The vampires were older here, and when he staked their helpless corpses they moldered into dust, even to the bone. In the beams of sunlight, their dust curled. Coffin after coffin he exhumed. Some of these receptacles were empty, others filled with bones, but some had bodies still, bloated bodies. He was worried he’d run out of stakes; he’d never come across such a nest. They were good coffins too, stone sepulchers with heavy lids. He enjoyed the sounds the lids made as he slowly pushed them open, enjoyed the gradual scraping, enjoyed the eventual crash, and loved the penultimate moment between the two, the silent moment as the lid gave way, free falling to the ground.
He settled in his mind that if he ran out of stakes it was his fault; it would only be sporting to let the rest go. The rough stone was wearing on his palms, red blisters pulsing with fire. Against the cold stone of the sepulcher he placed his hands and pushed. Was it relief? he wondered. The pain in his hands didn’t go away, just changed. He pushed, and the lid slowly slid, letting the sunlight into the darkness beneath. Through the growing crack, he thought he saw—it must have been some trick of the shadows—something moving. Still the lid retreated. Looking down again, he saw more clearly: Something was moving. Rats, perhaps? Gravity took over, and the lid leapt from his hands. Silently it fell, and his palms again burned; and beneath him he saw the woman. Crash went the lid.
She was moving—no vampire can move in the day. She moved with a frail sleepiness. With her inside the coffin was some bloated fiend, his face frozen in a devilish smile. With a burning hand he took her arm. In turn she let out a scream, or an attempted scream. She was too frail, too shocked, too horrified. What came out was greenish, and neither of them had to look at the vampire’s smile afterward, being covered in puke. He helped her; stood her on her feet. Turning his back on her, he produced his last stake. Positioning the tip above the creature’s heart, he drew his mallet from his belt. Lifting it above his head, he struck, and with one swift motion, the corpse beneath him dissolved, corruption making up for lost time.
Her name was Lindsey, and the two shared a pleasant late breakfast. It was nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t think I was insane.