First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. The coming of Sarah. ... 'Sarah' the name means princess , as in Sarah, the wife of Abraham. She is believed to have been the daughter of a pre-Celtic tribe, called the Hurrians, a semi-nomadic people found throughout the eastern Mediterranean. Fair Sarah she was called. Desired by kings. Coveted by princes, but given in marriage to the first patriarch and thus the spiritual mother of us all. My Sarah is just as comely. She is tall and willowy, with auburn hair and eyes like a renaissance madonna. And in her own way, she too has become a spiritual mother. I found her amidst the rare and enchanted volumes of a tiny, cluttered bookshop. It was called Philadelphia After Dark, as it opened with the gloaming and closed up with the dawn. A place for all those who could not sleep... or did not sleep, at least not during the night. She sat behind an antique, wooden counter, absorbed in a classic tale, when I first went into the shop. The floors were old, softened wood and they creaked and moaned with a century of wear. Narrow. winding aisles lead to forgotten tomes and arcane codexes .A collection of old wall clocks quietly ticked thier way into eternity. I could see a dusting of late autumn snow dance down through the multi-paned shop window. But I only stayed in there a moment or two and quickly retreated back out to the cold, gray cobbles, afraid of what I might do. But I knew her now and she was part of my existence. Fair Sarah. My Sarah. My maiden of the night. And that is how it began.... Please, let me just sit for a while. It all comes rushing back. But I promise to tell you more. But please, just let me rest. I need to be still. I need to count my dreams.

the book of sarah

First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. I have fed. I'm good for another month. I told you about my mortal boyhood in old Andalusia, back before I was known as Thomas. I'll tell you more later. But now I want to speak of more immediate concerns. It's like that after I feed. There's a feeling of intoxication. I get manic and my mind tends to jump from one thing to another. I have visions during the daylight hours when I 'sleep.' I see people deserved  of death. It's like I am God's pruning shears and it's my job to nip 'it' in the bud. .That explanation is as  good as any. I just nipped a crooked cop. Cop-cop-cop-cop-cop. After all these centuries I still get a charge out of using  the common vernaculars. You have good ones today, but they had even better ones in Restoration England. Wait till I calm down and I'll tell you some. They say I look like Antonio Banderas. Do you know who he is?  Well, I guess that's possible, for we are both sons of Iberia. But I look like a very young Antonio Banderas, for I was  lost to the daylight in the third month of my eightteenth year. I was on a pilgrimage with my father . We traveled with a retinue of thirty retainers to confer with the great Rashi at his rabbinical court in the south of what you now call France. It was determined that I would give my life to The Faith and become a respected teacher of The Scriptures. That was our way. We had done so for generations. And although not of the Davidic line,  we are descended from the Hasmonean Dynasty, a hellenistic Judean family that ruled in the first and second century B.C.E.. So that wouldn't have made me a king, but it would have made me a prince... Defender of the Peace of Jerusalem... Great Steward of God's throne ... and all that. Yet such was not my fate, for before we reached the manor of the great
Rashi, I was taken, never to benefit from his knowledge or to sample the worthy wines from his vinyards. Please, remind me  to tell you about Sarah. I may not be able to speak with you for a few days. The life of a 'vampire' can be complicated. But when I do, please remind me. There are things that you should know.

Philadelphia After Dark the book of Sarah

First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. I'm Thomas. We met last night. I'm a life eater, or what you would call a vampire. We never use that word. It belongs to the various Inquisitions that have come and gone through humanity in the last few thousand years. But I am a realist and if you prefer to use that term, I will accept it. Although I've been in Philadelphia for the last threehundred and thirty years.., I did not start here. My home was in the south of Spain, in the region known as Andalusia. Indeed, at the time of my birth, it was still called Al-Andaluz, as it came under the sovereignty of the Caliphate of Cordoba. My family occupied a walled villa in the city of Sevilla, where my grandfather was an adviser to the Caliph. Ours was a world of tinkling fountains, cool tiled floors and verdant courtyards. It was said that when my mother left our home her feet never touched the ground, for she rode upon a liter borne by four matched Osetians. My esteemed father was a Biblical and Talmudic scholar of the first rank. And when I became a Child of the Covenant at thirteen years of age, none other than Prince Hassan himself (the eldest son of our beloved Caliph) presented me with a two year old white Arabian from his own renowned stables. All men were brothers in our land. Trinitarians (what you would call Christians) mingled freely with Muslims and Jews, who were both of a Unitarian bent. There were also a few Hindu and Buddist travelers in our midst. Some were scholars and some were traders.  We all shared in tne marketplace of knowledge and ideas, at least those of us who were not slaves, eunichs or concubines. My life should have been secure and complacent, but Lilith stirred the waters of my existence and I was transformed into what I am today. Please, it pains me to speak of such things. Just know that I will tell you when the time is right. I will tell you of how I lost my true name and became Thomas. And I will tell you about Sarah and what we did to her. But tonight is the dark of the moon. It is the night when I feed. Once a month, with the icy dispatch of a cobra. And I take my feast on those deserving of death. Let me return to my nightly ablutions (I roam  the shadows even on the nights when I do not feed) and ready myself  for my ordeal. Some nights I just sit on a bench and watch the show go by. On other nights I've found myself staring at my relection in a shop window for hours. People would gather around and watch.  They think I am one of those human mannikins. Well, maybe I  am..... a mannikin of humanity. 

Philadelphia After Dark the book of Sarah

First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. Please excuse any errors made in the use of this device. It is new and very strange to me. I grew up in an age of bee's wax candles and ink made from the crushed bodies of little cuttle fish. Contemporary forms of  'electronic' magic make me dizzy. The new, wide screen colour televisions scare me. It's as if lurid paintings in old frescoes  suddenly spring to life. Lipstick scares me too. Greasy face paint. All of it. I suppose that's because I am a being of the night and accustomed to a more subtle form of illumination. My name is Tomas and I have been here since the time of the first Lord Protector, William Penn. The red brick, cobbled, mellow by-ways suit me. The small, multi-pane windows. The marble front steps. The accents with their broad vowels and sharp, hard curb-side inflections. Philadelphia provides a natural stage for the nocturnal arts. You know. You saw that movie, The Sixth Sense. Be brave. Take a midnight stroll through the silent, narrow mews of  the old city. I'll see you there. But fear not, for I have never taken an innocent soul in more than three hundred years. Well, almost never. There are vows. There are rules and most of us 'rarely' break them. At least  the other  life-eaters I share the town with. You'll meet them. Perhaps you've already seen them? Perhaps you've already seen me. Maybe you've heard me whistling in the dark. The Teddy Bears Picnic is a favorite of mine. When you go out in the woods tonight, you're in for a big surprise.  The nighttime streets of the city are like woods, you know, filled with scared, little rabbits and quick, sly foxes. But me?  I'm more like a snake, or maybe a cat, a cold, patient, fastidious killer. I'm careful and I'm neat. And please know that it's not just me. I've never known a vampire to hiss, or thrash about like a  peasant with the Saint Vitus Dance. You'll have to forgive those arcane references. That was an old and much feared malady, from my day. You see, I came over with the Quakers, but I was 'seasoned' even then. Come back. Come back some night when you crave a little more. And may you never know pain. May you never know fear. May you hide from death now and for forever...... Come back....... I'll be here....... Bienvenido al mundo vampirismo!..... Welcome to the VAMPIRE WONDERLAND!
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This is how it started three years ago. The first year brought nothing, maybe a few hundred hits at most. Year two took us to the 10,000 point. Year three finds us at 106,000 page views. Maybe not 'viral,' but definitely 'fungal' to say the least.

If you like my brand of weird, pixilated and often twisted paranormal tale telling start here and click on NEWER POST at the bottom, or pick and chose from the whole shebang here~> click on THE WHOLE SHEBANG .....I call it Vampire Wonderland, but they don't run this joint. They just work here. Some months we hardly mention them at all. Visit all the 'arcs.' My favs are THE LITTLE MATCH BOY... EL RANCHO TEXACO... BINGO BOY...MARIANNE IN BRITCHES and that's all I can remember right now. Just GOOGLE any of those titles plus 'by Billy Kravitz' and you'll be right there.... Join our interesting, varied and media oriented timeline on Twitter... a very supportive group. Click on ~> @wilkravitz ... and start screaming, ranting, bragging and pontificating along with the rest of us. Now let me go back to watching Chevy Chase and his family finish their Vegas Vacation. Danke Schoen... (hope I spelled it right)..... Some day, please God, let us all be Mister Papagiorgios....