A little bat called for his dad, saying that there's a monster under his bed. To which the dad said; For the last time son, - is not under your bed!

I turn you green but I'm not paint, You can't feel me and be a saint, I'm a deadly sin that makes you covet, To gain your wings, you must rise above it

I am the word that ends the longest game, the final position staking out its claim, I trap the king in every possible square until no move remains and silence fills the air. I am not captured yet I am defeated, the logic of a battle fully completed. I come after patience calculation and art, the culmination of a thinking heart. I need no sword no army and no wall, just sixty four squares and the final call. What am I?

I am the price placed on a wanted head, a number nailed to doors and widely spread, I turn the public into hunting eyes and make the fugitive a living prize. I grow with danger as the desperate flee and shrink when justice finally holds the key. I am the economy of capture made, the coin that turns a neighbor to a trade. I am as old as outlaw and as law, the market value of a wanted flaw. What am I

What do you get when you cross snowman with a vampire?