Tuesday, November 25, 2014

The Vampire, Tomas, Becomes Attuned To Things... 11/25/14

We huddle together during the night. Days are bad enough, but nights are brutal. There's a layer of dried, plant particles on the floor. The den's full of it. Mostly leaves, I suppose. The humans burrow into it, just like they used to dig in under the excelsior in the glass tank in the kitchen. But it's still cold. We find dead ones every morning. 

Polidori (new vampire) had an idea.... use the corpses as bait. Drag them out where the mice will find them. So that's what we did. Caught one right away. Polidori jumped on it. Vaulted right onto it's back, just like an ancient Minoan bull jumper. Grabbed hold of the ears and held on. It squealed. It ran. Tried to knock him off in the brambles. Scratched him up pretty good. But he's a vampire. They heal fast. Thing got tired. Mice can move quick, but only over short distances. When it stopped to catch its breath, he bit in. Now mouse blood's not the same as human blood. But this universe isn't Earth either. Things are different. Do they overlap? Sure. But they're still different. He was nourished in a half-assed sort of way. And the mouse easily had a body mass equal to two and a half or three times that of a person. There was more than enough, so Tomas had some too. Not his cup of tea. But he was curious and this was taking too long. Soon after, it squeaked to a mousy god, shuddered, gasped and lay still, legs stiff, on it's side, the way they always do.

Then they peeled off the skin. Humans watched. One or two smart ones began to help. Repulsive sickening work. Had to force their finger nails under the hide. But what did they know from that? Just a matter of survival. Now being Australian, Polidori understood something about sheep. He knew how to stretch and dress a hide. Sheepskin gives good leather, thick, pliable and what with the fleece, incredibly warm. This wasn't that. Yet when properly prepared would provide robes for two people. Nothing fancy... More Neanderthal than Cro Magnon. If they can kill a few every week, they'd all be warm... or warmer. Built frames out of twigs. Polidori showed them. And via that 'skin talk' they have (stroke each other's faces picking up chemical 'words' along the way) 'smarts' travel fast. 

Did they eat the carcass? Of course. Country folk on Earth eat muskrat. In the tropics, fire roasted rat is a delicacy. It eats the grain and the farmers eat it. Thus they recoup their losses. Fire kills anything, even the germs. Soon they had quite a little community. Killed a few shrews too, but mice are easier. 

Tillie, the other vampire Tomas made, picked up some words. She learned English, naturally, because Tomas and Polidori spoke that, plus a few words of classical Spanish from Tomas too. Might have been Old Vahmperigo, the life-eater dialect. They are fairly similar. She appreciated her new, grey, mouse fur kimonos. The made snug boots too. Rodent couture was 'in' that year. The extra layer or two of insulation did the trick. People stopped dying. Oh, once a weasel came 'round. To the Mouse Skin Wearers it was an apatosaurus. But Tomas quickly sublimated through the head and killed it. Though it did crush a little boy under a sharp clawed paw. All the humans had to climb over it to get out of the den. They had to leave. It was too big. They couldn't move it. But a few yards away there was another den. From the smell, it probably belonged to some mice, though they were long gone. What with the vampires and other humans, what chance did they have? You know mouse bones make good spears? Leg bones telescope together. Sharp too.

Weeks passed. Soon it was time to feed. Tomas needed to kill. Local vampires, ones made here, had no such rhythms. They could kill. But regular small drinks were enough. The 'burden' rested different on them. It's always like that. Even Earth has different strains.After a while they formed 'harems' of compliant humans willing to share their blood. And the donors benefited too. Got choice hunks of mouse meat and nicest robes.

But vampires, at least Tomas' kind, get very aware come feeding time. He felt the air and the night and the damp and the soil. He smelled each and every mortal. How unique they were... How irresistible. The very particles of creation vibrated with a certain resonance...an 'Earth' resonance... It felt like home.

He lay there, curled up in the dark, listening to the world around him.... each breath and the subtle 'hum' of the planet beneath him.

Intersecting universes have overlapping resonances... That's how they intersect. So Earth, although thousands of light years away, was quite accessible in other ways.

Tomas felt that... and it tortured him.

Sometimes he almost heard voices.....


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Saturday, November 22, 2014

indulge him a bit~~ TOMAS shares an Old Original Hanukah Tale.. 11/22/14

The life-eater, Tomas, also known as Jonathon, sits with some surviving children, under a hedgerow, snug in a burrow once belonging to a long gone ground squirrel. Although it is roughly the time of year we call February in our world, a soft snowfall puts him in mind of another place and another time. Do these strange, foreign children understand him? Not every word. Earthly speech is so new to them. But they all absorb the heart of it.

Tomas, also known as Jonathon speaks, as he sits by a tiny fire (basically a collection of embers) with the children and their 'parents.' He tells them a tale originally created for two young ones in London, three hundred and fifty years ago, just prior to his crossing , hidden in a chest, deep in the hold of The Good Ship Welcome.

Jews had just been allowed back into the land, after a centuries long absence going back to The Crusades. But their numbers were small and winters were cold. So he came into a nursery one night, rather like Peter Pan, though that miraculous creature had not yet been revealed.

And Jonathon said ~

One child, a boy, was still awake. And by the low orange glow in the grate, he saw the long, heavy draperies billow into the room, as the being known as Jonathon sublimated through the tall, palladian window, coming to rest upon the thick 'Turkey' carpet.

Sitting upright, the young lad, in a quiet voice, asked, "What manner of genii are you!?"

I said. " No manner, boy. I hail from another part of God's enchanted wood." Perhaps my referencing the Devine soothed him. For he hugged his knees, waiting for me to go on. 

I knew what night this was. It was The Season of The Rededication, the First Night of Hanukah, which is merely the Hebrew word for that event. And I knew how it felt being a stranger in a strange land. Perhaps they did not celebrate at all, as his father was busy setting up the basics of a community. Small holidays, beloved by children are easy to forget.

"Know ye this night, boy?" I said. ... He nodded.... "Then tell me."..... In a child's voice he answered, "This is First Light, the first night of Hanukah," and he sighed. Obviously the occasion had not come up to his standards.....

Then the other young one, little brother to the first, woke too and he moaned, frightened by an unexpected personage (me) in their midst. His brother said, "No, Jacob. Don't be afraid. Come to me."... The boy, little more than a toddler, quickly padded over to his brother's bed and jumped in, giving me an exceptionally wide berth as he zipped by. They huddled under the covers. I heard the big one whisper something... "He's like a genii, but not a genii," he said.... The little one said, "Did he give you any presents?"... His brother shook his head and whispered, "No, be quiet. Let him talk. I think he wants to talk."

So I went on.... "I come to you from far away."... "Amsterdam?" said the big one..... "No," I answered,"Much farther than that."... "Where?" asked the little brother.... "From far beyond the great River Sambation, a magical stream, quite passable all days but the Sabbath, when it flows with a frothy torrent none can withstand. For on that day, all boatmen must rest. And even the fish lay quiet with their fishlings in snug, little riverbank caves, listening to fishy prayers.

"What's on the other side?" whispered the big one...... "Mountains, boy, mountains. The highest of which is Har (Hebrew for height, or mountain) Hanukiah, the Mountain of Hanukah."..... "They have a mountain for it?" asked the little brother..... I nodded... "A tall, snowy peak. Unicorns nest there. And right by the summit is the House of Papa Mattathias, the steadfast priest who refused to forget The Lord in the time of Antiochus Epiphanes. Do you know these names?" I asked... They nodded, for theirs was a home well steeped in Scripture.

"What's the house like?" said the big one... "Warm and tight, with strong, stone walls the color of doves. And bright, little windows looking out upon the cool, green valley below. And think not that Papa Mattathias lives all alone, for he does not. Two and twenty cherubs are always with him. One for each letter of The Holy Script. They help him in his work and he takes care of them. Every morning he asks. 'How goes it in the world?' and the cherubim fly off upon beautiful unicorns to find out. But do not look for them. For no mortal can see them pass. In that way, Papa Mattathias learns. 

"What does he do, up on the mountain, all day long?" queried the little one, who seemed quite concerned by it all.... "He fashions things for those in need. Blankets for the poor and plows for farmers. Prayer books for the faithful and parchment for scribes. But he never forgets the children. And every year, throughout The Feast of The Rededication, he sends them cheer in many ways."

"You mean he remembers us? He has something for us? Me and my brother, I mean"

I nodded... "Oh yes. He remembers you. And according to the cherubim, you've been very, very good."

"Are you a cherub?" asked the big one.

What could I say? I'd Hanukahed myself into a corner. So I said, "Yes."...... They inhaled in expectation. Then the little one said."What?"..... "What do you mean 'What?'" I asked....."What did he send us? What does Papa Mattathias have for us?"

Thinking fast, I reached into my waistband and pulled out my purse, just a soft, suede, pouch really, tied to my belt with a braided cord, but filled with golden ducats from far off Venice. Vampires favor Venetian coinage. Don't ask me why. There were eight of them, large and bright and yellow. A fortune in that land..... "He sent these for you," I said, "to buy playthings and sweetmeats and whistles and kites."

How delighted they were. I had to quiet them lest they giggled too loud. Then I put the heavy coins back into the purse, pulled it closed and hung it from a bedpost where they'd find it in the morning.

After, I regaled them with tales of pirates and mermaids in the warm waters of southern seas, til they drifted off to sleep. 

When they awoke, I was gone. The eldest looked about in a panic, fearing it was all a dream. But the soft suede pouch was still there. 

Needless to say, Hanukah was very good that year. They bought many things and played dreydel (spinning top game) for the finest currants and almonds from the finest costermonger (like a grocer) in all of London.

Did their parents believe them? I suppose they did. Miracles sometimes happen. What else could they think? The children told their friends and the grown-ups told their neighbors, til everyone knew the tale. And if parents had to take on the role of Papa Mattathias and his cherubs, so be it. Truth comes in many boxes.

On other nights, during The Feast of Christmas, I made similar visits and told similar tales to other children.

You see, the details might differ, but the story stays the same.


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Friday, November 21, 2014


The winter season in this place is almost over. I can tell. There are signs. Nine foot crocuses (at least nine foot compared to me) blossom by the hedgerows.  The big manor house is almost empty... no giant canines... no tiny, 'two inch' people. I haven't looked, but Polidori (a newly created vampire) says the upper 'mushroom trays' in the cellar are filled with dead dried up people. They couldn't climb down. No one watered the sprouts and mushrooms or dripped water into the little, metal-lined 'stream.' They starved and died of thirst. There's a few dead humans in that glass tank on the counter too. Tillie (another newly minted vampire) goes in there. It fascinates her, the way she used to live. She runs her palm over the thick, green glass and peers inside. They're there, she knows, forever hiding beneath straw-like excelsior. She can smell them. Vampires hate stinks like that.

I go out into the fields sometimes. Look, who knows if they were ever fields. 'Fields' signifies farms. I don't know if those dog things ever grew anything there. Maybe they're just meadows. Do they have meadows in the winter time? There's no flowers, or butterflies. Who knows. I saw two mice eating a dead human. They peeled off tiny strips of what looked like beef jerky. No, not beef jerky... chicken jerky. Poor bastard, the human, I mean, must have frozen to death. Damn those mice are big. They see me. I know they see me. But I spook them. Animals feel things. Don't have words for it, but they know.... Stay away. Don't bother that one... Maybe that's what they say... or whatever it is they do. 

I could kill them. I could run and go and sublimate right through them. Their bones and meat and hair and ears would fall down on the dirt like rain. But I don't do that. I let them live... What did they do?

Later, just before dark, two of them go buy.... Not mice... giant canine creatures, I mean. Not grown ones. These were juveniles..... a sad little girl, except she was eight stories high and carried a 'toddler' the size of  King Kong. They don't make a sound. She wears bright yellow rubber boots. Canine creatures loved their children too, you know. I suppose the humans already got to their place, wherever that is, and killed all the other dog people. Not regular humans... vampire humans, I mean. And I have no idea how many there are.

They wouldn't listen. I tried to teach them. Don't over-kill. Once a month is enough. If you have to, take little drinks here and there... Just don't kill.....

But they do kill... And the night-gift spreads like a plague. 'Night-gift,' why do I call it that? Day doesn't scare them here. I don't know why. Maybe there is science behind it? Maybe it's not all 'spiritual.' I like to think of it that way... Me, Tomas also known as Jonathon, a vampire who still believes. I can't not believe.

What will happen here? Will they become slightly more fastidious zombies? Look how culture effects me. 'Zombies,'... I called them 'zombies.'...... Do you know what genuine Caribbean, Haitian and Creole zombies are really like? What they call 'zombies' back in my world are not zombies. I don't know what they are. But they're no more real than Thunder Cats. 

It gets dark. The juvenile dog girl and her baby brother (I imagine that's who he is) come back from wherever they've been. Maybe there's a place she goes to find food?... Maybe a bush with cold, icy berries on it? I hope they survive... A world with towering dog people and chess set size humans, some of whom are vampires..... Why not?

I feel tinges sometimes... Earth tinges... vibrations really. I can tell. I know what they feel like.... the waxing and waning of the moon.

And I've been there too.

<Tomas sighs, turns and walks back into the brambles at the bottom of the hedgerow... True night falls. Stars come out. Dead leaves dance in the wind>

<more next time>


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Thursday, November 20, 2014

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: Sarah is being targeted. She received something in the mail. It was a big, formal, rather old fashioned envelope, the kind used during the b... 

~~~~ When the vampires confronted misguided, though vigilant mortals. Please click on where it says '... The Book of Sarah..' two lines up. A good place to jump into Vampire wonderland... The Early Night.

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: Sarah and I have much in common. We both lost our parents at a most vulnerable age. She, after they lost their money. Her father had a stro...

~~~~~~~~ Please click on that '...The Book of Sarah...' line just above to hear Tomas speak about the early nights... his first as a vampire and what happened to his family and the other life-eater who made him.

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: First of all, we must agree that what comes next i...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: First of all, we must agree that what comes next i...: First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. The coming of Sarah. ... 'Sarah' the name means princess , as in Sarah,... ~~~ Please click on that "...First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction...' line up above for a taste of how this all began.

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Wednesday, November 19, 2014


Treadwell.... Their name was Treadwell, a rather financially secure old Methodist family with Episcopalian leanings. The Missus wanted a place near the square, Rittenhouse Square, or possibly out in the new suburb of Chestnut Hill. With the train one could be there in half an hour. She had cousins there and spent Saturdays with them along the cozy, commercial elegance of Germantown Avenue. Ladies never traveled alone, even on what was essentially a commuter line. Shop girls might, or domestics engaged for 'day work' for more or less middle class housewives. But strivers like the Missus never would. So I went with her to carry parcels, or ask the man in the little ticket booth what time the train would leave..... Was she so anxious to get home? No. The Mister only married her for the money. She knew that, but never let on. Why give him the satisfaction?

I'd have lunch with them, the Missus and her cousin, in a snug, little tearoom fronting 'The Avenue' right where it met Mermaid Lane. They'd sit at a small table near the window. Not right in the window. That spot was for ignorant parnevues. And sunlight through the multi-paned bay could be so unflattering at certain times of year, even with the white, shear curtains meant to soften it.... Excuse me. Did I say I had lunch with them?... Well, we were in the same room. But there was a low shelf, like a counter along a wall. Lady's maids ate there. While the carriage trade lunched on delicate tea sandwiches filled with cold, flaked salmon and cucumber salad dressed in savory, Provencal mayonnaise, those 'in service' ate plain cheese sandwiches on thick slices of what I suppose was French bread and peppery home fries. Whose meal was better? You be the judge. Mortal fare means little to me now.

It is I, Elizabeth. We met a few nights ago. I am with the Ironstones now. We help each other. In a sense I lured them into it... First the sons (still technically mortal when that happened)...Next the Father, though I was never intimate with him and the Mother never liked me at all. I was their 'familiar' and they were mine. To be truthful, they never used that term. I did. Learned it from him, the vampire. I believe he followed us home from Chestnut Hill that time. It was dusk. The Missus' cousin had her coachman drive us to the train. He went in to purchase the tickets. We waited in the brougham, snug under lap robes and fortified with a bit of sherry from a crystal flask slipped out from a cunning, little burgundy velvet compartment built into the door. Excuse me for elaborating. But life was elegant then and I wanted you to know. There was another velvet, fold down compartment for tiny matching glasses. I was surprised when they passed me one, but grateful just the same. Obviously, you know how cold a Philadelphia November can be.

There were three of us in the car. The coachman brought in our packages.... not that many. When he left we were alone with a strange man seated down at the other end of the car. He was clean shaven, unusual for the time. I learned later that vampires almost never have facial hair what with the blood and all. You can imagine. He had carefully brushed dark locks and fine, smooth skin. Gentleman always removed their hats in the presence of ladies. It's odd. I can't remember if I saw it, but I think it was a bowler... a crisp, dark bowler...Must have been next to him on the seat. He pretended to read a book. There were small oil lamps, sconces really, with clear, glass, tubular shades... No, not shades... Of course not shades... Like a wind break. Like a hurricane lamp. Forgive me, but I cannot remember the term.... We rode in silence. The Missus read a book too, a small leather bound volume by Henry James. She liked mysteries and gothic stories... The Turn of The Screw, or something like that. I know it had a ghost in it.... If she only knew.... Soon after, the conductor came through collecting tickets. Then I watched my reflection in the mirror-like blackness of the window, as we rolled along. 

Our own coachman met us in the city at the big Fifteenth Street Terminal. When we got back to the house, nine or ten blocks away, it was snowing. Before stepping inside, I turned to watch the flakes... And there in a weak pool of light from the street lamp, perhaps thirty feet down the sidewalk, was the man from the train. He nodded and tipped his hat. I returned the nod and went inside....

THAT'S how I knew it was a bowler.

In nights to come, I'd learn so many things.

<more next time>


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