Kissing Coffins

  Ellen Schreiber

  Vampire Kisses 2

  Kissing Coffins

  To my father, Gary Schreiber,

  with all my love,

  from your little ghoul

  “Here’s to new blood.”

  —Jagger Maxwell

  Contents

  Epigraph

  1 Bleeding Heart

  2 Flower Power

  3 Final Departure

  4 Hipsterville

  5 The Coffin Club

  6 Dracula Delivers

  7 The Historical Society

  8 In a Manor of Speaking

  9 Bus Stop Blues

  10 The Covenant

  11 Frightening Farewell

  12 Risky Reunion

  13 The Promise

  14 Changeling

  15 Nightmare

  16 Vampire Visitor

  17 School Ghoul

  18 Kissing Coffins

  19 Night and Day

  20 Dancing in the Dark

  21 Creepy Carnival

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Praise

  Other Books by Ellen Schreiber

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Bleeding Heart

  It was like a final nail in a coffin.

  Becky and I were camped out in my darkened bedroom, engrossed in the eighties cult horror classic Kissing Coffins. The femme fatale, Jenny, a teenage, malnourished blond wearing a size negative-two white cotton dress, was desperately running up a serpentine rock footpath toward an isolated haunted mansion. Bright veins of lightning shot overhead in the pouring rain.

  Only the night before had Jenny unearthed the true identity of her fiancé when she stumbled upon his hidden dungeon and found him climbing out of a coffin. The dashing Vladimir Livingston, a renowned English professor, was not a mere mortal after all, but an immortal blood-sucking vampire. Upon hearing Jenny’s blood-curdling screams, Professor Livingston immediately covered his fangs with his black cape. His red eyes remained unconcealed, gazing back at her longingly.

  “You cannot bear witness to me in this state,” I said along with the vampire.

  Jenny didn’t flee. Instead, she reached out toward her fiancé. Her vampire love growled, reluctantly stepped back into the shadows, and disappeared.

  The fang flick had gathered a goth cult following that continued today. Audience members flocked to retro cinemas in full costume, shouted the lines of the movie in unison, and acted out the various roles in front of the screen. Although I’d seen the movie a dozen times at home on DVD and knew all the words, I’d never been blessed with participating in a theatrical showing. This was Becky’s first time watching it. We sat in my room, glued to the screen, as Jenny decided to return to the professor’s mansion to confront her immortal lover. Becky dug her gnawed-on blood-red-painted fingernails into my arm as Jenny slowly opened the creaky wooden arch-shaped dungeon door. The ingénue softly crept down the massive winding staircase into Vladimir’s darkened basement, torches and cobwebs hanging on the cement brick walls. A simple black coffin sat in the center of the room, earth sprinkled beneath it. She approached it cautiously. With all her might, Jenny lifted the heavy coffin lid.

  Violins screeched to a climax. Jenny peered inside. The coffin was empty.

  Becky gasped. “He’s gone!”

  Tears began to well in my eyes. It was like watching myself on-screen. My own love, Alexander Sterling, had vanished into the night two evenings ago, shortly after I had discovered he, too, was a vampire.

  Jenny leaned over the empty casket and melodramatically wept as only a B-movie actress could.

  A tear threatened to fall from my eye. I wiped it off with the back of my hand before Becky could see. I pressed the “Stop” button on the remote and the screen went black.

  “Why did you turn it off?” Becky asked. Her disgruntled face was barely illuminated by the few votives I had scattered around my room. A tear rolling down her cheek caught the reflection of one of the candles. “It was just getting to the good part.”

  “I’ve seen this a hundred times,” I said, rising, and ejected the DVD.

  “But I haven’t,” she whined. “What happens next?”

  “We can finish it next time,” I reassured her as I put the DVD away in my closet.

  “If Matt were a vampire,” Becky pondered, referring to her khaki-clad new boyfriend, “I’d let him take a bite out of me anytime.”

  I felt challenged by her innocent remark, but I bit my tongue. I couldn’t share my most secretest of secrets even with my best friend.

  “Really, you don’t know what you’d do” was all I could say.

  “I’d let him bite me,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “It’s getting late,” I said, turning on the light.

  I hadn’t slept the last two nights since Alexander left. My eyes were blacker than the eye shadow I put on them.

  “Yeah, I have to call Matt before nine,” she said, glancing at my Nightmare Before Christmas alarm clock. “Would you and Alexander meet us for a movie tomorrow?” she asked, grabbing her jean jacket from the back of my computer chair.

  “Uh…we can’t,” I stalled, blowing out the votives. “Maybe next week.”

  “Next week? But I haven’t even seen him since the party.”

  “I told you, Alexander’s studying for exams.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll ace them,” she said. “He’s been cracking the books all day and night.”

  Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone, even Becky, why Alexander had disappeared. I wasn’t even sure of the reason myself.

  But mostly, I couldn’t admit to myself that he had gone. I was in denial. Gone—the word turned my stomach and choked my throat. Just the thought of explaining to my parents that Alexander had left Dullsville brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t bear accepting the truth, much less telling it.

  And I didn’t want another rumor mill circulating throughout Dullsville. If word got out that Alexander had moved without warning, who knows what conclusions the gossipmongers would jump to.

  At this point, I wanted to maintain the status quo: keep up appearances until the RBI—Raven Bureau of Investigation—had a few more days to figure out a plan.

  “We’ll double-date soon,” I promised as I walked Becky outside to her truck.

  “I’m dying to know…,” she said, climbing into her pickup truck. “What happens to Jenny?”

  “Uh…She tries to find Vladimir.”

  Becky closed her door, rolled down the window. “If I discovered Matt was a vampire and then he disappeared, I’d search for him,” she said confidently. “I know you’d do the same for Alexander.”

  She started the engine and backed out of the driveway.

  My best friend’s remark was like a package of Pop Rocks blasting off in my brain. Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? I’d spent the last several days worrying how long I’d have to keep making excuses for Alexander’s absence. Now I wouldn’t be forced to wait an eternity in Dullsville wondering if he’d ever return. I didn’t have to jump every time the telephone rang to find out it was for my mother.

  I waved to Becky as she drove down the street. “You’re right,” I said to myself. “I have to find him!”

  “I’m going to Alexander’s. I won’t be long—” I called to my mother as she sat devouring a J. Jill catalogue in the living room. I had a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins, which had been stagnant since my goth guy departed.

  I grabbed my coat and ran back to the Mansion to find any clues of Alexander’s whereabouts. I couldn’t let my true love disappear without a full report from the RBI—Nancy Drew dipped in black.
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  Although becoming a vampire had always been a dream of mine, when faced with it, I didn’t know what I’d do. Alexander already did what all great vampires do—he transformed me. I craved his presence every minute I was awake. I thirsted for his smile and hungered for his touch. So did I need to literally transform into a diva of darkness to be with my vampire boyfriend? Did I want to spend my life in greater isolation than I already did as an outcast goth? However, I had to let him know that I loved him no matter who or what he was.

  I had spent a lifetime as a nocturnal-loving, rebellious, black-on-black-wearing outcast in the pearly white cliquey conservative town of Dullsville. I was relentlessly teased and bullied by soccer snob Trevor Mitchell. I was stared at like a circus freak by Dullsvillians, classmates, and teachers. The only friend I’d ever had was Becky, but we never shared the same taste in music or fashion, and our personalities were polar opposites. When Alexander Sterling moved to the Mansion on Benson Hill, for the first time in my life I felt like I wasn’t alone. I was drawn to him before I even met him—seeing him standing in the darkened roadway, Becky’s headlights illuminating his fair skin and sexy features. He took my breath away. Then, when he caught me sneaking into the Mansion and I got a glimpse of him again, I had a feeling I’d never known before. I knew I had to be with him.

  Not only was he a pale-skinned, combat-boot-wearing goth like me, but as we began dating, I found out we listened to the same music—Bauhaus, Korn, and Marilyn Manson. More important than tastes, we shared the same desires and dreams. Alexander understood loneliness, isolation, and being different. He knew firsthand what it was like to be judged for what he wore, how he looked, for being homeschooled and expressing himself through a paintbrush instead of a soccer ball.

  When I was with him, I felt like I finally belonged. I wasn’t judged, bullied, or teased for what I wore but was accepted, and even celebrated, for who I was inside.

  With Alexander gone and his whereabouts unknown, I felt lonelier than I had before I met him.

  I removed the brick that held the broken window open and crept inside the Mansion’s basement. The full moon illuminated mirrors covered with white rumpled sheets, carelessly stacked cardboard boxes, and a coffin-shaped coffee table. My heart sank when I saw again that the earth-filled crates were gone.

  The last time I had searched the Mansion uninvited, I had hoped to make chilling discoveries. I unearthed crates stamped by Romanian customs and marked SOIL. I found an ancient family tree, including Alexander’s name, with no dates of births—or deaths. Now I was apprehensive about what I wouldn’t find.

  Upstairs, the portraits that once lined the walls were gone. I followed the hallway to the kitchen, where I opened the refrigerator. Only leftovers remained. Antique china dishes and pewter goblets still lined the cabinets. I spotted an unlit candle and a box of matches on the black granite countertop.

  I wandered the empty halls by candlelight. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath my feet as if the lonely Mansion were crying.

  In the living room the moonlight shone through the cracks in the red velvet drapes. The furniture was once again covered with white sheets. Disheartened, I headed for the grand staircase.

  Instead of the music of the Smiths pulsing from upstairs, all I heard was the wind blowing against the shutters.

  The ghoulish Mansion no longer sent waves of excitement through my veins, only lonely chills. I ascended the stairs and crept into the study, where I’d once been greeted by my knight of the night, holding fresh-picked daisies. Now it was just another abandoned library—books collecting dust, empty of readers.

  The butler’s bedroom was even more spartan, with a single perfectly made bed, Jameson’s closet cleared of clothes, cloaks, and shoes.

  The master bedroom was furnished with a canopy bed with black lace that dripped around its gothic columns. I stared at the mirrorless vanity directly across. The little combs, brushes, and nail polishes in shades of black, gray, and brown that had belonged to his mother were gone.

  I’d never even had the opportunity to meet Alexander’s parents. I wasn’t sure if they even existed.

  Tormented, I paused at the bottom of the attic steps. I wondered how Alexander felt leaving so suddenly, after finally being accepted by so many Dullsvillians.

  I climbed the narrow attic stairway and blew out the dripping candle. I entered his abandoned bedroom, which only two nights ago he had invited me into. His twin-sized mattress rested on the floor, unmade. Typical for any teenager, vampire or not.

  The easel in the corner was bare. I gazed at the paint splattered on the floor. All his artwork was gone, even the painting he had made for me—a portrait of me dressed for the Snow Ball, holding a pumpkin basket and a Snickers, sporting a spider ring and fake vampire teeth.

  A black letter-sized envelope lay on top of a blood-red paint can, sitting underneath the easel. I held the piece of mail up to the moonlight. It was addressed to Alexander and had a Romanian stamp. There was no return address and the postmark was illegible. The envelope had been ripped open.

  Curiosity getting the best of me, I reached my fingers inside and pulled out a red letter. In black ink it read:

  Alexander,

  HE IS ON HIS WAY!

  Unfortunately the rest of the letter had been torn off. I didn’t know who it was from or what it meant. I wondered what vital information it held—maybe a top secret location. It was like watching a movie and not seeing the ending. And who was he?

  I walked to the window and stared up at the moon—the very window where his grandmother’s ghost was rumored to have been seen. I felt a kinship with the baroness. She had lost the love of her life and was left to keep his secret in isolation. I wondered if that would be my fate as well.

  Where was Alexander headed? Back to Romania? I’d buy a ticket to Europe if I had to. I’d walk mansion door to mansion door to find him.

  I wondered, if Alexander had stayed, what would have happened to him. If the town found out his identity, he could have been persecuted, taken away for scientific research, or paraded around as the top act in a sideshow. I imagined what would become of me. I might be interrogated by the FBI, hounded by tabloids, or forced to live in isolation, forever known as the Vampire Vulture.

  I turned to leave his room when I saw a small booklet poking out from underneath his mattress. I took it to the attic window for closer inspection.

  Had Alexander forgotten his passport? There was an empty spot where his photo had been torn out. I touched the space, wondering what picture a vampire could have taken.

  I flipped through the pages. Stamps from England, Ireland, Italy, France, and the United States.

  If I had Alexander’s passport in my hand, he couldn’t have gone back to Romania. No one can travel out of the country without a passport.

  Now I had one thing I didn’t have before.

  Hope.

  “Slow down!” my mom said when I burst through the kitchen door. “You’re tracking mud all over the floor.”

  “I’ll clean it later—” I said hurriedly.

  “I’d like to invite Alexander over for dinner this week,” she offered, catching up to me. “We haven’t seen him since the party. You’ve been keeping him all to yourself.”

  “Sure—” I mumbled. “We’ll talk later. I’m going to study.”

  “Study? You’ve been studying since the party. Alexander has had a positive effect on you,” she said.

  If my mother only knew I had been holed up in my room, waiting for e-mails, calls, and letters that never arrived.

  Billy Boy and my dad were watching a basketball game in the den.

  “When’s Alexander coming over?” Billy asked when I passed by.

  What could I tell him? Maybe never?

  I quickly settled for, “Not for a while. I don’t want to overexpose him to suburbia. He might want to start playing golf.”

  “I think you’ve found yourself a keeper,” my dad complimented.

&nbs
p; “Thanks, Dad,” I said, stopping for a moment, thinking of the family picnics, holidays, and vacations Alexander and I wouldn’t be able to share. “Please don’t disturb me,” I ordered, heading toward my bat cave.

  “Could she actually be doing homework?” Billy Boy asked my dad, surprised.

  “I’m doing a report,” I called back. “On vampires.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get an A,” my dad replied.

  I locked myself in my bedroom and feverishly searched the Internet for any info on vampire hangouts where Alexander might be. New Orleans? New York? The six months sans sunlight of the North Pole? Would a vampire want to hide among the mortal population or isolate himself with his own kind?

  Frustrated, I lay on my bed, boots still on, and stared at my bookshelves of Bram Stoker novels, movie posters of The Lost Boys and Dracula 2000, and my dresser top adorned with Hello Batty figures. But nothing gave me insight into where he might have gone.

  I reached over to switch off my Edward Scissorhands lamp when I noticed on my nightstand the object that had gotten me into this mess: Ruby’s compact!