Jonathon speaks --
Some nights I haunt the streets like this, especially late, snowy nights. I'm all in black... black jeans... black pea coat... waterproof black lace up work boots... matching turtleneck... scarf and black 'waxed' (waterproof) fedora.... trim, fur lined leather gloves too. At times I meld with the shadows. No one knows I'm there, even most of the cats.
I glide along, just above the cold surface. If anyone does happen to see me, they think I'm sliding, or 'street skating.' But there are no tracks. There are no foot prints. I can do that. When I sublimate through creation altitude is not important. Flying is flying. I pass through the air. I pass through snowflakes. They do not melt. They just go on.
Sometimes I whistle, not loud, but in a low and resonate manner. If people hear, I don't care. There are nights when I tail someone for quite a while. We skim the perimeter of silent, photogenic squares all covered with snow. The prey turns down some sporadically lit residential street. I turn too. We pass classic, pre war apartment buildings, coveted brownstones and beaux arts towers.
In PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK, the seminal screenplay Vampire Wonderland is based on, I lived up there, safe in a lofty redoubt. My name was Thomas (not Tomas) and I'm not Spanish, but the second son of a Scottish aristocrat. Please know that is fiction. This is not.
The prey slips into an all night coffee shop. I wait outside. Hidey-holes are everywhere. I don't fear the cold, or the rain, or the snow. There's a thing I do, a type of sublimation, that causes all manner of precipitation to evaporate before touching my clothing. So I'm quite dry and comfortable. I fall into a state, contemplating things from years ago. But when the prey leaves the warmth of that coffee shop, I move too.
You see, what I'm sharing here is another way I hunt and kill those souls unworthy of mortal life. During this stage of the pursuit I make no sound at all. Teddy Bears Picnic is a favorite of mine. Sometimes I whistle it, not loud, but I do. Am I repeating myself? If so, forgive me. Night-folk rarely think in a linear manner. Time is different for us.
The prey climbs the steps to his stylish quarters in a converted townhouse. I glide up too, not stepping on each marble tread, but rising up, as if on an incline, till he unlocks the door and steps inside.... But I pass through too.
There's no drama, no grand orchestrated dance. I merely restrain him and levitate up perhaps eighteen inches from the floor. When their feet can't touch a solid surface the whole thing is much easier.
I quickly drain him dry and let the body crumple down onto the black and white, checkerboard quartz tiles. Then I leave, not even waiting for the remains to ignite with a 'cold' blue flame. Should some one enter right after my departure, they'd think it a case of spontaneous human combustion. Believe me, that more or less, fictional occurrence veils many a vampire's feast.
Don't ask me what I'd do if interrupted whilst in the act. Does that happen? Yes, not often, but it does and I hate to think about it.
Thus is my life, or my existence, if you're picky about such things...
I pass through the thinly blanketed streets and leave no tracks. The snow stays clean and pure....
Ah, but the air feels good....
<more next time>
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