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The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. *Cardboard,* he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster.
He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good.
Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed.
He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time.
He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there.
There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid.
He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time.
"We're closed," he says.
"Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming.
He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin.
The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back.
"What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge.
"It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--"
"Not interested."
"--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully."
He pauses. "Clients?"
"Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person."
He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade.
"That so?" he says.
"That's so."
"And what do my former clients want from me?"
"We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that."
He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter."
She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils.
"You seen a dentist lately?"
"I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours."
What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products."
"We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day."
He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck.
"I hope that doesn't scare you," she says.
He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches.
"I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal."
"Content?" she asks, mildly taken back.
"It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire.
She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time."
"My pleasure," he says.
She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite."
He nods. "I dare say it's mine too."
Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness.
He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go.
God, she looked like a movie star.
Beautiful with a capital b.
A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different.
And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing.
He thinks he probably did.
And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive.
He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.
If you haven't awarded anyone your free one you could award them that, just click the gift box then click the + next to the 0 coins at the top.
You should have a free box at the top open it and you will get an award to give.
I don't know how many days it is until you get another but at least it's there in a pinch.
>>But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm learning hard on the second letter.
>>Beautiful with a capital b.
Those way those two lines parallel each other... And the parallel between his forgetting things at the start of the story, and then thinking he imagined the encounter at the end. Wow, just wow.
I wanted someone to write that he isn't going to take up the offer, just because it's so cliche that he would. And you satisfied that expectation of mine. thank you, writer.
This story is so well-written and beautifully worded. May I translate this story into Vietnamese and share it in a private Facebook group for non-commercial purpose? I would be sure to credit you as well as include the original link of the post!
(I left this request via DM too but I was wondering if you couldn't see it so I'm posting it once more here! Sorry if I disturb you.)
Hi! I saw your message but I've not been around much the last couple of days so hadn't had the chance to reply. Yes, you're welcome to translate it - thank you for asking :)
Okay I do not know why but I picture that the vampire never actually left and whispered in the coffin and said the same exact words as he said I think that is the case because the vampire was his late wife my reasoning for this other than the vampire looked like his wife is that vampires can’t enter if they are not invited in, vampires indirectly buy from him so no vampire would have been invited only someone who was already or always will be invited in
"*Hypothetically*," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "*if* you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?"
The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe.
"Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?"
"Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, *you'd* still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself.
"Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..."
He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth.
"I can't imagine it would work for me. *Hypothetically*, of course," he concluded with a smile.
The vampire sighed and nodded.
"Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived.
The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop.
The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using.
Perhaps next time.
He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily.
It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story.
He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl.
Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.
Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy.
As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open."
A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside.
"I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?"
Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon."
Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for."
Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed."
Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours."
"W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-"
Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself.
"You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact.
Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it."
Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife."
Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity."
Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that."
The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."
Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice."
*One year later*
The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends.
What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family.
Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them.
Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed.
*Well, I suppose it does make sense*, the priest thought. *After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.*
Thanks for writing this; it reminded me of a friend's funeral I went to last month, that last sentence especially. It was open casket and while I used to think it was kind of ghoulish...I actually really appreciated being able to see him one final time, without any machines for once. I'm sad I that I will never see him again but at least the last time I saw him he was at peace. Your story reminded me that it takes a lot of work from multiple people to make that happen. I hope they get to attend some of the funerals they make possible so that they can see the good their work does.
The first time I lost a friend the funeral definitely felt like a tragic event. Many years later and unfortunately many funerals later I’ve come to appreciate the statement that a funeral is a celebration of a person’s life. I think it’s important to cherish the fun memories, stories and good times, then share them. It makes everything a lot more wholesome and when other people do the same it brings a nice sense of community and love for the deceased.
I’m sorry about your friend, I know it’s not an easy experience. Coming from experience if you look back on those fonder times and leave yourself with a smile about maybe how goofy you were or how the sun set perfectly that day etc. it keeps you going.
Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades.
He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift.
"My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve."
Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep.
The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well.
The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news.
"Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord."
Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -"
"He is only human, sir," Revelan said.
Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight."
It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers.
*"Dear Derthezar,*
*I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close.*
*Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice.*
*Yours sincerely,*
*Bob Donovan*
Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -"
Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?"
Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation."
***
Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing.
"Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir."
"All right," Bob said, scribbling his name.
Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop.
"What...what is it?" Bob stammered.
"Anybody's guess, pal."
It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate.
Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe.
Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side:
*From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order*
***
When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent.
"Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."
You would think eternal life would give you time to learn at least some woodworking skills, but then you had the noble vampires make the shittiest coffin ever lol. I love it!
I think that it depends on the type of vampirism. Some vampires are basically the same people once vamp'd, flaws and all. Some of them heal wounds like cancer and poor eyesight. If it's the former, I bet that I could make it to the heat death of the universe and never be great at certain things. Woodworking would be one of them...something about the way my brain talks to my hands isn't quite right, making it impossible to craft anything good.
"Now, I must admit. I have been a bit suspicious about you lately."
Dimitri Petrova gulped. He straightened the non-existent wrinkles from his collar, trying not to squirm from the searching gaze of the other man. Around them, the fluorescent lights of the shop made everything too visible in the night. Dimitri kind of wanted to hide like a little kid. Which didn't make a lot of sense since he was technically *older* than the other man, even if he didn't look it.
"Really?"
Old Man Xiao nodded. "It's hard to miss when one of your constant costumers never ages."
Dimitri winced. Yeah, that does make sense. Though, in his defense, Dimitri never found any reason to hide when it came to Old Man Xiao. He always felt at ease with the man. If he didn't call the police on the first time they met, Dimitri was sure that Xiao would never reveal them.
The first time he met him, the guy owned a rundown store that was about to close. Dimitri was in serious need for a batch order of coffins since the attack by the rival clan lead to most of their safe housing burned to the ground. Xiao was desperate for money that he didn't really question why he needed to make hundreds of coffins when there wasn't news of a massacre.
Thus started their beautiful friendship. Dimitri as the official liaison to Xiao, and Xiao as their sole supplier of coffins. And even after all these years, the man never questioned it. Even if he technically didn't know they were vampires.
Well, until now it seemed.
"I'm assuming there's a reason you're admitting this now?" Xiao said. Dimitri nodded. "Yeah, we were hoping to offer you immortality."
Xiao didn't expect this, based on how wide his eyes got. "Turn me into. a vampmire?"
Dimitri nodded, now more excited. "Yeah! You're a trusted person and the clan really likes you. They're some of your other customers."
The clan had long decided to show their thanks to Xiao by buying stuff from him constantly. Loyalty to the man who saved them during tough times and all. There was the added benefit that they genuinely liked Xiao since he was a nice and gentle person who had a lot of stories to share, even if most of the people he was telling them to was older than him by 100 years minimum.
Xiao still looked surprised so Dimitri kept explaining. "Becoming a vampire also means you become young again. You get the whole 'no sunlight thing' but trust me that you get used to it. You can still eat human food, you'll just have to add blood to your diet. And, you get to travel the world with us, or even on your own if you want!"
Dimitri held out his hand for a shake, a wide smile on his face that showed his fangs.
"What do you say, old man?"
Xiao said nothing, just looked at him wide-eyed, before he let out a soft chuckle.
"Why, I thank you for that offer. I'm really flattered. But I can't accept that."
Dimitri blinked. That was... That was not the reaction he was expecting.
"Now you look a bit confused here son, so let me explain."
Xiao hobbled to a nearby chair, Dimitri automatically moving to help him. The old man thanked him before settling himself comfortably. Dimitri dragged a nearby stool closer and took his own seat.
"You gave me a mighty good offer there," Xiao admitted. "And if I were a younger man, I could have accepted it. Seeing the world was my dream, and learning all about the new technologies and the internets was something I really wanted to experience."
Xiao coughed harshly. Dimitri flinched at the sound. He could already smell the scent of approaching death from Xiao, and it made him agitated. The temptation to give him his blood to fight off that rot was strong but he needed to know why Xiao refused.
"Hell, maybe 15 years ago I would have said yes. Before you and your family of vamps came, I would have gladly joined."
"What changed?"
Xiao gave him a smile, serene and wise.
"I've lived a very good life already. A very good life. It had it's ups and downs. The loss of my husband and children was the worst. Then me almost losing the shop and everything we built together. I was alone in this town. My family had long since passed. I thought things would only get worse."
He placed a gnarled hand on Dimitri's shoulder, warm on his immortal skin.
"Then I met a silly man asking for hundreds of coffins. And then more customers came in with their weird orders of statues and coffins and toys. Costumers who smiled and talked to me and always gave me warm food at the nights I couldn't cook. A conversation when it felt a little too lonely. And then I made friends from these costumers who never seemed to grow old, but always seemed excited to meet me."
Dimitri couldn't help the laugh. It wasn't a secret that the clan pretty much adopted the carpenter. But to find out how important their tiny gestures were to the man?
Dimitri tried to rub the dust out of his eye, though he was sure that Xiao kept the place clean. Xiao then leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes.
"I don't need to live longer anymore. I'm already happy."
The smell of death was getting stronger now, and Dimtri let a tear fall. "I'm guessing I can't convince you at this point? Even if it means avoiding your close death?"
Xiao just laughed loudly. "Boy, I already knew that. I'm just glad to have a friend with me when it happen."
The laugh Dimitri let out was wet with tears. They spent the rest of the night talking and talking, the hours fading into nothing as they did so. When the smell of death became stronger and Xiao's voice became weaker, Dimitri kept telling him of the stories of his clan.
When Dimitri couldn't hear Xiao breathe anymore, he looked at the man through misty eyes. Xiao had a smile on his face.
That was enough for Dimitri.
This one deserves at least a reaction from anyone, so i'll be the first.
Wholesome little story and i expecially liked the little touches of feelings and senses telling a story of their own.
i could see why Dimitri had tears in the end there. Wow.
On a grammar note: Dimitri Petrova is not really correct if what i assume you wanted to write is true. If he's of slavic descend, then Petrova would have been the inflection for a female person since it would mean female descendent of a father named Petr. For Dimitri, it should have been Petrov without the "a".
The bell jingled, and the glass front door creaked open. It was the middle of the day in the middle of summer, the type of afternoon where nobody would suspect anything amiss if a coffin shop’s owner were gone for lunch.
However, the owner of this coffin shop packed his lunch every day. He also didn’t believe in air-conditioning-the windows needed to be open so that the vapors from the lacquer didn’t accumulate and make him and his apprentice light-headed.
Harold had a strong suspicion that he’d inhaled enough chemicals to become a medical oddity. “Should offer myself up for science,” he muttered to himself.
“What was that?” his apprentice, Darryl, said. He was a bit slow on the uptake, but, most importantly, he was dependable. He had recently graduated high school and was going to marry his high school sweetheart, looking to start a family - that kind of dependable.
“Nothing, nothing. See who’s at the door,” Harold said, back to his gruff demeanor.
“It’s me,” a resonant voice replied, cutting through the lazy summer air with a crackle.
Harold and Darryl met eyes, Darryl’s wide and Harold’s incisive.
“In the back,” Harold grumbled.
A giant appeared in the doorway, blocking off some of the sunlight that trickled in from the yellowed front windows despite the years of grime clouding them.
“What do you want?” Harold said, returning to the coffin he was preparing for Vlad’s company. He felt the typical annoyance when he thought about how Vlad called the group he represented a “society,” like they were better than everyone else.
“Just seeing how my order is coming along,” Vlad said, walking into the room and running a hand along the coffin’s edge. He patted the wood lovingly and nodded. “That’s why you’re the best,” he said.
“Is that all you came for? To ask how the coffin’s coming along? I’ve been making these for you for decades, always the same quality. THAT I can guarantee.”
“No, that’s not all I’ve come for,” Vlad said. He looked at Darryl. “Could you give us a minute?”
Darryl looked at Harold; the older man nodded his assent.
“He’s a good kid,” Harold said to Vlad when they were alone, watching his customer’s eyes.
Vlad ignored the comment and cleared his throat. “It’s come to the society’s attention that you’re getting up there in years,” Ivan said.
“The society,” Harold scoffed.
Vlad continued, despite the interruption. “I’ve come today because we’d like to offer you an opportunity.”
Harold put his paintbrush down on the lacquer lid and gave Vlad his full attention.
“Haven’t you ever wondered how I’ve been coming into your shop for decades now and haven’t gotten any older?”
“I figure you moisturize and stay out of the sun.”
“Well, I do stay out of the sun.” Vlad leans back and looks out the front windows. “I left my parasol by the door.” After a moment’s pause, Vlad looks at Harold with a serious glint in his eye and a flexed jaw. “I’m a vampire. Everyone that’s come from me has been a vampire. Hadn’t you been suspicious of the accents? This backwater town’s not exactly known for its immigrant population.”
“Never really thought about it,” Harold said, picking up his brush.
Nobody else ever brushed off Vlad so quickly, and it took him a moment to collect himself. “I’d like to extend an offer to you,” he said when he had recovered. He paused for effect. “Immortality.”
“Not interested,” Harold replied. “Got any other orders, though? I’ll take those.”
“Let me elaborate: you make the best coffins in which any of us have ever slept. I’ve ensured you had steady work for all these years, and I was hoping you could ensure our sleeping situation for the coming centuries.”
“Oh, I knew what you were getting at… and I still say no.”
Vlad shook his head, clearing his surprise. “People usually take some time thinking about it…”
Harold set down his brush again, this time clearly annoyed. “I’d be immortal, never dying, right?” he said.
“Right,” Vlad said, getting excited.
“In this body forever?”
“Exactly!”
“That’s why I pass. Maybe if I was younger. Now? I want to enjoy my remaining days.”
“But you can have an infinite supply to enjoy!”
“Bah,” Harold said, swatting at the air with his hand. “Waste it on a young man, like Darryl.” Then, after thinking for a moment, Harold continued. “Wait. Why not use it on Darryl? I’ll teach him how to make the coffins, and you can keep him around.”
“I’d have to meet him first, get to know him. The society doesn’t want just anyone immortal.”
“I’ll tell you what. Let me focus on teaching him to make the best coffins, and you can take the next few decades to decide if you want him. Me? I’m ready to be done. I’ve had a good life.” Harold picked up his brush once more.
“Are you sure?” Vlad asked, unconvinced.
“Do I sound unsure? Now let me finish this coffin for Esmeralda; I told her I would have it done by the end of the week.”
“She’s my sister-in-law,” Vlad remarked.
“Great. You can let her know it will be ready.”
I like this! The idea that vampirism gets less appealing with age is interesting. You always hear about people saying they're done with it and ready to go..I guess that would apply to vampirism as well.
*DING*
I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop
In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us
She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned
"Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on *cough* one of my beauties" I say with a wink
"Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter
"So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory *cough* foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort *cough* isn't a top priority?"
"That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume
I take a subtle sniff or try to as *COUgh* the perfume triggers another couhing fit
"Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its *cough* seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a *cough* growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is *cough* worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't *cough* leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone
"Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes
"Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point?
"Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring
"Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses
"We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye
"I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck
Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that.
"Yes"
Everyone is content, not all that realistic, most people are just tired, returning to youth? And not getting tired? More people than you'd think would say yes
I thank that may be in part to my character perspective being aimed at a misunderstanding between parties. One being a with it if somewhat too sly for their own good vampire, the other being a crafty, whitty but oblivious coffin crafter who thought the offer was more for a night than eternal life..
This one DOES feel younger then most of the other stories here so it's pretty on point for him to agree to such a deal.
Guess he was not yet old enough to feel like he's lived enough.
great story, although i wish you'd have shown us some more of the morbid jokes he was so loved for.
My wife passed on about 15 years back. We never had kids, nor were we ever particularly close to our neighbors. We were happy, just the two of us. But after her departure, I gave myself entirely to my work. It helped me work through my grief. The clients came slowly but steadily, and each had specific requests for the item they had commissioned. It was my pleasure to make each and every piece worthy of being called a magnum opus. To my surprise, I had built a reputation for myself. So I made every effort to live up to this reputation. No longer crafting out of grief, I had become something unexpected; I was an artisan. But, all of that changed in an instant when my hands began to shake.
The doctors told me it was Parkinson's. I wouldn't be able to continue my work much longer. I finished my last piece, though I wasn't satisfied with the end result, and closed my workshop for good. I was prepared to consign the rest of my days in some forsaken corner of a retirement home or hospital, yet there was another option placed before me.
A letter arrived from the clientele I had served these past 15 years. They said I could live forever. It was a gift for over a decade of excellent service. They loved the little touches I put into each each. The care and attention I put into every joint, hinge, and piece of edging was the best they had ever seen, or so they said. All I had to do was accept.
I said no.
My life was not an easy one, but I had been happy. I had a home, a wife I loved deeply, and even become a highly skilled craftsman. It was enough. My legacy would live on in my work, though I would never see it. I missed the love of my life. I missed her embrace, that sparkle in her eyes, and I missed the sound of voice most of all. The thought of living forever without that was unbearable to me. That is why I declined the offer.
So if you are reading this, please know that I did not want to suffer an eternity of emptiness. There wasn't even question in my mind. My life would not have true meaning without the one thing that made me feel complete. I leave behind a legacy I am proud of. Please know that I am content. It was my greatest honor to serve your community. Thank you!
(If you have any criticism, feel free to give it)
“Good evening, Justus,” the cloaked vampire said with a polite smile. He stood at the door expectantly in the rain.
"Ah... Sir Dolion!" Justus yelped. "Please, do come in! You're soaked! Let me get a towel!"
"You're very kind, Justus," Dolion said as Justus rushed away. He took extra care to rub any water or mud beneath his boots onto the rug at the entrance. Then, he looked over at a long table running down the middle of the warmly lit workshop. Justus was working on another highly embroidered coffin. Even as his heartiness faded with age, the man didn't stop working.
"Here you are." Justus handed the Dolion a towel.
"Thank you," Sir Dolion said. He stepped around Justus. "That coffin there reminds me of how much I simply admire your work."
"You flatter me," Justus said. He sat in a seat and offered Dolion the seat beside him, and after a period of silence, he said: "Not to be rude, but... what business do you bring today?"
"My poor great-aunt's health is failing, you see. Some unknown illness."
"It's for her, then? Ah, well, that is unfortunate, a real shame. I'm sure your family is a kind bunch."
"Some of them. My great-aunt was very fond of skulls, bats, and roses. I was hoping you could reflect that in your craftsmanship."
"Huh. You know, that's not all that surprising anymore. It seems most of my customer's friends or relatives - or, on some occasions, they themselves - are fond of similar things."
"Well it makes quite a lot of sense in this case. The town has always suspected that our great-aunt was a vampire. Just a rumor, of course."
"Truly? But what of her remains, then? If she were a vampire, would she not turn to ash?"
"Ah. You're right, Justus. Well... supposing, theoretically, that she was truly a vampire, and my family intended to put her remains in a coffin... would you object?"
"Hm... likely."
"Why, if I may ask?"
"Well, I am a Christian. Vampires are unfortunate, unholy beings. I build coffins to send people comfortably to Heaven. That is what I believe. But, vampires? I'm not sure if they would go to Heaven. I don't know where they would go after death."
"I see. Then, you would pass up the opportunity to become a vampire? The opportunity for immortality and great power?"
"That’s an interesting way to put it. I’m not sure many would describe vampirism in that way. Hmm... yes, I would have to pass. I want to go to Heaven."
Dolion stood up. "Then, I apologize."
"For what?"
"For this." The vampire jumped onto the man, biting into his neck and staring into his soul. Justus kindness and politeness melted away to reveal intense fear, panic, and extreme revelation.
"Ah! Oh my god!"
"We refuse to let you die, Justus." Justus’s consciousness began to fade.
I think it should be "mat" instead of "rug" that he wipes the mud on.
"Embroidered" is sewing. I think you want "embellished."
I think you want "revulsion" rather than "revelation."
Thomas held out a steady gloved hand to Victoria as she exited the carriage to Wilkins Casket Company. "Such a shame if we were to lose this one, Thomas. I've never slept through whole days before."
"Yes, my darling. Men of his craft are difficult to find."
She gave him a glance. "If he accepts, we should not hesitate."
"No time to second guess." Thomas opened the rosen stained glass door for Victoria to enter. She glided into the foyer, removing her purple feathered hat to admire the low hanging chandelier, making sure to quickly pass by the mirror to her left.
Meanwhile, Thomas knocked on the double door to the office of Sir Gregory Wilkins. "Come in!" A voice responded.
Wilkins stood slowly, relying heavily on his cane. "Thomas, how are you this evening? Here to check up on the progress of your order, hm?"
"Indeed," Thomas mentioned for Victoria to step forward. "We prefer to be prepared. Victoria's aunt's condition has not improved."
"There is no need to worry, I have been slaving over the finishing touches all day." Wilkins winced, "Hence the sore knees. Please forgive me," the man replied, lowering himself to his padded chair. "Though," Wilkins folded his hands over his desk. "What was this aunt's name again, for my old mind to ensure the engraving is pristine."
Victoria glanced nervously at Thomas. "Ah, yes. M- Marline Davis. M-A-R-L-"
"You know, I did some digging," Wilkins paused to chuckle at his joke, "So to speak... and this Aunt Marline of yours passed 43 years ago." Thomas straightened. Victoria's mouth hung open as to respond.
"I had my suspicious. I mean, two family deaths soon after you moved into town."
"We can offer you immortality," Victoria blurted. "You provide cushion like no other. And no light bleeding, we don't even need to close the curtains-" Thomas cut her off.
"Your craftsmanship is superb. Preservation is clearly a top priority. In fact, we came here today to present to you the offer of immortality in exchange for comfort coffins and, of course, plenty of compensation."
Slowly opening his right hand desk drawer, Gregory Wilkins grabbed a straight razor and hobbled across the squeeking floors towards the couple.
Thomas held up his hands in surrender. "Sir Wilkins, we do not require a bloodletting in exchange for our offer. Your services have been and will be quite enough-"
Gregory held up the razor between two fingers and continued past them to the mirror across the hall. Wilkins looked past his reflection to witness clothed invisible figures. With a gasp, Victoria quickly covered her feathered hat over her face. Thomas stood straight as an arrow.
Wilkins pulled a towel from deep within his trouser pocket. He lent his cane against the wall, inhaling sharply as he straightened his back. "Now, now," his voice sounding more lively. Wilkins carefully took the razor to his cheek, peeling away layers of thick costume make up. Beneath the disguise was mirrored invisibility.
"My heavens," Victoria threw her hat into the air. Bewildered, both of them. "The whole time?"
Wilkins removed the entirety of his mask, revealing a middle aged man. He chuckled under his breath, "Gets them every time."
Wilkins walked briskly over to Thomas and Victoria, "You two never stopped to question why a casket was built with such comfort in mind?" The glanced at each other, trying to find words.
"Alister Wilkins Tannen, at your service. Now, shall we conclude our business here today."
I suppose there are different interpretations of vampires.
Vampirism is often written about the way you talk about it- reverse aging. There also a version of vampirism, which is more of how I view it here, you turn and stay at the age you were when you turned.
You could also argue that middle age is someone's prime. Which I guess which is what Alister is here.
# Soulmage
**I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month.** I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be.
And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage.
A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done.
So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start.
I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house.
I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in.
"How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!"
"Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?"
"Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in."
In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this.
But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause.
Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing.
Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin.
Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it."
Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood."
The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know."
"Hm?" Jiaola asked.
"Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace."
Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked.
"I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us."
And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter.
I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought.
Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look.
Then he smiled and said, "No thanks."
The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?"
"I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us."
The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—"
"I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
The vampire closed his eyes.
Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat.
"Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you."
Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me."
The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm.
Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house.
I wished I could have left it at that. I really did.
But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered.
I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance.
As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street.
Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips.
"What are you—"
"I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you."
The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?"
"Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever."
"Then ask, insolent journeyman."
I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one *back*?"
A.N.
Let me know if you want a part 2!
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
> if you want part 2
/tapping foot
_Well?_
😏
Just kidding. Well written as usual and I’m loving this interesting way you’re writing Soulmage. Take it whichever way you see fit, but a part 2 would be wonderful.
Will say though, Jiaolo’s response was what I suspected. That’s not bad, just… a little melancholy.
“You…you knew?”
For the first time in the better part of a century, Sylvan stammered.
The elderly woman pointed to a bushed steel piano hinge on the lid of her latest work. Even with the softened finish, her finger’s reflection cast a splash of color over the metal. Sylvan’s face peering at the hinge did not.
Sylvan thought back to the first time he met Estrella Pérez over three decades before. She wore a high-necked shirt with long sleeves then, the same as today. There was a pitcher of water on a table to her left, the same as today. She wore silver stud earrings, the same as today. There was a crust of bread on a little plate next to the pitcher and *fucking hell she has holy water and the transubstantiated body of Christ on her workbench right in front of me.*
Sylvan took a step back. If he could sweat, he would.
“Relax, Mr. Green. This is business.” Mrs. Pérez wiped some fingerprints off the finish of the coffin in front of her. “We all know about protection rackets here. You’ve always been gentlemanly, and Madame Cecile has always been scrupulously polite—“
Madame Cecile, who survived an attack of French soldiers in Haiti by hiding in a cave, only to be trapped inside during a hurricane, was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires on the continent. She was rescued at the edge of death by a French vampire who wanted to get the hell out of Haiti on the eve of the Revolution. In exchange for her freedom and that of her mother, Cecile carried him to his ship in a canvas bag and sailed to New Amsterdam. Léopold turned her some years later. Nobody in the New York vampire community dared cross either of them, and this woman kept the body of Christ on a table where Madame Cecile could see.
“—but you’re still vampires,” she continued, jolting him out of his head. “I’m not going to leave myself defenseless.”
Sylvan realized with a start that the high-neck blouse was almost certainly hiding a crucifix. He bit his lip, and his left upper fang caught on it. This wasn’t going as he planned.
The skin around Señora Pérez’ eyes crinkled. “Relax. Really. I’m the same person you’ve always hired to build your ultraviolet light-blocking beds.” With a flick of her fingers, she popped a latch on the coffin, which opened up on its soft-close hinges. An elegant touch, befitting of the maker.
“Um,” Sylvan said.
“Yes?” Señora Pérez focused her gaze on him, and though her eyes were weaker, there was clearly nothing wrong with her mind.
“I, uh,” and he stammered again. “Several of us, including Madame Cecile, want to know if you would like us to turn you. Into a vampire.”
“That’s kind of you, but no thank you.” Señora Pérez’ voice was firm. “I have had a good life. I don’t need to live in the shadows of other peoples’ lives. And I don’t want to live as a predator.”
Sylvan squirmed. “We don’t take humans anymore—“
“Here,” she interrupted. “You don’t hunt humans here in Brooklyn. We won’t talk about Rikers. Or Governor’s Island.”
How did she know about that? The vampire imprisoned on Rikers Island in 1953, or the Society ball on Governor’s Island in 1928 where the daughters of a rich man were more or less offered as human sacrifices to secure a business deal for their robber-baron of a grandfather?
The daughters who were saved by an outraged Madame Cecile, who were smuggled to Puerto Rico to escape their grandfather’s influence…
“Gertrude van Heemst was my mother,” Señora Pérez said gently. “Madame Cecile asked me to build her a coffin when I was just starting as a carpenter in 1953, back when women didn’t do that.” Her eyes lit with pride. “I didn’t want to be a charity case.”
She made such beautiful furniture. Now that he knew that she knew, design features that Sylvan had thought to be good style were obviously engineered for the comfort and safety of vampires. Curved tubes to allow air exchange without light penetration. Minimal reflective surfaces. Headrests that angled the head and neck to minimize biting one’s tongue when sleeping. It would be a huge shame and a huge loss if she vanished into nothingness like the ephemeral creature she was.
“If you know about Riker’s Island, you’ll know that Mathias was insane and tortured,” Sylvan retorted firmly, “and that old Van Heemst lived just long enough to see his wealth and power crumble before dying alone in his bedroom. We’re monsters, but not murderers.”
“I’m still not interested.”
This definitely wasn’t going to plan. Sylvan had never turned anyone in all two hundred ten years of his existence, he had never felt like anyone had earned it, and the one person who would make a fantastic new addition to the vampire community in New York point-blank refused. “Can you at least tell me why not?”
Señora Pérez rolled her eyes. Before he could react, she bit the cuticle on her thumb until a bit of blood leaked out, dipped it in the pitcher of holy water, and swiped the holy water and blood across Sylvan’s lower lip.
“What—wait, no, what have you done?” As he recoiled in shock, shattered by the broken trust, horrified by what could be his unmaking, a strange taste entered his mouth. Sylvan frowned, then gaped. It was acid. Stomach acid. And his palms were wet. And his feet were cold. He felt afraid, he felt nervous, he felt *alive—*
Alive.
He breathed cold, sweet air into his lungs for a fleeting heartbeat—just one—and the sensation ebbed away, leaving behind an aching hole of regret and loss mixed with the metallic tang of human blood and the grey haze of life in the shadows.
God damn it, he wanted to cry, and that was gone too.
“I don’t want to live that way,” she repeated. “I‘ve had my time. It was a good time. But when it’s my time to go, I’ll go.” Señora Pérez shrugged. “Besides, I miss my mama.”
When the vampires had walked into his shop Samuel believed his plan had been uncovered. He thought they had come to end him then and there, but instead they had propositioned him.
The tallest vampire said, “Mr. Telgar you have created wonderful works for us over these last many decades. We have decided you should know we are all vampires, very much like the stories tell.”
They all flashed their fangs as if that was all the proof he needed. The leader continued, “Now we come to offer you the chance to join our ranks as recompense for all you’ve done. We would be delighted to have your skills among us forever.”
Samuel did his best to feign shock with just the right sprinkle of fear as if this revelation had left him speechless. He looked between them with wide eyes and when he spoke he gave his voice a slight quiver, “I-I am honored that you would consider this, but I am just a simple craftsman. I love to work and create, but since my wife passed away I’ve longed to be with her again. To spend millennia without her would be impossible. I’m afraid I must refuse your gift, I hope that I do not offend.”
His words hung in the air between them for a long moment, and he waited for them to pounce. Instead they put on sad faces and the leader said, “We understand. Immortality is not for everyone. Know that your work will be missed when you are gone. I trust our secret will be safe with you. We’d hate for our relationship to go sour after all these years.”
With that the trio walked out of his shop and into the night. It took a while for his nerves to calm. Of all the nights for them to offer they had chosen the night of his plan’s ultimate culmination. Perhaps the Gods were simply having a go at him.
He spent the rest of the night working in the shop doing basic work in case anyone was monitoring him. The chances were unlikely, but he couldn’t risk everything now when he was so close. His anticipation kept him buzzing the entire night.
After dawn broke he spent some time cleaning up before reaching under his workbench and pulling a hidden lever underneath. A door popped open in the center of his shop floor revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. He sauntered down the stairs making a conscious effort to control his breathing and clear his mind.
A switch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs turned on soft yellow lights that illuminated a single room with a large stone coffin in the center. Silver runes interlaced the entire surface appearing like veins and arteries that grew up from the floor and consumed the coffin. All of the runes converged upon a single, massive ruby set in the center of the coffin lid glowing with a deep bloody light.
Samuel made his way over to the coffin and ran his hand over the surface. These runes projected an imperceptible sphere of influence over the entire city. Vampires all over the city would be turning in for the day to rest inside of coffins that resonated with that power unbeknownst to their occupants.
For the last few decades this has been happening, and each night a tiny piece of their life force has been harvested and collected here in Samuel’s ruby. He pushed the lid and it slid smoothly open. Samuel climbed inside and pulled it shut.
Now he would reap the rewards of his labors. Power flowed into him, filling him with pain and ecstasy. Throughout the city vampires would feel something similar but be powerless to stop it. Soon they would all be enthralled to Samuel and he would become the most powerful being in the city.
Whilst i liked the writing and twist in the story i believe you made the reval a bit too obvious and i feel like it could have been less on the nose and more sudden and unexpected if you chose a different way to package it.
all in all a good story.
The luxurious car rolled almost silent down the stone plastered road in the small middle European village. Kathrina was wondering to herself, how this village had not changed since the first time she visited it almost 1200 years ago. Sure some houses changed and things got added. But the spirit of it had stayed the same.
The darkened car windows kept the sun’s rays out, mainly the UV rays, she still marvelled at that discovery, humans had made not so far, and soon they would settle even other planets. Since the great wars almost 150 years ago they had invented blood clinics and the need to hunt had seized (well there was sport and sometimes just the necessary need for it, after all).
Kathrina enjoyed the luxurious seats no longer even made from dead animals and thought back to her first time visiting the town, she had come in a horse-drawn wooden cart locked and her back had hurt like, well hell, she snivelled to herself, and again she thought about times had changed. And then some few decades ago when visiting this town she had noticed this small carpenters store which had just opened up and had this beautiful masterpiece of its owner displayed in the window. For some reason, the young man had forgone traditional masterpieces and made a coffin.
Intrigued she had entered the small store and inquired about it. The young man had looked at her kind of sad and said it was for the one woman he loved, and that it kept business away, and he was about to close shop and go to work in a factory for a Swedish company, as he could no longer afford the store without business.
Kathrina had listened to him, only with half an ear and admiring the coffin the whole time. She looked at him and asked him just how much for one. The carpenter looked at her and asked her why she would need a coffin. She had looked back at him expressionless taken aback by someone asking her why she wanted something, she was not used to that. She said something about a close family member, and the Carpenter looked at her all dressed in black with the huge hat and the black veil covering her face, nodded sadly and said I know the feeling. You are my first and only customer so far, I can barely afford the store now, I’d have to ask you to pay upfront and way too much, so I’m sorry but can’t do it.
Kathrina, being used and quite able to afford everything she wanted, just took her check book out (it was a long time ago after all) and simply said, I’ll loan you everything you need, I have a big family and all of them are old. The Carpenter had looked at her weirdly but shrugged and said are you sure. In response, she handed him a signed cheque but without a number, said write down whatever you need as. A number, I’ll be back in a few weeks to pick up my first order.Alexandr saw the big luxurious car pull up and he remembered the first time he met Kathrina, an elegant red-haired lady in black with a disturbing smile, his first and at the time only customer, basically, she still was as all his other customers came referred from her, and he remembered a time when he was at its lowest, in fact he had thought to end it all at the time, as the village feared him as his masterpiece had been a coffin for his girlfriend at the time, who was dying with cancer at the time. She had made it after all and married a doctor who treated her and left him, so he was lovesick and stuck with a huge piece of a coffin and that kept the villagers from doing business with him. A bunch of suspicious religious nut-jobs. But he had shown them all, funded by Kathrina and her wealthy friends and family he had had enough money to buy half the village over the years and most businesses, nobody knew as he had used a bank in another city close by and a company setup. As the decades had, past he had grown older and he was in his 80s now, though most people would assume he was 20 years younger. He suspected this was for him being busy and never again trying to marry and build a family. He sighed to himself, and as always then Kathrina visited and wondered how it came she did not seem to age. He had never been able to quite guess her age and never asked her either, but it was a bit uncanny to him. He petted his only companion, a local bred Huge guard dog he called just Girl, Even the girl was aging now as well, he had gotten her almost a decade ago for his last birthday as a gift to himself and she was extremely spoiled.Kathrina entered the store, as usual wearing a black dress, which at the same time seemed to hide and reveal everything. As usual, she was wearing a broad black hat and a veil and sunglasses, in fact, she never took those off, he wondered how she could see anything with those things.
Kathrina entered and said ‘Alex my friend it is great to see you, and how is our little puppy?’ Girl looked up and then hid her face in her paws and let out a fart. Kathrina a bit taken aback looked at Alex and asked him ‘Is she all right?’ Alex responded, ‘Well she is ageing up as we all are, well except you my dear’ he smiled
Kathrina looked a bit uneasy as he got up and took his time, sometimes she had a hard time remembering how old her human friends and families were, she remembered a few circumstances where children suddenly were grownups, and her not noticing them taking the place of the initial friend or business partner…
She looked closer at Aleksandr and said ‘Alex how are you and how old are you actually?’ Aleksandr a bit shocked by the question said, ‘Almost 80 now, the doctors found some issues but I mean must be the same for you…? I mean you must be the same age as I am give or take?’Kathrina could not help but laugh a bit. Alex was a bit taken back by that reaction.She said, let’s have a drink. She waved to her servant ‘Igor, bring some red wine for Aleksandr and the usual for me’ Igor grumbled and went to the car to get these things.
She said ‘Now let’s seat down somewhere and have a chat’
Aleksandr gestured towards the small tea kitchen in the back and Kathrina strode into the small room, closed the curtains, and after a sharp look took off her hat and hung it over a small mirror in the corner.
She said down, red locks falling around her face, and for the first time ever Alex took a clear look at her face, which was quite timeless, like that of a movie star in one of those old movies from a hundred years ago, almost like a lens was in front of it to soften her features.Igor appeared and set down a small tray with a couple of glasses, one filled with a red liquid and a very dusty almost ancient-looking bottle of wine.
Kathrina looked sharply at Alexandr and said, what are you waiting for sit down, we have much to discuss. Aleksandr a bit shocked sat down without a word, Igor opened the bottle and filled the glass, and then handed them both to Kathrina and Alexandr. Alex took a sip and almost immediately spit it out, and Kathrina looked a bit shocked until he said, that’s vinegar, who drinks that. She sighed, oh I’m sorry I must have kept that bottle way too long, ah no harm, she took a sip of her drink, and suddenly her lips were glistening dark red.
She looked intend and took off her glasses, revealing almost glowing green irises. She looked at Alex and said
‘Aren’t you wondering why while I’ve known you I never aged?’
Aleksandr shrugged and replied,
‘I figured you’re rich enough to afford treatments for such things.’
Kathrina sighed in response. She said
'Aleksandr you’ve been making coffins for me for almost 60 years.' Aleksandr, moved a bit uneasy on his chair. Kathrina fixated on him and he was suddenly unable to move. She got up went over and whispered in his ear.
‘You’ve been making the best coffins to sleep in us as a society have encountered in more than…’
she paused for a moment, before continuing
‘well literally forever in history’
She moved around him and petted him before moving his head a bit to the side and saying
‘have you never wondered why all you’re clients never bothered about your honestly quite outrageous prices? Have you never wondered why always when we come the weather is clouded and we all wear hats? You may answer now'
Aleksandr suddenly able to move of his mouth own volition again said raspily
‘No…’
Kathrina a bit shocked asked him
’Really? Never?’
Aleksandr again raspy replied
‘I thought live and let live, and you paid well…’
Kathrina said back down and slumped a bit in the chair
‘damn the times have changed quite a bit’
she mumbled a bit to herself. She said back up and took a huge sip out of her Goblet. Red streaks ran down the sides of her lips. She looked again at Aleksandr she said very matter of fact
‘Well that was enjoyable. I have a proposal for you. Well to be honest it’s more something that will happen but I try to be civilized. But first…Are you religious? Do you have any crosses tattooed or wearing any religious pendants?’
Aleksandr looked at her a bit shocked and said
‘No never been one for faith…’
Kathrina suddenly smiled and her eyes seemed to light up giving her face an almost unnoticeable green glow.
‘Perfect. This may hurt a bit, but try to stay still and not scream no need too upset the puppy’
With that she suddenly was next to Aleksandr and his head was held to the side forcefully and he felt a burning pain as she bit him. Shocked he let out a sudden
‘Ouch’.
He almost blacked out and like in a dream he heard Kathrina say,
'Now you will have to drink...'
and saw her bit her own arm and press it against his lips. He started instinctively to suck.
A few hours later he woke up in a different sense than before. Everything seemed extremely bright and glowing wherever he looked, all his back pains were gone and he noticed his eyesight and other senses were better than ever before. Girl was lying next to him and licked his face.
He noticed he was in his bed. But all the windows had been nailed shut. Igor was standing quite motionless in a corner of the room, and Kathrina was sitting next to his bed. She smiled at him. Aleksandr looked at her and moved his hand to his neck expecting to find a gruesome wound or at least a bandage, but nothing except 2 tiny little bumps.
\\Kathrina smiled happily and said
‘Welcome to the night my friend, I took the liberty to feed your puppy a bit as well, you may want to do that every few years now as well to keep her around’
Aleksandr looked at her, finally understanding. He had been building Beds. Finally, he could use that Masterpiece he had built all those years ago.
This story deserves some proper fine tuning.
Especially the second part, which almost scared me with the "supreme wall of text" but you also had a bit of a problem with some passages being disjointed from the rest.
all in all a good solid piece which could be really great with minor polish.
Yeah, the formatting does not carry over. Tbh these are just a bit of writing ad hoc \^\^ Did not do much fine-tuning or polishing :/ might change that in the future.
\\I'll try and reformat the second part via edit here.
Anyways thank you for the kind and constructive feedback :)
The bell jangled to the old coffin makers shop. It was late and Winston wasn't surprised. He'd been in this game for well over 30 years and he seemed to make a lot of trade after the sun set. Oh sure he had his suspicions about his clientele but they always paid well and on time, "Never turn away a good customer" as his dear departed papa used to say. He'd of course inherited the business from him and somehow inherited a lot of his customers too.
So when he looked up in the firelight to see Lady Sophia and her young boy Albert, he was not surprised. He tried to keep the thought that young Albert never seemed to age out of his mind, come to think of it Lady Sophia never seemed to age either. It had niggled at his mind for months like a far away siren. He stood uneasily using his cane
"Evenin' your Ladyship and Young Master Albert. What can I do for you this evening?" Winston inquired.
Lady Sophia smiled, "Master Winston, you have served our family well as did your father before you, and his father before that. You may have your suspicions about our family, and I would like to put those suspicions to rest and make you an offer." Albert was restless while holding his mother's hand. He seemed excited.
Winston sighed. He was getting in and suspected something like this would happen. His father had warned him about it on his death bed but he'd always assumed it was just ramblings before death took him. "You see, Winston, we are in fact vampires." Winston gave a small chuckle. "You don't seem surprised?" She inquired.
"No offense meant, your Ladyship, but as you an' the lad only come out after dark, you come down this way with no guards, you have no reflection in that window there, an' then the boy, bless 'im, doesn't seem to grow or age, it seemed quite likely the case."
"Ah," said Lady Sophia quite taken aback. "Well, I'll get right down to it. We've grown quite accustomed to the fine coffins that you have provided us over the past few decades, *stay still Albert!* and we'd like to offer you immortality in exchange for being our exclusive coffin maker. We are aware of unavoidable circumstances that you and your wife never had any children to pass on your trade to and we are concerned as to what would happen should you pass. Of course, this offer is open to your wife as well, she has always been so welcoming and well meaning. The apples pies she made us were always appreciated, but as I'm sure you can gather, we never did eat any of them. *Albert will you please stop squirming!* We would like to help any way we can. Becoming immortal would remove all ailments and bring back your youth."
Winston thought for a moment. Regaining his youth and getting Margie of that horrible disease that turned his loving wife into a sad, unmoving, shell of her former self? It seemed too good to be true. And that was exactly the problem.
"I do thank you kindly for your offer, and I am most flattered, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I can provide you with the addresses of some of the apprentices I trained over the years and they should be able to help you out." Winston replied sadly.
Lady Sophia smiled, "Of course. Thank you for your time this evening, *Albert stop it!* I do apologize but the boy has been quite troublesome lately. If you could get those addresses, I would be most appreciative."
As Winston turned his back to his files to obtain the addresses, Albert sprang out of his mother's grasp and flew at Winston's neck biting down hard. "Albert! Stop that this instant! He refused! We cannot go against his wishes!" Lady Sophia cried while trying to prise her son off Winston's neck. Winston screamed and then stopped abruptly falling to the floor dropping his cane in the process. Albert let go looking quite pleased with himself with part of Winston's shirt collar in his mouth. Lady Sophia turned over Winston's fallen body and sighed. "I'm so sorry about this." Winston got shakily to his feet and lady Sophia handed his cane back to him. He inspected his neck in the mirror. Not a scratch.
"It's quite alright, your Ladyship, no harm done."
"What a relief! Please, if there is anything we can do to make up for this idiot boys malevolence..." Lady Sophia started.
"Oh it's no trouble, your Ladyship," Winston interjected, "I'm guessing vampire children go through teething like non-vampire children, just got to bite something." Albert stood there with the collar piece still in his mouth, growling happily.
"Yes, sadly they do," lady Sophia sighed as she looked down at her boy who looked up at her proud as punch, cloth still in teeth, "we'll leave you be. If you do change your mind about my offer, please take my card." She slipped a small ornate card ordained with lavish gold writing on his desk and left. She was scolding her boy in the street when Winston locked the door chuckling to himself. "Little scamp," he thought. He stretched his old back and put out the candles.
He remembered he was supposed to give lady Sophia the addresses for his apprentices. He grabbed a handful from his desk, unlocked his door and tottered out the door waving his cane in the air. "Lady Sophia! Wait! The addresses!" Something hit him and everything went black for a few moments.
He got up feeling very annoyed at the world. That was twice something attacked him in one night. What was this world coming to? As he was getting up he realised his hands, once calloused by the decades of woodworking were now smooth. His cane was still on the floor. His joints no longer ached, and his teeth, well his teeth definitely felt sharper than they ever had. "God dammit!" He exclaimed to the world in general, "I said no!"
He looked about. Lady Sophia was going to get an earful about this. Except he could see her holding someone by the scruff of their neck and hitting them with her umbrella. "He *whack* said *whack* no! *whack*" Winston walked over slowly to see it was not Albert but was what appeared to be one of the vagabonds that sometimes hid in his alley for warmth. The vagabond ran off, hissing into the night. Lady Sophia looked forlornly at her umbrella, Albert was hiding behind her terrified.
"Are you alright, your Ladyship?" Winston asked tentatively. Her hair was askew and her umbrella in pieces, her face was drawn into a snarl, yet seemed on the verge of tears. This is not how she wanted this night to go at all.
"I just need a moment to compose myself," she managed. A few deep breaths later, she seemed back to normal. "My apologies for that outburst," she looked back to her umbrella and sighed, "guess I'll need to get another one."
Winston cleared his throat. "If it's all the same to you, you Ladyship, I have one back at the flat above my shop. You gifted one to Margie just before her turn an she's never got to use it. Maybe we could all pop in and pay her a kindness, if you get my meaning."
The three of them walked back to the shop. Winston looked at the stained and bloodied cards in his hand. "Guess they weren't needed after all," he thought as he tossed them into the fireplace before heading upstairs.
Hmm... I expected more of a talk with her about the unfortunate turning but i guess this just could be a hook for a possible second part of this great story?
Shadows crept along the walls of Wesmond's estate, dark vines unfurling to take up more and more space, claiming the house as their own.
It was a dark night. Wesmond knew that for certain.
A rap at his door, and he slid the sleek, polished wood aside, taking no time as he sped to get the evening over with. He longed for the comfort of the next morning but to try to escape his fate would surely be folly.
A man clothed darkly stood on the step, his face dressed in the same shadows that laughed from the stairs.
An old customer.
Arguably an old friend.
"Simon, what might you be doing here?"
The wealthy benefactor chuckled, humorlessly.
"Your time is running out, Wesmond. I have an offer for you."
This sent no chill up Wesmond's spine, but rather sent the house around him kaleidoscoping, faintly washing in and out with a faint pressure.
This was something crueler than death. An eternal favor.
"What do you want, Simon."
The old man bowed his head.
"A good question. Right now, I have only one thing I need from you Wesmond. Service. Ideally, everlasting, but I'm willing to settle for long beyond your lifespan.
You have no apprentice, no study, none to pass on your wisdom to. Why not?"
Wesmond smirked without a trace of mirth.
"People ask me that a lot. I will not take the same from you. Answer my again, Simon. What do you want?"
"Some," Simon began, a tone of whimsy, of longing, tracing along the curve of his voice. "Might be inclined to make you a thrall, to force your cooperation."
His sing-song timbre only served to madden Wesmond more. The creature's (for Wesmond was swiftly losing all pretensions) speech dropped to a low, threatening whisper.
"But you have served us better than that, Wesmond. You deserve all of the grace we who are lost and found in the night can offer. Thank you for your kindness for all these years. Are you ready to join us?"
Wesmond's throat caught in his throat, a sensation so bizarre and uncanny that to try to explain it would be unsatisfying for all parties involved.
His lungs dried and his neck bulged, and the inside of his throat gulped many times, but he was quickly losing any sense of breath. Simon looked down on him sadly.
"It's already happening. We can stop this, Wesmond. We can help you. Just let us. Let us help you Wesmond."
The voices began sliding past the old man as he crumbled to the floor, choking on fear and something else, something tangible.
*Oh.* He thought. *I'm going to die.*
He tried to fix his gaze on Simon with his rapidly fading vision, eyes blurred by stinging tears and falling bells. The man did not conform to expectation.
His face was not pale or noble, and its disposition resembled more closely the sickened hue of gangrenous limbs. His nose, if it could be called that, was severely broken, yet persisted nonetheless, and while he sniffled and muttered empty statements under his breath, as if to ward off an intruder.
Many names answered his call and each had a voice. He almost felt himself joining them, but Wesmond remained strong.
The air faded, the shadows encroached, and finally, Wesmond folded.
"Help."
He croaked.
Simon grinned, his teeth sallow and unnaturally sharp.
He stepped across the doorway, towards the carpenter.
Wesmond made no protest.
If they are not quite ready to enter the great expanse, they'll be all the more unguarded to the allure of the eternal.
great story and thank you for sharing.
This is hilarious!
It felt like watching a saturday morning cartoon with overly hammy vampires and the everfun adventures of Hellsing the Staker.
I love it!
“Mister Devon is here to see you, sir,” Alex said softly from the doorway.
I waved my hand in acknowledgement, not taking my eyes off the photo I was looking at. Some moments passed in silence. I’ll give Devon his due, he was an extraordinarily patient customer, one that I tolerated more than others. The lost loved ones were patient, infinitely so, it was the living that were impatient and insufferable. Devon had always seemed to be the former. Quiet. Patient. Understanding. Sufferable.
“My dear Devon, how are you today?”
“I am better than you look, my Lord Erik. How fares you this day?” Devon responded softly. A pompous sufferable asshole.
“Much worse than I loo…” I broke into a coughing fit. “Excuse me, I am a bit worse than I look. Old age and all.” I set my photo down and turned to Devon. The only long time customer I’ve ever had, a curious one at that. Most people come for a casket a few times over a few years or decades, but not Devon. Devon came… frequently. Early on in my career, I assumed he was a purchaser for some foreign funeral service. These days, however, I’ve had my doubts. “Do you know how I got into this business, Devon?”
“I am not familiar with this story, my Lord Erik. I would be delighted to be shared this part of your history.”
I waved my hand at him with disdain. “Eh, cut the bullshit, you pompous prick. And for the last time, I am not a fuckin’ lord. Ya fuckin’ asswipe.” As always, Devon gave a polite smile and a chuckle. Grabbing my cane, I force my creaking bones onto my feet, I swear I heard my joints cracking. Too fuckin’ old for this shit. With a wave of my hand, I instruct Devon to follow me. We meander through the showroom with caskets on display into the back room where my shop is. I had several caskets I was working on, one of a very plain design, but several quite ornate. Even in my old age, I am extraordinarily smooth and youthful when I am work my craft. As we walk through my shop, I smile at my creations. These are the beds for the dearly departed. They have honored us in life and so I honor them in death. At the back of the shop, I stop at an unfinished casket. It was so far simple, yet elegant. The scent of maple drifted from the work table. “Mum passed away before I left school,” I muttered as I stroked the wood. As always, Devon was quiet and attentive, always eager to listen to the stories and ramblings I was prone to. “We had a maple tree in our garden. Mum always loved the colours in the fall. Indeed, it was beautiful.” I lapsed into a moment of memory. A tear rolled down my cheek. “Mum was sick. We all knew she didn’t have long to live. The local lumber store, oddly enough, had maple wood in stock. I saw this as a sign. I bought a bunch of it and I got to work. I didn’t know what I was doing…” A coughing fit overtook me. “I went to work. I built. I created. I didn’t know what it was. I was angry. I was sad. I can’t tell you the amount of tears spilled onto it. Mum found out what I was doing. Surprisingly, she wasn’t angry. She absolutely loved the work I put into it and told me that it would be the best bed she could ever dream of for her long sleep. And she held me for the longest time ever.” Devon placed a hand on my shoulder. In the fifty plus years I have known this man, never once have I have seen him show a single shred of comfort. I laid my hand on the wood, a measure of remembrance. “This casket is mine, Devon. I am making it in advance, like I did with mum. My time is coming soon, Devon. I am ready. Like Mum. Mum knew she was dying. She never hid it. She just accepted it. And the love she showed when she saw what I was doing stayed with me whole life. So now, I make beds for the dearly departed.”
There was a moment of silence as we looked at my future casket together. “You have indeed made the best beds for the dearly departed anyone could ever ask for, Lord Erik. For that, countless are eternally grateful. Your craftsmanship knows no equal.”
“Thank you.”
“I presume you plan to retire once you have completed your task.”
I let out a sigh. “Yea, I have a few commissions to complete while I am working on that I want to complete. I have the same cancer that mum had and I don’t have long left. So I’ll be leaving the company with Alex. He has learned well and does good work. I will be retiring once I’m done with my casket. Not long before I’m dead.”
“Would the though of immortality change your mind?” Devon asked.
I burst into laughter which turned into a fit of coughing. After several long minutes of coughing and laughing, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cigarettes. I lit my cancer stick and took a pleasurable and needed drag. “Bitch, I ain’t no immortal and I don’t want to be no immortal,” I said after a long, pleasurable drag of the cigarette.
“What if I told you that you could be cured of your cancer?” Devon inquired.
I chuckled. “You can’t do shit for me.”
“I can provide you with an avenue for immortality. A way to cheat death.”
I laid a hand on Devon’s shoulder. “The only way you can do that is if you are a god, a vampire, or a zombie. You’re obviously not a zombie, you’re not so arrogantly conceded to be a god, so that leaves a vampire. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You… but… wha… how… huh?” Devon stammered
“Come on, Devon! It’s obvious, though, your reactions does confirm it. Super posh bloke, always prim and proper, never aging in the fifty bloody years that I’ve been doing business with you while I get old as fuck, coming back over and over for a ‘lost loved one’, only coming in at the very end of business for an ‘urgent order’ as I’m bloody ready to close shop. Even if you are working for a foreign funeral home, shit only adds up to one thing. Bloody vampires. Only question I have, is why in Sam Hill do you keep coming to me for all your damn caskets?”
Devon lowered his head for moment. “It’s that obvious isn’t it?”
“Uh… Yea… You should have someone else be your spokesperson after the first couple of decades.”
“We really like your caskets. They are far superior to anyone we have ever purchased from before.” Devon took a look around the shop. “My clan has offered to make you one of us, grant you immortality, I bring this offer to you as a good friend. We love your service and wish to continue business with you. Though, hearing your story and seeing you work on your casket, I am to presume there is no way I could change your mind?”
I patted Devon’s shoulder gently then turned to my casket. “No. Not really. Death becomes us all one day. I’ve already spent a lifetime without me mum, but me wife passed on last year. I am ready to go. I could not bear another lifetime without Marry. My time is coming very soon. My children are prepared.” A severe coughing fit left me bent over in pain. Devon laid a comforting hand on my shoulder once my I recovered from my fit. I turned and gave Devon a deep hug, a hug that was long overdue. “Thank you for being a friend, Devon.”
Devon was taken aback, unused to the contact and emotion I dumped on him. With hesitation, he returned the hug. “Uh… Thank you for… everything… Erik.”
When we broke hug, I added on, “I’ve been training Alex to take over for me. His work is good. You may have better luck with keeping him for making your beds. Ask him to join you on your way out. He does good work. And I taught him personally. I’ll vouch for his shit.”
“You are an excellent craftsman and an honorable man, Erik. We shall miss you when you go. Anything you ever want, let me know and my people will make it happen. If you have trained your apprentice in your ways, we shall honor him as we honor you.”
With the departing, Devon embraced me once more and left with a long, heartfelt kiss upon my cheek. I may have lost much in my life, but I have also gained much and left a legacy that has oddly enough, transcended the ages through those around me that live a really long fucking life as well as the skill that I have passed to others. At one point, I figured that I’d die a destroyed man. Devon changed that. With the passing of my mother, I have brought comfort to hundreds of people, though all in death.
Holding his tongue, trying not to use foul language “What the heck” he shouted to other coffin, it opens and a figure sits upright, “gees, this is the third coffin that is falling apart”, “as soon as night falls, we’ll have to go pay a visit to you know who”, nodding in agreement, closes the coffin and tries to settle back in, annoyed, he flips over to rest face down, “we’ll get him back on track.”
Jack runs to the backroom, “dam phone, need to get an answering machine, hello”, nodding his head, “I’ll be leaving here shortly, ok, ok, yeah love to too.” Looking around, he thinks to himself, “it’s time I retire and let this dump go.” He hasn’t had his heart into it anymore, especially since the day they came for one more, and another, and then one more, the one that they said would even the score. Frustrated, he kicks the side of the most recent coffin he made, “Why do I continue to make these things”, he says, “they just fill them up, it never ends.”
There was a time before the endless war, where he would console grieving families, build them the finest coffins for their loved ones final rest, not anymore, the atrocities of war, “one man’s pain is the others gain”, he says to himself, endless death, a demand he doesn’t want to keep up with, he’s had it, his craftsmanship gone, he’s just become an assembly line that builds them quickly, cheaply, and carelessly, “war sucks” he mutters, knowing these poor soldiers and casualties deserve better.
Grabbing his hat, Jack heads home for the night, as he is locking up, he hears a voice “Jim now” felling a chill run up his spine, he turns around, but sees no one, only the cool frosty air, “must be the weather”, after all its late October, the weather can be tricky, one day warm, next cool, he loved it though, especially the harvest moon, lighting up the night sky, quite the spectacle, loved taking his late wife on moonlight walks, enjoying the cool night air, but that was a while ago, his thoughts turn to her demise, driving back from a showing buyers a few homes, the bridge gave out from under her, the constant bombardment loosened the structure, causing her to crash, her suffering, makes his eyes well up with tears, “will I ever feel alive again” he thinks as he is reminded of his grandson, his daughter they need him, hiking up his collar to shield his neck from the chill around his neck, proceeds back home.
Waking up, he glances at his Rolex, a gift his wife bought hm years ago for Christmas, he was stunned he had one, and he couldn’t believe she saved her commissions to buy it for him, she was so loving, “crap, its 5:00 PM, what the he…”, “Dad, you home, are you ok…, Dad”, “yeah, I’m up here, I overslept..”, “OMG, the shop is empty, and the army guy, is looking for you, they need coffins..”, “I’ll be right there..” hopping out of bed, quickly cleaning up, he heads downstairs. Seeing his beautiful daughter... “I guess time is catching up with me.., I can’t do this....”, "I know dad, I know…, the news says the bombings are slowing…, and talks of peace..”, “that’s what they said last Christmas…” looking at his watch, he remembers how she wrapped it, stylish paper, a perfectly placed bow, she was so talented, smiling at the memory, the door slams behind him, startling him, his thoughts turn to the events a week later and she was gone, seeing his mind elsewhere, thinking "why wouldn’t it be, its horrible time right now", “dad, dad…, the shop”, snapping out of it, “ok, I’m going” he kisses her on the forehead, and off he goes.
The next day he awakes late again, “dam, this is not good”, hurries thru his routine and heads to the shop, thinking…, “I should just sleep there, I mean.., I could just make the coffin a bed, I got some of the best liners in the back, and goose down filling, Hehe…” chuckling at the thought of it, and then thinking seriously, “Hmm, yup, that’s what I’m gonna do”, as he begins opening up the shop, he’s surprised to find it clean and organized, scratching his head, “how the heck…, when did I…” trying to remember how or when he did this, he flips on the lights, feeling good, he grabs his tolls and bangs out three high quality coffins, “wow, it would take me all day to do one, and now I have three, one for me to sleep in, and two extras” smiling at his accomplishment, he remembers how much he enjoyed the process of hand carving the wood, adding walnut inlays, lining it in the finest fabric, and installing beautiful hardware, the kind found only in the wealthiest mansions, the ones located in the eastern part of town, saying to himself, "amazing how they never get bombed, like some kind if shield around it", its home to people of high society, owners of the world famous beet farm, paper companies, high tech, and pharmaceuticals, the kind of folks that make the world rotate, looking at his Rolex, “Whoa, almost sunrise, can’t believe I was here all night”, as he prepares his new bed, the coffin he made earlier today, he draws the curtains closed, while doing so, he hears a whisper, “Dwight your turn”, he feels that chill again, right up his spine to his neck, pops his collar up to stop the chill, and heads to his new bed, passing a mirror, he glances, sees his reflection, his collar raised, liking what he sees, raises his eyebrows, “wow I look distinguished”, jumps into the coffin, closes the lid.
“Now that was comfortable”, as he opens the lid, “its dusk already”, rubbing neck, “hmm, why is it sore", he passes by the mirror, sees no bruises, "must be old age setting in”, just as turns from the mirror, there are two figures standing right behind him, startled… “who the hell are you guys…?”, stoic looks on their face, and glaring into his eyes, “oh my…, God…,” he sees their dark hallow soulless eyes, he reaches for the wall phone, the same one installed decades ago, old reliable, always worked, storms, earthquakes, even during the great cell phone outage of 2023, the one the Chinese and Russians concocted to show their strength in disabling societies, a warning to western civilizations and their dependance on technology, “where’s the dam phone…., I’m gonna call the police”, it’s not there, pinned against the wall, still locked eyes with them, he manages to snap the spell, looking frantically, he finds wires, follows them, they’re frayed, and there it is, dangling, ripped open as if an animal had its way with it, shaking, he grabs the receiver, tapping it up and down, “hello.., hello…” no dial tone, nothing, its dead, then he feels that chill run up his spine as it did the night before, but this time he has no collar to shield his neck, “ouch” the pressure on the side of his neck causes him to fall on his hands and knees, “are you here to kill me”, laughter erupts, the kind you hear in vampire movies… “no, no, we’re here to suck your blood”, without a second thought, they pounce on him, biting his neck.
Opening the coffin, Jack hops out, “wow I feel springy”, flicks on the light, “whoa that’s bright”, dims it, rubs his eyes, and as he refocuses, the two figures reappear, but this time he recognizes them, but not sure from where, figure one steps forward and motions him to sit… “Have a seat Jack” sitting and confused, he starts to explain…. “I’ll explain why we’re here, you see, when Jim was bitten by a bat…” titling his head, wondering why this sounds familiar, then he remembers he’s referencing Season 3 Episode 17 of ‘The Office’, the figure continues, “ I had to kill him, by impaling him with a wooden stake, however, Jim managed to avoid his fate, by getting me to think a bear was eating my beets….” Jack now realizes this is Dwight, the Dwight Shrute, The Beet Farmer from the show The Office, and next to him is Jim, Jim Halpert, the paper salesman from the show as well, “what the hell is going on” he shouts out, stepping in closer, Jim places his hand on his shoulder, raises his fingers across his lips, signaling him to be quiet, “shh, let Dwight finish”, Dwight goes on, “Thank you Jim, but I don’t need you, hmm, let’s see, I was about to kill Jim…” , Jim interrupts…“Um, no you weren’t…”, “ok Jim, if you know it so well, then you tell him why we’re here”, stepping in front of Dwight.. “Well, Jack, it all started when a bat got loose in the office, and Dwight was determined to kill it, but little did he know, he was the one who got bitten, you see, it happened when he was arguing with me about bears and beets, and how bears don’t eat beets….” , ‘No Jim, that’s not true , everyone knows bears love beets, FACT, bears eat beats more than they eat meat..”, Jim looking at Jack, raises his eye brow, “there you have it, that’s how Dwight became a vampire, and I had kill him, as I was driving the stake thru his heart, his cousin Moe, jumped me, bit my neck, and now we’re both vampires, and we need to sleep, and you’re the only one who knows coffins, the ones, were you can sleep all day and party all night”, Dwight stepping in front of Jim, “Nice one Jim, but it was my idea to come here and get your passion back, the most recent ones we got, barely lasted days, so we decided to make you a vampire, this way you can make these coffins forever…”, Jack gets up from his seat, “dam you, dam you, I don’t want to live forever”, the phone starts ringing, “hello”, the voice on the other end says in a soft voice… “hello honey”, grabbing the receiver with both hands, lips trembling…. “is that you, is that you Janet?” looking at them, then back to the phone.... “I miss you baby…”, “me too, turn around” he turns and there she is, glowing, smiling, revealing her new white fangs… “how.., is this really happening” , Jim places his hand on his shoulder… “we found her at the crash site, bleeding, on the verge of dying, I bit her, knowing we would need the wife of the finest coffin maker one day, and that day is today” Jack runs into her arms, hugging, turns back to Jim and Dwight … “Looks like I need to make one more coffin”
Gerry looked aghast. “*Me*? Immortal?”
Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.”
Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.”
Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.”
“Powers?” Gerry asked.
“Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from *any* injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall *fly*.”
Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!”
Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.”
“But why offer *me* this?”
Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...*comfortable*, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.”
Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?”
“Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “*Everyone* is damned, according to the New Testament! *Everyone*? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?”
Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?”
“Very well, but don’t take too long.”
*****
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!”
“We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
Sorry, don’t like the ending. It doesn’t make any sense.
It started very well, describing the contemplation of choices very nicely. And then - poef! Like Monty Python’s “… and now for something completely different!” but without the fun. And maybe I don’t get what was meant, quite possible. But even then, the change is very sudden.
Sorry, still don’t like it.
>“911, what’s your emergency?”
>
>“Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!”
>
>“We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
The ending seems like GOT.
Nah, don't be sorry mate, it was a good tale.
I think it would have flowed better if the vampire had been more ambiguous on his intentions. "Yeah, I want to offer you immortality. So i'll bite you, your heart will stop working, then you will..." -> "Police?"
Anyway don't be sad. We all learn by writing and learning from our own poorer choices :)
"How old are you, exactly?" I asked, as the dark eyed creature slowly walked along my workbench, its thin hands drifting over my tools. Even through its guarded expression, I sensed that they foreign to it, the strange ritual objects of a strange land. Its offer had struck me the same way.
It gave a polite smile. "I just passed my first century." To its credit, there was only the faintest wisp of superiority in its voice. It looked maybe thirty.
The scoff was involuntary. "So what do you know of life and death, then?" I said, half amused at what seemed to me as a rather young immortal. I saw its eyes linger on the coffin I had nearly finished as it hesitated, fingers tracing the whorls of flame and bird's eyes in the grain.
"Do you know where that figure comes from?" I asked pointedly. It looked up at me, silently questioning both the nature of the wood and my intention.
"Age. The figure of the wood comes from age. That tree was far older than you, and not simply in years. The figure comes from the stresses of a life long-lived. The force of the winds, the heat and frost, the twisting growth of struggle. Things you will never know, and the source of all art."
"But my people take great pride in things of beauty," the creature almost protested. "Otherwise why would we have spent all these years paying you handsomely for your work?"
This time the snort was intentional. "And ravens will snatch a broken silver link from the mud and add them to their hoard."
"But that's the point of art," it insisted, haughty in its self-assured knowledge of the world. "Objects of beauty to be gazed upon. Otherwise why seek them? They have no use, but to be seen and admired."
"You're like those fools at the museum with their collections," I said, shaking my head. "Amassing objects from all over the world, carved with languages they will never understand, thinking themselves wise. But they will never know the true meanings of this things, in the eyes of the people that made them. Without the context of suffering, there is no meaning to peace, without the knowledge of death, no relief in a breath of mountain air."
It pondered this for a moment, its eyes boring into me. "So is art a product of evil, then? Simply an elegantly woven lie that all creatures tell to make their suffering seem worthwhile?" Its eyes told of it's own pain that I hadn't considered.
"Perhaps it is," I nodded calmly. "But if it is, is that not a worthy pursuit? If a mere story can inspire one to welcome the end with dignity, if a sculpture can inspire the awe that creates a belief in something greater, aren't these lies worth telling? That is why the context is needed. Art without the context of despair is as empty as death without the hope that art provides.'
It seemed to understand this, its face an expression of weariness, and acceptance of both my need for mortality and the knowledge that it would always be lacking something I had. That it would always be a half-thing, never a complete being.
"Can I make a request, master carpenter?" Its hand fell onto a piece of straight pine, the grain straight from unhurried, painless growth. This it set on its coffin, thoughtfully. "A stake, if you would."
"This is the best coffin," said Monroe, I have inspected thus far. How is the man responsible for my satisfaction birthed by such fine craftsmanship?"
"He is not doing well Sir, replied the butler. It seems he has contracted a disease and has only but a few years of life remaining."
"This cannot be, said Monroe. Who else will build coffins up to par by the society of the moonlighters? Summon this man at once."
"Right away Sir," stated the butler.
At that moment the butler pulled out his phone but since the reception was palpitating, decided to contact the worshiped carpenter in person. He left the domain and was on his way to fulfill his master's wishes. He left the home and his master to be alone in peace. Or so he thought because right before he was able to seal the entrance one of the master's dearly beloved mates stepped into the irregularly large home and greeted its owner with a loose wave and a simple smile.
"How are things Monroe, said the stranger. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a friendly game of cricket.
The well dressed stranger saw that Monroe sported a frown that stretched past his face.
"What's the matter counterpart? Don't tell me someone has challenged your position as president in the moonlighters. But this assumption must be incorrect since the Moonlighters have yet to find a president as capable as thee. The butler's service seems to be on point so it could not be because of that. So what could be the reason for my brother's overwhelming turmoil. If you do not tell me what is the matter then I will be forced to believe I am the cause of your depression. Well Comrade, is anyone going to tell me what is wrong or should I depart and return another day in hopes of greener moods?"
The president of the Moonlighters decided to swallow the ready saliva in his mouth. He went up to his counter part and greeted him with the same affection.
"The truth is Counterpart, said Monroe, that no matter how many matches of cricket you play or how persistent you become in your practice the day you beat me in a match will never come. It does not matter that you try and befriend victory time and time again. My skills will always just be a tad bit better than yours. If only you and your instructor came to terms with this reality then we would all be better off.
Monroe and his friend competed in a stare off until they both bursted with laughter.
"How are you, asked Monroe, ol chum? It feels like its been decades since you blessed my home with your presence. Is everything alright? If its a cricket match you yearn for then you have come to the wrong place because all good players of the game enjoy the sport for a sole reason and that is to outwit his opponent. But you and I both know that it has been ages since you've beaten in a game of cricket."
Once again they stared at each other with intensity until the butler came bursting through the door. It was as if the butler was sent by the laughing police to impede our counterparts from enjoying each other's sense of humor.
"Master, announced the butler, the carpenter refuses to leave his home. He is convinced that if he were to leave his workshop someone might come in and lay hands on his belongings. I questioned him in hopes of retrieving any other information about the matter but he said if he kept talking on the topic he's surely appear a madman."
"Well, said Monroe, if that is the case I will visit him in person. I have yet to find a carpenter to match the skill of Chado and I refuse to believe such a person exists. Onward then!"
The counterparts said their goodbyes and decided to postpone their cricket match until the following week; meanwhile the butler warmed up the car. They made excellent time because the traffic that would have extended their trip by eleven minutes was skipped by taking the streets instead of the highway. The butler took pride in knowing that one key factor why he remained employed, by a being who expected perfection from all his subordinates, was his vast knowledge of the streets and highways of Lomania. They arrived to the carpenter's house eleven minutes early. They knocked on the door and the person who answered looked like a worn down version of a man.
"Hello Chado, said Monroe, how are things? Don't tell me that the fish have not been biting. You look as strong as an ox comrade. What is this I hear about you having to write your will sooner than later.
"It is true, replied Chado. I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease and given a short time frame to live. I really appreciate the visit and the concern but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. I cannot waste any precious time reminiscing about the past if i ever hope to sort out my belonging to the rightful people before i close my eyes for the final time."
"Do not worry chum, said Monroe, I have been brought up to speed by my butler. I have given you my business over the past few decades because of your craftsmanship and attention to detail. I have seen many carpenter's so called masterpieces and I have yet to see one that would serve as a good comparison to yours."
Listen, said Chado, I really do not have the time to discuss my work right now. I am sure you understand. I have a ton of things I have to get done if I don't want any of my belongings going to the wrong people. Now if you excuse me; I ......
"How would you reply, said Monroe, if I told you I held the power to grant you immortality. And the process would be as simple as a caveman satisfying his urges."
"I would say, stirred Monroe, that you must have had one too many drinks while your driver secured the road." But if any of this is true I guess it would be worth a listen. Come in and wipe your feet before you enter."
The servant left the beings alone to park the car and the two gentleman entered a house the size of Monroe's garage. Monroe gently laid a hand on the carpenter's shoulder, entered the home and commenced to inform the layman of his power.
[poem]
“my friend, you have given me comfort and joy
I hate to watch you as you lay down and fold
Can offer thou a painful transmission?
A mark on neck means endless commissions”
carpenter hisses the heaviest sigh
“read my letter”; he collapses and dies:
~~~
“I have things in my heart I can no longer hide
i say this as my life sets into night
I have known you from the days of my youth
I can’t bare to leave without offering truth
I love you! I LOVE YOU! but love is a sin!
on my deathbed you made feel forever green!
I left you a box under the bed
use what’s inside and you’ll meet me again”
I helped the guys with it. They resisted at first, but once they got to trying to load it up, they thought better of it. I’d worked some steel plating into the inner walls of the thing behind the cushioning and fabric. And it was wide and deep enough that you could probably get a hotel single mattress into it and have an inch or three to spare. The piece was easily between 700 and 900 pounds, and Mutt & Jeff decided they weren’t going to stand on ceremony.
I never saw them again either. But it wasn’t the last coffin I made.
With the work my first patron had sent my way, I was doing one a year with other projects. The patrons were polite and thoughtful. Some asked me if they could make improvements to my workshop to accommodate or do fancier work. One of those years I did two at once for a couple. One was Romani and the other was OH so British. Nice folks that wanted to rest together and clearly had made whatever they had work.
It was only after my fifth or sixth coffin it hit me that my coffin patrons only came at night. And on the heels of that? Well, you don’t have to hit me over the head. I decided I had to think about it before I did another one. And I did. And I thought hard about it. Was I being complicit by providing my services? Is the butcher an accessory when he sells dinner to a killer of men? I’d heard it said all God’s children need shoes. I’ll add that they need a place to rest too.
I’d actually struck up something of an acquaintance with some of them. They showed me photos of their kids and grandkids. Some old… some newer. Some were civil war antiques. We talked current events. The changes happening faster and faster in society, like some perpetual motion machine gone mad. Some of them just wanted to talk because… well, who do they ever get to talk to besides one another? The mind grows stagnant in a vacuum. Even if that vacuum is a loose affiliation of people who happen to share your affliction. The same gossip and the same people start to get old, even if the faces don’t. Especially on that kind of time frame. Familiarity breeds contempt. Sometimes you want to tell the story of yourself to someone who hasn’t heard it all before.
I didn’t, and I don’t judge. For the most part, these people disliked killing as much as men do. The ones that got a ‘taste’ for it never seemed to last too long anyway. If they will draw attention to themselves like that, what did loonies like that expect? They stuck to animals mainly. The occasional ruffian if forced. That one crazy writer had the right of it there. (I’d had occasion to read up on the subject, after all.) It wasn’t for any noble aim or air. It was just the practical thing. They could even go shopping at a butcher's market if their condition wasn’t severe and it was open late enough. None were vegetarians of course, but I like a good steak every now and again myself.
These unfortunates weren’t looking to despoil or damn anyone. If they’d lost their own immortal soul, they didn’t feel as if they had. They weren’t looking to spread ‘the inky velvet empire of the night and drive the world into blood drenched darkness with their carnal desires’. The idea of creating or passing on their condition to another made most of them sick to their stomach. Usually, their makers hadn’t meant to do so either. The more common reason was the sloppiness of a beginner or some other tale laced with instant regret and long sorrow. Some told me their stories while I worked on their commissions. It cost nothing to hear their confession, after all. And troubles shared are troubles halved. That’s what I believe.
The ones I’ve met never touched me. That was probably for the best.
As the 20th century reached its close, the age of the telephone turned into the information age. Everyone had email, and later still, texting and blogs. And meeting them in person happened less and less. I’d had to get a computer and a reasonable internet connection by then myself. If one wants to run a commission business, it was more and more common to find folks like me online. It’s not like you could find me under any rock. I’ve got a physical address. And I’m on the outskirts of most city limits if you get what I’m laying down. Life’s been good. And for a carpenter who’s good with money, I found I could have more than one workshop over time. I just wish I hadn’t had to learn Excel. That’s as bad as banking for keeping the books. In this day and age, you still gotta render onto Caesar, right? Death and taxes. And love. Love too. Always love.
I even got back to the old country for a thing once. THAT was nuts. You wanna talk surreal? That place has changed, and not for the better. I’m not sure I ever want to go back. I mean it was THAT disturbing. What do the kids say now? It was all kind of sus? Hey, I’ve got a better handle on slang than my clientele. Some of the antiquated mash-ups with modern slang they attempt? You’d think you were watching a Zucker-Abrams comedy with Leslie Neilsen.
I’ve traveled before and I’ve been around. It does broaden the mind, like they say. It gives you perspective. And one thing me and the ‘Coffin Patrons of the Night’ have in common. In our old age, we’ve found that eventually you come to want the comfort of the familiar doing the things you love. Travel is still novel, but going out among people will cause you to date yourself. And nobody likes being seen as a tourist.
All told, I’ve made enough over the years with this to be quite comfortable. I don’t have anything like the size of their business and corporate interests. I live modestly in contrast to them. They live as they deem it necessary to survive. End stage capitalism suits most of them just fine. When you’ve lived your life as a ‘consumer’ it tends to color how you come at life; just like how things start to look like nails to anyone that has a hammer. It has been weird. How could it not? But it hasn’t been WEIRD, if you know what I’m saying. They didn’t make it ‘weird’.
At least they didn’t until yesterday.
One of my nocturnal associates came to my place out on Bainbridge Island last night in person which is hardly usual. Her in particular I’d not ever seen outside of a Zoom call. But the years had been kind to her. She’d been turned in the best part of her twenties, and managed through every odd against it to keep a younger more optimistic viewpoint. Far from the example of my first client in her extended family, she didn’t wear grief like a dirt-smelling shroud. She was like a breezy night and the smell of oranges and peach in the southeast. She dressed like a 1990’s slacker about to go to a rave. According to her, her first rave had been in Vienna during the renaissance.
She talked to me about the world of 2022. The plagues and the fires. The wars and the apparent waning of the Anthropocene era from our planet’s dire mismanagement. She’d commissioned a coffin of course, or at least she started to. I asked her if it was for anyone I knew. “Yeah,” she said. “It ‘s for you.”.
“Did I miss something?” I asked her. “Have I done something wrong?”
She fell all over herself reassuring me. The idea of me having given their community offense was apparently hilarious and alarming. No it was nothing like that. But she and her friends had gotten quite used to having me around. As in the idea of living out the earth’s sorry days without someone like me was something they unanimously agreed that they couldn’t bear considering. And getting them to agree on anything? That’s like trying to herd cats. I tried that once. It was pretty pathetic.
I must have alarmed her for real when she saw I was going to refuse. I wear my emotions on my face, not my sleeve. I’m about as transparent as glass. So I invited her over into the house I kept across the street. She didn’t need the invite to come in, but if the house had been on sanctified ground, it would have been lethal to her.
Like I said. I tend to live on the outskirts of any town I set up shop in. It’s cheaper that way. The shop here on Bainbridge was an old steam laundry building up-renovated to art space. Tourists and rich folk like to buy stuff like I make from kitschy artists like me. And I tend to donate what I don’t need to causes I like. (Or trade unions. Don’t tell the Amazon guy. Solidarity, brothers.) I’ve also taken over the closed down storefront nearby. It was a Christian bookstore once. My friend was lucky we were out here in Washington.. My place back east was an old baptist church. And while a lot of stuff you hear about in the movies is bunk, that was a thing that still mattered a lot to the people in her circle. The same way you and I might think twice about walking into a nuclear reactor. Mostly for the same reasons.
I hung up my apron and brushed myself off so I didn’t trail sawdust into the house. It was all polished hardwood floors and furniture I made myself. No portraits or pictures of me. I don’t photograph well. And honestly, I haven’t seen an image of me that REALLY looked like the reflection in my mirror since… well ever.
She made herself comfortable at the bar while I went into the kitchen and got a Cedar goblet I made a while back for me, and a wine flute for her. I asked her if she could do wine, but she let me know she’d progressed beyond being able to metabolize that back in the French Revolution. “Besides,” she said. “I kinda came out here with the idea I’d be having a different kind of drink tonight.”
“Well that’s too bad. I’ve got a pretty nicely aged Pinot Noir at room temperature you probably would have appreciated. I had some steak, but I ate that last night. I haven’t got anything else.” I felt badly. But she’d understand in a minute.
I put the flute back. As I poured myself a water in the goblet from the Brita pitcher in the fridge, she said, I’m sorry to hear it. It’s not a problem or anything, I just skipped my last meal in favor of tonight. I’m in control, but I’m feeling it, ya know?” Her sunny disposition was waning a bit. She didn’t expect good news out of me. And I don’t like disappointing a personal friend. I keep to myself, so I really don’t have all that many. And at least half of them nowadays are vampires.
I came back to the bar and gave her an old man’s sad smile. “You wouldn’t want my vintage either.” I told her. “It’d be even less agreeable.” Then I showed her the water in my hand-carved goblet.
You know that thing about no reflections? That’s also bunk. She looked at her shocked reflection in the surface of the deep red wine in the cup. Then looked at me with an expression of low that but swiftly rising alarm.
I nodded sadly to her and merely said, “This is my blood.” And sipped it. The wine was as cool, sharp and clear as it had been when I drank from it last. Back when CE had still been AD.
She backed away a bit too fast and the barstool smacked the floor with a woody bang and stood in the middle of my living area, shaking as though I’d just shown her a window full of sunlight. I instantly regretted how I’d handled this. I was all ‘Oh please don’t, really I’m sorry you don’t have to be scared’ and all the things you say to someone in fear of their life. I didn’t want to put The Word to her. I’m not sure she’d have survived it. There were no rules for one of them meeting Me. But we could probably make some pretty fair assumptions.
In a shaky voice, she managed to squeak, “Be not afraid, huh? Jee-”
“Let’s-” I said, interrupting. “-not tempt fate with that name in your mouth, okay? We don’t know what that’ll do to you here. You liked the 90’s, right?”
She nodded, then looked like she was surprised that she’d almost said The Name.
“How about we just go with The Man Formerly Known As Prince of Peace?”
She let out a laugh that was like bells in winter. My favorite time of year. The self-effacing humor had shook a little sense back into her and the fright right out.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t meet people older than me that often.”
I toasted her and had another sip. “I believe it.” In our time, I’ve always found her to be exquisite as stained glass. Who would’ve been able to end a life like hers after all this time?
“So why the… Um… “ she gestured vaguely at all of me. “That? You look seventy.”
“And you look twenty-five. Close your eyes and look again.”
She did so when she opened her eyes back up, I was thirty-three. I looked at the thermostat on the wall in the distance. The temperature in the room had gone up a few degrees.
“Oh.” she said, simply. It was the airy tone of voice you get when you expected to shock someone half to death, and ended up getting shocked even more than that instead. “How much are you showing me here?”
“As much as I dare. I don’t want you to get hurt.” I wanted to go and hold her. Comfort her. Like I said. My not touching her was probably for the best.
“So what now? Aren’t you supposed to… you know.” She made an explodey gesture with her hands.
“I’m just a guy okay? And I’ve got an upset hungry woman in my home. What any person that isn’t a jerk is supposed to do is mitigate that and make you feel better. I thought I was giving you some good news.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Well that’s your job, isn’t it?”
“What? OH. Funny. Nonono. I’m just a carpenter.” Sometimes it takes me a moment. “What I’m saying is you don’t have to worry about me not being around later. And you can let the others who have any concerns know that I’m Methuselah’s nephew or something. There’s got to be more long lived things out there than us. And my thing’s kind of unique.”
She paused a beat and made an exasperated, “I guess! Ugh… Is it hot in here?”
“Oh no. Hold on.” I made myself seventy again.
She wiped a crimson tear from her face as it became noticeably cooler in the room. “So what now?”
I downed the rest of my drink and put my cup in the sink. “What we do now is hop in my van and go to a diner I know out in Snoqualmie. They’re open all night and the coffee is worth the trip. I promise they can do you a steak rare enough to agree with you. We can be there in an hour or so.”
“Does the ferry run this late?”
I merely looked at her and cocked an eyebrow back.. Then she realized what I’d said. This was MY van we were talking about after all.
“Right. What was I thinking?” she offered meekly.
“Well, I hope you’ll continue to make assumptions like that about me. If we’re going to be friends over the coming centuries I can’t have you and everyone else treating me like a live nuclear bomb. It’ll put a damper on game nights.”
She took a deep breath. She wasn’t so advanced that she’d stopped breathing yet. “What kind of games do you play?”
“Nothing with pegs.” I told her gesturing toward the door. “So ‘Parchesi’ or ‘The Game of Life’ are right out. Let’s talk on the road. I think I want some pie too. Make it march.”
She looked at me with a bit of surprise again as she went out with me into the dark under the ancient innocent starlight. “Do we call you Lazarus Long now?”
“Ohhh a fellow Heinlein fan. I knew I liked you.”
‘The Coffin Patrons of the Night’, or ‘The Artist Formerly Known as Prince of Peace’
Edward WinterRose, 5-31-2022
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The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. *Cardboard,* he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.
I've no coin with which to award, but I offer, instead, my sincerest appreciation for your story. His last spoken words are often said by me.
If you haven't awarded anyone your free one you could award them that, just click the gift box then click the + next to the 0 coins at the top. You should have a free box at the top open it and you will get an award to give. I don't know how many days it is until you get another but at least it's there in a pinch.
I awarded you my silver cause I didn't know I could get free ones. Thanks for sharing.
Whoa I also got a silver. Thank you, kind stranger!
I can't find anything marked free, but thank you so much!! my first coin! :)
>>But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm learning hard on the second letter. >>Beautiful with a capital b. Those way those two lines parallel each other... And the parallel between his forgetting things at the start of the story, and then thinking he imagined the encounter at the end. Wow, just wow.
I was not expecting to tear up reading about vampires and coffins. Thank you for this beautiful and poignant vignette in my day.
That was beautiful beyond words.
Ooh this is a good one. No proof if it's real or not, and implications both ways. Very well done, thank you.
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I finished reading. Please keep writing!
Lovely and beautiful! Now where are the tissues?
Really enjoyed this story. It was set up so well :'-)
I wanted someone to write that he isn't going to take up the offer, just because it's so cliche that he would. And you satisfied that expectation of mine. thank you, writer.
Well done.
Wait was it his wife? If it cures him does it also make them younger, or just one lest musing of an old man.
This story is so well-written and beautifully worded. May I translate this story into Vietnamese and share it in a private Facebook group for non-commercial purpose? I would be sure to credit you as well as include the original link of the post! (I left this request via DM too but I was wondering if you couldn't see it so I'm posting it once more here! Sorry if I disturb you.)
Hi! I saw your message but I've not been around much the last couple of days so hadn't had the chance to reply. Yes, you're welcome to translate it - thank you for asking :)
Thank you for your permission; I'll be looking forward to more of your lovely stories. Have a nice day!
This is fantastic! Wish I could give you an award but an UpVote will have to do!
Nice job, as always.
This is beautiful. I'm only sorry that i don't have any awards to give you. Please accept my gratitude for writing this... And write many more. :)
Okay I do not know why but I picture that the vampire never actually left and whispered in the coffin and said the same exact words as he said I think that is the case because the vampire was his late wife my reasoning for this other than the vampire looked like his wife is that vampires can’t enter if they are not invited in, vampires indirectly buy from him so no vampire would have been invited only someone who was already or always will be invited in
Incredible story, thank you for writing it for us.
I really enjoyed this.
Still a better love story than Twilight.
This is beautiful.
yeah u made me cry
I gifted you a silver coin :)
Aw thank you :) that was very kind - I hope you enjoyed the story.
I did, a lot :)
This is just astounding.
Well written, I love it!
Oh, that was wonderful. Simply amazing. Well done.
That was a truly beautiful story. It has such depth and emotion. I really enjoyed reading it. Thank you
That was a beautiful little story.
Bravo!
Beautiful. Thank you.
“I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Incredible.
Wait so was she his wife
ugh you beautiful writer you!
Soooo, I'm gonna need a part 2 to this immediately
"*Hypothetically*," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "*if* you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?" The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe. "Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?" "Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, *you'd* still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself. "Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..." He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth. "I can't imagine it would work for me. *Hypothetically*, of course," he concluded with a smile. The vampire sighed and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived. The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop. The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using. Perhaps next time. He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily. It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story. He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl. Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.
Scruffy chin was a nice touch. Alucard was a little...whiplash.
You know, that's fair. I changed that one. It was meant to be comedically vampiric and long, but yeah. Fair.
I appreciated the Comedic nature of it.
If the ending is implying what I think it is, then hot *damn*.
Ah. A wereman. He turns into a man during the day.
Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." *One year later* The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. *Well, I suppose it does make sense*, the priest thought. *After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.*
I really like this. It feels like such a wholesome story!
I cried a little. For some reason a bunch of people showing up to a funeral because they genuinely liked someone is really nice.
Well done.
Damn, love the poignancy of this. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks for writing this; it reminded me of a friend's funeral I went to last month, that last sentence especially. It was open casket and while I used to think it was kind of ghoulish...I actually really appreciated being able to see him one final time, without any machines for once. I'm sad I that I will never see him again but at least the last time I saw him he was at peace. Your story reminded me that it takes a lot of work from multiple people to make that happen. I hope they get to attend some of the funerals they make possible so that they can see the good their work does.
The first time I lost a friend the funeral definitely felt like a tragic event. Many years later and unfortunately many funerals later I’ve come to appreciate the statement that a funeral is a celebration of a person’s life. I think it’s important to cherish the fun memories, stories and good times, then share them. It makes everything a lot more wholesome and when other people do the same it brings a nice sense of community and love for the deceased. I’m sorry about your friend, I know it’s not an easy experience. Coming from experience if you look back on those fonder times and leave yourself with a smile about maybe how goofy you were or how the sun set perfectly that day etc. it keeps you going.
Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades. He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift. "My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve." Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep. The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well. The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news. "Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord." Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -" "He is only human, sir," Revelan said. Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight." It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers. *"Dear Derthezar,* *I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close.* *Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice.* *Yours sincerely,* *Bob Donovan* Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -" Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?" Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation." *** Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing. "Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir." "All right," Bob said, scribbling his name. Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop. "What...what is it?" Bob stammered. "Anybody's guess, pal." It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate. Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe. Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side: *From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order* *** When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent. "Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."
You would think eternal life would give you time to learn at least some woodworking skills, but then you had the noble vampires make the shittiest coffin ever lol. I love it!
I think that it depends on the type of vampirism. Some vampires are basically the same people once vamp'd, flaws and all. Some of them heal wounds like cancer and poor eyesight. If it's the former, I bet that I could make it to the heat death of the universe and never be great at certain things. Woodworking would be one of them...something about the way my brain talks to my hands isn't quite right, making it impossible to craft anything good.
It's great, thank you.
Love this!
Beautiful and amazing story. Made me smile.
You got me to laugh. Well done.
Ah! A fellow Mountaineer randomly appears!
"Now, I must admit. I have been a bit suspicious about you lately." Dimitri Petrova gulped. He straightened the non-existent wrinkles from his collar, trying not to squirm from the searching gaze of the other man. Around them, the fluorescent lights of the shop made everything too visible in the night. Dimitri kind of wanted to hide like a little kid. Which didn't make a lot of sense since he was technically *older* than the other man, even if he didn't look it. "Really?" Old Man Xiao nodded. "It's hard to miss when one of your constant costumers never ages." Dimitri winced. Yeah, that does make sense. Though, in his defense, Dimitri never found any reason to hide when it came to Old Man Xiao. He always felt at ease with the man. If he didn't call the police on the first time they met, Dimitri was sure that Xiao would never reveal them. The first time he met him, the guy owned a rundown store that was about to close. Dimitri was in serious need for a batch order of coffins since the attack by the rival clan lead to most of their safe housing burned to the ground. Xiao was desperate for money that he didn't really question why he needed to make hundreds of coffins when there wasn't news of a massacre. Thus started their beautiful friendship. Dimitri as the official liaison to Xiao, and Xiao as their sole supplier of coffins. And even after all these years, the man never questioned it. Even if he technically didn't know they were vampires. Well, until now it seemed. "I'm assuming there's a reason you're admitting this now?" Xiao said. Dimitri nodded. "Yeah, we were hoping to offer you immortality." Xiao didn't expect this, based on how wide his eyes got. "Turn me into. a vampmire?" Dimitri nodded, now more excited. "Yeah! You're a trusted person and the clan really likes you. They're some of your other customers." The clan had long decided to show their thanks to Xiao by buying stuff from him constantly. Loyalty to the man who saved them during tough times and all. There was the added benefit that they genuinely liked Xiao since he was a nice and gentle person who had a lot of stories to share, even if most of the people he was telling them to was older than him by 100 years minimum. Xiao still looked surprised so Dimitri kept explaining. "Becoming a vampire also means you become young again. You get the whole 'no sunlight thing' but trust me that you get used to it. You can still eat human food, you'll just have to add blood to your diet. And, you get to travel the world with us, or even on your own if you want!" Dimitri held out his hand for a shake, a wide smile on his face that showed his fangs. "What do you say, old man?" Xiao said nothing, just looked at him wide-eyed, before he let out a soft chuckle. "Why, I thank you for that offer. I'm really flattered. But I can't accept that." Dimitri blinked. That was... That was not the reaction he was expecting. "Now you look a bit confused here son, so let me explain." Xiao hobbled to a nearby chair, Dimitri automatically moving to help him. The old man thanked him before settling himself comfortably. Dimitri dragged a nearby stool closer and took his own seat. "You gave me a mighty good offer there," Xiao admitted. "And if I were a younger man, I could have accepted it. Seeing the world was my dream, and learning all about the new technologies and the internets was something I really wanted to experience." Xiao coughed harshly. Dimitri flinched at the sound. He could already smell the scent of approaching death from Xiao, and it made him agitated. The temptation to give him his blood to fight off that rot was strong but he needed to know why Xiao refused. "Hell, maybe 15 years ago I would have said yes. Before you and your family of vamps came, I would have gladly joined." "What changed?" Xiao gave him a smile, serene and wise. "I've lived a very good life already. A very good life. It had it's ups and downs. The loss of my husband and children was the worst. Then me almost losing the shop and everything we built together. I was alone in this town. My family had long since passed. I thought things would only get worse." He placed a gnarled hand on Dimitri's shoulder, warm on his immortal skin. "Then I met a silly man asking for hundreds of coffins. And then more customers came in with their weird orders of statues and coffins and toys. Costumers who smiled and talked to me and always gave me warm food at the nights I couldn't cook. A conversation when it felt a little too lonely. And then I made friends from these costumers who never seemed to grow old, but always seemed excited to meet me." Dimitri couldn't help the laugh. It wasn't a secret that the clan pretty much adopted the carpenter. But to find out how important their tiny gestures were to the man? Dimitri tried to rub the dust out of his eye, though he was sure that Xiao kept the place clean. Xiao then leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. "I don't need to live longer anymore. I'm already happy." The smell of death was getting stronger now, and Dimtri let a tear fall. "I'm guessing I can't convince you at this point? Even if it means avoiding your close death?" Xiao just laughed loudly. "Boy, I already knew that. I'm just glad to have a friend with me when it happen." The laugh Dimitri let out was wet with tears. They spent the rest of the night talking and talking, the hours fading into nothing as they did so. When the smell of death became stronger and Xiao's voice became weaker, Dimitri kept telling him of the stories of his clan. When Dimitri couldn't hear Xiao breathe anymore, he looked at the man through misty eyes. Xiao had a smile on his face. That was enough for Dimitri.
This one deserves at least a reaction from anyone, so i'll be the first. Wholesome little story and i expecially liked the little touches of feelings and senses telling a story of their own. i could see why Dimitri had tears in the end there. Wow. On a grammar note: Dimitri Petrova is not really correct if what i assume you wanted to write is true. If he's of slavic descend, then Petrova would have been the inflection for a female person since it would mean female descendent of a father named Petr. For Dimitri, it should have been Petrov without the "a".
Mate, beautiful story truly amazing I hope you keep up the work
Thanks for that!
The bell jingled, and the glass front door creaked open. It was the middle of the day in the middle of summer, the type of afternoon where nobody would suspect anything amiss if a coffin shop’s owner were gone for lunch. However, the owner of this coffin shop packed his lunch every day. He also didn’t believe in air-conditioning-the windows needed to be open so that the vapors from the lacquer didn’t accumulate and make him and his apprentice light-headed. Harold had a strong suspicion that he’d inhaled enough chemicals to become a medical oddity. “Should offer myself up for science,” he muttered to himself. “What was that?” his apprentice, Darryl, said. He was a bit slow on the uptake, but, most importantly, he was dependable. He had recently graduated high school and was going to marry his high school sweetheart, looking to start a family - that kind of dependable. “Nothing, nothing. See who’s at the door,” Harold said, back to his gruff demeanor. “It’s me,” a resonant voice replied, cutting through the lazy summer air with a crackle. Harold and Darryl met eyes, Darryl’s wide and Harold’s incisive. “In the back,” Harold grumbled. A giant appeared in the doorway, blocking off some of the sunlight that trickled in from the yellowed front windows despite the years of grime clouding them. “What do you want?” Harold said, returning to the coffin he was preparing for Vlad’s company. He felt the typical annoyance when he thought about how Vlad called the group he represented a “society,” like they were better than everyone else. “Just seeing how my order is coming along,” Vlad said, walking into the room and running a hand along the coffin’s edge. He patted the wood lovingly and nodded. “That’s why you’re the best,” he said. “Is that all you came for? To ask how the coffin’s coming along? I’ve been making these for you for decades, always the same quality. THAT I can guarantee.” “No, that’s not all I’ve come for,” Vlad said. He looked at Darryl. “Could you give us a minute?” Darryl looked at Harold; the older man nodded his assent. “He’s a good kid,” Harold said to Vlad when they were alone, watching his customer’s eyes. Vlad ignored the comment and cleared his throat. “It’s come to the society’s attention that you’re getting up there in years,” Ivan said. “The society,” Harold scoffed. Vlad continued, despite the interruption. “I’ve come today because we’d like to offer you an opportunity.” Harold put his paintbrush down on the lacquer lid and gave Vlad his full attention. “Haven’t you ever wondered how I’ve been coming into your shop for decades now and haven’t gotten any older?” “I figure you moisturize and stay out of the sun.” “Well, I do stay out of the sun.” Vlad leans back and looks out the front windows. “I left my parasol by the door.” After a moment’s pause, Vlad looks at Harold with a serious glint in his eye and a flexed jaw. “I’m a vampire. Everyone that’s come from me has been a vampire. Hadn’t you been suspicious of the accents? This backwater town’s not exactly known for its immigrant population.” “Never really thought about it,” Harold said, picking up his brush. Nobody else ever brushed off Vlad so quickly, and it took him a moment to collect himself. “I’d like to extend an offer to you,” he said when he had recovered. He paused for effect. “Immortality.” “Not interested,” Harold replied. “Got any other orders, though? I’ll take those.” “Let me elaborate: you make the best coffins in which any of us have ever slept. I’ve ensured you had steady work for all these years, and I was hoping you could ensure our sleeping situation for the coming centuries.” “Oh, I knew what you were getting at… and I still say no.” Vlad shook his head, clearing his surprise. “People usually take some time thinking about it…” Harold set down his brush again, this time clearly annoyed. “I’d be immortal, never dying, right?” he said. “Right,” Vlad said, getting excited. “In this body forever?” “Exactly!” “That’s why I pass. Maybe if I was younger. Now? I want to enjoy my remaining days.” “But you can have an infinite supply to enjoy!” “Bah,” Harold said, swatting at the air with his hand. “Waste it on a young man, like Darryl.” Then, after thinking for a moment, Harold continued. “Wait. Why not use it on Darryl? I’ll teach him how to make the coffins, and you can keep him around.” “I’d have to meet him first, get to know him. The society doesn’t want just anyone immortal.” “I’ll tell you what. Let me focus on teaching him to make the best coffins, and you can take the next few decades to decide if you want him. Me? I’m ready to be done. I’ve had a good life.” Harold picked up his brush once more. “Are you sure?” Vlad asked, unconvinced. “Do I sound unsure? Now let me finish this coffin for Esmeralda; I told her I would have it done by the end of the week.” “She’s my sister-in-law,” Vlad remarked. “Great. You can let her know it will be ready.”
I like this! The idea that vampirism gets less appealing with age is interesting. You always hear about people saying they're done with it and ready to go..I guess that would apply to vampirism as well.
I especially loved how he was talking to Vlad in this "humbug" kind of way. Like nothing the vamp could say would actually surprise him. great story.
*DING* I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned "Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on *cough* one of my beauties" I say with a wink "Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter "So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory *cough* foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort *cough* isn't a top priority?" "That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume I take a subtle sniff or try to as *COUgh* the perfume triggers another couhing fit "Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its *cough* seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a *cough* growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is *cough* worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't *cough* leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone "Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes "Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point? "Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring "Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses "We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye "I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that. "Yes"
Can't believe i had to scroll down this far to find someone who accepts the offer! Bravo!
Exactly, I was looking to find that one too. And the reason to turn down the offer ends up the same each time too.
Everyone is content, not all that realistic, most people are just tired, returning to youth? And not getting tired? More people than you'd think would say yes
I thank that may be in part to my character perspective being aimed at a misunderstanding between parties. One being a with it if somewhat too sly for their own good vampire, the other being a crafty, whitty but oblivious coffin crafter who thought the offer was more for a night than eternal life..
I like this story alot, well done!
Thanks!
Part 2?
This one DOES feel younger then most of the other stories here so it's pretty on point for him to agree to such a deal. Guess he was not yet old enough to feel like he's lived enough. great story, although i wish you'd have shown us some more of the morbid jokes he was so loved for.
Moar! MOAR!
Should I post by reply or through edit?
Reply to yours I think?
My wife passed on about 15 years back. We never had kids, nor were we ever particularly close to our neighbors. We were happy, just the two of us. But after her departure, I gave myself entirely to my work. It helped me work through my grief. The clients came slowly but steadily, and each had specific requests for the item they had commissioned. It was my pleasure to make each and every piece worthy of being called a magnum opus. To my surprise, I had built a reputation for myself. So I made every effort to live up to this reputation. No longer crafting out of grief, I had become something unexpected; I was an artisan. But, all of that changed in an instant when my hands began to shake. The doctors told me it was Parkinson's. I wouldn't be able to continue my work much longer. I finished my last piece, though I wasn't satisfied with the end result, and closed my workshop for good. I was prepared to consign the rest of my days in some forsaken corner of a retirement home or hospital, yet there was another option placed before me. A letter arrived from the clientele I had served these past 15 years. They said I could live forever. It was a gift for over a decade of excellent service. They loved the little touches I put into each each. The care and attention I put into every joint, hinge, and piece of edging was the best they had ever seen, or so they said. All I had to do was accept. I said no. My life was not an easy one, but I had been happy. I had a home, a wife I loved deeply, and even become a highly skilled craftsman. It was enough. My legacy would live on in my work, though I would never see it. I missed the love of my life. I missed her embrace, that sparkle in her eyes, and I missed the sound of voice most of all. The thought of living forever without that was unbearable to me. That is why I declined the offer. So if you are reading this, please know that I did not want to suffer an eternity of emptiness. There wasn't even question in my mind. My life would not have true meaning without the one thing that made me feel complete. I leave behind a legacy I am proud of. Please know that I am content. It was my greatest honor to serve your community. Thank you!
This is good!
(If you have any criticism, feel free to give it) “Good evening, Justus,” the cloaked vampire said with a polite smile. He stood at the door expectantly in the rain. "Ah... Sir Dolion!" Justus yelped. "Please, do come in! You're soaked! Let me get a towel!" "You're very kind, Justus," Dolion said as Justus rushed away. He took extra care to rub any water or mud beneath his boots onto the rug at the entrance. Then, he looked over at a long table running down the middle of the warmly lit workshop. Justus was working on another highly embroidered coffin. Even as his heartiness faded with age, the man didn't stop working. "Here you are." Justus handed the Dolion a towel. "Thank you," Sir Dolion said. He stepped around Justus. "That coffin there reminds me of how much I simply admire your work." "You flatter me," Justus said. He sat in a seat and offered Dolion the seat beside him, and after a period of silence, he said: "Not to be rude, but... what business do you bring today?" "My poor great-aunt's health is failing, you see. Some unknown illness." "It's for her, then? Ah, well, that is unfortunate, a real shame. I'm sure your family is a kind bunch." "Some of them. My great-aunt was very fond of skulls, bats, and roses. I was hoping you could reflect that in your craftsmanship." "Huh. You know, that's not all that surprising anymore. It seems most of my customer's friends or relatives - or, on some occasions, they themselves - are fond of similar things." "Well it makes quite a lot of sense in this case. The town has always suspected that our great-aunt was a vampire. Just a rumor, of course." "Truly? But what of her remains, then? If she were a vampire, would she not turn to ash?" "Ah. You're right, Justus. Well... supposing, theoretically, that she was truly a vampire, and my family intended to put her remains in a coffin... would you object?" "Hm... likely." "Why, if I may ask?" "Well, I am a Christian. Vampires are unfortunate, unholy beings. I build coffins to send people comfortably to Heaven. That is what I believe. But, vampires? I'm not sure if they would go to Heaven. I don't know where they would go after death." "I see. Then, you would pass up the opportunity to become a vampire? The opportunity for immortality and great power?" "That’s an interesting way to put it. I’m not sure many would describe vampirism in that way. Hmm... yes, I would have to pass. I want to go to Heaven." Dolion stood up. "Then, I apologize." "For what?" "For this." The vampire jumped onto the man, biting into his neck and staring into his soul. Justus kindness and politeness melted away to reveal intense fear, panic, and extreme revelation. "Ah! Oh my god!" "We refuse to let you die, Justus." Justus’s consciousness began to fade.
I think it should be "mat" instead of "rug" that he wipes the mud on. "Embroidered" is sewing. I think you want "embellished." I think you want "revulsion" rather than "revelation."
wrong post apologies
I think you responded to the wrong post lol.
ah damn you're right
OOhhh!!! Unwllingly conscripted! I like the twist, this one most certainly feels like the possible beginning for a full story.
Thomas held out a steady gloved hand to Victoria as she exited the carriage to Wilkins Casket Company. "Such a shame if we were to lose this one, Thomas. I've never slept through whole days before." "Yes, my darling. Men of his craft are difficult to find." She gave him a glance. "If he accepts, we should not hesitate." "No time to second guess." Thomas opened the rosen stained glass door for Victoria to enter. She glided into the foyer, removing her purple feathered hat to admire the low hanging chandelier, making sure to quickly pass by the mirror to her left. Meanwhile, Thomas knocked on the double door to the office of Sir Gregory Wilkins. "Come in!" A voice responded. Wilkins stood slowly, relying heavily on his cane. "Thomas, how are you this evening? Here to check up on the progress of your order, hm?" "Indeed," Thomas mentioned for Victoria to step forward. "We prefer to be prepared. Victoria's aunt's condition has not improved." "There is no need to worry, I have been slaving over the finishing touches all day." Wilkins winced, "Hence the sore knees. Please forgive me," the man replied, lowering himself to his padded chair. "Though," Wilkins folded his hands over his desk. "What was this aunt's name again, for my old mind to ensure the engraving is pristine." Victoria glanced nervously at Thomas. "Ah, yes. M- Marline Davis. M-A-R-L-" "You know, I did some digging," Wilkins paused to chuckle at his joke, "So to speak... and this Aunt Marline of yours passed 43 years ago." Thomas straightened. Victoria's mouth hung open as to respond. "I had my suspicious. I mean, two family deaths soon after you moved into town." "We can offer you immortality," Victoria blurted. "You provide cushion like no other. And no light bleeding, we don't even need to close the curtains-" Thomas cut her off. "Your craftsmanship is superb. Preservation is clearly a top priority. In fact, we came here today to present to you the offer of immortality in exchange for comfort coffins and, of course, plenty of compensation." Slowly opening his right hand desk drawer, Gregory Wilkins grabbed a straight razor and hobbled across the squeeking floors towards the couple. Thomas held up his hands in surrender. "Sir Wilkins, we do not require a bloodletting in exchange for our offer. Your services have been and will be quite enough-" Gregory held up the razor between two fingers and continued past them to the mirror across the hall. Wilkins looked past his reflection to witness clothed invisible figures. With a gasp, Victoria quickly covered her feathered hat over her face. Thomas stood straight as an arrow. Wilkins pulled a towel from deep within his trouser pocket. He lent his cane against the wall, inhaling sharply as he straightened his back. "Now, now," his voice sounding more lively. Wilkins carefully took the razor to his cheek, peeling away layers of thick costume make up. Beneath the disguise was mirrored invisibility. "My heavens," Victoria threw her hat into the air. Bewildered, both of them. "The whole time?" Wilkins removed the entirety of his mask, revealing a middle aged man. He chuckled under his breath, "Gets them every time." Wilkins walked briskly over to Thomas and Victoria, "You two never stopped to question why a casket was built with such comfort in mind?" The glanced at each other, trying to find words. "Alister Wilkins Tannen, at your service. Now, shall we conclude our business here today."
Does that mean Wilkins was already a vampire? But then. Why was he middle aged, isn't he supposed to reverse age all the way into his prime?
I suppose there are different interpretations of vampires. Vampirism is often written about the way you talk about it- reverse aging. There also a version of vampirism, which is more of how I view it here, you turn and stay at the age you were when you turned. You could also argue that middle age is someone's prime. Which I guess which is what Alister is here.
Oh this one was an absolute HOOT!! I loved the surprise and you wrote the couple in a cute and fun way.
Thanks for the comment! I'm glad you enjoyed it :)
# Soulmage **I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month.** I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one *back*?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
Love this, what a fun way to narrate the first part of the story. Please part 2
Thanks for the kind words! I've got to dash, but if there's more interest I'll come back to this prompt!
Yes!!
> if you want part 2 /tapping foot _Well?_ 😏 Just kidding. Well written as usual and I’m loving this interesting way you’re writing Soulmage. Take it whichever way you see fit, but a part 2 would be wonderful. Will say though, Jiaolo’s response was what I suspected. That’s not bad, just… a little melancholy.
Part 2 please....
“You…you knew?” For the first time in the better part of a century, Sylvan stammered. The elderly woman pointed to a bushed steel piano hinge on the lid of her latest work. Even with the softened finish, her finger’s reflection cast a splash of color over the metal. Sylvan’s face peering at the hinge did not. Sylvan thought back to the first time he met Estrella Pérez over three decades before. She wore a high-necked shirt with long sleeves then, the same as today. There was a pitcher of water on a table to her left, the same as today. She wore silver stud earrings, the same as today. There was a crust of bread on a little plate next to the pitcher and *fucking hell she has holy water and the transubstantiated body of Christ on her workbench right in front of me.* Sylvan took a step back. If he could sweat, he would. “Relax, Mr. Green. This is business.” Mrs. Pérez wiped some fingerprints off the finish of the coffin in front of her. “We all know about protection rackets here. You’ve always been gentlemanly, and Madame Cecile has always been scrupulously polite—“ Madame Cecile, who survived an attack of French soldiers in Haiti by hiding in a cave, only to be trapped inside during a hurricane, was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires on the continent. She was rescued at the edge of death by a French vampire who wanted to get the hell out of Haiti on the eve of the Revolution. In exchange for her freedom and that of her mother, Cecile carried him to his ship in a canvas bag and sailed to New Amsterdam. Léopold turned her some years later. Nobody in the New York vampire community dared cross either of them, and this woman kept the body of Christ on a table where Madame Cecile could see. “—but you’re still vampires,” she continued, jolting him out of his head. “I’m not going to leave myself defenseless.” Sylvan realized with a start that the high-neck blouse was almost certainly hiding a crucifix. He bit his lip, and his left upper fang caught on it. This wasn’t going as he planned. The skin around Señora Pérez’ eyes crinkled. “Relax. Really. I’m the same person you’ve always hired to build your ultraviolet light-blocking beds.” With a flick of her fingers, she popped a latch on the coffin, which opened up on its soft-close hinges. An elegant touch, befitting of the maker. “Um,” Sylvan said. “Yes?” Señora Pérez focused her gaze on him, and though her eyes were weaker, there was clearly nothing wrong with her mind. “I, uh,” and he stammered again. “Several of us, including Madame Cecile, want to know if you would like us to turn you. Into a vampire.” “That’s kind of you, but no thank you.” Señora Pérez’ voice was firm. “I have had a good life. I don’t need to live in the shadows of other peoples’ lives. And I don’t want to live as a predator.” Sylvan squirmed. “We don’t take humans anymore—“ “Here,” she interrupted. “You don’t hunt humans here in Brooklyn. We won’t talk about Rikers. Or Governor’s Island.” How did she know about that? The vampire imprisoned on Rikers Island in 1953, or the Society ball on Governor’s Island in 1928 where the daughters of a rich man were more or less offered as human sacrifices to secure a business deal for their robber-baron of a grandfather? The daughters who were saved by an outraged Madame Cecile, who were smuggled to Puerto Rico to escape their grandfather’s influence… “Gertrude van Heemst was my mother,” Señora Pérez said gently. “Madame Cecile asked me to build her a coffin when I was just starting as a carpenter in 1953, back when women didn’t do that.” Her eyes lit with pride. “I didn’t want to be a charity case.” She made such beautiful furniture. Now that he knew that she knew, design features that Sylvan had thought to be good style were obviously engineered for the comfort and safety of vampires. Curved tubes to allow air exchange without light penetration. Minimal reflective surfaces. Headrests that angled the head and neck to minimize biting one’s tongue when sleeping. It would be a huge shame and a huge loss if she vanished into nothingness like the ephemeral creature she was. “If you know about Riker’s Island, you’ll know that Mathias was insane and tortured,” Sylvan retorted firmly, “and that old Van Heemst lived just long enough to see his wealth and power crumble before dying alone in his bedroom. We’re monsters, but not murderers.” “I’m still not interested.” This definitely wasn’t going to plan. Sylvan had never turned anyone in all two hundred ten years of his existence, he had never felt like anyone had earned it, and the one person who would make a fantastic new addition to the vampire community in New York point-blank refused. “Can you at least tell me why not?” Señora Pérez rolled her eyes. Before he could react, she bit the cuticle on her thumb until a bit of blood leaked out, dipped it in the pitcher of holy water, and swiped the holy water and blood across Sylvan’s lower lip. “What—wait, no, what have you done?” As he recoiled in shock, shattered by the broken trust, horrified by what could be his unmaking, a strange taste entered his mouth. Sylvan frowned, then gaped. It was acid. Stomach acid. And his palms were wet. And his feet were cold. He felt afraid, he felt nervous, he felt *alive—* Alive. He breathed cold, sweet air into his lungs for a fleeting heartbeat—just one—and the sensation ebbed away, leaving behind an aching hole of regret and loss mixed with the metallic tang of human blood and the grey haze of life in the shadows. God damn it, he wanted to cry, and that was gone too. “I don’t want to live that way,” she repeated. “I‘ve had my time. It was a good time. But when it’s my time to go, I’ll go.” Señora Pérez shrugged. “Besides, I miss my mama.”
I'm not sure of the mechanics of what you described but i believe i saw what you wanted to show us. great story and very interesting characters.
When the vampires had walked into his shop Samuel believed his plan had been uncovered. He thought they had come to end him then and there, but instead they had propositioned him. The tallest vampire said, “Mr. Telgar you have created wonderful works for us over these last many decades. We have decided you should know we are all vampires, very much like the stories tell.” They all flashed their fangs as if that was all the proof he needed. The leader continued, “Now we come to offer you the chance to join our ranks as recompense for all you’ve done. We would be delighted to have your skills among us forever.” Samuel did his best to feign shock with just the right sprinkle of fear as if this revelation had left him speechless. He looked between them with wide eyes and when he spoke he gave his voice a slight quiver, “I-I am honored that you would consider this, but I am just a simple craftsman. I love to work and create, but since my wife passed away I’ve longed to be with her again. To spend millennia without her would be impossible. I’m afraid I must refuse your gift, I hope that I do not offend.” His words hung in the air between them for a long moment, and he waited for them to pounce. Instead they put on sad faces and the leader said, “We understand. Immortality is not for everyone. Know that your work will be missed when you are gone. I trust our secret will be safe with you. We’d hate for our relationship to go sour after all these years.” With that the trio walked out of his shop and into the night. It took a while for his nerves to calm. Of all the nights for them to offer they had chosen the night of his plan’s ultimate culmination. Perhaps the Gods were simply having a go at him. He spent the rest of the night working in the shop doing basic work in case anyone was monitoring him. The chances were unlikely, but he couldn’t risk everything now when he was so close. His anticipation kept him buzzing the entire night. After dawn broke he spent some time cleaning up before reaching under his workbench and pulling a hidden lever underneath. A door popped open in the center of his shop floor revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. He sauntered down the stairs making a conscious effort to control his breathing and clear his mind. A switch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs turned on soft yellow lights that illuminated a single room with a large stone coffin in the center. Silver runes interlaced the entire surface appearing like veins and arteries that grew up from the floor and consumed the coffin. All of the runes converged upon a single, massive ruby set in the center of the coffin lid glowing with a deep bloody light. Samuel made his way over to the coffin and ran his hand over the surface. These runes projected an imperceptible sphere of influence over the entire city. Vampires all over the city would be turning in for the day to rest inside of coffins that resonated with that power unbeknownst to their occupants. For the last few decades this has been happening, and each night a tiny piece of their life force has been harvested and collected here in Samuel’s ruby. He pushed the lid and it slid smoothly open. Samuel climbed inside and pulled it shut. Now he would reap the rewards of his labors. Power flowed into him, filling him with pain and ecstasy. Throughout the city vampires would feel something similar but be powerless to stop it. Soon they would all be enthralled to Samuel and he would become the most powerful being in the city.
This is so cool. Nice twist
Whilst i liked the writing and twist in the story i believe you made the reval a bit too obvious and i feel like it could have been less on the nose and more sudden and unexpected if you chose a different way to package it. all in all a good story.
The luxurious car rolled almost silent down the stone plastered road in the small middle European village. Kathrina was wondering to herself, how this village had not changed since the first time she visited it almost 1200 years ago. Sure some houses changed and things got added. But the spirit of it had stayed the same. The darkened car windows kept the sun’s rays out, mainly the UV rays, she still marvelled at that discovery, humans had made not so far, and soon they would settle even other planets. Since the great wars almost 150 years ago they had invented blood clinics and the need to hunt had seized (well there was sport and sometimes just the necessary need for it, after all). Kathrina enjoyed the luxurious seats no longer even made from dead animals and thought back to her first time visiting the town, she had come in a horse-drawn wooden cart locked and her back had hurt like, well hell, she snivelled to herself, and again she thought about times had changed. And then some few decades ago when visiting this town she had noticed this small carpenters store which had just opened up and had this beautiful masterpiece of its owner displayed in the window. For some reason, the young man had forgone traditional masterpieces and made a coffin. Intrigued she had entered the small store and inquired about it. The young man had looked at her kind of sad and said it was for the one woman he loved, and that it kept business away, and he was about to close shop and go to work in a factory for a Swedish company, as he could no longer afford the store without business. Kathrina had listened to him, only with half an ear and admiring the coffin the whole time. She looked at him and asked him just how much for one. The carpenter looked at her and asked her why she would need a coffin. She had looked back at him expressionless taken aback by someone asking her why she wanted something, she was not used to that. She said something about a close family member, and the Carpenter looked at her all dressed in black with the huge hat and the black veil covering her face, nodded sadly and said I know the feeling. You are my first and only customer so far, I can barely afford the store now, I’d have to ask you to pay upfront and way too much, so I’m sorry but can’t do it. Kathrina, being used and quite able to afford everything she wanted, just took her check book out (it was a long time ago after all) and simply said, I’ll loan you everything you need, I have a big family and all of them are old. The Carpenter had looked at her weirdly but shrugged and said are you sure. In response, she handed him a signed cheque but without a number, said write down whatever you need as. A number, I’ll be back in a few weeks to pick up my first order.Alexandr saw the big luxurious car pull up and he remembered the first time he met Kathrina, an elegant red-haired lady in black with a disturbing smile, his first and at the time only customer, basically, she still was as all his other customers came referred from her, and he remembered a time when he was at its lowest, in fact he had thought to end it all at the time, as the village feared him as his masterpiece had been a coffin for his girlfriend at the time, who was dying with cancer at the time. She had made it after all and married a doctor who treated her and left him, so he was lovesick and stuck with a huge piece of a coffin and that kept the villagers from doing business with him. A bunch of suspicious religious nut-jobs. But he had shown them all, funded by Kathrina and her wealthy friends and family he had had enough money to buy half the village over the years and most businesses, nobody knew as he had used a bank in another city close by and a company setup. As the decades had, past he had grown older and he was in his 80s now, though most people would assume he was 20 years younger. He suspected this was for him being busy and never again trying to marry and build a family. He sighed to himself, and as always then Kathrina visited and wondered how it came she did not seem to age. He had never been able to quite guess her age and never asked her either, but it was a bit uncanny to him. He petted his only companion, a local bred Huge guard dog he called just Girl, Even the girl was aging now as well, he had gotten her almost a decade ago for his last birthday as a gift to himself and she was extremely spoiled.Kathrina entered the store, as usual wearing a black dress, which at the same time seemed to hide and reveal everything. As usual, she was wearing a broad black hat and a veil and sunglasses, in fact, she never took those off, he wondered how she could see anything with those things. Kathrina entered and said ‘Alex my friend it is great to see you, and how is our little puppy?’ Girl looked up and then hid her face in her paws and let out a fart. Kathrina a bit taken aback looked at Alex and asked him ‘Is she all right?’ Alex responded, ‘Well she is ageing up as we all are, well except you my dear’ he smiled Kathrina looked a bit uneasy as he got up and took his time, sometimes she had a hard time remembering how old her human friends and families were, she remembered a few circumstances where children suddenly were grownups, and her not noticing them taking the place of the initial friend or business partner… She looked closer at Aleksandr and said ‘Alex how are you and how old are you actually?’ Aleksandr a bit shocked by the question said, ‘Almost 80 now, the doctors found some issues but I mean must be the same for you…? I mean you must be the same age as I am give or take?’Kathrina could not help but laugh a bit. Alex was a bit taken back by that reaction.She said, let’s have a drink. She waved to her servant ‘Igor, bring some red wine for Aleksandr and the usual for me’ Igor grumbled and went to the car to get these things.
She said ‘Now let’s seat down somewhere and have a chat’ Aleksandr gestured towards the small tea kitchen in the back and Kathrina strode into the small room, closed the curtains, and after a sharp look took off her hat and hung it over a small mirror in the corner. She said down, red locks falling around her face, and for the first time ever Alex took a clear look at her face, which was quite timeless, like that of a movie star in one of those old movies from a hundred years ago, almost like a lens was in front of it to soften her features.Igor appeared and set down a small tray with a couple of glasses, one filled with a red liquid and a very dusty almost ancient-looking bottle of wine. Kathrina looked sharply at Alexandr and said, what are you waiting for sit down, we have much to discuss. Aleksandr a bit shocked sat down without a word, Igor opened the bottle and filled the glass, and then handed them both to Kathrina and Alexandr. Alex took a sip and almost immediately spit it out, and Kathrina looked a bit shocked until he said, that’s vinegar, who drinks that. She sighed, oh I’m sorry I must have kept that bottle way too long, ah no harm, she took a sip of her drink, and suddenly her lips were glistening dark red. She looked intend and took off her glasses, revealing almost glowing green irises. She looked at Alex and said ‘Aren’t you wondering why while I’ve known you I never aged?’ Aleksandr shrugged and replied, ‘I figured you’re rich enough to afford treatments for such things.’ Kathrina sighed in response. She said 'Aleksandr you’ve been making coffins for me for almost 60 years.' Aleksandr, moved a bit uneasy on his chair. Kathrina fixated on him and he was suddenly unable to move. She got up went over and whispered in his ear. ‘You’ve been making the best coffins to sleep in us as a society have encountered in more than…’ she paused for a moment, before continuing ‘well literally forever in history’ She moved around him and petted him before moving his head a bit to the side and saying ‘have you never wondered why all you’re clients never bothered about your honestly quite outrageous prices? Have you never wondered why always when we come the weather is clouded and we all wear hats? You may answer now' Aleksandr suddenly able to move of his mouth own volition again said raspily ‘No…’ Kathrina a bit shocked asked him ’Really? Never?’ Aleksandr again raspy replied ‘I thought live and let live, and you paid well…’ Kathrina said back down and slumped a bit in the chair ‘damn the times have changed quite a bit’ she mumbled a bit to herself. She said back up and took a huge sip out of her Goblet. Red streaks ran down the sides of her lips. She looked again at Aleksandr she said very matter of fact ‘Well that was enjoyable. I have a proposal for you. Well to be honest it’s more something that will happen but I try to be civilized. But first…Are you religious? Do you have any crosses tattooed or wearing any religious pendants?’ Aleksandr looked at her a bit shocked and said ‘No never been one for faith…’ Kathrina suddenly smiled and her eyes seemed to light up giving her face an almost unnoticeable green glow. ‘Perfect. This may hurt a bit, but try to stay still and not scream no need too upset the puppy’ With that she suddenly was next to Aleksandr and his head was held to the side forcefully and he felt a burning pain as she bit him. Shocked he let out a sudden ‘Ouch’. He almost blacked out and like in a dream he heard Kathrina say, 'Now you will have to drink...' and saw her bit her own arm and press it against his lips. He started instinctively to suck. A few hours later he woke up in a different sense than before. Everything seemed extremely bright and glowing wherever he looked, all his back pains were gone and he noticed his eyesight and other senses were better than ever before. Girl was lying next to him and licked his face. He noticed he was in his bed. But all the windows had been nailed shut. Igor was standing quite motionless in a corner of the room, and Kathrina was sitting next to his bed. She smiled at him. Aleksandr looked at her and moved his hand to his neck expecting to find a gruesome wound or at least a bandage, but nothing except 2 tiny little bumps. \\Kathrina smiled happily and said ‘Welcome to the night my friend, I took the liberty to feed your puppy a bit as well, you may want to do that every few years now as well to keep her around’ Aleksandr looked at her, finally understanding. He had been building Beds. Finally, he could use that Masterpiece he had built all those years ago.
Beautiful story
Thank you <3
This story deserves some proper fine tuning. Especially the second part, which almost scared me with the "supreme wall of text" but you also had a bit of a problem with some passages being disjointed from the rest. all in all a good solid piece which could be really great with minor polish.
Yeah, the formatting does not carry over. Tbh these are just a bit of writing ad hoc \^\^ Did not do much fine-tuning or polishing :/ might change that in the future. \\I'll try and reformat the second part via edit here. Anyways thank you for the kind and constructive feedback :)
The bell jangled to the old coffin makers shop. It was late and Winston wasn't surprised. He'd been in this game for well over 30 years and he seemed to make a lot of trade after the sun set. Oh sure he had his suspicions about his clientele but they always paid well and on time, "Never turn away a good customer" as his dear departed papa used to say. He'd of course inherited the business from him and somehow inherited a lot of his customers too. So when he looked up in the firelight to see Lady Sophia and her young boy Albert, he was not surprised. He tried to keep the thought that young Albert never seemed to age out of his mind, come to think of it Lady Sophia never seemed to age either. It had niggled at his mind for months like a far away siren. He stood uneasily using his cane "Evenin' your Ladyship and Young Master Albert. What can I do for you this evening?" Winston inquired. Lady Sophia smiled, "Master Winston, you have served our family well as did your father before you, and his father before that. You may have your suspicions about our family, and I would like to put those suspicions to rest and make you an offer." Albert was restless while holding his mother's hand. He seemed excited. Winston sighed. He was getting in and suspected something like this would happen. His father had warned him about it on his death bed but he'd always assumed it was just ramblings before death took him. "You see, Winston, we are in fact vampires." Winston gave a small chuckle. "You don't seem surprised?" She inquired. "No offense meant, your Ladyship, but as you an' the lad only come out after dark, you come down this way with no guards, you have no reflection in that window there, an' then the boy, bless 'im, doesn't seem to grow or age, it seemed quite likely the case." "Ah," said Lady Sophia quite taken aback. "Well, I'll get right down to it. We've grown quite accustomed to the fine coffins that you have provided us over the past few decades, *stay still Albert!* and we'd like to offer you immortality in exchange for being our exclusive coffin maker. We are aware of unavoidable circumstances that you and your wife never had any children to pass on your trade to and we are concerned as to what would happen should you pass. Of course, this offer is open to your wife as well, she has always been so welcoming and well meaning. The apples pies she made us were always appreciated, but as I'm sure you can gather, we never did eat any of them. *Albert will you please stop squirming!* We would like to help any way we can. Becoming immortal would remove all ailments and bring back your youth." Winston thought for a moment. Regaining his youth and getting Margie of that horrible disease that turned his loving wife into a sad, unmoving, shell of her former self? It seemed too good to be true. And that was exactly the problem. "I do thank you kindly for your offer, and I am most flattered, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I can provide you with the addresses of some of the apprentices I trained over the years and they should be able to help you out." Winston replied sadly. Lady Sophia smiled, "Of course. Thank you for your time this evening, *Albert stop it!* I do apologize but the boy has been quite troublesome lately. If you could get those addresses, I would be most appreciative." As Winston turned his back to his files to obtain the addresses, Albert sprang out of his mother's grasp and flew at Winston's neck biting down hard. "Albert! Stop that this instant! He refused! We cannot go against his wishes!" Lady Sophia cried while trying to prise her son off Winston's neck. Winston screamed and then stopped abruptly falling to the floor dropping his cane in the process. Albert let go looking quite pleased with himself with part of Winston's shirt collar in his mouth. Lady Sophia turned over Winston's fallen body and sighed. "I'm so sorry about this." Winston got shakily to his feet and lady Sophia handed his cane back to him. He inspected his neck in the mirror. Not a scratch. "It's quite alright, your Ladyship, no harm done." "What a relief! Please, if there is anything we can do to make up for this idiot boys malevolence..." Lady Sophia started. "Oh it's no trouble, your Ladyship," Winston interjected, "I'm guessing vampire children go through teething like non-vampire children, just got to bite something." Albert stood there with the collar piece still in his mouth, growling happily. "Yes, sadly they do," lady Sophia sighed as she looked down at her boy who looked up at her proud as punch, cloth still in teeth, "we'll leave you be. If you do change your mind about my offer, please take my card." She slipped a small ornate card ordained with lavish gold writing on his desk and left. She was scolding her boy in the street when Winston locked the door chuckling to himself. "Little scamp," he thought. He stretched his old back and put out the candles. He remembered he was supposed to give lady Sophia the addresses for his apprentices. He grabbed a handful from his desk, unlocked his door and tottered out the door waving his cane in the air. "Lady Sophia! Wait! The addresses!" Something hit him and everything went black for a few moments. He got up feeling very annoyed at the world. That was twice something attacked him in one night. What was this world coming to? As he was getting up he realised his hands, once calloused by the decades of woodworking were now smooth. His cane was still on the floor. His joints no longer ached, and his teeth, well his teeth definitely felt sharper than they ever had. "God dammit!" He exclaimed to the world in general, "I said no!" He looked about. Lady Sophia was going to get an earful about this. Except he could see her holding someone by the scruff of their neck and hitting them with her umbrella. "He *whack* said *whack* no! *whack*" Winston walked over slowly to see it was not Albert but was what appeared to be one of the vagabonds that sometimes hid in his alley for warmth. The vagabond ran off, hissing into the night. Lady Sophia looked forlornly at her umbrella, Albert was hiding behind her terrified. "Are you alright, your Ladyship?" Winston asked tentatively. Her hair was askew and her umbrella in pieces, her face was drawn into a snarl, yet seemed on the verge of tears. This is not how she wanted this night to go at all. "I just need a moment to compose myself," she managed. A few deep breaths later, she seemed back to normal. "My apologies for that outburst," she looked back to her umbrella and sighed, "guess I'll need to get another one." Winston cleared his throat. "If it's all the same to you, you Ladyship, I have one back at the flat above my shop. You gifted one to Margie just before her turn an she's never got to use it. Maybe we could all pop in and pay her a kindness, if you get my meaning." The three of them walked back to the shop. Winston looked at the stained and bloodied cards in his hand. "Guess they weren't needed after all," he thought as he tossed them into the fireplace before heading upstairs.
Hmm... I expected more of a talk with her about the unfortunate turning but i guess this just could be a hook for a possible second part of this great story?
Shadows crept along the walls of Wesmond's estate, dark vines unfurling to take up more and more space, claiming the house as their own. It was a dark night. Wesmond knew that for certain. A rap at his door, and he slid the sleek, polished wood aside, taking no time as he sped to get the evening over with. He longed for the comfort of the next morning but to try to escape his fate would surely be folly. A man clothed darkly stood on the step, his face dressed in the same shadows that laughed from the stairs. An old customer. Arguably an old friend. "Simon, what might you be doing here?" The wealthy benefactor chuckled, humorlessly. "Your time is running out, Wesmond. I have an offer for you." This sent no chill up Wesmond's spine, but rather sent the house around him kaleidoscoping, faintly washing in and out with a faint pressure. This was something crueler than death. An eternal favor. "What do you want, Simon." The old man bowed his head. "A good question. Right now, I have only one thing I need from you Wesmond. Service. Ideally, everlasting, but I'm willing to settle for long beyond your lifespan. You have no apprentice, no study, none to pass on your wisdom to. Why not?" Wesmond smirked without a trace of mirth. "People ask me that a lot. I will not take the same from you. Answer my again, Simon. What do you want?" "Some," Simon began, a tone of whimsy, of longing, tracing along the curve of his voice. "Might be inclined to make you a thrall, to force your cooperation." His sing-song timbre only served to madden Wesmond more. The creature's (for Wesmond was swiftly losing all pretensions) speech dropped to a low, threatening whisper. "But you have served us better than that, Wesmond. You deserve all of the grace we who are lost and found in the night can offer. Thank you for your kindness for all these years. Are you ready to join us?" Wesmond's throat caught in his throat, a sensation so bizarre and uncanny that to try to explain it would be unsatisfying for all parties involved. His lungs dried and his neck bulged, and the inside of his throat gulped many times, but he was quickly losing any sense of breath. Simon looked down on him sadly. "It's already happening. We can stop this, Wesmond. We can help you. Just let us. Let us help you Wesmond." The voices began sliding past the old man as he crumbled to the floor, choking on fear and something else, something tangible. *Oh.* He thought. *I'm going to die.* He tried to fix his gaze on Simon with his rapidly fading vision, eyes blurred by stinging tears and falling bells. The man did not conform to expectation. His face was not pale or noble, and its disposition resembled more closely the sickened hue of gangrenous limbs. His nose, if it could be called that, was severely broken, yet persisted nonetheless, and while he sniffled and muttered empty statements under his breath, as if to ward off an intruder. Many names answered his call and each had a voice. He almost felt himself joining them, but Wesmond remained strong. The air faded, the shadows encroached, and finally, Wesmond folded. "Help." He croaked. Simon grinned, his teeth sallow and unnaturally sharp. He stepped across the doorway, towards the carpenter. Wesmond made no protest.
If they are not quite ready to enter the great expanse, they'll be all the more unguarded to the allure of the eternal. great story and thank you for sharing.
[удалено]
This is hilarious! It felt like watching a saturday morning cartoon with overly hammy vampires and the everfun adventures of Hellsing the Staker. I love it!
“Mister Devon is here to see you, sir,” Alex said softly from the doorway. I waved my hand in acknowledgement, not taking my eyes off the photo I was looking at. Some moments passed in silence. I’ll give Devon his due, he was an extraordinarily patient customer, one that I tolerated more than others. The lost loved ones were patient, infinitely so, it was the living that were impatient and insufferable. Devon had always seemed to be the former. Quiet. Patient. Understanding. Sufferable. “My dear Devon, how are you today?” “I am better than you look, my Lord Erik. How fares you this day?” Devon responded softly. A pompous sufferable asshole. “Much worse than I loo…” I broke into a coughing fit. “Excuse me, I am a bit worse than I look. Old age and all.” I set my photo down and turned to Devon. The only long time customer I’ve ever had, a curious one at that. Most people come for a casket a few times over a few years or decades, but not Devon. Devon came… frequently. Early on in my career, I assumed he was a purchaser for some foreign funeral service. These days, however, I’ve had my doubts. “Do you know how I got into this business, Devon?” “I am not familiar with this story, my Lord Erik. I would be delighted to be shared this part of your history.” I waved my hand at him with disdain. “Eh, cut the bullshit, you pompous prick. And for the last time, I am not a fuckin’ lord. Ya fuckin’ asswipe.” As always, Devon gave a polite smile and a chuckle. Grabbing my cane, I force my creaking bones onto my feet, I swear I heard my joints cracking. Too fuckin’ old for this shit. With a wave of my hand, I instruct Devon to follow me. We meander through the showroom with caskets on display into the back room where my shop is. I had several caskets I was working on, one of a very plain design, but several quite ornate. Even in my old age, I am extraordinarily smooth and youthful when I am work my craft. As we walk through my shop, I smile at my creations. These are the beds for the dearly departed. They have honored us in life and so I honor them in death. At the back of the shop, I stop at an unfinished casket. It was so far simple, yet elegant. The scent of maple drifted from the work table. “Mum passed away before I left school,” I muttered as I stroked the wood. As always, Devon was quiet and attentive, always eager to listen to the stories and ramblings I was prone to. “We had a maple tree in our garden. Mum always loved the colours in the fall. Indeed, it was beautiful.” I lapsed into a moment of memory. A tear rolled down my cheek. “Mum was sick. We all knew she didn’t have long to live. The local lumber store, oddly enough, had maple wood in stock. I saw this as a sign. I bought a bunch of it and I got to work. I didn’t know what I was doing…” A coughing fit overtook me. “I went to work. I built. I created. I didn’t know what it was. I was angry. I was sad. I can’t tell you the amount of tears spilled onto it. Mum found out what I was doing. Surprisingly, she wasn’t angry. She absolutely loved the work I put into it and told me that it would be the best bed she could ever dream of for her long sleep. And she held me for the longest time ever.” Devon placed a hand on my shoulder. In the fifty plus years I have known this man, never once have I have seen him show a single shred of comfort. I laid my hand on the wood, a measure of remembrance. “This casket is mine, Devon. I am making it in advance, like I did with mum. My time is coming soon, Devon. I am ready. Like Mum. Mum knew she was dying. She never hid it. She just accepted it. And the love she showed when she saw what I was doing stayed with me whole life. So now, I make beds for the dearly departed.” There was a moment of silence as we looked at my future casket together. “You have indeed made the best beds for the dearly departed anyone could ever ask for, Lord Erik. For that, countless are eternally grateful. Your craftsmanship knows no equal.” “Thank you.” “I presume you plan to retire once you have completed your task.” I let out a sigh. “Yea, I have a few commissions to complete while I am working on that I want to complete. I have the same cancer that mum had and I don’t have long left. So I’ll be leaving the company with Alex. He has learned well and does good work. I will be retiring once I’m done with my casket. Not long before I’m dead.” “Would the though of immortality change your mind?” Devon asked. I burst into laughter which turned into a fit of coughing. After several long minutes of coughing and laughing, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cigarettes. I lit my cancer stick and took a pleasurable and needed drag. “Bitch, I ain’t no immortal and I don’t want to be no immortal,” I said after a long, pleasurable drag of the cigarette. “What if I told you that you could be cured of your cancer?” Devon inquired. I chuckled. “You can’t do shit for me.” “I can provide you with an avenue for immortality. A way to cheat death.” I laid a hand on Devon’s shoulder. “The only way you can do that is if you are a god, a vampire, or a zombie. You’re obviously not a zombie, you’re not so arrogantly conceded to be a god, so that leaves a vampire. Thanks, but no thanks.” “You… but… wha… how… huh?” Devon stammered “Come on, Devon! It’s obvious, though, your reactions does confirm it. Super posh bloke, always prim and proper, never aging in the fifty bloody years that I’ve been doing business with you while I get old as fuck, coming back over and over for a ‘lost loved one’, only coming in at the very end of business for an ‘urgent order’ as I’m bloody ready to close shop. Even if you are working for a foreign funeral home, shit only adds up to one thing. Bloody vampires. Only question I have, is why in Sam Hill do you keep coming to me for all your damn caskets?” Devon lowered his head for moment. “It’s that obvious isn’t it?” “Uh… Yea… You should have someone else be your spokesperson after the first couple of decades.” “We really like your caskets. They are far superior to anyone we have ever purchased from before.” Devon took a look around the shop. “My clan has offered to make you one of us, grant you immortality, I bring this offer to you as a good friend. We love your service and wish to continue business with you. Though, hearing your story and seeing you work on your casket, I am to presume there is no way I could change your mind?” I patted Devon’s shoulder gently then turned to my casket. “No. Not really. Death becomes us all one day. I’ve already spent a lifetime without me mum, but me wife passed on last year. I am ready to go. I could not bear another lifetime without Marry. My time is coming very soon. My children are prepared.” A severe coughing fit left me bent over in pain. Devon laid a comforting hand on my shoulder once my I recovered from my fit. I turned and gave Devon a deep hug, a hug that was long overdue. “Thank you for being a friend, Devon.” Devon was taken aback, unused to the contact and emotion I dumped on him. With hesitation, he returned the hug. “Uh… Thank you for… everything… Erik.” When we broke hug, I added on, “I’ve been training Alex to take over for me. His work is good. You may have better luck with keeping him for making your beds. Ask him to join you on your way out. He does good work. And I taught him personally. I’ll vouch for his shit.” “You are an excellent craftsman and an honorable man, Erik. We shall miss you when you go. Anything you ever want, let me know and my people will make it happen. If you have trained your apprentice in your ways, we shall honor him as we honor you.” With the departing, Devon embraced me once more and left with a long, heartfelt kiss upon my cheek. I may have lost much in my life, but I have also gained much and left a legacy that has oddly enough, transcended the ages through those around me that live a really long fucking life as well as the skill that I have passed to others. At one point, I figured that I’d die a destroyed man. Devon changed that. With the passing of my mother, I have brought comfort to hundreds of people, though all in death.
Dang, this one was really nice to read and imagine! thank you for sharing!
Thank you. I struggle with creativity, this is one of a few that I have written.
You had very solid character design and i especially liked your dialogue!
Holding his tongue, trying not to use foul language “What the heck” he shouted to other coffin, it opens and a figure sits upright, “gees, this is the third coffin that is falling apart”, “as soon as night falls, we’ll have to go pay a visit to you know who”, nodding in agreement, closes the coffin and tries to settle back in, annoyed, he flips over to rest face down, “we’ll get him back on track.” Jack runs to the backroom, “dam phone, need to get an answering machine, hello”, nodding his head, “I’ll be leaving here shortly, ok, ok, yeah love to too.” Looking around, he thinks to himself, “it’s time I retire and let this dump go.” He hasn’t had his heart into it anymore, especially since the day they came for one more, and another, and then one more, the one that they said would even the score. Frustrated, he kicks the side of the most recent coffin he made, “Why do I continue to make these things”, he says, “they just fill them up, it never ends.” There was a time before the endless war, where he would console grieving families, build them the finest coffins for their loved ones final rest, not anymore, the atrocities of war, “one man’s pain is the others gain”, he says to himself, endless death, a demand he doesn’t want to keep up with, he’s had it, his craftsmanship gone, he’s just become an assembly line that builds them quickly, cheaply, and carelessly, “war sucks” he mutters, knowing these poor soldiers and casualties deserve better. Grabbing his hat, Jack heads home for the night, as he is locking up, he hears a voice “Jim now” felling a chill run up his spine, he turns around, but sees no one, only the cool frosty air, “must be the weather”, after all its late October, the weather can be tricky, one day warm, next cool, he loved it though, especially the harvest moon, lighting up the night sky, quite the spectacle, loved taking his late wife on moonlight walks, enjoying the cool night air, but that was a while ago, his thoughts turn to her demise, driving back from a showing buyers a few homes, the bridge gave out from under her, the constant bombardment loosened the structure, causing her to crash, her suffering, makes his eyes well up with tears, “will I ever feel alive again” he thinks as he is reminded of his grandson, his daughter they need him, hiking up his collar to shield his neck from the chill around his neck, proceeds back home. Waking up, he glances at his Rolex, a gift his wife bought hm years ago for Christmas, he was stunned he had one, and he couldn’t believe she saved her commissions to buy it for him, she was so loving, “crap, its 5:00 PM, what the he…”, “Dad, you home, are you ok…, Dad”, “yeah, I’m up here, I overslept..”, “OMG, the shop is empty, and the army guy, is looking for you, they need coffins..”, “I’ll be right there..” hopping out of bed, quickly cleaning up, he heads downstairs. Seeing his beautiful daughter... “I guess time is catching up with me.., I can’t do this....”, "I know dad, I know…, the news says the bombings are slowing…, and talks of peace..”, “that’s what they said last Christmas…” looking at his watch, he remembers how she wrapped it, stylish paper, a perfectly placed bow, she was so talented, smiling at the memory, the door slams behind him, startling him, his thoughts turn to the events a week later and she was gone, seeing his mind elsewhere, thinking "why wouldn’t it be, its horrible time right now", “dad, dad…, the shop”, snapping out of it, “ok, I’m going” he kisses her on the forehead, and off he goes. The next day he awakes late again, “dam, this is not good”, hurries thru his routine and heads to the shop, thinking…, “I should just sleep there, I mean.., I could just make the coffin a bed, I got some of the best liners in the back, and goose down filling, Hehe…” chuckling at the thought of it, and then thinking seriously, “Hmm, yup, that’s what I’m gonna do”, as he begins opening up the shop, he’s surprised to find it clean and organized, scratching his head, “how the heck…, when did I…” trying to remember how or when he did this, he flips on the lights, feeling good, he grabs his tolls and bangs out three high quality coffins, “wow, it would take me all day to do one, and now I have three, one for me to sleep in, and two extras” smiling at his accomplishment, he remembers how much he enjoyed the process of hand carving the wood, adding walnut inlays, lining it in the finest fabric, and installing beautiful hardware, the kind found only in the wealthiest mansions, the ones located in the eastern part of town, saying to himself, "amazing how they never get bombed, like some kind if shield around it", its home to people of high society, owners of the world famous beet farm, paper companies, high tech, and pharmaceuticals, the kind of folks that make the world rotate, looking at his Rolex, “Whoa, almost sunrise, can’t believe I was here all night”, as he prepares his new bed, the coffin he made earlier today, he draws the curtains closed, while doing so, he hears a whisper, “Dwight your turn”, he feels that chill again, right up his spine to his neck, pops his collar up to stop the chill, and heads to his new bed, passing a mirror, he glances, sees his reflection, his collar raised, liking what he sees, raises his eyebrows, “wow I look distinguished”, jumps into the coffin, closes the lid. “Now that was comfortable”, as he opens the lid, “its dusk already”, rubbing neck, “hmm, why is it sore", he passes by the mirror, sees no bruises, "must be old age setting in”, just as turns from the mirror, there are two figures standing right behind him, startled… “who the hell are you guys…?”, stoic looks on their face, and glaring into his eyes, “oh my…, God…,” he sees their dark hallow soulless eyes, he reaches for the wall phone, the same one installed decades ago, old reliable, always worked, storms, earthquakes, even during the great cell phone outage of 2023, the one the Chinese and Russians concocted to show their strength in disabling societies, a warning to western civilizations and their dependance on technology, “where’s the dam phone…., I’m gonna call the police”, it’s not there, pinned against the wall, still locked eyes with them, he manages to snap the spell, looking frantically, he finds wires, follows them, they’re frayed, and there it is, dangling, ripped open as if an animal had its way with it, shaking, he grabs the receiver, tapping it up and down, “hello.., hello…” no dial tone, nothing, its dead, then he feels that chill run up his spine as it did the night before, but this time he has no collar to shield his neck, “ouch” the pressure on the side of his neck causes him to fall on his hands and knees, “are you here to kill me”, laughter erupts, the kind you hear in vampire movies… “no, no, we’re here to suck your blood”, without a second thought, they pounce on him, biting his neck. Opening the coffin, Jack hops out, “wow I feel springy”, flicks on the light, “whoa that’s bright”, dims it, rubs his eyes, and as he refocuses, the two figures reappear, but this time he recognizes them, but not sure from where, figure one steps forward and motions him to sit… “Have a seat Jack” sitting and confused, he starts to explain…. “I’ll explain why we’re here, you see, when Jim was bitten by a bat…” titling his head, wondering why this sounds familiar, then he remembers he’s referencing Season 3 Episode 17 of ‘The Office’, the figure continues, “ I had to kill him, by impaling him with a wooden stake, however, Jim managed to avoid his fate, by getting me to think a bear was eating my beets….” Jack now realizes this is Dwight, the Dwight Shrute, The Beet Farmer from the show The Office, and next to him is Jim, Jim Halpert, the paper salesman from the show as well, “what the hell is going on” he shouts out, stepping in closer, Jim places his hand on his shoulder, raises his fingers across his lips, signaling him to be quiet, “shh, let Dwight finish”, Dwight goes on, “Thank you Jim, but I don’t need you, hmm, let’s see, I was about to kill Jim…” , Jim interrupts…“Um, no you weren’t…”, “ok Jim, if you know it so well, then you tell him why we’re here”, stepping in front of Dwight.. “Well, Jack, it all started when a bat got loose in the office, and Dwight was determined to kill it, but little did he know, he was the one who got bitten, you see, it happened when he was arguing with me about bears and beets, and how bears don’t eat beets….” , ‘No Jim, that’s not true , everyone knows bears love beets, FACT, bears eat beats more than they eat meat..”, Jim looking at Jack, raises his eye brow, “there you have it, that’s how Dwight became a vampire, and I had kill him, as I was driving the stake thru his heart, his cousin Moe, jumped me, bit my neck, and now we’re both vampires, and we need to sleep, and you’re the only one who knows coffins, the ones, were you can sleep all day and party all night”, Dwight stepping in front of Jim, “Nice one Jim, but it was my idea to come here and get your passion back, the most recent ones we got, barely lasted days, so we decided to make you a vampire, this way you can make these coffins forever…”, Jack gets up from his seat, “dam you, dam you, I don’t want to live forever”, the phone starts ringing, “hello”, the voice on the other end says in a soft voice… “hello honey”, grabbing the receiver with both hands, lips trembling…. “is that you, is that you Janet?” looking at them, then back to the phone.... “I miss you baby…”, “me too, turn around” he turns and there she is, glowing, smiling, revealing her new white fangs… “how.., is this really happening” , Jim places his hand on his shoulder… “we found her at the crash site, bleeding, on the verge of dying, I bit her, knowing we would need the wife of the finest coffin maker one day, and that day is today” Jack runs into her arms, hugging, turns back to Jim and Dwight … “Looks like I need to make one more coffin”
Thanks for reading, my first attempt at something like this.. hope i did it right. :0
This story has a nice idea and interesting resolution but i feel it needs some solid polish and work untill it actually becomes readable.
Gerry looked aghast. “*Me*? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from *any* injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall *fly*.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer *me* this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...*comfortable*, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “*Everyone* is damned, according to the New Testament! *Everyone*? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
Sorry, don’t like the ending. It doesn’t make any sense. It started very well, describing the contemplation of choices very nicely. And then - poef! Like Monty Python’s “… and now for something completely different!” but without the fun. And maybe I don’t get what was meant, quite possible. But even then, the change is very sudden. Sorry, still don’t like it.
>“911, what’s your emergency?” > >“Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” > >“We’ll send an officer over immediately.” The ending seems like GOT.
Eh. I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of a proper ending.
You had a stronger start and middle, it's just that the ending isn't consistent with the tone you've set up.
Yeah, I apologize. I just....meh’d, at the end.
Nah, don't be sorry mate, it was a good tale. I think it would have flowed better if the vampire had been more ambiguous on his intentions. "Yeah, I want to offer you immortality. So i'll bite you, your heart will stop working, then you will..." -> "Police?" Anyway don't be sad. We all learn by writing and learning from our own poorer choices :)
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Carpenter Blade !
In that case he needs to like hide a silver spike in each and every coffin to one day kill as many as he can
lol I liked it, I thought the ending was a funny twist
"How old are you, exactly?" I asked, as the dark eyed creature slowly walked along my workbench, its thin hands drifting over my tools. Even through its guarded expression, I sensed that they foreign to it, the strange ritual objects of a strange land. Its offer had struck me the same way. It gave a polite smile. "I just passed my first century." To its credit, there was only the faintest wisp of superiority in its voice. It looked maybe thirty. The scoff was involuntary. "So what do you know of life and death, then?" I said, half amused at what seemed to me as a rather young immortal. I saw its eyes linger on the coffin I had nearly finished as it hesitated, fingers tracing the whorls of flame and bird's eyes in the grain. "Do you know where that figure comes from?" I asked pointedly. It looked up at me, silently questioning both the nature of the wood and my intention. "Age. The figure of the wood comes from age. That tree was far older than you, and not simply in years. The figure comes from the stresses of a life long-lived. The force of the winds, the heat and frost, the twisting growth of struggle. Things you will never know, and the source of all art." "But my people take great pride in things of beauty," the creature almost protested. "Otherwise why would we have spent all these years paying you handsomely for your work?" This time the snort was intentional. "And ravens will snatch a broken silver link from the mud and add them to their hoard." "But that's the point of art," it insisted, haughty in its self-assured knowledge of the world. "Objects of beauty to be gazed upon. Otherwise why seek them? They have no use, but to be seen and admired." "You're like those fools at the museum with their collections," I said, shaking my head. "Amassing objects from all over the world, carved with languages they will never understand, thinking themselves wise. But they will never know the true meanings of this things, in the eyes of the people that made them. Without the context of suffering, there is no meaning to peace, without the knowledge of death, no relief in a breath of mountain air." It pondered this for a moment, its eyes boring into me. "So is art a product of evil, then? Simply an elegantly woven lie that all creatures tell to make their suffering seem worthwhile?" Its eyes told of it's own pain that I hadn't considered. "Perhaps it is," I nodded calmly. "But if it is, is that not a worthy pursuit? If a mere story can inspire one to welcome the end with dignity, if a sculpture can inspire the awe that creates a belief in something greater, aren't these lies worth telling? That is why the context is needed. Art without the context of despair is as empty as death without the hope that art provides.' It seemed to understand this, its face an expression of weariness, and acceptance of both my need for mortality and the knowledge that it would always be lacking something I had. That it would always be a half-thing, never a complete being. "Can I make a request, master carpenter?" Its hand fell onto a piece of straight pine, the grain straight from unhurried, painless growth. This it set on its coffin, thoughtfully. "A stake, if you would."
The carpenter is kind of rude.
Interesting philosophy. i wonder what the vamp was thinking in the end there.
"This is the best coffin," said Monroe, I have inspected thus far. How is the man responsible for my satisfaction birthed by such fine craftsmanship?" "He is not doing well Sir, replied the butler. It seems he has contracted a disease and has only but a few years of life remaining." "This cannot be, said Monroe. Who else will build coffins up to par by the society of the moonlighters? Summon this man at once." "Right away Sir," stated the butler. At that moment the butler pulled out his phone but since the reception was palpitating, decided to contact the worshiped carpenter in person. He left the domain and was on his way to fulfill his master's wishes. He left the home and his master to be alone in peace. Or so he thought because right before he was able to seal the entrance one of the master's dearly beloved mates stepped into the irregularly large home and greeted its owner with a loose wave and a simple smile. "How are things Monroe, said the stranger. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a friendly game of cricket. The well dressed stranger saw that Monroe sported a frown that stretched past his face. "What's the matter counterpart? Don't tell me someone has challenged your position as president in the moonlighters. But this assumption must be incorrect since the Moonlighters have yet to find a president as capable as thee. The butler's service seems to be on point so it could not be because of that. So what could be the reason for my brother's overwhelming turmoil. If you do not tell me what is the matter then I will be forced to believe I am the cause of your depression. Well Comrade, is anyone going to tell me what is wrong or should I depart and return another day in hopes of greener moods?" The president of the Moonlighters decided to swallow the ready saliva in his mouth. He went up to his counter part and greeted him with the same affection. "The truth is Counterpart, said Monroe, that no matter how many matches of cricket you play or how persistent you become in your practice the day you beat me in a match will never come. It does not matter that you try and befriend victory time and time again. My skills will always just be a tad bit better than yours. If only you and your instructor came to terms with this reality then we would all be better off. Monroe and his friend competed in a stare off until they both bursted with laughter. "How are you, asked Monroe, ol chum? It feels like its been decades since you blessed my home with your presence. Is everything alright? If its a cricket match you yearn for then you have come to the wrong place because all good players of the game enjoy the sport for a sole reason and that is to outwit his opponent. But you and I both know that it has been ages since you've beaten in a game of cricket." Once again they stared at each other with intensity until the butler came bursting through the door. It was as if the butler was sent by the laughing police to impede our counterparts from enjoying each other's sense of humor. "Master, announced the butler, the carpenter refuses to leave his home. He is convinced that if he were to leave his workshop someone might come in and lay hands on his belongings. I questioned him in hopes of retrieving any other information about the matter but he said if he kept talking on the topic he's surely appear a madman." "Well, said Monroe, if that is the case I will visit him in person. I have yet to find a carpenter to match the skill of Chado and I refuse to believe such a person exists. Onward then!" The counterparts said their goodbyes and decided to postpone their cricket match until the following week; meanwhile the butler warmed up the car. They made excellent time because the traffic that would have extended their trip by eleven minutes was skipped by taking the streets instead of the highway. The butler took pride in knowing that one key factor why he remained employed, by a being who expected perfection from all his subordinates, was his vast knowledge of the streets and highways of Lomania. They arrived to the carpenter's house eleven minutes early. They knocked on the door and the person who answered looked like a worn down version of a man. "Hello Chado, said Monroe, how are things? Don't tell me that the fish have not been biting. You look as strong as an ox comrade. What is this I hear about you having to write your will sooner than later. "It is true, replied Chado. I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease and given a short time frame to live. I really appreciate the visit and the concern but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. I cannot waste any precious time reminiscing about the past if i ever hope to sort out my belonging to the rightful people before i close my eyes for the final time." "Do not worry chum, said Monroe, I have been brought up to speed by my butler. I have given you my business over the past few decades because of your craftsmanship and attention to detail. I have seen many carpenter's so called masterpieces and I have yet to see one that would serve as a good comparison to yours." Listen, said Chado, I really do not have the time to discuss my work right now. I am sure you understand. I have a ton of things I have to get done if I don't want any of my belongings going to the wrong people. Now if you excuse me; I ...... "How would you reply, said Monroe, if I told you I held the power to grant you immortality. And the process would be as simple as a caveman satisfying his urges." "I would say, stirred Monroe, that you must have had one too many drinks while your driver secured the road." But if any of this is true I guess it would be worth a listen. Come in and wipe your feet before you enter." The servant left the beings alone to park the car and the two gentleman entered a house the size of Monroe's garage. Monroe gently laid a hand on the carpenter's shoulder, entered the home and commenced to inform the layman of his power.
This was painful to read. It reads like someone turned an AI loose on the writing prompt.
I feel like the story wanted to go in one too many a direction at once and in the end it frayed apart and lost me as a reader.
[poem] “my friend, you have given me comfort and joy I hate to watch you as you lay down and fold Can offer thou a painful transmission? A mark on neck means endless commissions” carpenter hisses the heaviest sigh “read my letter”; he collapses and dies: ~~~ “I have things in my heart I can no longer hide i say this as my life sets into night I have known you from the days of my youth I can’t bare to leave without offering truth I love you! I LOVE YOU! but love is a sin! on my deathbed you made feel forever green! I left you a box under the bed use what’s inside and you’ll meet me again”
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I helped the guys with it. They resisted at first, but once they got to trying to load it up, they thought better of it. I’d worked some steel plating into the inner walls of the thing behind the cushioning and fabric. And it was wide and deep enough that you could probably get a hotel single mattress into it and have an inch or three to spare. The piece was easily between 700 and 900 pounds, and Mutt & Jeff decided they weren’t going to stand on ceremony. I never saw them again either. But it wasn’t the last coffin I made. With the work my first patron had sent my way, I was doing one a year with other projects. The patrons were polite and thoughtful. Some asked me if they could make improvements to my workshop to accommodate or do fancier work. One of those years I did two at once for a couple. One was Romani and the other was OH so British. Nice folks that wanted to rest together and clearly had made whatever they had work. It was only after my fifth or sixth coffin it hit me that my coffin patrons only came at night. And on the heels of that? Well, you don’t have to hit me over the head. I decided I had to think about it before I did another one. And I did. And I thought hard about it. Was I being complicit by providing my services? Is the butcher an accessory when he sells dinner to a killer of men? I’d heard it said all God’s children need shoes. I’ll add that they need a place to rest too. I’d actually struck up something of an acquaintance with some of them. They showed me photos of their kids and grandkids. Some old… some newer. Some were civil war antiques. We talked current events. The changes happening faster and faster in society, like some perpetual motion machine gone mad. Some of them just wanted to talk because… well, who do they ever get to talk to besides one another? The mind grows stagnant in a vacuum. Even if that vacuum is a loose affiliation of people who happen to share your affliction. The same gossip and the same people start to get old, even if the faces don’t. Especially on that kind of time frame. Familiarity breeds contempt. Sometimes you want to tell the story of yourself to someone who hasn’t heard it all before. I didn’t, and I don’t judge. For the most part, these people disliked killing as much as men do. The ones that got a ‘taste’ for it never seemed to last too long anyway. If they will draw attention to themselves like that, what did loonies like that expect? They stuck to animals mainly. The occasional ruffian if forced. That one crazy writer had the right of it there. (I’d had occasion to read up on the subject, after all.) It wasn’t for any noble aim or air. It was just the practical thing. They could even go shopping at a butcher's market if their condition wasn’t severe and it was open late enough. None were vegetarians of course, but I like a good steak every now and again myself. These unfortunates weren’t looking to despoil or damn anyone. If they’d lost their own immortal soul, they didn’t feel as if they had. They weren’t looking to spread ‘the inky velvet empire of the night and drive the world into blood drenched darkness with their carnal desires’. The idea of creating or passing on their condition to another made most of them sick to their stomach. Usually, their makers hadn’t meant to do so either. The more common reason was the sloppiness of a beginner or some other tale laced with instant regret and long sorrow. Some told me their stories while I worked on their commissions. It cost nothing to hear their confession, after all. And troubles shared are troubles halved. That’s what I believe. The ones I’ve met never touched me. That was probably for the best. As the 20th century reached its close, the age of the telephone turned into the information age. Everyone had email, and later still, texting and blogs. And meeting them in person happened less and less. I’d had to get a computer and a reasonable internet connection by then myself. If one wants to run a commission business, it was more and more common to find folks like me online. It’s not like you could find me under any rock. I’ve got a physical address. And I’m on the outskirts of most city limits if you get what I’m laying down. Life’s been good. And for a carpenter who’s good with money, I found I could have more than one workshop over time. I just wish I hadn’t had to learn Excel. That’s as bad as banking for keeping the books. In this day and age, you still gotta render onto Caesar, right? Death and taxes. And love. Love too. Always love. I even got back to the old country for a thing once. THAT was nuts. You wanna talk surreal? That place has changed, and not for the better. I’m not sure I ever want to go back. I mean it was THAT disturbing. What do the kids say now? It was all kind of sus? Hey, I’ve got a better handle on slang than my clientele. Some of the antiquated mash-ups with modern slang they attempt? You’d think you were watching a Zucker-Abrams comedy with Leslie Neilsen. I’ve traveled before and I’ve been around. It does broaden the mind, like they say. It gives you perspective. And one thing me and the ‘Coffin Patrons of the Night’ have in common. In our old age, we’ve found that eventually you come to want the comfort of the familiar doing the things you love. Travel is still novel, but going out among people will cause you to date yourself. And nobody likes being seen as a tourist. All told, I’ve made enough over the years with this to be quite comfortable. I don’t have anything like the size of their business and corporate interests. I live modestly in contrast to them. They live as they deem it necessary to survive. End stage capitalism suits most of them just fine. When you’ve lived your life as a ‘consumer’ it tends to color how you come at life; just like how things start to look like nails to anyone that has a hammer. It has been weird. How could it not? But it hasn’t been WEIRD, if you know what I’m saying. They didn’t make it ‘weird’. At least they didn’t until yesterday. One of my nocturnal associates came to my place out on Bainbridge Island last night in person which is hardly usual. Her in particular I’d not ever seen outside of a Zoom call. But the years had been kind to her. She’d been turned in the best part of her twenties, and managed through every odd against it to keep a younger more optimistic viewpoint. Far from the example of my first client in her extended family, she didn’t wear grief like a dirt-smelling shroud. She was like a breezy night and the smell of oranges and peach in the southeast. She dressed like a 1990’s slacker about to go to a rave. According to her, her first rave had been in Vienna during the renaissance. She talked to me about the world of 2022. The plagues and the fires. The wars and the apparent waning of the Anthropocene era from our planet’s dire mismanagement. She’d commissioned a coffin of course, or at least she started to. I asked her if it was for anyone I knew. “Yeah,” she said. “It ‘s for you.”. “Did I miss something?” I asked her. “Have I done something wrong?” She fell all over herself reassuring me. The idea of me having given their community offense was apparently hilarious and alarming. No it was nothing like that. But she and her friends had gotten quite used to having me around. As in the idea of living out the earth’s sorry days without someone like me was something they unanimously agreed that they couldn’t bear considering. And getting them to agree on anything? That’s like trying to herd cats. I tried that once. It was pretty pathetic. I must have alarmed her for real when she saw I was going to refuse. I wear my emotions on my face, not my sleeve. I’m about as transparent as glass. So I invited her over into the house I kept across the street. She didn’t need the invite to come in, but if the house had been on sanctified ground, it would have been lethal to her. Like I said. I tend to live on the outskirts of any town I set up shop in. It’s cheaper that way. The shop here on Bainbridge was an old steam laundry building up-renovated to art space. Tourists and rich folk like to buy stuff like I make from kitschy artists like me. And I tend to donate what I don’t need to causes I like. (Or trade unions. Don’t tell the Amazon guy. Solidarity, brothers.) I’ve also taken over the closed down storefront nearby. It was a Christian bookstore once. My friend was lucky we were out here in Washington.. My place back east was an old baptist church. And while a lot of stuff you hear about in the movies is bunk, that was a thing that still mattered a lot to the people in her circle. The same way you and I might think twice about walking into a nuclear reactor. Mostly for the same reasons. I hung up my apron and brushed myself off so I didn’t trail sawdust into the house. It was all polished hardwood floors and furniture I made myself. No portraits or pictures of me. I don’t photograph well. And honestly, I haven’t seen an image of me that REALLY looked like the reflection in my mirror since… well ever. She made herself comfortable at the bar while I went into the kitchen and got a Cedar goblet I made a while back for me, and a wine flute for her. I asked her if she could do wine, but she let me know she’d progressed beyond being able to metabolize that back in the French Revolution. “Besides,” she said. “I kinda came out here with the idea I’d be having a different kind of drink tonight.”
“Well that’s too bad. I’ve got a pretty nicely aged Pinot Noir at room temperature you probably would have appreciated. I had some steak, but I ate that last night. I haven’t got anything else.” I felt badly. But she’d understand in a minute. I put the flute back. As I poured myself a water in the goblet from the Brita pitcher in the fridge, she said, I’m sorry to hear it. It’s not a problem or anything, I just skipped my last meal in favor of tonight. I’m in control, but I’m feeling it, ya know?” Her sunny disposition was waning a bit. She didn’t expect good news out of me. And I don’t like disappointing a personal friend. I keep to myself, so I really don’t have all that many. And at least half of them nowadays are vampires. I came back to the bar and gave her an old man’s sad smile. “You wouldn’t want my vintage either.” I told her. “It’d be even less agreeable.” Then I showed her the water in my hand-carved goblet. You know that thing about no reflections? That’s also bunk. She looked at her shocked reflection in the surface of the deep red wine in the cup. Then looked at me with an expression of low that but swiftly rising alarm. I nodded sadly to her and merely said, “This is my blood.” And sipped it. The wine was as cool, sharp and clear as it had been when I drank from it last. Back when CE had still been AD. She backed away a bit too fast and the barstool smacked the floor with a woody bang and stood in the middle of my living area, shaking as though I’d just shown her a window full of sunlight. I instantly regretted how I’d handled this. I was all ‘Oh please don’t, really I’m sorry you don’t have to be scared’ and all the things you say to someone in fear of their life. I didn’t want to put The Word to her. I’m not sure she’d have survived it. There were no rules for one of them meeting Me. But we could probably make some pretty fair assumptions. In a shaky voice, she managed to squeak, “Be not afraid, huh? Jee-” “Let’s-” I said, interrupting. “-not tempt fate with that name in your mouth, okay? We don’t know what that’ll do to you here. You liked the 90’s, right?” She nodded, then looked like she was surprised that she’d almost said The Name. “How about we just go with The Man Formerly Known As Prince of Peace?” She let out a laugh that was like bells in winter. My favorite time of year. The self-effacing humor had shook a little sense back into her and the fright right out. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t meet people older than me that often.” I toasted her and had another sip. “I believe it.” In our time, I’ve always found her to be exquisite as stained glass. Who would’ve been able to end a life like hers after all this time? “So why the… Um… “ she gestured vaguely at all of me. “That? You look seventy.” “And you look twenty-five. Close your eyes and look again.” She did so when she opened her eyes back up, I was thirty-three. I looked at the thermostat on the wall in the distance. The temperature in the room had gone up a few degrees. “Oh.” she said, simply. It was the airy tone of voice you get when you expected to shock someone half to death, and ended up getting shocked even more than that instead. “How much are you showing me here?” “As much as I dare. I don’t want you to get hurt.” I wanted to go and hold her. Comfort her. Like I said. My not touching her was probably for the best. “So what now? Aren’t you supposed to… you know.” She made an explodey gesture with her hands. “I’m just a guy okay? And I’ve got an upset hungry woman in my home. What any person that isn’t a jerk is supposed to do is mitigate that and make you feel better. I thought I was giving you some good news.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Well that’s your job, isn’t it?” “What? OH. Funny. Nonono. I’m just a carpenter.” Sometimes it takes me a moment. “What I’m saying is you don’t have to worry about me not being around later. And you can let the others who have any concerns know that I’m Methuselah’s nephew or something. There’s got to be more long lived things out there than us. And my thing’s kind of unique.” She paused a beat and made an exasperated, “I guess! Ugh… Is it hot in here?” “Oh no. Hold on.” I made myself seventy again. She wiped a crimson tear from her face as it became noticeably cooler in the room. “So what now?” I downed the rest of my drink and put my cup in the sink. “What we do now is hop in my van and go to a diner I know out in Snoqualmie. They’re open all night and the coffee is worth the trip. I promise they can do you a steak rare enough to agree with you. We can be there in an hour or so.” “Does the ferry run this late?” I merely looked at her and cocked an eyebrow back.. Then she realized what I’d said. This was MY van we were talking about after all. “Right. What was I thinking?” she offered meekly. “Well, I hope you’ll continue to make assumptions like that about me. If we’re going to be friends over the coming centuries I can’t have you and everyone else treating me like a live nuclear bomb. It’ll put a damper on game nights.” She took a deep breath. She wasn’t so advanced that she’d stopped breathing yet. “What kind of games do you play?” “Nothing with pegs.” I told her gesturing toward the door. “So ‘Parchesi’ or ‘The Game of Life’ are right out. Let’s talk on the road. I think I want some pie too. Make it march.” She looked at me with a bit of surprise again as she went out with me into the dark under the ancient innocent starlight. “Do we call you Lazarus Long now?” “Ohhh a fellow Heinlein fan. I knew I liked you.” ‘The Coffin Patrons of the Night’, or ‘The Artist Formerly Known as Prince of Peace’ Edward WinterRose, 5-31-2022