Thursday, October 7, 2010

The Book of Sarah

Hello? Hello? It is I, Tomas. My wilkravitz is not typing this in for me tonight. I am doing it myself. I cannot believe it, but I think I am beginning to understand this device, me who could barely operate an astrolobe. Sarah is sending some sort of communication to the people who frequent her shop on her own smaller piece of apparatus. I do not remember the word. It is like bird-singing. She is bird-singing to them. She is telling them that the shop will be closed for a little bit, while she takes care of family business. And that is not a lie. I am family. Praise be to God, we do not hear the little running footsteps upon the roof anymore. I think that our Enemy is no longer planning a direct attack. Perhaps they have been distracted by easier prey, such as the 'wrong' type of politician or a clot of unassimilated foreigners? But they have many ways to get me. The Enemy can recruit other individuals to do it for him..Indeed, some believe he always operates that way. His 'familiars' are more than willing to goose step over the innocent and the relatively innocent as well. I don't know, but sometimes I wonder whose 'familiar' I might be. If things remain quiet, and I believe they will, at least for the foreseeable future, I told Sarah we might go out some night. I told her I would show her some of my other haunts - the old Gimbels subway store - the Mutter Museum - other museums - the crawl space above the ornate ceiling of the Grand Ballroom at the Academy of Music - the secret, underground chamber beneath  the 'X marks the spot' compass rose in the center of City Hall Courtyard, just to mension a few.That means I have to brush up on my sublimation skills. You remember. It is how we vaporize our bodies to pass through walls and such. Some of us are more adept than others. I myself am very good at it. Like an ice skater, I just keep going. The aura eminates out from my body transforming me and everything touching me, such as my clothing (it is why I do not wind up naked) or anyone I happen to be holding in my arms. I am going to try it with Sarah. But first I must practice. I must prove to myself that I am still the best.. Maybe I will attempt passing through the plastic shower curtain first. Then maybe I will try one of the interior, non load bearing walls of the house. It is important to be well prepared. A flamboyant vampire I knew back in Scotland, I think it was, once tried to sublimate through the thick, finnely formed, gray stone walls of Glaum Castle. But he did not make it. His body began to solidify while he was half way from the Dowager Duchess' bed chamber and the second, upstairs withdrawing room. It was horrible, like a Tim Robbins fantasy (see? I keep up) gone wrong. His head, his neck one shoulder and the arm connected to it, fell off right onto the Italian silk skirts of a junior lady-in-waiting. And the rest of his unfortunate body (on the other side) crumpled down upon an enraged herd of tiny Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. The Dowager Duchess collapsed and died (they said a blood vessel in her head exploded) just as the now dead, (so much for immortality) vampire's body ignited into the cold blue flame and disappeared. Her little yappy dogs were quite unharmed, a wee bit singed no doubt, but other than that, nothing. You should have seen them fighting to lap up the oily ashes. Well, yes I was there. Of course I was there. She was an especially favorite trysting partner of ours. What? You thought vampires could not have sex? How preposterous! How Bela Lugosi-early twentieth century! Of course we can have sex. Whatever force it is that deems to grant us animation quickens what we have down there as well. Everything that operates in your body, operates in ours. It is just not how we reproduce, that's all.. Ahhh, those were good times. I think I told you how much I enjoyed Restoration Britian. Remind me to tell you what the great ladies of the age really used those little lap dogs for. Methinks I could do with a fortnight or two at the court of The Merry Monarch. But what good is dreaming? Please excuse me while I practice my sublimation.

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