Coming out of the coffin, p.1
Coming Out of the Coffin, page 1
D.A. Holmes
Coming Out of the Coffin
Copyright © 2023 by D.A. Holmes
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
D.A. Holmes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
D.A. Holmes has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
First edition
ISBN: 9798395301598
Cover art by Lasse Wennerstrand
Advisor: Jamie Matthews
Editing by Stephen Hendron
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
To Mam and Andy for showing me what a real dad is
And to Jamie for showing me what a true friend is.
“A starving child is a frightful sight. A starving vampire, even worse.”
- Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thank You
Acknowledgments
The story continues in….
Prologue
Samantha Crest was exhausted, a wet towel wrung out after a day at the beach. Tired. Her handbag weighed heavily on her shoulders as she walked into the lobby, trudging her feet past the grinning concierge. Sam didn’t smile back as she stumbled to the elevator, waiting for the ding.
Life wasn’t easy for a single, twenty-four-year-old living alone in New York City, having nothing more than her father’s credit cards, a perky attitude, and a carefully curated Spotify playlist. The elevator doors slid open, and Sam heaved her body in, hitting the button for her floor number and letting her bag drop. There was instant relief to the tension around her shoulders.
All the walking today made her ankles swell, and she was desperate to get out of these new leather boots. Sam had to admit the days back home hadn’t been this tough.
The Crests all hailed from El Paso. They had been self-starters, farmers, then entrepreneurs. Her father, William Crest, owned the largest dairy farm in the south. The summers were hot and sticky, something Sam would never even fathom missing, having clothes cling to her body in the heat, constantly wiping her forehead, and never being able to stray far from the nearest AC source.
That was a funny irony to think about as she shivered in the elevator, watching the needle above the door slowly tick up in numbers. November up in the Big Apple almost made her miss the sun, which was now working part-time for the winter, with shorter days and longer nights.
Being cold was new to her. Snow was something she’d only experienced before on family ski trips to Aspen. The winter vibes were quaint and picturesque back then, but now it had become part of her daily life—drinking herbal tea to stay warm, wearing cute beanies, and trying to get the busted electric heater to work. That was one of the reasons she had come out here, after all—to be challenged, to find herself.
Instead of self-discovery, days were spent shopping around Times Square, maxing out her father’s credit card, lost in the glitz and glam, dreaming of bumping into some Broadway producer on the high street and being cast in the next big musical, ‘Hamilton The Sequel,’ or something, whatever the latest hit was. Sam didn’t know. She liked the idea of musicals but had no intention of sitting in a stuffy theater for two hours to watch them.
Those chance meetings never happened, so she bounced from store to store. In a single day, she would spend more than her childhood friend Darcy’s mortgage would cost; staying trendy in New York was expensive, okay? Once it was no longer justifiable to purchase another pair of shoes, Sam would get the urge for a cocktail, and it’d be off to the club, hips bouncing with strangers under neon lights, paying way too much for shots, and dancing the night away, ‘living life to the fullest,’ as many self-help books and YouTube gurus had taught her. But it was taxing. Add on top of all that the three hours spent in the gym daily. Half that time consisted of taking pictures in the locker room; the rest was when she worked her abs, ass, and legs, a strict routine all so she could get an Instagram post worth of photos.
Tonight was the one free evening Sam allowed herself. Self-care was necessary, after all.
At long last, the needle arrived on floor twenty-five, and she exited the elevator, once again putting her body under the strain of her handbag, feeling bloated after one too many breadsticks at the Italian place off Fifth.
It was the perfect night to watch a rom-com; the sun was setting as Sam walked over to her window. It covered the entire wall, providing a view to die for. Her apartment was facing over the East side from the Gretchen Building, overlooking Manhattan.
The first time she entered, her luggage fell to the floor when she glimpsed outside the window, knocking her on her ass. Her head spun from vertigo as she saw the crowds below, the streets packed with honking cars, and all the yellow cabs in the mix looked like bees buzzing around a swarm of ants. It was magical.
Were it not for her belief that she was better than everyone else, it might have added some perspective to her life—how likes and followers on social media weren’t everything, but for Samantha, they were.
Tonight, the view was nowhere near as impressive. The passage of time had made it stale. The effects from the party of bright lights down below didn’t even give Sam more than a tingle. It had degraded to another part of her day, no different than the sidewalk. Samantha pulled her curtains and sighed. The only light was now coming from her TV.
She was always hesitant to search for a movie to watch as she flicked through the options, knowing that she wouldn’t spend much time actually watching a movie. The same trap awaited her that everyone who owned a streaming service fell into: scroll through the drivel, then decide on nothing and pick up the phone.
Why not cut out the part where she’d go through the endless movie options? She glanced over at her phone on the coffee table. The device was calling out to her: ‘Pick me up.’ ‘Come on.’ ‘There are TikToks to watch.’ Her phone did have a point. Sam picked it up, scrolling finger at the ready.
Before she knew it, two hours had passed. The TV switched off, and the white glow from her phone spread across her face like a floating head in the darkness. Sam was fighting off sleep with sips from her water bottle. The metallic taste of her building’s tap water clung to the roof of her mouth. A yawn escaped her, and she finally acknowledged it was time for sleep.
Where had the evening gone? She thought, stretching her body out. Her limbs made a satisfying cracking sound after being limp for so long. Beauty sleep was necessary for a growing influencer. According to her calendar app, tomorrow was already set to be a busy day: hot yoga in the morning, followed by coffee with the girls in the afternoon, and then a Tinder date with a Wall Street bro she hadn’t decided if she would ghost yet. A packed schedule and having bags under one’s eyes did not look good for selfies.
Samantha began her night-time routine, slathering her face in more moisturizer than was necessary, not wanting to risk even the slightest crack of dry skin on her forehead. Anti-aging cream because it was never too early to start worrying about wrinkles. She brushed her teeth with charcoal toothpaste to remove any yellow stains from smoking joints, topped off with CBD oil to help ease the shoulder pain that came with carrying her handbag all day. She lit four Shea butter candles around her room. They smelled of success to her, like the inside of a rich man’s Mercedes. One in each corner of the bedroom to allow the scent to flow.
The apartment itself wasn’t much of a home. It was furnished when she had moved in. Something she was grateful for, as Sam had no idea where to even buy a dishwasher. And she was too embarrassed by this point in her life to even Google it. The bedroom is where she had made her mark. She took the basic hotel room vibe and transformed it into her palace. There was a wal
Her alarm was set to go off in six hours. Some of her friends said a solid six hours of sleep was too much. They all got by with four or five, but she needed six to even be functional.
Samantha Crest curled up in her blankets like a cocoon. The silk brushed against her skin, warm and smooth. The sounds of the city would lull her to sleep, as they always did—the car horns and shouts from drunks as they stumbled out of bars. Better than any podcast. While it might keep some awake, to her, it was soothing. Without distractions, she would be alone with her thoughts. That created an instant case of insomnia.
The change inside her room was sudden. Silence cut in, and New York was quiet as if someone had unplugged the entire city. A chill came in with the silence, and she pulled up her blankets. Some idiot must’ve broken the heater again. She could feel it running down her spine, shaking her bones. The same feeling during the comedown of a designer drug, when you accept the pain of the cold and have hopeless thoughts that you’d never be warm again.
Her eyes flicked open when a gust of wind blasted through the room, extinguishing her candles. The room plunged into darkness. Replacing that sweet scent was that of a wet dog. With this new smell, the temperature continued to plummet. She wanted to get up and relight them to cleanse the air, but she was freezing and wanted to stay in bed. No, put up with the cold. She half-remembered something from her history classes in high school about women suffragettes. She considered herself one of them, a woman suffering through this bitter cold. What made them any more special than her? Just because they got inside a dull textbook? A book she now used as a doorstop. Sam was willing to bet that Susan B. Anthony never had twenty thousand followers on Instagram.
Her suffering would soon turn to terror. There was a presence in the room. She was too scared to turn over and check. Whoever they were, they were standing right next to her bed. Sam closed her eyes tight, hoping the old adage was true that they couldn’t see her if she couldn’t see them.
No such luck. The weight of her mattress shifted. They were getting onto the bed next to her. Their cold breath tickled her neck like an ice cube being rubbed on the skin. Worse than the chill in her room, like a blizzard rocking straight out of someone’s mouth. Samantha braced herself. This was some crazed killer, the kind that loved to target pretty blondes, wearing a mask and holding a knife like in those Scream movies. Why was being attractive such a struggle? She cursed God for her good looks and kick-ass body. This was the end of the line. Her moment of death was here….
“I’m sorry… I… I… I can’t go through with this,” a voice said, the voice of a young man, a bit high-pitched and kind of nerdy. Sam didn’t open her eyes. Fear shut down her entire body. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t run and scream. Playing possum was the route to go here. He might think she was already dead if she didn’t react. “I know, I know. This is the easy part, you’re here fast asleep. I slip in undetected. Getting into apartments is such a cool loophole. No need for an invitation, spam all the buzzers, and boom, you’re in… I hope I don’t wake you. You’re not even my type, to be honest. This whole feeding thing is getting old. It’s no different than murder….”
Samantha couldn’t take it anymore. Who was this person speaking to her, and why did it sound like some cheap Dr. Phil confession? She bit her lip and opened her eyes.
This wasn’t a maniac with an axe ready for a good chopping. It was some kid a couple of years younger than her. A pale face with smooth features that made a pang of jealousy float through Sam’s fear. It was hard to get a clear look at him in the dark. He had a mess of curly black hair drooping over the right side of his face. His eyes were closed, and he was… sitting cross-legged on her bed? As if he were some monk with a penchant for breaking and entering. Samantha had to squint to check this wasn’t her imagination playing tricks. He was dressed tacky, in a black floral shirt, and hadn’t noticed her yet.
This was her chance to do something. But what? Her friend Mabel had offered to bring her to a self-defense class once. An easy offer to decline. What good were karate kicks when the old keys to the face trick worked on potential attackers?
“Yeah, I get it,” he continued. “You’re gonna say, ‘But Vlad, you need blood to survive. How are you going to just give it up?’ I don’t know. There has to be a way, right?” He opened his eyes, and they doubled in size. “Oh crap, oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were awake. This is so embarrassing.”
Samantha didn’t know how to react. Her mouth hung open. Was he waiting for her to say something? Her late-night intruder stretched his long arms and yawned.
“I liked this a lot better when you were asleep. I like having someone to vent to, you know?”
Samantha found herself nodding her head in agreement.
“Hey! Since I’m not killing anymore, and I’m serious about that. I don’t care what my dad says. But since I’m not, can I come back again sometime? It’s nice having someone to talk to. It’s like what priests in ch-ch-church… sorry, burns to say. Confession, I mean. Yeah, this can be like a confession. Only without the big G man upstairs.” He winked at her and leaned forward. Finally, she got a good look at him. His youthful face was offset by his eyes. Something was missing inside him, something that couldn’t be seen. The absence of it was noticeable. She wasn’t speaking to a human. Then she saw his teeth. Oh, dear God! She regretted every sin she had ever committed in her life. Poking out from his thin upper lips were two fangs, long and sharp. A vampire. There was a vampire right here, in her bedroom. This is when Samantha Crest finally let out a blood-curdling scream.
It woke the neighbors, their pets, and half of the city….
The morning came, and somehow she was still alive. A miracle, divine intervention. There was a God, after all. The vampire had vanished from her room in the dead of night. Samantha didn’t feel safe until she saw the sun rise over the skyline. For the rest of the night, she was in the corner, curled up, waiting for him to come back, evaluating her life. Wishing she had stayed in school, gone to college, and was back in Texas.
She had almost died last night. Why did he spare her? The vampire talked a lot, but her brain never absorbed his words. After he left, her only concern was staying alive.
That very morning, she booked the next flight back home. Throughout the entire journey, she didn’t sleep once. She planned to return to her parents and beg them to let her come home. Go to church every Sunday. Never again would she think about having threesomes for Mabel’s OnlyFans.
Samantha was going to change. Live a pure and holy life. Become a nun if that’s what it took.
Anything to never have to see that face again….
Chapter One
Was it his face? Vladimir Radu kept running last night over in his head on the journey to work. Was that the reason the woman had screamed? It kept waking him up as he tried to sleep throughout the day.
Vlad didn’t dream, but sometimes he liked to imagine what they’d be like. How his subconscious would convey thoughts into various scenarios. Today’s dream would’ve been a nightmare, of that woman while she screamed in horror at his disfigured face. Easy for her to judge, Vlad always thought he had a pretty average looking face. Nothing to write home about, but not ugly. It was hard to tell when you couldn’t see your own reflection.
All he had to go on was the portraits of himself back home. Those paintings couldn’t be trusted, as it was easy for artists to lose their lives if they portrayed any of the Radu family in an unflattering light.
Nope, it wasn’t his face. It had to be the vampire thing. Yeah, definitely the vampire thing. Having a guy, ugly or not, sneak into your home at night is one thing. Having a vampire do it… well, that was problematic. What a way to waste his night off.
