Today’s Chapter will chill you to the bone…

Dive into today’s terrifying tale, a story so unsettling you’ll be questioning every shadow.

For a limited time…

you can subscribe for 50% off!

More fear, more nightmares, half the price.

Dare to unlock the full horror? Subscribe now before the deal vanishes… 👇

👉 Subscribe Now – 50% Off! 👈

FOR SALE: ONE VAMPIRE

©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson

Chapter Four: Auctioning The Undead

The warehouse had become a mausoleum of horrors, but in the suffocating weight of their predicament, the soldiers clung to one last hope—profit. It was Private Demir who first suggested the idea, his voice trembling but laced with something resembling hope.

“If this... thing is what we think it is, someone out there will pay for it,” he said, his bloodshot eyes darting between his comrades.

Corporal Arslan narrowed his gaze. “You’re talking about selling it? A cursed coffin? Do you realize what’s inside?”

Demir shot back, “Exactly! That’s the point. If it’s a Va..er…a you-know-what, like the old stories say—if it’s real—there’s someone out there who’ll pay a fortune for something like this. Rich collectors, cultists, hell, maybe even governments. Ten million. That’s what we ask.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances. They all felt the coffin’s presence, oppressive and cold, but greed and desperation dulled the edge of their fear. They were soldiers stranded in a crumbling world, unnoticed by the chain of command, forgotten amidst the chaos of war. If this cursed artifact could bring them unimaginable wealth, wasn’t it worth the risk?

Sergeant Yilmaz, their de facto leader, leaned back against a frost-covered crate and exhaled slowly. “It’s madness,” he said. “But it’s not the worst idea I’ve heard.”

The others nodded hesitantly. They didn’t trust the coffin—didn’t trust the power radiating from it—but they trusted the allure of ten million dollars…The process of setting up the sale was surprisingly easy. The Turkish unit had long since abandoned their official mission, and with it, any sense of protocol. The war had blurred lines, turning soldiers into scavengers, pragmatists, and, in this case, grave robbers.

The supply truck carried a satellite-connected laptop, a relic from their previous orders that had since become little more than an entertainment hub. Yilmaz commandeered it, brushing aside the dust and booting up the ancient machine. The glow of the screen bathed his face in pale blue light as he hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Even in war, there were things that felt wrong.

But the coffin was worse. It sat in the warehouse, radiating its silent menace, bound in silver, whispering in the dark. They needed to be rid of it. Selling it was just a means to an end.

After some nervous fumbling, they navigated into the darker corners of the internet—the places where the unspeakable was bartered like common contraband. Beyond the weapons markets, past the drug bazaars and human trafficking forums, there existed a network dedicated to artifacts that should not have been unearthed.

Here, items were not merely expensive; they were forbidden.

Grainy photographs displayed urns said to contain the ashes of burned witches. Weathered scrolls inscribed with cryptic symbols promised lost knowledge. Disturbing objects—shrunken heads, blood-stained idols, ritual daggers—were auctioned to bidders whose usernames read like omens.

It was on one such marketplace that they posted their ad:

“FOR SALE: ONE VAMPIRE.Silver-encased coffin. Ancient artifact. Authentic. $10,000,000 USD.Buyer must handle transport. No questions asked.”

To lend credibility—and, perhaps, to entice the right kind of buyer—they included carefully framed photographs, taken in the dim light of the warehouse. The intricate carvings were visible in one image, the heavy chains prominent in another. The ominous she-wolf emblem on the lid was displayed in full view, its golden eyes seeming to glint in the low light. They avoided showing any identifying details of their surroundings.

Then, they waited.

The first responses were predictable.

“$10 mil? How about I give you my soul, lol.”

“You’re all dead men.”

One message was just a string of laughing emojis. Another, more unsettling, simply read:

“Burn it and run, idiots.”

But then, the serious offers arrived.

One bidder, calling himself Collector13, claimed to be a historian specializing in the occult. He offered five million upfront, no questions asked, with a promise of full payment upon delivery. His message was polite, even academic.

Another, using the name BlackSun666, was curt and direct:

“If it’s real, we’ll pay your price. We’re prepared for extraction. Coordinates?”

The soldiers debated the offers deep into the night, their arguments heated and their nerves frayed. Outside, the wolves still howled, their glowing eyes flickering in the dark like ghostly lanterns. Inside, the coffin’s presence grew heavier, as if it sensed their plans and disapproved.

“We take the highest bid,” Demir argued. “The faster we get rid of it, the better.”

“No,” Yilmaz interrupted, his voice firm. “We don’t just pick the highest bidder. We pick the one who can get this thing out of here without... unleashing it.”

“That’s assuming we even can get rid of it,” Kemal muttered, his face pale. “What if this thing doesn’t let us?”

The room fell silent. No one wanted to voice the fear that had taken root in all their minds: that the coffin, the entity inside, wasn’t just waiting—it was watching, calculating, and perhaps influencing them.

But greed outweighed caution.

Yilmaz eventually decided on BlackSun666. The bidder’s offer was clear and unambiguous, and their tone suggested experience with such transactions. They sent a single, encrypted reply:

“Coordinates received. Extraction team en route. ETA Five Days. Do not touch the object.”

“This is a mistake,” Kemal whispered, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breath was shallow, his eyes locked on the crate that loomed in the center of the warehouse like a forgotten tomb.

Arslan exhaled slowly, keeping his voice low. “Too late now,” he muttered, though doubt crept in. His fingers tightened around the stock of his weapon. “They’re coming. We just have to hold out until they take it away.”

But none of them could shake the growing sense that the coffin didn’t want to be moved.

The warehouse was deep in the countryside, miles from the nearest settlement. It had been an old supply depot once, left to rot after the conflict shifted elsewhere. The power was unreliable, the wind screamed through cracks in the corrugated metal, and the only road leading in was little more than a dirt path barely wide enough for their truck.

The isolation should have made them feel safer. It didn’t.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of old oil and dust. It was cold—too cold. Even with the desert heat bleeding away at night, the temperature in the warehouse was unnatural. Their breath fogged. The metal of their rifles bit at their fingers.

No one spoke.

No one wanted to acknowledge the coffin.

It sat in the center of the concrete floor, wrapped in chains, gleaming faintly under the dim overhead bulbs. The she-wolf emblem on the lid almost seemed alive in the flickering light. The heavy, ancient wood looked like it had been carved for a king’s burial—or a prison.

Arslan shifted uneasily. The warehouse was locked. No one could get in. No one could get out.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside was aware of them.

Kemal’s voice broke the silence, hushed and urgent. “This feels wrong.”

“It is wrong,” Yilmaz muttered. He had been quiet until now, lingering near the back, his sidearm hanging loose at his side. “We’re not supposed to be here. That thing isn’t supposed to be here.”

“We’re selling it,” Arslan said, more to convince himself than anyone else. “A few nights. Maybe more. Then it’s gone, and we never speak of this again.”

Demir let out a short, bitter laugh. “You think it’s that simple?” He shook his head. “No one pays ten million dollars for an empty box. Whatever’s inside…” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. “They’re going to let it out.”

No one responded.

Because they all knew he was right.

The wind moaned against the metal walls. The warehouse groaned like an ancient beast in its sleep.

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Subtle.

A scraping noise, like nails against wood.

No one moved. No one breathed.

The chains rattled—just slightly, as if something inside had shifted.

Kemal swore under his breath, raising his rifle. “I heard that.”

“We all did,” Yilmaz muttered.

Arslan took a step forward, boots heavy on the concrete. His stomach twisted with a quiet, creeping dread.

Nothing happened.

The coffin was silent once more.

But none of them could shake the feeling that they were not alone.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR

Please help!

Consider supporting me by making a small donation at “Buy me a coffee”, your support helps me write more books for you.

I pour my heart into writing, editing, and perfecting Crybaby each week to ensure you enjoy every chapter!

If the story is bringing you joy, show your support here…

Thank you for reading.

Your time and curiosity are truly appreciated. Stay tuned for more exciting content and stories.

Until next time!

All the best, Mark 🤩

P.S. Tell your friends…

Share 🎪 Home-made Creepypasta 🎪

Join us on future adventures! Subscribe for the latest projects, creative insights, and exclusive content…

Be the first to dive into upcoming releases, get behind-the-scenes access, and enjoy special treats.

Don't miss out—sign up now! Unlock a world of imagination, inspiration, and storytelling joy with every newsletter.

Thanks for being part of our journey—subscribe and let the enchantment continue!

EXCLUSIVE: Subscribe and enjoy the hilarious science fiction novel The First Mann On Mars and the new horror novels FOR SALE: ONE VAMPIRE and MOLLYJOES…

👉 Subscribe Now – 50% Off! 👈