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Wednesday, October 22, 2014

THE DOLLHOUSE but not Ibsen's .... 10/22/14

The maid brought in a decanter filled with wine. A tiny, delicate piece of art. I don't know how they made it. And the vintage within was much like Mediterranean 'new wine' I remember from my mortal boyhood. Who knows if they even have grapes here. But they obviously grow some fruit suitable for fermentation and it tastes good. Even the children got some. What difference could forbearance possibly make here?

After that she brought in a miniature brick of cheese. I'd say it was similar to a sweet munster. We each had some. I asked the little girl her name. She didn't understand me. I knew that. But sometimes children sense things. The father figure told me to call her Sheila. I did. She giggled. The boy just played with his napkin. Odd how the fabric is so fine and supple, considering how large the 'hands' that make it.

The mother figure said something in her tongue, got up and retired to another room. Then the little girl stopped grinning and rolling her eyes, pushed out her chair, went to the little boy, took him by the hand and led him off.

What do they all do? What passtimes can they have here? - I asked...... The father figure Aussie shrugged and said - There's a harpsichord. Well, I call it a harpsichord. Primitive thing it is. But it works, after a fashion and you can play tunes on it. Keys are arranged a bit different than ours. I can manage a few old hymns.... Waltzing Matilda? - I said... But the Aussie didn't know what I meant. Waltzing Matilda came after his time. 

A tardis sized (to us) ormolu table clock chimed the hour. In that way this place resembled Earth... seven o'clock. A towering (might as well have been Godzilla) dog-maid came in, gently roused the blond, afghan looking thing and helped her prepare for dinner. Now I was told, if we were in a townhouse, there would have been gaslights. But out here in the home counties oil lamps were the rule. Tiny ones for the doll house. Oak tree sized ones for the dog creatures.... They shed a cozy glow. 

In a still small voice Tomas said - What do the children do? Where do they go? Do they play?....The father figure said - There's a playroom, a nursery of sorts. Dolls. Soldiers. Board games. They must be like miniature petit point is to us. The toys, I mean. I saw it in Sydney once at a fair.  They work under magnifying glasses. Metal thing holds it. Remarkable. Them dogs must do something like that..... Tomas said - Maybe the people in the cellar do it?... But the man just shook his head. He didn't want to believe that. Said - Tell me, if they're real, if they're down there, why aren't we down there too?..... Tomas looked at him and said - That's easy. You talk.

Then he watched as the maid helped the blond female change into a formal dinner dress. She smoothed the fabric and added a necklace, studied herself in a huge cheval mirror and left. Both tiny humans breathed a sigh of relief when the tall door clicked shut.

The Aussie showed Tomas the music room and played a few songs on the harpsichord. Then they retired to the library. The books were large, more like artist folios. The script indecipherable, like medieval, block German meets Talmudic Hebrew. But the illustrations were exquisite... fine and detailed. Canine pirates scaled the rigging. Guard dog soldiers knelt before kings. Heroines pined by garden walls. They discussed a few. The Aussie went upstairs first. The maid kept vigil in the hall. She'd lead Tomas through the shadows and show him where to sleep. Til then he sat by the fire (tiny cinders of long burning coal) and thought... How would he survive? Whom should he devour? How would he live, hiding in the walls like vermin? And the spiders. Were there other spiders, other creatures, other things? There must be. And worst of all, even the sun couldn't kill him here.

So he went upstairs. The maid settled him into a small room with a dormer window. Dog-woman couldn't see through that. And he slept under a tiny, satin duvet.

But the hunger gnaws hard on a life-eater. Two hours later he woke up and prowled the darkness... looking for someone to kill.

<more next time>


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Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland~~> THIS IS HOW MY NaNoWriMo NOVEL ENDS. SCROLL BACK & SEE HOW IT BEGINS: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...: BINGO BOY - post 65 So the new house at the shore was all filled up that night. Marge and Jimmy in their room. Ricky and Little Chrissie ...No vampires. Not really paranormal, save for a few, well meaning, disembodied spirit narrators. Sixty five episodes, each about as long as this one. Please click on the '65th Bingo Boy episode (like a film treatment) ... above. If you want to see it all, click OLDER POST at bottom of each posting. Or look at the TOP of blog page for simple instructions for getting to the beginning (in the white letter 'header' info). A strange, but nice romance, with cute babies, nosy neighbors, a crumby bingo hall and a prisoner kept in a cage, down in the cellar of a narrow, Philadelphia row house. 

We're hoping for a movie....

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Monday, October 20, 2014


The father figure at the table said - Welcome. What part of the forest did you come from?..... And the little girl began to laugh. She seemed a bit crazy. The others just sat, heads bowed and ate their food.... Tomas said - I come from the city of Philadelphia, in a nation called America, on a planet known as Earth.... No one said a word. But the father figure did nod, though. He motioned to a chair and Tomas sat down. The maid, standing by a sideboard, asked if she should bring him some dinner.... Tomas whispered - No.... The father figure said - I am from that place. Not your America.Not your Philadelphia.... Then he stopped and picked at his food.... After what seemed like a polite interval, Tomas asked - Please sir, where are you from?..... The man said - The eastern shore of nowhere, a place in the antipodes... Do you mean Australia? - asked Tomas... The man nodded, then said - I suppose you want to hear about the rest..... Not as a question, but a statement. The mother figure dabbed her eyes. The little boy put down his fork and folded his hands.

She comes from somewheres else. I mean a whole other place. A planet, I mean. But I don't know where it is. Don't talk her talk. Know a little bit. Same with her. Same with all of them....them kids... that maid. Got a 'granny woman' and a 'young uncle' upstairs. They are of a more delicate nature and rarely dine with the rest of us.

Tomas said - How did you get here?..... The father figure said - You ever hear about a book called Alice In Wonderland? I think it's Alice In Wonderland. Well I found a rabbit hole too. At least that's what I call it..... When did you come? - said Tomas... The man said - You mean what year?... The vampire nodded..... Eighteen seventy - said the man. Burke and Wills weren't the only ones. You know them? You know Lewis and Clark? Well they're like them, only where I come from. We tried cuttin' 'cross east to west, Australia, I mean. Had a pack of Aborigines run out ahead. All different kind, from all different places. Figured they talked the talk, or something like it. But you can go for months and not see no people. See spiders, though... dingoes... Australian 'tigers,' bats. We ate the bats when food ran out. Boomerangs brought 'em down. Aborigine fella from some place I ain't never heared of teach us. One day, I go lookin' for water. Didn't find no water. Found this 'Bedlam' (British colloquial for insane asylum) instead. (gestures toward huge dog-woman snoring away on the gigantic chaise) Some dingo, though. Ain't I right?

Tomas goes - And them?.... The Australian explorer says - Same as me... rabbit holes, or whirlwinds, or whirlpools, or flush crappers. They got flush crappers where you from?.... Tomas goes - Yes.... Explorer goes - I seen 'em.  Some hotels had a few. Rich folks. That kind a thing. That's how I know. What year you from?..... When Tomas answers 'twenty seventeen' the man starts laughing... He says - Bet you had a whole lot a flush crappers  by then?..... Tomas laughs. Doesn't want to tell him 'bout the troubles and all them warlords and all.

Mother figure tries to say something, but he can't understand her. Father figure gets angry and shuts her up. She bows her head. Little girl cackles. Cracks a fish eye 'tween her teeth. Maid leans against the wall real quiet like. But she's looking. Tomas knows she's looking... Little boy tears up. Turns out he was the first one there... All by himself. Dollhouse used to have little carved, dog family in it. Still got 'em in the cellar. Must a been rough on that little guy. Wonder where he lived when them jewelers fit it out for real folks? Tomas learns all this later.

Maid knows he's a vampire though. Mumbles something in her own language. Says a prayer. She's gonna be the first to go. Tomas knows that. When he tries to tell the Australian guy about all the 'cattle' humans in the kitchen, guy won't listen. You know how people are.

Tomas points toward the dog-woman and says - Aren't you worried about her?... Australian shrugs and goes - Nah, novelty wore off. Used to watch us through the windows all the time. Sometimes we give her a show (throws little kiss to mother figure, who pretends not to notice) I even picked up a word or two in doggie talk. Sonny boy over there knows more than me. We're lucky she feeds us and brings us crap now. She got a dog-maid. That's who fills them water bottles for the sinks and tubs and all. Don't worry. We'll hide you. She won't know. Be tight rations, but we'll manage... Right mate?

But the vampire doesn't answer... And the Aussie acts like he knows something too.


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Sunday, October 19, 2014

When The Angels Call Your Time - Wily Bo Walker... a detour into what I call VAMPIRE BLUES ... 10/19/14

Listen to the naughty, nighttime blues of London's Wily Bo Walker and tell me this ain't what vampires listen to in little boites  (do I spell it right?) tucked away on dark, narrow cobbled lanes in old cities throughout the world.

I swim in this music when I write. Edith, our Jersey Pine Barrens witchy woman found it for me. They feel it all in The Pines. 

Was gonna put it up last time, but got lost in it. Folks in England know. New everywhere else. You among the foist. 

Too late to channel our Tomas - Among - the -Giant - Civilized - Human - Eating - Dog - People (is that a compound word?) arc. I am cravin' a bit more sleep lately. Lengthening nights does that to me...Hibernatin' time.

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Thursday, October 16, 2014

Marlene Dietrich - Lili Marleen.... Tomas Encounters a Canine Woman Very Much Like Her... 10/16/14

Tomas climbed the table skirt and approached the (on his scale) huge, glass doors. The human creatures pressed their foreheads against the  inside of the barrier straining to see this unexpected visitor.  But the brass framed doors were well made. They locked tight, with no way to slip in. He stepped back, looked up shook his head and gestured. The man, up above, peered down from the carefully fashioned, miniature living room and shook his head too. Odd that we use the same signals - Tomas thought.... No one expects finding like-minded folk in such exotic places. The children and some of the others looked down too. They all seemed so sad.

Our misplaced 'vampire' (by now quite hungry) made ready to climb back down. He imagined the people 'upstairs' to be specially favored 'food' humans from the kitchen and the cellar. What could he do for them? But just as he was about to slip over the edge, he heard a footfall in the hallway... a gigantic footfall. Something 'canine' this way comes. He jumped up and ran 'round to the front of the dollhouse, hiding himself in some green, more or less, pipe cleaner bushes.

It walked in and closed the door. Such a soft, metallic click. Then it sat down on a satin chair and looked in the mirror.... a dressing table for dog-folk women... Tomas could see this, for he crept out and peeked  'round a corner. A little girl from the 'family' inside waved to him through a basement window. He ignored her, because what sat before him was far more compelling.

A dog-woman, in a long, silk, dressing gown, she was, quietly studying her delicate Afghan face in the carefully silvered glass. She sat there and didn't move. Then she picked up an engraved hairbrush and began to pull it through her long, wavy, blond tresses. After perhaps thirty or forty strokes she put it down and sighed. Then she laughed... a small laugh. Tomas supposed it was a laugh. Dog ways were still strange to him. Her left 'hand' trembled. She held it in her lap. Then she roused herself, found something in a drawer and took it out... a small, enameled pot. She opened it, dipped in a finger and delicately began to apply some sort of gel to her eyelashes. After that came a larger, round container filled with dusting powder, lightly worked into her short, mohair-like facial coat with a stiff bristled, artist's brush. She looked at the results. Was she satisfied? Who knows? She just sat. She just looked.

Maybe thirty six heartbeats later came a slight tapping noise. The 'father' rapped against his side of the glass with a tiny walking stick. The dog-woman heard (they do have superior hearing, you know). She stared toward the scaled down residence through half closed eyes. Then she got up, went over to the dollhouse, flipped the precision crafted, tiny, brass latch and opened the doors. Everyone stepped back. This was a dance. They'd done it before. The melancholy dog-woman reached into her pocket and took out two very small parcels... carefully folded squares of stiff waxed tissue paper, such as jewelers might use to wrap individual gemstones. To the eager humans they measured three feet square, each tied up with fine, silk thread. Then the female canine thing went over to a tufted chaise lounge and laid down for a before dinner nap. Must look well for guests. Appearances are everything.

The chatelaine of the petit palace took out a pair of minute, golden scissors and opened the parcels. One held foodstuffs... tiny, smoked fish, big-eyed fry from some unknown species.... a toy sized mound of diced bean sprouts (who did the dicing, I cannot tell)... some coffee... some cocoa... a few grape slices ... a small dollop of marzipan and something else. Such was dinner. The other parcel had exquisitely fashioned examples of tiny clothing...interior wear... shirts, blouses, stockings, that sort of thing.... Could be the work of intelligent bees, as far as I know..... Well practiced hands stowed everything away... Every faucet worked (via small, daily filled, carefully concealed bottles). One even dispensed wine. You should see the almost microscopic silverware. 

But she didn't close the door. Tomas never heard it click and he never heard the latch flip into place. Vampire ears he had, keen as any dog... and he knew. So he moved 'round to the place where the front of the house meets the right hand wall and peeked. The dog-woman was sleeping. Not only that, the giantess had rolled over, facing the other way. A depressed soul, she was. Lost love and all that. Thus the classic Dietrich song up above. Please listen.

So Tomas carefully tip toed 'round and stepped inside. It was quiet. The hand laid parquetry gleamed. A tiny 'tall clock' (with a dial exactly like those on Earth) softly ticked. A Queen Anne mansion in every way, though also a prison too.

He found them in the dining room, where a hear-to-fore unseen maid served dinner. The father person, without looking up, said,"We heard you come in. Please... sit down."

But Tomas froze, for the father person addressed him in English...


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Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Minnie The Moocher<~~ this in my mind when I write this stuff TOMAS IN DOGLAND... 10/15/14

Night-Folk love Big Bad Voo Doo Daddy. And after four years blogging for them, I love it too... Le Swing Noir is the best.

Now back to DOGLAND ~~~~~~~

Wait a minute...This is narrative evolution. I can see it. DOGLAND ... Philly in the 30's, 'cept all the people are CGI anthropomorphic canines. The cars.. The clothes... The booze... The music... Perfect for cable. All played straight. Just that they're dogs... showgirl dogs... cop dogs... momma dogs... priest dogs and just plain bitches... Listen to the video up above. Can't you see it? Come on... a biscuit for your thoughts.

Now back to our story~~~~~~~~~~

Tomas woke up. Somebody was making noise. He peeked out from under the dresser. The cook was gone. Must be killing  lunch. But a big, hulking, Mastiff woman was cleaning up. And this one moved furniture. BAM! BANG! (bed went flying from the wall). Gets in there real good with like an Edwardian Swiffer... a feather duster on a long pole... cleans the base board... gets down on her hands and knees to do the floor.... THUD! WOOMP! Bed goes back.... Spits out some dog talk curses. Opens a bottle of cologne on the bureau. Smells it. Puts it back. Spits out a few more curses. Shoves her long handled feather duster under a tall chest. She's getting close. Tomas gets worried. What if she lifts the dresser? What if she shoves it aside? What if she sees him? He waits til she gets down on the floor to retrieve some coins that her bob-tailed ass knocked off a night table. Uniform's got a little tail-hole in it, but sometimes the tail slips out. Dogs always saying - Excuse me, while I go adjust my tail hole... Human people'd say - Ooh! I gotta put powder my nose, so it don't run away... 

or... Excuse me, 'cause I think I peed a little... But dog-folk got their own thing.

When Mastiff thing down on the floor, Tomas makes his move... runs out and grabs hold of her hem... not on the outside, on the inside. He don't want her to see him... And he hangs on most of the day. While she eats a shish kebab of whole roast pigs on a skewer.... enough for like three Hawaiian luaus ... He holds on when she climbs the service stair to the second floor to dust and steal change up there.

Then he jumps off and sees a room with a doll house. He goes in. No one else is around.... a little, puppy-girl room, all mauve and pale pink and frilly. Baby (dog) dolls all over... But on a small, skirted table is this doll house.... like a full sized Queen Anne in his own world, only here it's a toy for a child. The back wall, the one facing him, is open, like doll house back walls always are. But this one's not really open. There's a glass barrier on it... a carefully made, snug, tight barrier, framed in brass, divided down the middle with a little lock... And when he cranes his head back and looks up at it, he sees people inside... other little people like himself. Whether or not any of them were vampires (or even witches, for that matter) he did not know. They rocked in chairs and talked to each other. One brushed her hair in a bedroom. Another bangs his head against the glass. But at his size it doesn't even vibrate.

A man, maybe he was supposed to be the father, or a grandfather, saw Tomas, yelled something to the others and they all ran to the 'fourth wall' and peered out. The tiny children were so cute. Tomas couldn't see it, but there was a thick rope of velvet piping where the doll house floors touched the glass to prevent the valuable 'toys' from falling down from one level to the next, or not falling down and getting stuck. They seemed shocked to see him, for they had absolutely no knowledge of the food-people in the cellar.... The mother 'toy' took the little boy 'toy's' hand. She seemed to be crying...

But Tomas was hungry... They were mortal and he was not. So he climbed up the tiny rose patterned skirting to get a better look...

<more next time... if you want you can scroll back to see what you've missed>


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A few hours later, when the kitchen staff came in, Tomas was ready, but he didn't know what to do. Two females, the cook and the head-pincher-offer from before plus a little, Boston Terrier looking errand boy. Every big house had a runner and he was it. They did have a bell system... little brass chains hanging from a plaque on the wall. But 'the master' likes quiet.

Sunlight streamed through the large windows flooding the place with winter light. The granite counters reflected like mirrors... the white cupboards... the white hexagonal tiled floors.... cream colored crockery. If Martha Stewart was a giant dog, she'd have loved the place.

Then they fired up the stove, a great, wrought iron and brass, coal burning affair. The pathetic naked humans hiding in the rectangular glass tank knew. They had to know. But there was no sign of life. The shredded paper layer at the bottom was still. Tomas watched everything from behind the tank, wedged into the narrow space between the glass and the wall. He crouched down, as low as possible. Vampires don't cramp, not after a few hours anyway. On some level he enjoyed the sunlight. Apparently this sun was different than his sun, or whatever hand stirred the celestial pot created different ordinances for different places. Here humans were morsels, shrimp sized tidbits adding goodness and flavor to a multitude of recipes.

The cook said something to the errand 'boy' sitting half asleep on a stool by the counter. Canine dialect was highly inflected.
Pitch and tone are everything. He roused himself, pulled a shiny metal bowl from a deep drawer and began to pick people out of the tank. That's when the straw-like bedding began to move,as the doomed humans piled into a corner. They always run toward the back, usually the right hand side, as far away from the stove as possible. Bruising didn't matter. There were fractures too. They made little mewling sounds. Noise was bred out long ago.

The Boston Terrier 'boy' (in his navy wool, short sailor suit and black stockings) raked them up with his somewhat humanish, evolved, doggie fingers. He had to shake them off into the bowl. Heads cracked. Skin ripped. Some died. They were the lucky ones. The kitchen girl deftly picked up a person and pinched off its head, just as she did to the three during the night, only this time she didn't eat any. Not with her boss around. She knew better than that. Cook dredged them, one by one, in a flour and egg mixture before dropping them into a big, black, sizzling skillet. Sometimes the kitchen girl forgot to pinch off a head. She worked so fast, after all. But those sorry souls were pan fried two... burnt little heads with 'o' shaped mouths, eyes shut tight and knees drawn up. Tomas saw it all. One young girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old, survived the culling. She dug down deep into the excelsior, her cheek pressed hard against the glass, eyes shut tight as the people in the pan. Tomas looked at her through the glass. What would she gain? They'd find her tomorrow. Did she know the people in the pan? Could she smell them? Could she pray?

An omelet they made. More like a big frittata (crustless quiche) with peppers and onions and helpless slaughtered people. One hundred and nine souls served up in this cousin to a pizza. Cook plated everything just so. Then two formally attired Doberman footmen came in to carry it out. After that they assembled simpler fare for the staff.

Tomas watched. He studied everything with keen vampire eyes. Cook wore a long, full, starched white apron, still surprisingly clean. It had pockets, but they were neatly pinned shut. She never used them. Too fastidious for that. Trained in the old ways and proud of it. And she bustled about the kitchen, working here at the counter, or turning to face the sink. Kitchen girl was a long way off polishing silver. Not the good set used for dinner, but a casual collection seen at luncheon, or tea. And the errand boy was long gone, off to fetch shawls for chilly Greyhound aunts, or a forgotten pipe for the old master.

If I can reach the apron strings - Tomas thought - I can climb 'round and slip into a pocket. She must take a break before luncheon. Tomas knew something of baronial domesticity from his days in Restoration England. So he watched and waited. But it proved easier than he thought. She came over to the counter and reached up high, straining to return a sugar bowl to its place. Her pocket was right there. So he darted out from behind the tank, raced to the edge (almost falling off) and slipped inside. The pathetic young girl in the tank saw him go. Imagine what she thought.

After a time, some of which he spent pressed tight against various bull-nosed edges, she returned to her quarters where she took off the apron and hung it from a hook. Then she eased herself into a chair and dozed. Tomas waited till the snores were loud and regular. Those with experience in the matter know dogs snore too. Then he poked his head up out of the pouch looking for a means of escape. One apron string fell down to the floor. Rapunzel's braid offered no finer road. So he climbed out and made his way down ( equal to a ninety foot drop in his world), scampering off to hide beneath a commode. Eighteen heartbeats later he thought better of it. What if she relieved herself? What if she emptied it? She'd see him then. No, the commode was no good. The graceful, little cut-out at the bottom of the legless dresser was better. So he raced over and dived in, cool and secure in the welcoming darkness.

No spider here. He was grateful for that.

Then he fell into a vampire nap and dreamed of Old Kashmir.

<more next time>


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