Joe Coffin | Season 5 | The Final Chapter [Part 1] Page 2

  Jacob screamed.

  Steffanie stood in the bedroom doorway, her mass of red curly hair highlighted by the light from the landing. The light glowed around the edges of the silk chiffon wedding dress she wore. For a second, Laura could only think of eighties’ rock songs, female performers back-lit in cheesy music videos while belting out a power ballad about needing a hero.

  Steffanie Coffin always knew how to make an entrance. Even death couldn’t stop her.

  Joe Coffin’s dead wife stepped through the doorway. Laura’s face tingled as the blood drained away, seemingly retreating from the horror standing in front of her, just as she wanted to. Steffanie stared at Laura with her one remaining eye. And yet the empty eye socket also seemed to have the power of sight. Below the eye socket, Steffanie’s once beautiful cheek now had ragged holes in it revealing her broken, pointed teeth.

  The right side of her face remained unblemished. The skin was paler than Laura remembered, and her cheekbone more prominent. Her lips had pulled back over her elongated fangs. The wedding dress hung from Steffanie, blood-stained and tattered.

  But what hadn’t changed, in fact it had grown even more pronounced, was the sense of calculated steeliness.

  The cruelty.

  Steffanie raised her chin and smiled, those dry, cracked lips peeling back even further. ‘Jacob.’

  Laura pushed herself to her feet and glanced back at her son. He had scrambled to the head of his bed where he sat with his arms around his knees, still holding tight to Bozo.

  Laura whipped her head around to face Steffanie. ‘Leave him alone!’

  Steffanie crouched and raised her clawed hands, a growl gathering in the back of her throat. That deformed face of hers twisted into a mask of fury as she sprang for Laura.

  Jacob screamed and jumped off the bed as Steffanie crashed into Laura. They tumbled to the floor. Laura grabbed Steffanie by the wrists, straining to keep those hands with their sharp fingernails away from her face. Steffanie snapped her jaws at Laura, her red curls cascading over her scarred features.

  Twisting her face away, Laura sucked in a breath of air. The vampire stank of death and putrefaction.

  Laura’s arms trembled beneath Steffanie’s strength. How long could she hold her back? Where was Joe? Why wasn’t he here yet?

  Jacob screamed again, and Steffanie flinched and arched up and back.

  ‘Get off her you bitch!’ Jacob stabbed Steffanie in the face with his plastic sword.

  The plastic point glanced off her cheekbone. With a snarl, Steffanie wrenched her wrist from Laura’s hold, snatched the sword off Jacob and flung it across the bedroom.

  Laura, still pinned to the floor by Steffanie, screamed at Jacob, ‘Open the curtains!’

  Jacob stumbled out of the way as Steffanie made a grab for him. As he turned and fell he grabbed hold of the curtains, pulling the curtain rail down with him and flooding the bedroom with grey, dull daylight.

  Hissing in pain as the light fell on her, Steffanie scrambled away and into a shadowed corner of the bedroom. Already, angry purple blotches blossomed on her face and hands. She stared at Laura through her curls of hair hanging over her face.

  The two women stared at each other for a long, drawn out moment.

  ‘Joe’s on his way,’ Laura said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. ‘And when he gets here, he will kill you.’

  Steffanie tipped her head back, her red curls falling off her face and over her shoulders, and laughed throatily.

  ‘Poor Joe, he’s already tried killing me several times.’ She lowered her head and glowered at Laura. ‘I’m not giving him another chance.’

  Michael crawled across the bedroom, avoiding the square of sunlight on the floor, and sat on Steffanie’s lap. He put his thumb in his mouth.

  Jacob crawled over to his mother and cuddled up close to her.

  The two women stared across Jacob’s bed at each other.

  crispy pancake

  Joe Coffin killed the Fat Boy’s engine, knocked the kickstand down and climbed off the bike. Across his back he had a shotgun strapped in place, and in his right hand he carried a holdall full of wooden stakes. Laura hadn’t said who was in her house, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Coffin strode for the front door, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth together at the pain in his feet. Leola had applied antiseptic cream and done her best to dress the burnt soles of Coffin’s feet, and he had put on two pairs of thick socks before putting on his boots. Still felt as though he was walking across a bed of hot coals.

  Pausing at the front door, Coffin glanced up and down the cul-de-sac. The time was still early enough that there was nobody around, but the daylight was strong enough that Coffin doubted there were any vampires at large. Not unless the crispy pancake look was a new trend amongst the undead.

  He pulled the shotgun off his back. Planted a hand flat on the door and shoved.

  It swung open.

  Coffin didn’t walk right in. He waited and listened. There, in the kitchen, he could hear movement. What about the living room? Coffin listened some more.

  Nothing.

  Coffin stepped into the hall and turned to face the kitchen doorway. The window blinds were down. Strips of light ran across the kitchen counters, the table and the floor. Mostly the kitchen was in shadow.

  Except for the opposite corner. A pale yellow light glowing from behind an open fridge door. The unit was a floor standing fridge freezer combination, with the fridge stacked on top of the freezer. The open door blocked Coffin’s view of whoever was raiding the fridge for a snack, but he could see their legs and bare feet. The trousers were ripped in the left leg from the hem to the hip. Through the rip protruded an old man’s hairless, skinny leg. He’d obviously found something tasty as he was making sucking and slurping noises.

  Holding the shotgun one-handed, the holdall of stakes in the other, Coffin stepped over the threshold of the kitchen doorway and paused again.

  He took a quick look around, just to make sure there were no other vampires lurking in the shadows.

  No, he was on his own. Just Coffin and the fridge raider.

  Coffin dropped the holdall, the stakes clattering together when they hit the floor.

  Coffin gripped the shotgun with both hands.

  ‘Hey.’

  The sucking noises stopped.

  The vampire’s toes curled inward.

  Coffin waited.

  A hand appeared at the edge of the fridge door. Blood-stained fingers curled around the white plastic.

  Coffin’s finger tensed against the shotgun trigger.

  Waited some more.

  Let the vampire close the door, reveal itself. Shoot it in the head. Then stake it through the chest. Drag it outside to bake in the sunlight.

  The vampire dropped to the floor on its knees.

  Coffin squeezed the trigger. The fridge door exploded. Milk splattered over the kitchen wall.

  The vampire scurried under the kitchen table. It was an old man, maybe from the old people’s home. It was shirtless, its torso and arms hairless. Wrinkled and leathery, like it had spent its life in the sun before it had been transformed into a night-stalker.

  The vampire scrambled across the kitchen floor straight for Coffin.

  ‘Shit.’

  Coffin flipped the shotgun around. Cracked the stock over the vampire’s bald head. Its face smacked against the kitchen floor and left a blood smear on the scratched, faded linoleum. The vampire grabbed Coffin’s ankle and sank its teeth into his boot.

  Coffin swung the shotgun like a golf club and smashed it into the vampire’s face.

  Its head jerked back, and it rolled over. Broken teeth spewed out of its mouth and scattered across the floor.

  Coffin smashed the shotgun’s stock into its face.

  He grabbed the holdall and unzipped it. Pulled out a stake and a lump-hammer.

  Straddling the vampire, Coffin pounded the stake into its scrawny chest.

/>   Cold blood spurted over his hand as the vampire squirmed and squealed.

  Finally, it lay still.

  Coffin stood up. Reloaded the shotgun.

  Standing over the vampire’s body, feet planted either side of its torso, he paused.

  Listened.

  Movement from upstairs.

  More of the bastards?

  Coffin stepped over the vampire’s body and out of the kitchen, leaving bloody footprints across the linoleum floor.

  ‘Joe!’

  Coffin whipped around, raising the shotgun.

  Laura ran down the stairs, Jacob right behind her.

  Coffin lowered the shotgun as Laura flung her arms around him. Jacob stopped at the bottom step, gazing at Coffin with wide eyes.

  Laura pulled away and wiped a ripped dressing gown sleeve across her tear-stained face.

  Coffin looked past Jacob, up the stairway. ‘Are there any more of the bastards upstairs?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘They’ve all gone.’

  ‘Steffanie was here.’ Jacob’s voice was small and timid.

  ‘And Michael,’ Laura said.

  ‘What the hell were they doing here?’

  ‘I don’t know, they seemed scared almost, like they didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back in the cellar,’ Jacob said.

  Coffin looked at the little boy. He seemed even smaller than Coffin remembered, when he had carried him out of that cellar where he had been kept prisoner and drained of his blood.

  ‘You won’t, you’re staying with me.’ Coffin turned to Laura. ‘You should both come back to the club, I can look after you there.’

  Laura nodded. ‘Yes, yes I’d like that.’

  Coffin looked through the open doorway. Had he seen movement in the bushes? There couldn’t be vampires outside now, not in this light. Their skin would pop and sizzle like a slice of chicken on a griddle.

  ‘Pack some clothes, whatever you need,’ Coffin said. ‘We’re leaving now.’

  Coffin dragged the vampire outside. Left it lying on the driveway to fry in the sunlight. He walked around behind the hedge where he thought he had seen movement, but there was nothing. He scanned the street to his left. Curtains twitched at a window. He turned and looked in the opposite direction. A car reversed off a drive. Coffin watched as it turned right out of the cul-de-sac.

  He turned his attention back to the curtain twitcher across the road. More movement. The front door had been left slightly open. Whoever lived there had probably been leaving for work when they saw Coffin and his shotgun, and took the obvious decision to step back inside the house. They were probably on the phone to the cops right now. Suspicious-looking characters holding shotguns had that effect on most people.

  Coffin wondered how long he had before they turned up. The police had been overwhelmed with the bat attacks last night. But with the daylight, the bats had gone.

  Coffin turned his back on the curtain twitcher and headed inside. ‘Laura, we need to get out of here before the cops arrive.’

  ‘Almost ready!’ Laura called down the stairs.

  Jacob appeared from the kitchen. ‘You killed a vampire.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Coffin said.

  Jacob gazed up at Coffin with round, wide eyes. ‘Will it come back?’

  ‘C’mere,’ Coffin said, placing a massive hand on the boy’s skinny shoulder and guiding him outside.

  Together they watched as the vampire’s flesh sizzled and popped in the sunlight. Its eyes were two bubbling pools of blood. Most of the flesh had sloughed off the skull. Its chest cavity bubbled with a thick, brownish goo and smoke poured off the body.

  ‘There’s no way that fucker’s coming back,’ Coffin growled.

  Jacob nodded. ‘Good.’

  Coffin gave the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  Laura walked out the house carrying a small, battered suitcase. She stifled a scream when she saw the sizzling body on the drive.

  ‘It’s all right Mum, it’s dead. There’s no way that fucker’s coming back to life now.’

  Laura dropped the suitcases and pulled Jacob close.

  Coffin noticed the movement of curtains across the street. That same window. And that door, still open.

  He crouched by the holdall and unzipped it. He pulled out a single wooden stake.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Laura said.

  ‘Stay here, both of you.’

  Coffin crossed the street. Kept his eyes on the window, on the closed curtains. He walked up the drive, past the parked car. Placed the flat of his hand against the door and pushed it open wide. The interior was cool and dark. He stepped across the threshold. The house’s interior layout looked identical to Laura’s house.

  At the foot of the stairs lay the crumpled body of a young man. His white shirt was drenched with splashes of red blood. His throat had been ripped wide open. Coffin doubted the man had time to realise what was happening to him before he was dead.

  Gripping the stake tight, Coffin walked past the body and stepped into the living room. He waited by the living room door, watching for movement in the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the sunshine outside. Once he was sure Steffanie wasn’t lurking in a corner, waiting to spring on him, Coffin strode across the thick carpet and swept the curtains back.

  Bloody hand prints on the windowsill confirmed that Steffanie had been the one twitching the curtains. Michael too, from the look of the smaller hand prints.

  Were they still inside the house? Possibly. They would want to keep out of the sunshine. But they would know he was here now, that he was looking for them. Coffin stepped back into the hallway and then into the kitchen. No vampire in here raiding the fridge.

  Coffin left the kitchen and craned his head back to look up the stairs. There, on the wall above the top step, a single small, bloody hand print.

  Coffin stepped over the corpse and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he paused. Another hand print on the landing wall, by the door to the bathroom. Two more doors, leading to bedrooms no doubt, both open a little.

  Coffin waited, head cocked as he listened. He heard birds singing, the slam of a car door further down the street, the engine starting up.

  He felt the touch of a cool breeze on his cheek.

  Was there a window open up here?

  Coffin stepped through the doorway of the nearest bedroom. The closed curtains rustled in the breeze. Both Steffanie and Michael stood in front of the curtains, their eyes fixed on Coffin.

  Steffanie wasted no time in her usual small talk. She turned her back on Coffin, whipped the curtains apart and leapt through the open window. With a snarl at Coffin, Michael followed his mother.

  Coffin sprinted across the bedroom and pulled up short at the window. Watched his vampire wife and son scurry across the lawn and scramble over the garden fence.

  Coffin was too large to fit easily through the open window. He charged out of the bedroom and back down the stairs. Outside he ran down the side of the house, between the garage and next door’s brick wall. He was met by a six-foot high garden gate. Coffin leapt at it and scrambled over the top.

  He landed heavily on the patio and the soles of his burnt feet erupted with pain. Grinding his teeth together and ignoring the pain, Coffin scrambled over the fence where he had last seen Steffanie and Michael. In next door’s garden his boots sank into the soft flower bed, crushing the plants. The expanse of lawn was empty, but Coffin could see smeared bloody hand prints on the opposite fence.

  ‘Get out of my garden!’

  Coffin ignored the thin, quavering voice yelling at him from the upstairs window. He ran across the lawn and launched himself at the next fence. The wooden fencing splintered and collapsed beneath his weight. As he crashed through it and rolled onto the lawn, he heard a high-pitched scream. He jumped to his feet. Saw Steffanie and Michael running through open patio doors and into the house. The woman who had screamed shrank back against her garden fence, clutching
her dressing gown closed tight at her throat with one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

  Coffin had lost his wooden stake. He picked up a length of fence panelling and snapped it in half. Carrying both pointed sections with him, one in each hand, Coffin approached the patio doors.

  ‘Run,’ Coffin growled at the woman.

  She dropped the coffee mug, and it smashed on the patio. ‘My children…’

  Coffin shook his head. ‘Shit.’

  He stepped inside. A trail of blood spatters across the carpet led to the opposite door. Coffin squatted to take a closer look. No, not just blood, but scraps of flesh too. Steffanie and Michael were burning up in the sunshine. They had invaded this house to escape from the sun’s power, because they knew if they stayed outside much longer they would burn up and die.

  Coffin straightened up at the piercing sound of a child’s scream. He followed the trail of blood and flesh out to the hallway and up the stairs.

  Michael squatted on the top step. His eyes were red and weeping. Boils had erupted on his face, leaking blood and yellow pus. Patches of his burnt scalp showed through his hair. But still he stared at his father with an expression of utter hatred.

  Coffin bit back the urge to speak to his son, to try and reason with him. Attempt to find him, to locate whatever might be left of Michael within this monstrous thing squatting on the landing. But Coffin knew it would be useless, that he was past trying to save his son. Michael had been murdered by Abel Mortenson. This thing in front of Coffin? It was nothing more than a shell, housing an evil monstrosity that needed to die.

  Coffin lunged at the vampire, thrusting the two improvised stakes at it.

  Michael, spitting thick gobbets of saliva, leapt away.

  Steffanie appeared behind her son.

  Clutched tight to her chest, a toddler squirmed and kicked. The little girl was trying to scream, but Steffanie had a bloody hand clamped across her mouth. The toddler’s eyes were wide and round and brimming with tears.

  Steffanie looked to be in a worse condition than Michael. Strips of flesh had peeled from her face and her hands, and hung in bloody ribbons. The once white wedding dress was now stained red, with bloody patches seeping through the chiffon. Steffanie’s one remaining eye had turned dark with burst blood vessels.