Thursday, January 20, 2011


I could hear the elves and cherubs bouncing off the walls downstairs. They knew what was happening. They remembered their own transformations a universally painfull experience for each and every one of them. At the time, while it was unfolding, they were transfixed. But after it was over and there was no turning back things were different. That's when the cold sets in. That's when the hunger starts. Some of them tried to stay with their human families. They tried to sit in their old place. They tried to sleep in their old bed. But the vessel containing their old life was broken. Loved ones shrieked and ran away. Priests came bearing heavy, ornate, silver magician's tools. Prayers were screamed. Spells were cast. Doors were slammed. And they were least to that world. Yet if they had the good fortune to avoid the vampire catchers, especially the vile breed specializing in children, a new existence opened up to them. They'd make common cause with others of their breed, infesting the dark, forgotten crannies of the world. A ruined charnel house, a damp, stone, oozing crypt. What did it  matter? Just so it was dark. And their eyes grew wide, adapting to the  absence of the light. True, most refrained from killing their victims outright. A drink tonight. A drink tomorrow. And some next week. And then the sorrow. For a slow draining ultimately leads to death. But the small ones have their needs and cannot avoid it. The Old Woman clapped her hands. She cackled like a banshee. The rest of the us sat there, afraid to make a move. Papa progressed to the next step. He raked his strong and carefully manicured nails into the skin of his throat. The blood immediately began to flow. Then he lifted up his little demi-corpse, tenderly supporting her fractured neck, so that her mouth was level to the wound, as he nursed her with the crimson milk of death. A tiny tongue peeked out from between her blue and icy lips. She stole a taste. Look, she likes it. Watch her lap in up. See her drink and drink. Hear his low and throaty laughter, as he lures her ever farther from the sun. She shuddered. She burped. She actually did. And it was over. Her bones were healed. She sighed and leaned back, as he craddled and rocked her. Sarah cried softly. Edith whispered a prayer. The one or two Red Paint People present just stared into the middle distance, revealing nothing. wilkravitz silently witnessed it all, waiting for an opportunity to type it up and add it to our story. That's when Papa spoke. He said - See? No harm done. She is as good as new........  He rose to his feet, holding her close to him and said - Please forgive my sudden outburst. I have a temper and cannot help it........ Then he looked at me and added - Jonathon...Tomas...or how ever you style yourself, just don't lie to me again.........  We watched as he walked toward the heavy, metal front door, which opened before him, and carried her out into the cold, winter night......

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