About a Vampire by Lynsay Sands Read Online Free

  Contents

Affiliate One

Chapter Ii

Chapter Iii

Chapter Iv

Chapter 5

Chapter Six

Chapter Vii

Chapter Eight

Affiliate 9

Chapter X

Chapter Xi

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Affiliate Xiv

Affiliate 15

Chapter 16

Chapter Seventeen

Affiliate Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

An Excerpt from Always

Virtually the Writer

By Lynsay Sands

Copyright

Nigh the Publisher

I

"Crap," Holly muttered, staring downward at the sheaf of papers she'd just stepped on. The small disc stapled to the top corner told her that information technology was the paperwork for one of their clients. It included the burial permit, the coroner's certificate, the awarding for cremation and the coversheet with the client's name and info . . . and it should have been given to John Byron when he arrived to start his shift at four:30 that afternoon. Obviously, it hadn't. This bundle must take fallen off her desk-bound at some bespeak that twenty-four hours.

Holly connected to stand there for several seconds, only staring at the parcel. She didn't fifty-fifty remove her foot, because once she did, she'd have to do something about information technology . . . similar take information technology to the crematorium . . . and she really didn't desire to go downwards there. Non at this 60 minutes. Making the trek during the twenty-four hours was one thing, merely it was but past midnight now. She'd have to make her style through the graveyard to get to the building that housed the chapel; the columbarium, where the urns rested; and the crematorium, where the bodies were stored and waiting for their turn at the retort.

Retorts is what the owner of Sunnyside Cemetery, Max, had called them when he'd given her the tour the solar day she'd started. He could call them what he liked, but retort was simply a fancy give-and-take for the oven where they burned the bodies.

Shuddering at the idea of the coffins shelved in the cooler, Holly closed her eyes briefly. A popular game here seemed to be to freak out the new worker with tales of the "ovens." Jerry, the day technician, and John, who took the evening shift, as well every bit her boss, Max, and even Sheila, the receptionist, had all told her one horrific tale or another. Only the almost memorable was John telling her how the coffins burned away start and the corpses sometimes sat up inside the oven, muscles contracting in the rut and mouths agape as if screaming in horror at their doom. That image had stuck with her, convincing Holly she really didn't desire to exist cremated. In fact, she'd decided dying was to be avoided at all costs if possible.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and peered at the papers, wishing she could pretend she hadn't seen them. After all, in the normal class of events, she wouldn't take found them until morning. She shouldn't be here now except she'd got home later on work, fabricated dinner and looked for her pocketbook to get her claret tester to bank check her sugar levels, but hadn't been able to find it. Thinking she'd probably left her purse in the car and not wanting dinner to get cold, she'd decided the claret test could wait. Of form, past the fourth dimension dinner was finished, she'd forgotten all about it . . . until she was brushing her teeth before bed. She'd been halfway done when she'd remembered.

Pulling on her trench coat over her pajamas, Holly had hustled out to the auto in her slippers to call back her pocketbook . . . merely information technology hadn't been there either. That had stymied her briefly, and she'd stood in the cold garage for several moments, trying to call back where information technology might exist. She'd had information technology at work when she'd paid Sheila for lunch, Holly recalled. She so tried to bring up a retentivity of slinging it over her shoulder as she left piece of work, only instead remembered that her easily had been full of tax forms and receipts . . . no pocketbook. Holly hadn't noticed at the time because her car keys had been in her glaze pocket.

Afterwards wasting another few minutes debating whether she could but skip testing that night, she'd slouched with resignation and got in the car to drive back to piece of work. Missing 1 test once in a while wasn't that bad, only skipping ii in a row wasn't good. Besides, the cemetery was only a x-minute drive from her abode. It but wasn't worth risking a diabetic coma.

Of course, Holly thought now, if she'd realized that coming back would hateful having to make a trek through the graveyard--in her pajamas no less--she might accept risked the blackout.

Grimacing, she bent and snatched up the papers. There was null for information technology, she would have to drop them off earlier heading home. Otherwise, the cremation wouldn't happen until tomorrow or the next day, which could be a trouble depending on when his service was scheduled to accept place.

Clasping the papers firmly in one hand, Holly slung her handbag over her shoulder with the other. Just as she headed out of the function, she couldn't help thinking that life would be a lot easier if she were a little less conscientious. Being a responsible type person was actually a pain in the donkey at times, she thought as she stepped exterior and dug her keys out of her pocket.

The funeral home primal was easy to find despite the night night; it was on its own ring. It was also shiny and new, though that was difficult to tell in this light. She'd just received information technology last Friday. Information technology was now Monday. Why did a brand-new and temporary employee take a central to the company? The answer to that was simple enough: considering her coworkers weren't as conscientious and responsible every bit she was. During her first week there, Max hadn't shown up much earlier noon fifty-fifty once, and Sheila, the receptionist who too happened to be Max'south daughter, had been tardily 3 times. The apple actually hadn't fallen far from the tree with those ii.

On Fri, after twiddling her thumbs in the funeral home parking lot for over an 60 minutes and a half for the third morning that week, Holly had permit some of her irritation show when Sheila finally arrived. She'd also suggested that peradventure she should start later in the day rather than waste her time and their money sitting in the parking lot waiting. Sheila had what she considered to be a better solution--she'd gone out and had a key made for her. At present Holly could make it on time.

She'd like to believe that information technology was her conscientiousness and responsible nature that had led Sheila to give her the central, simply knew the truth was information technology was pure laziness and convenience. Then long as Holly had a key and could open up the part on time, Sheila could be as late as she liked. The other woman had proven that today, when she hadn't shown up until lunchtime, and then it was with lunch for them both that Holly hadn't wanted only had paid her back for her half anyway.

Holly locked the door and turned to glance toward the crematorium, merely to pause and pout when she couldn't run into the building. Information technology was the fog. It had made driving hither something of a pain, but she'd forgotten about it while in the building. At present, she found herself staring into the misty darkness surrounding her and felt a little shiver of feet shimmy its style up her spine.

She was in a graveyard on a dark and foggy moonless night. This was style too much similar a scene from a horror movie. Any minute decomposing corpses would brainstorm to claw their manner out of the ground and drag themselves toward her, lured by the scent of fresh flesh.

"Go a grip," Holly muttered to herself.

The audio of her ain voice in the nighttime was a flake bracing, but non enough to brand her move in the management of the crematorium.

Holly shuffled her slippered feet briefly, and and so sighed and turned to unlock the door again. Mayhap at that place was an umbrella or something in the part that she could carry with her. Having a weapon, even a by and large useless one, might help heave her courage for the trek ahead.

When a quick search of the offices didn't plough up an umbrella, a pikestaff, or a flame thrower to fend off those imagined zombie corpses, Holly resorted to grabbing a large pair of scissors she spotted sticking out of the pencil holder on the reception desk-bound. She hefted them briefly, conside

ruby their size and so decided they would do. She probably wouldn't need anything anyway. She was only being a ninny, but felt better clutching the scissors as she headed back outside.

Sadly, in that location had been no helpful gust of current of air to sweep abroad the fog during the few minutes she'd been inside. If anything, it seemed to her that the fog had thickened, simply that might take simply been her own anxiety making information technology seem that way. Information technology had probably been simply as thick earlier as it was at present, she reassured herself and wished she had a flashlight.

The idea made her glance toward the parking lot. She kept a flashlight in the glove compartment for emergencies. Holly hurried to her car, unlocked it and settled in the passenger seat to open the glove compartment and brand a quick search. Not finding information technology, she sabbatum back with a sigh, then grabbed the papers and the pair of scissors and got out. She left her purse inside. It would eliminate the possibility of accidentally leaving it behind in the crematorium, she thought equally she locked the door.

Trying not to think of movies like The Fog or Night of the Living Dead, Holly headed determinedly in the direction of the crematorium. She moved as quickly as she dared along the paved path, her ears straining for any sound that might indicate she wasn't alone. At present that she was resigned to the task, getting information technology over with and getting back abode was all she cared nigh. It was always better to get unpleasant tasks done quickly.

Unfortunately, it did seem that the unpleasant tasks often took the most fourth dimension. She knew it was probably only her fear and anxiety, but the walk to the crematorium seemed to be taking much longer than it should. Holly actually began to worry that she'd headed in the incorrect direction in the fog and lost her manner, that she could be wandering the graveyard in her pajamas until the sunday rose to burn away the fog, so was relieved when she spotted the weak glow of a light ahead. Knowing information technology must be the wall sconce over the edifice entrance, Holly headed for information technology at a faster clip, relieved when she was able to see the door below it.

Holly released a little pent-up jiff of relief one time she slipped within. She'd made it, alive and well and unmolested by rotting corpses.

"Awesome," she said, and grimaced at how weak her voice sounded in the dimly lit entryway. Giving herself a little milkshake, Holly started forward, moving quickly past the doors to both chapels and through the columbarium with its niche banks total of urns. Some were visible behind drinking glass, some were subconscious past contumely plates with names and dates on them, and a lot had flowers and whatnot stuck in special holders on or beside them. Her gaze skated to the floral tributes and and then determinedly away as she passed. Holly used to love flowers, but two weeks of working hither had changed that. She at present associated flowers with death.

She should have been more than relaxed now that she was inside. After all, the urns held only the ashes of the expressionless, which couldn't spontaneously form into bodies to crawl after her in search of brains, just Holly found herself still broken-hearted and jumpy. It didn't take much thought to figure out why. She was near to head into the crematorium itself, where coffins belongings the newly departed waited to be burned.

During that bout on her first day working here, the process of cremation had been explained to her in fine detail. Definitely more than she'd wanted to know, just apparently, the fact that she was a temp in the office to piece of work on the taxes and wasn't a sales associate didn't remove the possibility of her having to explicate things to customers. Holly hoped to God that never happened, because she would not want to explain those details to the loved ones of the newly deceased. It had all seemed gruesome to her.

Holly had never really thought much about cremation, simply if she had, she would have assumed that the coffin was rolled into the retort, flames shot out and poof, a nice urn of ashes came out the other end. Not and then. First of all, it took much longer than she'd imagined. Despite reaching temperatures of 1600 or 1700 degrees, the actual cremation could take two to three hours. And no neat little urn of ashes came out at the end. The ashes, which weren't all ashes, remained in the retort to absurd, and so a magnet was used to remove anything metallic such as fillings and pins. One time cooled, the ashes were swept out onto a tray using a corn broom as if the remains were so much debris on the floor. They were and so allowed to cool further before being placed into a cremulator, which looked much similar a garbage disposal unit to Holly when she'd peered within. There the remains, including some bone that didn't break down completely, were pulverized to brand information technology all smooth and ash-like before information technology was placed in the urn if 1 was supplied. Otherwise it was bagged and boxed for the family unit to take away.

Gruesome, Holly thought as she pushed through another door into a brusque hall.

Hither the dim lighting gave way to glaringly bright fluorescents overhead, and cinder-block walls painted a pale cream. Information technology was about sterile in its lack of color, and Holly paused and blinked, the buzz of the fluorescents loud in her ears as her attention shifted to the door alee.

John Byron worked the 4:30-to-12:thirty shift and should still exist on duty, she thought, glancing at her wristwatch. She'd met him several times and while he was a bit of a carper, with a sarcastic, self-deprecating sense of humor, he seemed a nice enough guy. She didn't think he'd requite her likewise hard a fourth dimension, although she'd no doubt accept to explain why she was at the offices this late. Holly hoped he was lonely though and Rick Mexler hadn't still arrived. Rick was the man who took over the crematorium from 12:30 to viii:30. She didn't start work until ix:00 so hadn't yet met him, simply had heard he was a grumpy South.O.B. who didn't like people. That really wasn't something she wanted to accept to bargain with, and so she was a fleck alarmed when she stepped through the door into the crematorium and heard two men's voices.

The crematorium was a large long rectangle, but the cooler took up a 10-by-ten infinite along the left on inbound. The remainder of the room was a large Fifty shape, with the retorts against the wall that was around the corner of the libation, out of sight. That was where the voices were coming from, and so she didn't at first see the men. But Holly assumed it was John and Rick.

Her gaze slid to the front of the cooler every bit she started forward. The door was a metal scroll-up almost as broad as a garage door. It was open at the moment, leaving the contents on view-- a prepare of alpine broad shelves with various coffins on information technology. Two were cardboard boxes, 2 were the less expensive blue coffins, and three were bodily oak coffins. She noted that the mini forklift was positioned in front of the open door every bit if John had been about to call up a casket when he'd been interrupted past Rick'southward arrival.

Holly turned her gaze abroad from the libation, trying non to think of the loved ones resting in the coffins . . . or their intended hereafter. She'd nearly reached the corner when she realized that neither voice sounded like John Byron. Had he left already? And if so, who was Rick Mexler talking to? She slowed and and then paused only out of sight around the corner to mind to the men's chat.

Justin Bricker rolled the gurney stacked with dead rogues in front of the antiphon. After boot the wheel locks to go on it in place, he then glanced to Anders, his partner in tonight's endeavour.

With his nighttime pilus and pare and the blackness leather clothes he wore, Anders was like a shadow in the white room. He was presently looming over the crematorium technician who stood in the corner. The adult male mortal who had opened the back door at their knock now looked like lilliputian more than a naughty schoolboy put there for punishment by an irate teacher. Simply the child'south resentment was missing . . . the human'south expression was blank equally Anders worked to remove their arrival from his memory and keep him where he stood, safely out of the way.

When Anders relaxed and turned to walk toward him, Justin raised his eyebrows. "Are we proficient?"

Anders nodded. "Just we accept to be quick. His shift ends in fifteen minutes. A new guy will exist showing upwardly presently."

"No problem. We'll be out of here past and then. Every bit combustible every bit nosotros are, these guys will exist dust in minutes." Justin turned to open the door of the retort, and whistled at the wave of estrus that blew out at him. He glanced to Anders every bit the other human being reached his side. "And so . . . What did you do to piss off Lucian?"

Rather than answer, Anders asked, "What make

s you think I did anything to piss him off?"

Justin grinned. "Well, he gave me clean-up duty considering I pissed him off. Then I figure y'all must be in the same boat."

Anders only grunted and pulled the top trunk off the stack to send it into the antiphon.

"Come on," Justin said every bit the flames shooting into the antiphon hit the body and information technology was gear up ablaze every bit if it were made of dry out harbinger. "You lot must have done something."

Anders watched him pick up another trunk to send it into the retort. Finally, he said, "I might take made some joke or other about his missing then many meals at home since Leigh turned vegetarian."

Justin raised his eyebrows. "That wouldn't bother him . . . unless yous said information technology in forepart of Leigh."

Anders grimaced, then started to pick up the next body. "Unfortunately, Leigh came into the room behind me as I was maxim information technology. I fear she overheard me."

"Ah." Justin winced, knowing Anders wouldn't have deliberately hurt the woman's feelings. None of the hunters would. Leigh was a good woman, they all liked her. "Yeah, I bet that--Expect out! The head--"

Anders froze with this body one-half off the gurney, but it was as well late. One of the heads had been dislodged and was rolling off the border of the metal table. Justin fabricated a grab for it, just wasn't in time and the decapitated head hit the flooring with a wet splat.

Both men stood and grimaced at the mess, and so Anders nodded toward the crematorium technician and muttered, "I don't suppose we can make him clean this up?"

"Y'all suppose correct. It would be hard to erase that from his memory and ensure it stayed erased," Justin said with amusement as he watched Anders grab the caput by the man's long hair and toss information technology into the retort. It rolled forrad like a lopsided bowling ball wobbling into the flame jets where information technology exploded into immediate flames. Shaking his head, he murmured, "Similar kindling."

"Yeah, nosotros're pretty flammable," Anders commented.

About a Vampire by Lynsay Sands Read Online Free

Source: https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/lynsay-sands/32198-about_a_vampire.html

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