Saturday, January 29, 2011


It is I, Zebulon. For the last few planetary rotaions I have been in Egypt, commenting on the unfolding events for readers of other dispatches. But for now, I am back. Let's see. Where are we? There can be no disagreement. Papa is now the center of things. And he's different. In his last local manifestaion, when he was still incarcerated, he came to us as The Shaky Hand Man. Then he sought to undermine society as a whole. He softly crooned into the ears of impressionable people, tempting them to change their ways and follow him into the shadows. Some did. And it was pleasureable for him. He did have Annie. She was already his. Yet he was still buried down far beyond the deepest foundations of Rome and that was torture. But now he is free, in the flesh as well as in the spirit. And he cares nothing for the morals of those around him, human or immortal. He craves killing and the many other beguiling sensations his human parts can feel. Look, now he is with that new, little vampirina (vahm-pah-ree-na). He loves her. At first I doubted it. But he loves her. They have a place, a nest, down in the cellars of The University Museum near the thirty fourth street from the river. Not a rough space. It is actually quite well finished. An office, I think it was and without windows....even better. If I am not mistaken, some of our local vampires slept there once before. Maybe that is how he sensed it. All he had to do was walk through the echoing halls near closing time. It's winter, so that would already be after dark. A dapper, handsome executive, with trimly styled, steel gray hair and the requisite well dressed, little girl. What guard could resist? Strike up a conversation. Sublimate through the man's mind a bit. Find a weakness and you're in. This one had an illness. I don't know. Some sort of human metabolic condition. It was serious. He was worried. That was it. Papa, ever attentive, danced him over into a corner, whispered in his ear and offered him a deal. The man would have health in return for his assistance. Simple and direct You may not know it, but even the breath of an immortal is intoxicating to humans.  That's how easy it is. They had a new familiar, a snug berth and some other ancillary stuff all in return for a few drops of blood. The man must have been a fan of gothic fiction, for he knew just how to draw it in. Annie smiled, as she reached up to his lips and wiped away an errant, glistening drop. Then she slurped it up like a hungry puppy. The three of them looked at each other and giggled. Soon they added another guard or two. Ah, security. A home at last. Each night, after slaughtering the necessary number of people, they'd return to the museum and explore. Annie liked the dim, still Egyptian halls the best. Papa taught her how to sublimate through the glass into the display chambers, where all the quality mummies were kept. They'd lean over the edge of some ancient sarcophagus, discussing the specimen within. Papa was somewhat surprised to discover that he actually recognised one of them, a finne, old gentleman from the time of the Ptolemeys. The mummy was only about twenty three centuries old. Not much by ancient Egyptian standards. Annie asked if they could use their blood to resurrect him. But Papa said that would not work, since they lacked the canopic jars containing his organs. And besides, the man's brains had been thoroughly liquified and discarded at the time of his mummification. Yet he did show her one thing. Papa bit into his lip, allowing a small tricle of blood to drip down onto the dead man's waxy, shrivled, dusty hand. Not much happened at first. But after a few heartbeats things began to change and a few thumb prints of flesh returned to a more or less living state. Annie was intrigued. Her eyes opened wide She sucked in some air and stared silently. Papa smiled down at her. Then she looked up into his eyes and giggled.........

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