Monday, March 3, 2014

SOME INSIGHTS ABOUT HOW PETER (THE BAD ELFERINO) GOT THAT WAY ... 3/3/14

Marianne couldn't take it anymore. Boopsie made the shattered almost corpse wriggle along the cold, stone floor like a snake and Peter clapped his hands and laughed. He seemed to be exhilarated by everything. But that's probably due to being locked up in that leaden chest so long. All curled up like a jelly roll, he was. Would a killed a regular human bean. Being welded into the chest would have killed a regular human bean, what with suffocating and all. But night-folk (all varieties) can breathe the same lungs-fill of air over and over and over for ever. Oxygen is not a necessity for them. They just inhale and exhale out of habit. 

Marianne said - Kill him! Get it over with! Kill him!.... She tried to grab him and do it herself, but Peter held her back. Not with his hands... with his power. He 'picked' her up and SLAMMED her against the wall. And this mausoleum was well built. Could have been like a doll house, or an outdoor play house at Downton Abbey. Cracked her head. you heard that. She just groaned and crumpled down onto the floor. True, elferinas are fast healers, bur 'fast' doesn't mean instantaneous, nor pain free for that matter.

Boopsie piped - Lady alright?... But nobody answered. The other elfin-folk just sat there. They didn't want any trouble. And the smashed-up almost dead, drunk guy didn't know what he wanted. Smelled like he crapped himself. Vampires hate that. You know how Tomas and all of them at the townhouse are with aroma candles and all? Peter's no different. So he leaned over the almost-corpse,  lowered himself down on the reeking back (that part wasn't pleasant) and ripped any leftover life right out of the grimy neck. Boopsie said - Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! .... She wanted some too, I guess. but three heartbeats later the oozing remains crackled and burned with a 'cold' blue flame. Peter wiped his mouth and said - No, baby. none for you...... She just stared. Born-baby-witchlings aren't used to being denied. But the flickering cobalt flames hypnotized her. Soon in was over and the body, save for a greasy, ashy residue was gone. Peter looked around, suddenly bored by the surroundings. Maybe he remembered the leaden chest? The others steeled themselves. No telling what a 'ruined' elferino might do. Some say The Ripper himself was one such being. 

Roland found his courage and said - We want to leave. We thought this would be different, but we want to leave...... Peter ignored him and picked up the baby. She didn't seem to mind the cold, bundled as she was in two heavyweight snuggies, scarves, hat and mittens and all. Now you have to remember that minus the flames, the never-used mausoleum was dark, save for the orangy light reflecting out from Peter's eyes. But people, especially night-folk, don't really need much. You know how when you get up to use the toilet you can 'almost' see by the glow-in-the-dark light from the clock radio? Well, it's like that, but a bit stronger. The elfin-folk shuddered as it passed over them. Albion, the second elferino tried to get up, but he couldn't move his legs. Why do you keep us here? - asked Celeste.... Peter didn't answer. He bounced the little witchling on his lap. She gurgled and seemed happy enough. Peter whispered - Almost a 'cherub.'

Now Zebulon, the disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old (Peter's physical age) Judean stoned to death twenty one hundred years ago for witchcraft, flits about the afterlife with great dexterity and he finds things. He talks to people and I (Billy) am also quite adept at channeling him, thus I know things too. Peter was a baby killer. Well, they were sort of dead. He'd steal into remote houses by night, pad through the darkness toward the bedrooms, maybe wring the neck of a dog or two that decided to look into things. Just small dogs; not too much trouble. Big ones slept in kennels. Sensitive ears might pick up a muffled yelp, but no one stirred. Interior, nighttime, darkness was absolute back then. We're talking about the seventeenth century. High beds, covered in testers were sealed under canopies and draperies, the better to keep in the heat. Infants and toddlers slept just beyond in snug, little cradles with high sides and sheltering headboards rather like wing chairs with roofs, bundled under their own quilts and coverlets. That's where Peter found them. Didn't take much to kneel down, fold back a duvet or two, untie a simple bonnet and take a small, sweet life... or at least the mortal part of it. Two or three little blood kisses after the fact were enough to awaken the vampiric nature of the little thing. He'd wait til he felt the tiny fangs, smile to himself and leave. The newly minted 'cherub' instinctively hid from the daylight, crawling under nearby bed skirts at crack of dawn. Sometimes the parents never found them. When night came again they'd break free, scrambling over the moor like badgers seeking others of their kind, if any. 

Now most baby killers turn out to be demented conventional vampires and that's bad enough. But when a juvenile, an elferino, does it there must be other reasons.......

Next time we'll explain....

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2 comments:

Nicole Jones said...

Looking forward to the next "episode"....

John L. Harmon said...

Well...that explains a thing or two...

Good stuff, Billy!