The Dating Coffin

The café was a graveyard of modernity—smashed espresso machines, shattered glass, and the skeletal remains of chairs leaning drunkenly on their last legs. Elaine floated between the debris, her silk cloak billowing as though it had somewhere far more dramatic to be. She sighed, a sound like an orchestra tuning for heartbreak, and muttered to herself.

“Another century, another empty room. Is it too much to ask for a decent croissant?”

Her delicate nose wrinkled at the faint, stale aroma of burned coffee beans still clinging to the air. Humanity had abandoned these ruins long ago, and even the lingering smells were starting to fade. Still, she wandered, a nocturnal archaeologist digging through the relics of a world that no longer wanted her.

And then she saw it.

Perched on a counter like a digital relic of the gods was a laptop. A layer of dust veiled its surface, but the glow of the device’s still-lit charging light felt almost sacred. Elaine froze, her coal-black eyes narrowing.

“A trap?” she murmured, scanning the room. The only movement was a loose napkin fluttering in the wind.

Slowly, as though the laptop might pounce if startled, she approached. Her fingers—pale, elegant, and tipped with nails sharp enough to fillet salmon—hovered over the device.

She pressed the power button.

With a cheerful chime, the screen sprang to life. Elaine flinched, nearly dropping the machine, but her curiosity overruled her paranoia. On the screen, the words “MatchMade: Find Your Soulmate Today!” glowed like neon promises.

“Dating,” Elaine whispered, a wistful smile pulling at her lips. “Oh, how I’ve missed the chase.”

Her last attempt at romance had been a disaster—a Renaissance painter who’d spent more time admiring his own reflection than her. That hadn’t ended well for him.

Fingers trembling with excitement, she set up an account. A profile picture? Easy—she uploaded a heavily filtered selfie from 1792. About Me section? She poured her undead heart into it.

"Eternal romantic seeks companion who can appreciate candlelit dinners and brooding poetry. Turn-ons include moonlit walks and existential musings. Turn-offs include garlic, stakes, and sunny dispositions."

Once finished, Elaine leaned back, her black silk gloves creaking faintly. A single moth fluttered past, as though mocking her for hoping anyone alive might swipe right.

Still, she opened the app and began swiping with reckless abandon.

Right. Right. Right. Each profile was a gamble—faces frozen in time, names like “Cody93” and “SunshineSue.” Were they alive? Dead? It didn’t matter. She had centuries of loneliness to burn through and a faint, irrational hope that someone was out there.

The screen flashed red: "No more profiles in your area."

“Typical,” Elaine muttered. She slammed the laptop shut, sulking. “Even in the digital afterlife, I’m alone.”

As if in response, the laptop chimed again. She snapped it open, her gaze locking on a single notification: “It’s a Match!”

Elaine gasped, the sound echoing through the empty café. She clicked the alert with trembling fingers. Her match’s profile appeared:

Username: HunterJim84

About Me: Just a guy trying to survive the end of the world. Not looking for trouble—unless you’re trouble, then let’s dance.

Elaine’s lips parted in astonishment.

“Alive. He’s alive,” she breathed, a wild grin spreading across her face. “And he’s funny. Oh, this is going to be delightful.”

She began typing, her excitement overriding her centuries of caution.

***

Elaine hovered over the laptop, her fingers dancing on the keys. She was intoxicated—not on blood, but on hope. Her mind whirred as she composed her first message to HunterJim84.

Elaine: “Hello, stranger. I must say, your profile caught my eye—quite the rarity in these desolate times. What brings you to this peculiar corner of the internet?”

She hit send and immediately regretted it.

“Too formal,” she groaned. “I sound like I’m auditioning for a Victorian drama.”

The reply came faster than expected.

HunterJim84: “Food, water, and keeping my insides where they belong. What about you? You don’t seem the bunker type.”

Elaine smirked. Witty and observant.

Elaine: “I’m more of a castle type, but alas, real estate has been difficult to come by these last few centuries.”

Her fingers paused over the keys. Should she hint at her true nature? No, too soon. Better to keep it mysterious. Before she could overthink, another message appeared.

HunterJim84: “Centuries, huh? Either you’re a history buff or you’re one of them. Which is it?”

Elaine’s smile froze.

Elaine: “One of them?”

HunterJim84: “Don’t play coy. Vampire, right? Or are you just bad at aging gracefully?”

Her fingers hesitated. This was no ordinary match—this man knew far too much. The thrill of a potential connection twisted into something sharper, like a knife pressed to her ribs.

Elaine: “You’ve got quite the imagination, Jim. Should I be flattered or alarmed?”

HunterJim84: “Depends. Are you planning to drain me dry, or just looking for someone to read poetry with?”

Elaine snorted, despite herself. “Touché, Jim.” She typed quickly.

Elaine: “I’ll admit, I’m partial to poetry, though the draining bit does have its appeal. But I’ll behave, as long as you do.”

HunterJim84: “Fair enough. So, what’s a vampire doing swiping through MatchMade? Shouldn’t you be haunting crypts or something?”

Elaine: “Crypts are overrated, and the acoustics are dreadful. Besides, eternal loneliness isn’t as romantic as the novels make it out to be. Why are you here, human? Looking for love in the apocalypse?”

The screen stayed silent for a moment longer than Elaine liked. Finally, the reply came.

HunterJim84: “Something like that. Or at least someone to talk to. Hard to stay sane out here. Even if you’re undead, at least you’re still someone.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Elaine leaned back, her smug facade faltering. She understood the ache of isolation all too well—the endless days blending into one another, the deafening silence of a world without companionship.

But the moment of connection shattered with his next message.

HunterJim84: “Of course, if we met in person, you know I’d have to stake you.”

Elaine’s laugh was sharp, humorless.

Elaine: “Charming. And here I thought chivalry was dead.”

HunterJim84: “Nothing personal. It’s just kind of my job.”

Elaine: “Ah, a professional. How delightful. Let me guess—you’ve got a bunker full of holy water and sharpened sticks?”

HunterJim84: “Something like that. Garlic-flavored rations too. But don’t worry, I’m not coming for you. Yet.”

The threat lingered in the air like a storm cloud, but Elaine couldn’t bring herself to log off. There was something disarming about his honesty, even if it came wrapped in danger.

Elaine: “How gallant of you. Tell me, Jim, what’s the point of hunting vampires if there’s no one left to protect?”

HunterJim84: “Because it gives me a reason to wake up in the morning. What’s your reason?”

Elaine stared at the screen, the question stabbing deeper than any stake could. She started typing, then deleted it. Tried again, then backspaced once more. Finally, she settled on a reply.

Elaine: “I’m still looking for it.”

There was a long pause. She imagined Jim sitting in his bunker, pondering her words. Maybe he was considering logging off, or maybe he was sharpening a stake just in case.

When his next message appeared, it wasn’t what she expected.

HunterJim84: “Guess we’ve got something in common.”

Elaine blinked, caught off guard. Her undead heart didn’t beat, but if it could, it might have skipped. She chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“Well, Jim,” she whispered to the empty café, “you might just be worth the risk.”

***

The glow of the laptop screen painted Elaine’s face in shades of pale blue, accentuating her already ghostly complexion. She sat motionless, like a predator watching its prey, her fingers poised over the keyboard. Jim’s last message had left her with an unfamiliar sensation—something between intrigue and vulnerability.

Could she trust him? Likely not. Should she continue the conversation? Absolutely.

Elaine: “So, Jim, what’s the protocol for two lonely apocalypse survivors on opposite sides of the vampire/hunter divide? Seems we’ve reached a bit of a stalemate.”

The reply came quickly, the digital equivalent of a smirk.

HunterJim84: “Depends. Are you the type to propose a truce, or do I need to start booby-trapping my Wi-Fi router?”

Elaine laughed aloud, the sound echoing in the empty café.

Elaine: “A truce? How diplomatic of you to suggest. And what would that entail? Mutual non-stabbing, for starters?”

HunterJim84: “Non-draining too. Let’s keep it balanced.”

Elaine: “Fair enough. Though you’re safe from me. I’ve developed an unfortunate allergy to synthetic blood substitutes, and as much as I hate to admit it, Type O-Negative isn’t exactly falling from the sky these days.”

HunterJim84: “Convenient. You should know I’ve been living off garlic-laced rations for years. My blood’s probably toxic enough to drop you on contact.”

Elaine paused, then burst into laughter. “Oh, the irony,” she muttered.

Elaine: “A vampire who can’t feed and a hunter whose blood is undrinkable. Sounds like the setup for a terrible joke.”

HunterJim84: “Or a terrible partnership. But hey, we’re both still here, so I guess we’re doing something right.”

Elaine tilted her head, considering his words. A partnership? It was absurd, but so was everything else about their situation.

Elaine: “A partnership, you say? And what would that look like? Are we exchanging bunker-building tips or debating the best apocalypse-proof poetry?”

HunterJim84: “Something like that. Maybe it’s just not killing each other while we wait for the world to end again.”

Elaine’s fingers hovered over the keys. A thousand sarcastic responses bubbled to the surface, but none felt right.

Elaine: “Not killing each other… I suppose that’s a start. And what if we, hypothetically, wanted to take this truce a step further?”

There was a long pause. She imagined Jim pacing in his bunker, weighing her words as though they might explode.

HunterJim84: “You’re serious? You’d trust me enough to meet in person?”

Elaine swallowed hard. The thought had crossed her mind, but the risks were enormous. If Jim truly was a hunter, this could end with a stake in her heart. But wasn’t that better than another century of solitude?

Elaine: “Trust is a strong word. Let’s call it… curiosity.”

HunterJim84: “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

Elaine: “Good thing I’m not a cat.”

She waited, her undead nerves fraying with each passing second. Then, the reply came.

HunterJim84: “Fine. One meeting. Neutral territory. No weapons, no tricks.”

Elaine’s breath caught. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it.

Elaine: “Agreed. Though I must warn you, Jim, if you double-cross me, I’ll haunt your bunker for eternity.”

HunterJim84: “Noted. Same to you.”

The conversation ended there, but Elaine remained seated, staring at the screen. A dangerous dance had begun, and she was teetering on the edge of something she couldn’t quite define.

“Neutral territory,” she murmured, a mischievous smile curling her lips. “Oh, Jim, you have no idea what you’ve signed up for.”

***

The rendezvous point was an abandoned amusement park, its rusty Ferris wheel silhouetted against a blood-orange sunset. Elaine arrived first, stepping lightly across cracked asphalt overrun with weeds. The air was heavy with the scent of mildew and a faint metallic tang that reminded her of spilled soda and regret.

“Neutral territory,” she muttered, looking around. “How quaint.”

She had dressed the part—an elegant black gown that whispered against her legs and a velvet choker to hide the faint discoloration of her throat. If she were about to face a hunter, she might as well look fabulous doing it.

Jim arrived a few minutes later, lugging a backpack and wearing a flannel shirt that screamed practical survivalist chic. He was tall and wiry, with a face that suggested he hadn’t smiled since the pre-apocalypse. A crossbow was slung over his shoulder, though he made a point of not reaching for it.

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on no weapons.”

He gestured to the crossbow. “This isn’t for you. It’s for whatever else might be lurking around here.”

“How thoughtful,” she said dryly.

They stood a few feet apart, sizing each other up like boxers before a match.

“So,” Jim began, his voice gruff, “you’re… taller than I imagined.”

Elaine smirked. “And you’re exactly as flannel as I expected.”

Jim shrugged, shifting his weight. “Flannel’s practical. And let’s be honest, you’re not exactly the little black dress type I had in mind for a vampire.”

Elaine gave an exaggerated gasp, clutching her chest as if wounded. “I’ll have you know this is vintage. But please, let’s move past the fashion critique and onto the part where we both pretend we’re not terrified of each other.”

Jim’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. Almost.

“Fine,” he said, setting his backpack down. “Truce. For now.”

Elaine nodded, stepping closer. “So, Jim, what’s your plan? If we’re not here to kill each other, then what exactly are we doing?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking awkward. “Honestly? I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see if you were real.”

Elaine’s laughter rang out, echoing through the empty park. “Oh, I’m very real. And you’re surprisingly… not as insufferable as I imagined.”

They sat on a rusted bench, the Ferris wheel creaking ominously in the background. Conversation came haltingly at first, like coaxing water from an ancient pump. But soon, they were swapping stories—Jim about life in his bunker, scavenging and fending off mutant raccoons; Elaine about her centuries of solitude, her failed attempts at vegetarianism (“Mice are technically vegetables if you squint,” she joked).

“I guess we’re both survivors in our own way,” Jim said after a while.

Elaine nodded, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “Surviving is easy. It’s the loneliness that’s hard.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower, and the first stars began to flicker in the darkening sky.

“So what now?” Jim asked. “Do we just go back to our separate corners of the apocalypse?”

Elaine tilted her head, considering. “Not necessarily. We could… keep in touch. Keep each other company, even if it’s from a distance.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Like pen pals?”

“More like… apocalypse buddies,” Elaine said with a grin. “We could schedule video calls, exchange survival tips. I could teach you how to brood properly.”

He chuckled, a low, rusty sound that surprised them both. “And I could teach you how to survive on garlic-flavored Spam.”

“Deal,” Elaine said, extending her hand.

Jim hesitated for a moment, then shook it. His skin was warm against hers, and for the first time in centuries, Elaine felt something resembling hope.

As they parted ways, Elaine turned back to him, her voice teasing. “Oh, and Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to update your profile picture. The flannel’s not doing you any favors.”

Jim rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

***

That night, back in the café, Elaine stared at the glowing laptop screen. Her fingers danced over the keys as she set to work on a new project.

“MatchMade” was outdated, clunky, and prone to glitches. But with a little tweaking—and a lot of creativity—she could turn it into something new.

She typed the name: Fang’d.

The tagline came to her in an instant: “Love at first bite—minus the awkward surprises.”

And as she uploaded the first test version, she sent Jim a message:

Elaine: “You’re officially Fang’d’s first beta tester. Try not to break it, darling.”

Jim’s reply came moments later:

HunterJim84: “No promises. But thanks for not killing me.”

Elaine smiled, her fangs glinting in the screen’s glow. “The night’s young, Jim. The night’s young.”