder.

You hear a shuffling outside. A swish of cloth. A deep, guttural chuckling. The grunt of someone lifting something terribly heavy.

Then a voice cracks with a rough Scottish accent screaming, "CABER TOSS!"

An impossibly huge log comes smashing through the boarded up window, smashing little Betsy before she can even scream. Its okay though. They'll just scrape her sweet life juices off the wall later. She's not going anywhere.

That's when you see them. Backlit by the moon. Larger than life...

The angry, disgruntled, burley, bekilted, vampire Scotsmen.

The last thing you see is rows behind rows of razor sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight. The last thing you hear is the squelch of bagpipes as mouths are about to be used for other things.