Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Papa Goes a Hunting, but First He Gotta Comb His Hair

He usually plays it close to the vest. Papa doesn't like all the others to  know his business. Maybe it comes from being caged up in quasi Vatican cellars all those years?... No, wait. Excuse me. Not years...centuries. And why did a near invincible creature like him submit to such a thing?


I suppose vampires go crazy too. And  what are they gonna do, call some radio show? Oh, they do that. At least some of them do. We can tell a vampire voice, though. Not so much by the sound, but the rhythm..... the cadence. There's a certain beat. Mortals often miss it. They think it's 'stagy,' or pretentious. Such self-limiting Cretans they are.... so afraid of being different. 


Tonight he's got an 'itch.' gonna go kill somebody. Gonna kill 'em real good. Yeah, yeah, yeah... he sticks to bad guys whenever he can. But the operative word is 'whenever.'  I think the transit of Venus has something to do with it. You know, that thing where 'Earth's twin'  sails across the fiery disc of the sun? Like a roach skimming 'cross lava. Except the surface of the sun is five times hotter than that. But Venus doesn't even come close. It's all just an optical illusion. 


Cro-Magnon 'seers' knew about it. They had shamans called 'strong eyes.' Used to stare at the sun through narrow, little slits in horse bones...ribs mostly. The horse was a 'solar' animal, 'cause the sun seemed to gallop 'cross the sky and all. Papa grew up with those people. Even went back after the 'change.' They didn't pray to vampires. They used them... for 'magic'.... for power....for fun. Each settlement tried to get a vampire, if they could. Life -eaters was 'high tech' in them days. Came in handy on hunts too, 'specially them night time, lunar jaunts they used  to have. Big bovines slept then. And I ain't talkin' 'bout no little moo-cows like you got today. I am talkin' bout a 'royal' aurochs...... like a big, white solid wall. Five cubits high at the hump. Maybe more. Horns like carved, iron pikes. Ever see them 'Flintstone' art galleries they got in them old, French caves? well then you know what I mean. 


Papa used to vault through the moon beams, land on its back, grab hold a the neck (couldn't get his arms all the way 'round it) and bite right in. Big, buck vampire like him, weaken it up real good. Then, when it crash down on the ground, all them skinny guys run in wit' their little jab-jab sticks and do the rest. Make like they big hunters. Hell, it easy to go jab-jab in a belly of a two thirds dead butcher shop. That how much meat they get out of it. You would not believe it. 


I guess most a y'all know how old he is. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he look like he thirty two or thirty three years old. But that bastid twenty eight. Twenty eight thousand, I mean. He say he is. And I don't see no reason to doubt him. Once he drew up a sky map wit' all the constellations they had back then (star patterns change, you know) and this goomer from The Franklin Institute (where the Philadelphia Planetarium is) check it out. We sittin' in a boof all the way in the back a Little Pete's, on Seventeenth Street. I like to smell the coffee. Papa does too. The goomer from the planetarium, he like the pan cakes.  But he almost choke on one of 'em when he see that map....... How you know this? - He say...... But Papa just smile. Sometime he like to do like that, 'cause the planetarium guy see his teef. He see 'em real good. Make like nothin' wrong. But I know he scared. All a sudden he gotta go outside. All a sudden he start talkin' real fast.


Papa let him go. But then little bit later he go out too. Did he kill him?..... No, not all the way. But he do make him into a really good familiar. You know they got lotta little alley ways 'round that place.


Now, what I be tellin' you?..... Oh, yeah.... He do plan a do some killin' tonight..... Slow killin', like where he drain a arm, til it look like a raisin. Then do the other arm. Then do the legs. Next come the belly. Then the tittie area. Make no difference if it a man or a woman. Tittie area come next. That the way it go. Them what know say it burn real bad too. Like havin' the meat all dried up and cooked, while the 'dinner' still alive.


But he doan mean nothin'. He jus' playin'. Look a him comb his hair. He like the way he look. 


An' if you wanna know who I am, never you mind. I am jus' Mister Never-You-Mind. That all you bastids gotta know.


Look, if you 'round this way tomorrow night.... I tell you more. 


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