Dark, dark ebony, black as night, deeply gleaming in the wavering candlelight. She admired her work, she was good. Coffin maker extraordinaire. Many a soul had gone to their rest in one of her creations. She was saddened when they were chosen and occupied because she knew her art was never fully appreciated. The intricate scrollwork designed by her, tapped delicately into the wood by her talented hand did not bring joy and gladness into the life of the owner. Their hearts beat no more, their eyes closed forever, senses sealed for eternity. How could they appreciate the beauty of her craftsmanship, lying cold and still and without thought. How could they know the painstaking hours spent perfecting the caskets, polishing the beautiful wood until it shone like a lantern leading to heaven or lit like a burning torch to Hell. Cremation was the cruellest form of torture to her, she watched as her work was condemned to a fiery furnace, turned to ashes in minutes. All for nothing. She wept as she remembered her losses. But not for long.

He would be coming. She would hear the clatter of horses hooves as she so often had on nights gone by. He had come to her silently one evening, the full moon silhouetting his dark shape as he glided into her workroom. She sensed his presence before he spoke: “You are the coffin maker, my Dear.” Not a question. He was all knowing. The seductive voice caressed her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She turned and beheld him. His eyes hypnotised her, burning into her soul, uncovering her innermost dark secrets, her craving for unadulterated lust. He stood tall and straight, his regal bearing obvious in his stance, clothed in an old fashioned black suit with a scarlet lined cloak draped around his shoulders. His face pale and aristocratic, sensuous red lips promising pleasures beyond measure. Jet black locks swept back from a high forehead, those deep set suggestive eyes were amused by her discomfort.

She swayed slightly, her vision blurred for a second as she managed to reply: “Yes, do you require my services?”

“Indeed I do, Ma’am. Black ebony caskets with folds of white satin, handles of deeper darkness. No metals. Delicately carved by your own hand. At least six, maybe more as days go by.”

Fear left her as she stated: “That would be expensive, Sir.”

“Payment is no problem, little one. Come, I will pay you now.”

………………………………………………………………..

Darkness was their time and evening found the vampire coven arising from their comfortable caskets to feed with their fledgling sister – the coffin maker.   Her loving hand crafted creations were appreciated now, used time and again to shelter her newly found companions from the daylight hours. She was recognised for her skill and would be for a long, long time.