Monday, February 28, 2011


Papa did plan to return to a more benign lifestyle. He was ready to reconstruct some sort of family. Maybe Jonathon would be there with the others. He hoped that he would. It's not as if he never lived that way before. Twenty eight thousand years is a long time. He 'd seen constellations change and the heavens reconfigure.. Giant prehistoric mammals populated his youth. Tall heavy, giraffe-like creatures nibbled leaves from the trees. Saber toothed cats of many varieties spread terror everywhere. The people tried to live in huts, rather substantial huts, built on raft-like supports mounted atop stout vertical logs. Small bands could not accomplish this. It took many strong backs to force the rough supports down into the sticky ooze. But Papa's band was lucky. They were accomplished hunters. Few fell to beasts of prey. Even less were trampled or gored by the herbivores they sought. His mortal life was quite regular. His father was not a head man. His mother was not a witch. But he had a talent for story telling. And many were the nights spent 'round the communal hearth listening to his tales.. It was often a peaceful way to live. Meat could be had. Hunting was hard work, but as I said, they were good at it. Sometimes they managed to land one of the giant sturgeons inhabiting the swift river emptying into their lake. Then they'd feast on wonderful, oily. smoked flesh, not to mention the fresh, fragrant roe (eggs). True, they had no life-eater. Some bands had life-eaters. And the magical powers and strengths possessed by such beings were useful. The head man tried to get one. It was almost impossible. Most were related to the mortals in their group and completely unwilling to leave. Do to their superior strength, kidnapping was out of the question. Yet a traveller told of a band nearby, only eightteen days distance. Well, they used to be a band. But a bewitchment befell them, a sickness, a terrible pestilence. And after a while, all were dead. The life-eater grieved for his people. Yet there was nothing he could do. He offered them his blood. He did do that. But different bands have different beliefs and they would not take it. So he cried and watched them expire. It was left to him to burn the bodies and scatter the ashes. It was left to him to say the prayers. Now he existed, all alone, deep in a cavern decorated with his holy paintings. And he prayed and prayed and prayed. But when the hunger came he was forced to take whoever he could get. And so his reputation suffered. It was decided that one of the lake people would go back with the traveller and attempt to meet this miraculous being. The group picked Papa, since he was their best speaker. His wife had recently  died and his two surviving daughters were already serving husbands in nearby encampments. So he left the lake and followed the traveller deep into the forest. Deep into the green and mossy shadows. Sometimes he spoke with his guide and sometimes they did not speak. It took twenty three days to reach the cave of the life-eater. And the journey left Papa exceedingly fit. He enjoyed the roots and berries. He savored the woodland nuts. And fat squirrels were so easy to come by. Bird's eggs were tasty as well. But finally, his laconic guide (in turned out that he was on some sort of spiritual quest ) pointed toward a low cliff-face and said - The 'being' rests in there......Papa felt fear for the first time. He turned to the man and said - What happens now? Will you come inside with me?.......The man simply shook his head and walked away........Now remember, Papa was not called Papa then. He had a name. But it is not for me to say it. Let him tell you when he will. So do not think of him as old. Although he was rather advanced in years for his time. Let's see. I believe he owned about thirty two or three summers by this point. But the average person was sturdy back then. And he was well above average. So he constructed some sort of crude camp near the entrance to the cavern (which was low and somewhat hidden along the cliff-face). There he waited till the time felt right. He slept with his best knife in his hand.and thin, fine spears were close by. What were the nights like? Like none you have ever seen. The darkness was complete. Animals ranted through the blackness. His campfire repelled them, but did little to thwart the tiny things that crawled. A gossamer band of stardust wandered though the sky. The moon waxed full and fat, heralding a meeting yet to come.....Heralding an altered existence....And the start of something wondrous.............

Sunday, February 27, 2011


This is the rest of what I tried to tell you earlier. This is the rest of what was 'taken away' from you. The first post told you of the two orderds of life-eaters, the noble, angelic form and the noxious, murderous variety. But there is more to the enchanted universe than that. Let us begin with the ELVES. They are older children, no more than twelve to fourteen years of age. I am speaking of their age when transformed. The magic rests differently on them than it does on adults. Due to their elevated hormonal levels, ceretain cells continue to grow for a short while, thus their pointy ears and long, artistic fingers. They also have the ability to communicate telepathically. Best of all, they can fly. Younger children, specifically babies and toddlers who suffer the life-eater fate are termed CHERUBS. They are a tragic breed brought over almost entirely by noxious vampires. Although lacking teeth, they are able to break the skin and draw blood by other means. The tip of their tongues lengthens and tapers to a point. This point grows a hard, sharp keratin-like probe used to pierce the body and promote bleeding. Cherubs also communicate telepathically and possess the power of flight. The child varieties rarely drain victims to the point of death.............Another unusual specimen is THE PINEY, a totally human breed found in the pine woodlands of New Jersey. They seem to be able to predict future events and can sometimes share thoughts. Certain members of the group have the ability to 'throw spells.'.........It is believed that these talents result from interbreeding with a group called THE RED PAINT PEOPLE. This 'tribe' has a culture going back at least fifteen thousannd years. Intermarriage is common, but no genetic diseases have been reported. Males favor Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprize. Females favor Olympic Skier, Peekaboo Street. High levels of telepathy run throughout the group. They are belived to possess other, as yet undisclosed powers as well.........There is another completely human population inhabiting long forgotten, unused subway tunnels beneath Center City (think of a 1/3rd scale Manhattan, a still respectable area) in Philadelphia. They stem from formerly homeless individuals and have been breeding for at least eighty years. Most call them THE MOLE PEOPLE. Little is known concerning their talents or abilities. VAMPIRES (adult nobles) often take shelter with them......Now comes the touchy part, for I must tell you about  the ANTI-ENCHANTMENT-BUREAU, a government agency that doesn't really work  to stamp out magic, but seeks to control it. They operate from a vast, underground complex below the old naval shipyards and are believed to possess powerful technology and unexplained abilities. A 304 year old BENJAMIN FRANKLIN appears to guide them. He lives in palacial quarters within the complex......Other forms, called ANCILLARIES also exist, such as the nightmareish JOHNNY JUMP UP, a near seven foot tall emaciated male in a tight, black, nineteenth century suit able to leap up to third and forth floor windows and gain entry to otherwise secure domiciles. Those sleeping inside are killed in an assortment of hellish ways..........PLEASE NOTE - cells similar to the forms outlined here exist in other locales too. Avoid them at all costs....including the agents of the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau......Open your eyes...Believe your senses....But be careful and stay safe.....More information will be forthcoming.....thank you for your support.......Your observations and comments are greatly appreciated.


1) vampirism has existed on Earth since that period when Neanderthals disappeared and Cro Magnons became the norm. its source is not completely understood. the roots appear to be thoroughly spiritual. those with the 'life-eater' burden (as it is called) struggled to explain it. they broke into 2 strains, the noble vampires (angel-like beings who only 'cull the wicked') and the noxious vampires ( who suffer from no moral dilemmas).

Saturday, February 26, 2011


The dinner was a quiet affair. They ate in the petit salon, a favorite room of Franklin's, done up like a Parisian diningroom. Everything was cream and gilt. The ornate moldings were all first class. Some of the pieces had been in the city since the French Revolution. You know how it was. They looted the homes of the nobles and sold the booty to new world speculators. Practically ran in with axes right after Baron this and Comtesse that went sobbing off to the barber's chair (popular term for the guillotine). Rumor was that the old doctor himself made quite a tidy sum buying and selling the knick-knacks and what-nots of various recently extinguished courtiers. And he had to be quiet about it all, since most people, especially the nobodies, thought he was dead. But Zebulon digresses. Jonathon did not consume anything, but they did provide him with an assortment of lit aroma candles. Wild apple was still a favorite. Little Miss Doctorix tucked into her entree. I think it was some sort of crustacean. The old postmaster (a later title of his) finished off a nice steak. One of the countless 'Jamisons', he was still calling them that, stayed to serve and clear away. I think it had to be that way. I think the higher ups in the 'Agency' insisted. Franklin knew that Jonathon was anxious for the liberation of Sarah. And so they spoke. The doctor said - I'll show you some things when we're through, my boy. Give you a taste of what we can and cannot accomplish. Are you sure you would not like 'someone' to eat? Jamison here could fetch somebody. We have quite a well stocked cellar down below. You can have two if you want.....Thank you, sir, maybe tomorrow. The need is not accute just yet, said Jonathon.... The doctorix kept quiet. I think she was there solely because our young vampire enjoyed her presence. It calmed him and caused him to forget his quasi imprisonment. When they were done and the table cleared, Doctor Franklin was first to rise.... Come, follow me. We have places to go and sights to see, - said the doctor. So they all got up and left. He walked very well for a three hundred and four year old gent. That electric scooter he used was nowhere to be seen. Jonathon's blood must still be working. They progressed down a corridor and went into some sort of gallery. But this one did not have pictures. It had specimens. Beings, life-forms, monsters. Each displayed behind a thick, glass panel. What? You want to know about Bigfoot? Yes, they had a bigfoot. Looked a lot like that Chewbacca fellow in that other realm movie the children like. He occupied a mossy, piney glen. And he did not look to happy about it. I must tell you. But experience taught him patience and so he sat there, silent and morose. Another display featured a mermaid. She had a small pool and a tub of herring. Not a beauty, this one. Must have already been old when they got her. Lined face, boney shoulders, withered breasts. The scales on her fish-ass and fish tail looked dull and raggedy. Her hair was like Grandmama from The Addams Family (Zebulon has seen reruns). And she stuck out her tongue and made lewd gestures as they passed. A monster here. A nightmare in the flesh there. This place had it all. There was a horse-faced Jersey Devil. I saw him. He was leaning against a rock in a fake, little forest, reading a copy of The Atlantic City Press. I think he was trying to solve the crossword puzzle. One of the guards passed him a pack of smokes (there was a little slot). Doctor Franklin said - We allow them certain indulgences. And tobacco posses no problem since he is immune to its poisons. A cure for cancer might come out of that one.....Then he stopped and looked Jonathon in the eye.....But what you want is in there...... And he pointed toward another door. Someone on the other side opened it. I do not think it was artificially powered. They went in. The chamber was round, about twentyfive feet in diameter. And the ceiling arced overhead like a dome. A small platform occupied the center. It was made of some non-porous material, like that 'corian' they use for kitchen counters these days. On it rested a small toddler, bathed in a muted light raining down from no particular point at all. The child looked as if it had recently been crying. It hiccuped a bit. and blood tinged tear tracks ran down its chubby face. After a moment, Jonathon realized that it was one of the 'cherubs.' He almost passed out from shock. It hurt him to see one of those little innocent souls treated like this. And he  instinctively reached out to it. But six 'Jamisons' marched in to stop him.... The doctorix said nothing. Apparently she knew about this. She just turned away. The immortal child shuddered. It trembled. The tiny chin quivered, as its eyes looked for help. But its body from the hips down did not move, for that part was still made of stone......Doctor Franklin put his hand on Jonathon's shoulder and said - We are trying. We have made progress. The armonica, the Great Armonica, that is what we used. Each sound, each frequency has certain properties. And we can produce an infinite number of them. We can blend them to make chords. We can manipulate almost anything.......How did you do this to the child? - asked Jonathon......With the device, as I told you, - said Franklin.......No, I mean how could you do that to this child? - whispered Jonathon......But the old man did not answer..........

Friday, February 25, 2011


Jonathon still did not know her name. She was simply the young doctorix, simply his little bed buddy. Did he have the same feelings for her as for Sarah? Zebulon does not think so. She was simply a do they say it now?....a friend with benefits. Such things existed in my time, but we called them courtesans, or and I am not proud of this...handmaidens, serving girls taken into households as slaves or little better than slaves and almost always used for such purposes. But sometimes it was a way to gain allies and riches or even freedom. Who knows, maybe Jonathon was the handmaiden in this instance. Only male handmaidens were usually called cup bearers. He looked over at her. She was still sleeping. Her features were fine. Her hair a deep, rich russet. And did she find it strange to be physically involved with a vampire?  Had she done the like before? These people, this Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, had to be very powerful. How long have they been around? Jonathon guessed decades, maybe longer. If Doctor Franklin was truthful, they'd been there more than a century. And the Philadelphia vampires had never been able to detect them. Sometimes it seemed as if Edith and some of her Piney/Red Paint crowd sensed things. But still.They had to know something. The Anti-Enchantment crowd, I mean. Jonathon's thoughts matched my own. He wanted to know. So he slid his arm back under the sheet and tickled her. She purred. Her breath came more rapidly and her eyes fluttered and opened. She yawned. He smiled and kissed her. She snugglled up to him like a kitten. He put his arm around her and whispered in her ear. He said - You know I'd feel better if I knew what to call you. I mean other than one of those names from your box of identification tags.......There was silence. He felt her tension. He nibbled at her ear and said - Well?....She said - We're not supposed to share such information with our subjects..........He whispered - Is that what I am?.......More silence........He added - What am I saying? Of course I am.....And he retreated back to the other side of the bed. She flipped over so that she could face him, as she searched for words......Please, please, don't get me in trouble with those people.....Are they that dangerous? - he asked........Dangerous? They're beyond dangerous. They don't even look at it as being dangerous. It's just what they do. It's just what they 'can' do, - she pleaded.......But they let me know about Doctor Franklin and that one man who stayed in the room with us. Doctor Franklin called him Jamison, or something like that. I heard him, he said.......Yes, and next time he'll call him Smythe, or Ginsburg or Caruso, she explained..... Oh? Well then, I will give you a name. I will call you 'Bonita.' It is an old Spanish name. It means 'pretty' but in a cute and girlish way. You knew I spoke Spanish. didn't you?......Yes, she said, we know a lot of things........The silence returned. They layed there, intimate, yet far apart. And from somewhere else in Franklin's quarters, came the pure, clear dulcet notes of a small armonica. The master was composing a song....

Thursday, February 24, 2011


Certain things are just true. They are not open to discussion. Mathematics just makes them so. One of them is the inter-relatedness of humanity. Everyone alive today is descended from one person who lived fourthousand years ago. So, Abraham the Patriarch...he your pop-pop. Cheops who built the Great Pyramid..he your pop-pop too. And that warrior queen from up in Albion (Britian) who commisioned a little chapel known as Stonehenge..she your mom-mom. This does not mean that we are all exactly the same. Ethnic differences still exist. God knows, I was not even that much like my brother. If he was in fact my full brother. How can I tell? Untill the great scientist, Maury Povich, invented the paternity test, those things were better left unsaid. But Papa is over twenty eight thousand years old. Did he have mortal children before he passed over? Yes, he did. And for that reason he cares greatly about the future of his children, when he is in his right mind. Who would have thought one skinny, 'six' year old vampire brat would be the one to cure him. Oh, but Annie was hard to take. She'd mess with the mummies too much. Those 'familiars' on the night crew went crazy getting everything back the right way before opening time. Quenn Hep-Hep posed as if she was locked in carnal union with General Tothrama (whom she hated in real life). The royal toddlers of Princess Ka-Ka smoking cigaretttes and reading 'busom' magazines. While Ka-Ka's mother was posed laying on a sofa in the mid-century furniture exhibit, eatin' piles of Twinkies from the snack shop. May the wrath of Horus fall upon her. Oh, but that Zebulon was a pagan and able to throw such curses. Papa took to leaving the tiny wretch alone for longer and longer periods of time. The familiars hated that. But what could they do? Oh, he made it up to them. Everybody got baubles from jewelry shops in the diamond district. If you come to town, don't miss it, branching off from Eighth and Sansom Streets. But Zebulon sometimes wanders.....Papa floated around the perimeters of the buildings in the old navy yard district.. He'd sublimate into the air and become more or less invisible. Then he'd listen to what went on inside. He knew about Jonathon and how he played cowboys and bath-house whores with the young doctorix. It made him smile. He knew about Sarah and the little 'elves and cherubs.' And he felt sorry for them. But he was just coming 'round to his sanity and could not yet remember how to bring them back. Let Franklin do it. Let him use that Great Armonica of his. Papa was curious about that. He had not seen anything like it since the court of Radimar the Magnificent, Warlord of Old Delmun. That one had his toys. But drunken revels were the norm back then and all the toys got broken. And when the necromancers couldn't build them back up fast enough, they got broken too. Anybody care for a wizard's leg?? Ha ha ha, it was actually funny. But I guess you had to be there. ......Now, where was I? Oh yes, Papa's wanerings. He knew what Sarah saw, for he could see it too. She walked across an infinite plain made of thick glass. The sky above was featureless and gray. The air, misty and cool. Below the glass stretched a vast lake of fire. And every once in an eternity a stringy demon would manage to pop through the surface, only to be roughly yanked back by his angry brethren. For who was he to deserve such blessings? The glass plain was warm and sometimes Sarah would lie down on it. She could see the demons on the other side rapping on the glass and making faces at her. But little of the sound came through. And she had no way of knowing how long this numbing torment would go on........or what the elves and cherubs saw through their eyes........

Wednesday, February 23, 2011


So they went back to Doctor Franklin's quarters. One other man joined them. He didn't say much. The doctor said he represented the government in Washington. From what Zebulon knows about the courts of your imperial presidents, he was quite the proper functionary, tall. fit. trim black suit, severe bone structure, yada. yada. yada (Zebulon likes that term).The pretty, young doctorix, the one who kept Jonathon company when he hung naked and suspended in the mmagnetic field, as well as other more private places peeked in to. But the representative of the imperial president gave her a look and sent her away. I'm telling you, that individual would have been right at home as one of the Ten Thousand Immortals in the ancient Persian court. Times change. Things don't. Doctor Franklin poured a glass of hard cider for himself. He offered one to the man in black. But he just shook his head. Jonathon, of course, took no drink. He was quite content with his small aromma candle, held in one of the doctor's antique cut glass holders. Wild apple, I think it was. The old founding father spoke first. He said - I know certain people, those who know, speak of the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. But it's not that we're truly anti enchantment. We just want to learn about it. We just want to monitor it and guide it. Not control. You'll notice I did not say control. I know that's what they think. But that's not what we are......The court functionarty smirked. The other two pretended not to notice.......Jonathon asked - Then why am I here? Why did you take me into custody?........To study you, my boy. To run some scans. said the doctor. Oh, we knew about you. We just never had a close look.......Franklin turned to the man in black and added - He was already on the streets of this city when I came.......Ah, so we are in the city. I thought so. But where? -asked Jonathon..........The Naval Shipyards, or what used to be the Naval Shipyards. Now we have room for private concerns as well. But we're still primarily a shipyard. You heard if the Philadelphia Experiment, haven't you? - said Franklin.........The experiment? You mean the experiment they did during the Second War of All the World? - whispered Jonathon. The one where they dematerialized a great ship and caused it to recondense upon the far, western sea? Are you talking about that!?........The functionary stiffled a laugh. But Franklin quietly added - Yes, and that was one of mine. You saw the Great Armonica. You saw what that can do. And I only showed you a tiny bit...........So? - said Jonathon........So don't  question me, - stated Franklin. What do you think would have happened if the police picked you up? Their action in the tunnels was quite independent. Some 'higher-ups' fixed things so we could go along too. Am I not right, Jameson?......Jameson, the ersatz 'Persian Immortal,' just nodded.........Jonathon could not help it. If all this was true, If all this power was real, how long would it take to free Sarah and the others? And did the government really care about doing that?........The long haired, old reprobate seemed to sense his thoughts. He just looked at him and shook his head......Obviously, this was not the place to talk about that. Maybe there were different factions. Maybe it was just an equation. A matter of pluses and minuses. Maybe one vampire was enough. Did they know about Baylah? Did the old man catch that thought? Think about something else. Think about something else........Jonathon said - Please, sir, may I sleep in a proper bed 'tonight', or whenever it is that I sleep?............The doctor looked down and nodded. But the trim man in the black suit was quick to add - If you allow that, he has to wear the collar........So Jonathon slept in a proper bed. And he did wear the 'control collar' (sublimation proof, of couse). But about two hundred heartbeats after the lights went out, the sweet, young doctorix snuck inside and joined him.......

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


Baylah made a kill. She hated the guy. He was a real human piece of shit. A 'diet' doctor. But his prime motivation was shrinking bank accounts. Few customers, excuse me, they get threatened if we don't say 'patients' actually lost any weight. He sold, packaged food. He sponsored weigh-ins. He rubbed their backs and squealed over how 'wonderful' they were doing. Everybody was 'honey bunch' and 'sweetie-pie.' And for a few months they'd drop a few pounds. But most of them gained it all back. Most of them ended up sicker and fatter than before. He lived right next door to her banker boy friend. They'd nod to each other, talk about their wins and loses in the casinos. Superficial crap like that. The wife was a skinny, little, mousy thing. As long as she grabbed a few baubles, rode around in a decent sized BMW and had a 'girl' (translate as 'housekeeper') to brow beat, she was happy as a clam. Had about the same muscle tone as one too.So one night he sees them coming back from a bracing, clear, winter night walk on Ocean City's boardwalk (classic shore town just south of Atlantic City area). And he says - How 'bout if the four of us go out for a drink or something?......They were stuck. They had to go. The four of them got into the boyfriend's sporty, little thing. I don't know that model. Zebulon doesn't 'do' cars. But it was nice and shiny. Enough said. Baylah knew it was easier for her to fake eating ice cream, so she suggests some little parlor over in Somers Point (where Eddie and the Cruisers was filmed). And they go. Now even in the winter places 'down the shore' are still crowded. So they had to wait for a few minutes before they sat down. And he's going on about how great Baylah looks. And don't people alway mistake her for Vanessa Williams? And don't they always mistake her for Beyonce? Anybody who was black and glamorous, she looked like. He didn't know the difference. Then they sit down in a booth. Each couple shared the same side. But she was right across from Doctor Greasy. And she couldn't stand it. That was no accident. He was rubbing his foot against her leg on purpose. Up and down. Up and down. The weasle wife was oblivious to everything. Actually, 'we' (the vampires, myself and some of the telepathic humans) don't even think she really cared. He was just a glorified meal ticket to her. Give her the house. Give her enough money.
Give her some space. And then he can go knock himself the hell out. It's not like he was gonna go anywhere. Her people paid for all the schooling. The houses were in her name. When he was living, her father insisted  on it. Devoted they were not. Baylah couldn't take it anymore. She said she couldn't find her cell phone and wanted to go outside to check in the car. So she got up and left. The doc says he has to go to the toilet. But he follows her out to where they were parked in the back. It was dark. There was no one else around. So he sneaks up on her. Look, she knew he was there, but he thought he snuck up on her. He croons - You didn't lose no cell phone, did ya?.....And then he's all over her. It's sickening. She can't take it. She tries to push him away. But he don't wanna stop. He goes to grab her, probably reaching for her hair. But one of his fat fingers gets hooked in her earring and he accidently pulls it through the ear lobe. He goes 'Ooh! Christ!'...But then he notices that it don't bleed much. She shoves him away. Her hand flies to the wound. He says - No, lemme help. Lemme do something.....She says - Get away from me. Go to hell.....And then he sees it. He gets a real clear look, 'cause a car goes buy and the headlights shoot right at it. There ain't no wound. It's gone....He goes - What the fuck???....And he starts backing away from her. But she can see from the look in his eyes that he knows something's wrong. He knows somethin's strange......Sure, maybe she could have lead him on a bit. Swapped spit a little. Taken a tiny bite (on her tongue, I mean) and passed him a few drops. You know, make him a 'familiar. Only she hated the guy. And she over reacted. Two heartbeats later, and we're talking about fast heartbeats, she grabs his head, twists it around and ripes into his neck. I don't even think he yelled that much. He must have had a heart attack at exactly the same moment he was being 'culled.' And a moment later it was over. The body was laying dead on the gravel. She looked around. Nobody was there. Lucky they always tried to park in secluded areas. 'cause her honey didn't want to get 'dings' in his doors So she drags the flabby bastid back behind a dumpster, dusts herself off and walks back just as he goes 'woof' and disappears into the cold, blue flames.......Boy did she have to think fast. But she ain't no vampire for nothing. Cold as ice, that one was. Nobody even knew they were together. Baylah came back with the cell phone...But the 'good doctor'...'the dedicated healer' never made it back from the toilet. And it took 'em eleven hours till the cops unsealed the place and let 'em go home......Sure they're gonna find that greasy residue back by the dumpster. They're gonna test it. They're gonna find out what it is.....But hopefully, our toffee colored beauty will be gone before they did...........

Monday, February 21, 2011


L'il Bastid Annie was in a funk. She sat on a chair. I think it was one of the ancient Roman ones from storage. She kicked her feet back and forth, as she yelled - I wanna go kill a lion! I wanna go kill a lion! Take me to the zoo! Take me to the zoo!....Papa leaned over one of his favorite aroma candles, trying to breathe in the vapor and calm down. Usually it worked. But tonight was different. He could not stand that skinny, little quasi-dead brat. The honeymoon (or whatever you'd call the kissy period between a 'thirty eight year old' vampire and his 'six' year old companion) was over. And he really did not know what to do with her. If there was a wood chipper nearby, she'd be takin' a bath in it real fast. That'd teach her a lesson. If there was anything left over to teach. One of the museum guard 'familiars' knocked and stuck his head into the door. He said - You want me to take her upstairs to play with the mummies some more, boss?....Papa shook his head and moaned - No, forget that. She put sunglasses and brassieres on all the female mummies. And we forgot to take them off when we went to bed in the morning.....They looked nice!-blared Annie. Real sexy!....And she stuck her tongue out at the guard..........You know, the administrator saw that and he's starting to suspect things, you little bitch! - yelled Papa.........No, no. - said the guard. Zeke, one of the morning guys covered up real good. And now some wild ass, too smart, fifth grader is spendin' a week in detention for actin' up on a class trip........Papa chuckled - Humans, what assholes.......Well? - said Annie.....Well, what? - answered Papa......Are yeh takin' me to the zoo????.......He just shot her a look. And she flew back off that chair, slammed into the wall and slid up to the ceiling, where her head banged real hard, right against a bumpy piece of old-fashioned, carved molding. Like one of them carnival games where you pound the little see-saw and send some wooden ball bouncin' up to ring the bell. ...She fell down real fast, smackin' her boney ass against the bare, cold hardwood floor. Boy, was she mad. You could see her trembling. Not in fear. But with rage... Papa said - You better learn how to control yourself, or you know what I'll do......She spit at him. Lungered up a huge wad from the back of her throat and fired it right at his face...Caught him on the cheek. And a little bit dribbled down along his chin...He didn't say a word. He just smiled. A real nice, evil smile. And the next thing you know, that little shit ass' mouth went 'POP' and disappeared, like it was never there. Just skin from her witchy, little nose to her pointy, ratty chin. Her hands flew to her face. Her eyes were wild with fright. You could see her tongue pushin' against the other side of her flesh lookin' for a way out.....Papa said - You like that?.....She quickly shook her head 'no.'.......Papa sighed, lifted his arm and waved his hand towards her head. There was a painfull ripping sound as the meat split apart and the mouth reappeared....Boy did those lips look bloody and sore.  She took a few fast quick breaths, banged her fists on the floor and started to wail......Oh, God. She's gonna kill us all - moaned Papa.....You want me to look in some a them old scrolls we got and see if anybody ever wrote anything about the right way to kill a rotten, little vampire bitch,like her? - whispered the guard.....No, - said Papa, what good would that do? I'm over twenty eight thousand years old. You think I don't know how to do that? I wrote them God damned scrolls. Painted a lot of them stoneage cave murals too, if you wanna know the truth.....Boy were kids different back then. Even the vampire ones.. You do something like this and BAM! crushed by the cave bear. Damn, I wish we had a bear pit......He glared at Annie and said - If you shut your mouth, lick that blood off your lips and act like a civilized little demon, I'll have Gus take you upstairs to the live specimens and let you rip the legs off a few tarantulas. Would you like that?......She sniffed, belched and nodded her head......Papa gestured toward the guard and he lead her away......Such was life deep within the basement storage rooms of the great museum....And the venerable, Cro-Magnon night lord leaned back over the aroma candle and let it do its work........Oh, how he hungered for the others...... For Jonathon.....For Sarah....For the nice, little children....The troubles of a vampire.......And sixty eight miles away, in the movie-set beach town of Margate, New  Jersey, Baylah (the one vampire he hadn't met) was about to confront some problems of her own.........

Sunday, February 20, 2011


Papa looked about the room. It really was quite luxurious. The concierge was a 'familiar' of his. It's amazing what one could buy with a tiny vial of blood. How fortunate that so many scattered 'round the city had the habit. What were they? Could they be called 'reverse vampires? Imagine, humans addicted to occasional sips of life-eater nectar. Yes, it did preserve them a bit. It did get rid of troubling diseases and the like. But best of all, it bewtiched them. He could request anything and they would do it. This one, the concierge, arranged for a suite on a floor that was supposed to be closed for redecoration. And it was. But one or two pied-a-terres were already complete. Papa and his party occupied the best one. Truthfully? It won't be the best for long. The decorators will be called back to erase some unspeakable damage. Vestiges of human tissue (not much, considering the fires) will be disposed of. And some additional vials of genuine, vampire, kick-a-poo joy juice will be distributed. Still, it's worth it just for the quiet seclusion. The girl layed on the bed. She was a big, blowsy thing, like a Jane Mansfield on steroids. And she moaned, as she rolled back and forth and back and forth. I suppose that twenty four ounce kobe beef tenderloin proved too much for her. The wine didn't help much either. And from her never ending repatoire of musical toots, I'm guessing she's also a little lactose intolerant too. She kept belching and saying - Ooh! Excuse me.....Buuurp! Ooh! Pardon me! Where are my manners? Look, if you wanna 'do'me a little, that's  OK...but I'd appreciate a few more minutes to get rid of some of the, some of the gas...Is that all right?.......Papa quietly answered - Take your time......He got up from the fine, chintz, occasional chair and went over to sit on the bed. Then he loosened his tie. Threw it on the floor and helped his over grown baby doll out of her tight, satin sheath. Actually, he had to rip part of it to get it off. But she was already half asleep by then. And even if she wasn't, it would have made no difference. When he got down to the bra (a major example of modern engineering comparable to the Ben Franklin Bridge ,yes, that's named after him too in this town) and the imitation silk panties, Little Bastid Annie sashayed out from the toilet........I wanna do it. I wanna do it - she whined. That's lady stuff. I gotta do it. Get outta here. You can't do that.......Papa said - Go back in there and play with your coloring book, you little brat. What the hell did you make me stop and buy it for!?.......The 'six' year old vampire mumbled something about not having the right kind of crayons. But he wasn't listening. He just scooped her up, dumped her into the sarcophagus length jetted tub (dry, of course) and poured the box of 'wrong' crayons down on her head. Then he stomped out and slamed the door. She stuck her ugly, little tongue out at him, but quickly began to color in the Flintstones as if they were dead, blue-tinged, frigid corpses. Wilma looked particularly beguiling, a regular Lily Munster in bear skin. But Betty (as everyone knows) looked even better. The squishy-hipped, buxom beauty on the bed went 'Phew!' and mumbled something about being cooler. He pulled off his Ralph Lauren Purple Label and everything else in the ensemble. But this stuff didn't get thrown on the floor. No, this stuff was carefully folded and laid over a chair. Then he climbed on top of her and began to do his duty. She sleepilly whispered - What time is it?....My old, bastard husband gonna wanna know where I am......But he paid no attention.......Then she added - Hey! Not so hard! I ain't no pony ride!!!.....A lot of good that did her, 'cause this was the part where Papa started to get rough. This was the part where he got a little hungry. This was the part where the teeth come in....First a little bite. She moaned, but she hardly noticed...Then a few bigger tastes....Yeah, yeah, yeah, you know it. She started to scream. But remember this is a big, originally Cro-Magnon guy we're talking about and a vampire too. So it was nothing for him to stiffle her yells with one of his big hands....Her eyes got a little wild and crazy. And one of them newly purchased and arranged lamps got knocked off and broken. Only he could not help it. Her blood tasted so damn good. And there was so much of it....Then Annie comes bursting out of the toilet yelling - Save me the toes! Save some toes for me! You son-of-a-bitch!.....And she jumps on one of them thrashing legs, struggling to hold on, as she starts gnawin' off a couple of minor digits.....Papa gives her a kick and she goes flying. BAM, right against the wall. But she's laughing like a crazy thing as she plops down on the floor.......I got two! I got two! - she hollers.....But he don't pay her no mind, for the last drops are coming out of this big gusher and that's the best part...... Then he jumps off and manages to pull on his clothes just as she lights up with a cold, blue flame. He throws a coat on Annie, wipes the blood off her chin, picks her up and barrels through the door.... No one in the lobby even noticed. What were they but a well dressed gentleman and his tired, cranky, little girl, rushing into a taxi after a late night out?.......Even the cabbie smiled........But during the ride back to the museum (they got out at the corner of Thirty Fourth Street) his mind wandered off and he began to question his decisions. How nice it would be to have some intelligent vampire companions for a change. Little blood drinkers can be so tiresome....How nice it would be to have Jonathon back.......How nice...How nice...

Saturday, February 19, 2011


When Jonathon awoke, he was in Doctor Franklin's  commodious quarters. Everything was done up in high federalist splendor, Jefferson himself, never had any better. Rich velvet draperies covered nonexistent windows. Well the frames were there and they did contain the requisite number of panes. But the glass was all transluscent. It was milky white. And the exterior 'sunlight' was of the artificial variety. The great scientist occupied a fine, wing chair. He sipped a cup of Earl Grey, as he studied his 'young' guest. They were both dressed in 1780's high fashion. None of that frou-frou Frenchy stuff. these outfits were fit for country gentlemen, thin suede knee britches, full. white shirts (I said full, not puffy!). You've seen stuff like this on the covers of romance novels. Sure, Franklin was a bit paunchy. But remember, he is not like everyone else. This is,after all, the man responsible for the birth of modern technology. The doctor spoke. He said - Would you like anything, I mean anyone? We have an assortment of disgusting criminals you might enjoy......Jonathon said - How thoughtful. I may take you up on that offer in a day or so, if I'm still here. And I presume that I will be here at least until you manage to free Sarah...and the 'others.'........Please, sir, what are your ideas on that subject?...........Franklin cleared his throat. He placed his cup upon a small, occasional table created just for that purpose. He said -'ve heard my music during the night, haaven't you, my boy?........Jonathon nodded........The learned gentleman continued - It is produced by a piece of apparatus I call 'the great armonica.' I presume that like almost everyone else in Philadelphia, you've gone on the tour of my house, or what's left of it?.......Jonathon said - Yes?......Franklin said - Then you've no doubt seen the small version, one of my first attempts , on display there. You know what I mmean. The thin, fine-tuned crystal discs arranged on the silver rod? They all think it's just a musical instrument. Why are people so self-limiting?...But that's another problem....Well, I have an armonica here. But this one is much larger. It's configured a bit differently. And the revolving discs are 'dampened' with heavy water...You know, like the nuclear scientists used? Oh, and they're not made of crystal, not glass crystal anyway. These are made from quartz, a  quite rare variety too. (sighs)  What use is talking? Come, I'll show you......Jonathon's heart quickened. Perhaps this meant something?.....He got up and followed the spry old man (no doubt fortified with tiny draughts of his own blood) through the rest of the quarters (all nicely done) and out into the general corridors. They continued this way and that way for a while, finally comming to a stop before two large, heavy doors. If you are asking Zebulon to guess the material, I would say some sort of florentine finished stainless steel. I remember seeing the like in Babylon, or perhaps during my sojourn among the Hind. Franklin fingered that little fob he always carried and the portals silently slid open. He went in, motioning for Jonathon to follow. The youthful Andalusian noticed the doctor's electric scooter parked inside and he gestured toward it.....The doctor said - I know. You're wondering why I'm not using it. And yes, It is due to your blood, those tiny samples drawn off by the drones, for which I thank you very much....Then he clapped his hands and the lights came up (remember, 'the clapper' was one of his inventions too) revealing a large, white, clinical laboratory. In it's center rested 'the great machine.' There was a long, silver shaft, at least sixty feet. Dozens of huge, clear, quartz discs, arranged in decreasing size were 'strung' along its length. A shallow trench, lined with some sort of ceramic material ran under the contraption. It was partially filled with a substance that looked like water, but was not water. The climate in this space was such that a fine mist  rose up from the trench, where it condensed upon the transparent discs keeping them continuously moist. Two guards silently entered. Even Jonathon did not hear them and that was rare indeed. One began to address the doctor. But Franklin simply held up his hand and said - Not now. Everything is all right. There is no need. You may wait outside.......And they left. Franklin quickly tickled his fingers over that fob causing a low electric hum to pulse up from the floor (but there was no accompanying shock) and travel into the massive, bronze looking, Rodin-esque statues supporting each end of the sixty foot shaft. The contraption came to life. Songs came out of it. There is no other way to describe it. Not like real songs. But like whale songs, or the deep, yet melodious resonances said to eminate from the earth before a quake. The doctor went over and fiddled with some sort of a control panel off to the side. Certain discs began to spin, some of the largest ones, reaching fourteen feet in diameter, as well as some of the smallest down to about eight inches. This brought forth a sound like human singing. No, like angels singing. Jonathon just stood there, taking it all in. The threehundred and four year old 'wizard' said - Behold, the mantra of the thousands of etherial butterflies materialized over-head and fluttered about the heights like petals on the wind........

Friday, February 18, 2011


The door to the medium sized chamber opened and Doctor Franklin rolled in, followed by two sturdy orderlies. He stopped just short of the sobbing immortal and said - Come, my boy. We will get her back. I promise you that we will......The orderlies kneeled down to help Jonathon get up, but he roughly shook them off......He cried - I don't want to go with you. I want to stay here. Leave me alone.......They tried again, yet had to stop, for the vampire could hurt them. Not that he wanted to. Not that he planned to. It's just that he can't controll his own strength. So Doctor Franklin called for some blankets and prepared to spend the night locked in the room with a heartsick life-eater and his 'dead' family. The orderlies draped the warm covers over Jonathon. They lifted the wily, old scientist up out of his chariot and placed him down on a large, comfy chair carried in for that purpose. Then they tucked him in too. He had a catheter bag strapped to his thigh so he would not need to go  pee during the night. The orderlies left. The door was closed and the vampire and the three hundred and four year old human were sealed in till morning. But that term had no meaning here, in this subterranean space. To the mole folk (who survived their night with the cops and were now safely returned to their much missed surroundings) it would have been Nirvana. All was silent, save for the weak, small drone of the ventilator. All was dark, save for the minute illumination eminating from some tiny, security bulbs.  Jonathon remained where he was. He started  to intone the prayer for the peaceful repose of the soul. He said - Yit-ga-dahl, ve-yit-ka-dash...Shemay-Rabah....( Magnified and Sanctified be the name of The Lord...) and he continued till he was through......Doctor Franklin said - Amen.....All was quiet for a heartbeat or two, till the doctor continued..... I know that prayer well, my boy- he said. I used to sing it at Mikveh Israel. You remember that prayer house, don't you?.......Jonathon sniffed and nodded......The old man went on - I prayed everywhere, with the Anglicans, with the Methodists, and with the Jews. There weren't too many Catholics in my time (he laughed) or what's supposed to have been my time. But I prayed later with them as well. And lately, I've even answered the call at a mosque or two. And you know what?.........Jonathon sobbed - What?......I believe it all. And I believe the Buddists. And I believe the Hindus. And I believe the B'hai's. And who else do you want to ad to that list? What difference does it make? You know what old,Rabbi De Solis taught. The righteous of all groups shall share in The World To Come. And you can't tell me that a spiritual creature such as youself, doesn't believe that. We'll bring her back. We'll bring them back. - whispered the doctor........He looked down at the eightteen year old body encasing the thousand year old soul. The 'boy' drifted off to sleep. And the Doctor whispered - And if we can't bring them back...we'll pray for them...Thus they spent the night....But unbeknownst to them, Sarah heard it all...........

Thursday, February 17, 2011


There were lots of closets in this place. Lots of storage rooms too. Most of the staff wasn't really familiar with them all. So it wasn't to hard for the young doctorix to find a spot where she and her star patient could be toether.  The lights in the passageways were dimmed in the evening. No one could see out. There were no windows for security reasons. And besides, most levels were underground. Did the 'boss,' did Doctor Franklin know what was going on ? He might have. But come on. You all know how he is. Didn't they teach you that in high school and college? Didn't you learn about him and the comely young matrons of France? Yes, the matrons. It was easier for a married woman to 'play games' in those days, for she could almost always pass off any buns baking in her oven as works of the resident baker. It was the maidens who had to be careful, especially the ones with lofty prospects. They could be ruined. So Little Miss Medicine took Jonathon out of his 'cage.' She covered him up in one of the emerald green Eagles sweatsuits they had coming out their ears at this joint. True, some of other staffers did recognize him, but what did they care? He still wore the discipline collar. They all carried one of those small 'fobs.' Anyone could 'turn on the heat.' He wasn't about to try anything. It's not like they didn't do similar things with some of the other inmates themselves. And considering the wide variety of clientele they had staying here, some of those staffers were not too particular. The room was comfortable enough. It was a small storeage space for papers and forms mostly. There was a little desk, a chair and a worn, high-gloss, green leather sofa. Typical government issue. Look, I'm not going to give  you all the details. Remember, I was there when The Bible was canonized. I knew the people who knew the people, if you want to know the truth. Yeah, they have some soft core stuff in The Scriptures. But don't look at me (as if you could) I didn't write it. So here goes. Jonathos wasn't naked. He did have on that collar. And his companion for the evening was like-wise demure, for she retained most of her attire  too. Only it was all scrunched up. The 'top' was unbuttoned and all scrunched down around her waist. Her tastefully matching skirt was arranged in a similar manner, rolled up over her thighs and bunched up just about at the level of her navel. The florescent overhead light was on a dimmer switch. So everything had a dark, purplish-blue hue to it. Not very flattering for the human girl. But I don't think the vampire cared one way or the other. They played a rough game of 'hound and rabbit.' That's what folks called it along the shores of The Levant back in my time. Push-push, rub-rub, slap-slap, pinch-pinch. You want me to say this a few more times? Because it took a while. Remember, we're dealing with a vampire here, not to mention a girl well versed  in shall we say, human sensitive areas. So when it was finished. When the game was over, they disengaged, prettied themselves up annd talked for a while. Lucky for her, modern clothmakers had mastered the art of crinkle-proof garments. That green sweatsuit was folded up on a chair good as new. So he didn't have to worry about a thing. But Jonathon detected a rather strange frequency wafting up from his 'friend's' body. She was guilty about something. He said - What is it? What troubles you?.......She said - You can tell? You can really tell?.......He said - Come on. You know what I am. There's a gentleman one level up agonizing over how he's going to manage to sneak the state of the art computer out of his office and into his car. Another person, down this very passage, has enabled other less intellectual thinking devices in the payroll department to issue her a check for ten thousand dollars. You want me to go on?..... No - she said. It's about Sarah.........He tensed. What? What about Sarah? ........... She answered - We've got her. We have her here. And the other ones too.............How? Where? - he cried.....Don't you know? - she said...........No. Not when I'm upset. Not when I'm nervous. Tell me. Don't play with me...........She knew it was against the rules, but she told him - We  found the hiding place, the cellar or whatever it was where Papa took them. How he did it, I do not know. But Franklin found out. He knows a lot about your maker. He's been dealing with vampires and other 'exotic specimens' for centuries. He knows just about everything........And? - said Jonathon. Where are they?.........Come on. I'll take you - answered the lover. So they got up off the sqeaky sofa. Did a little bit here and there to tidy up the joint and left..... She led the way through maze-like corridors and up and down countless staircases till they came to a door.......In there - she whispered. But I can't open it. My 'fob' won't work and I don't have a key.........He said - And you think that's supposed to stop me?.......Then he turned, inhaled, wiped a tear from his eye, stepped back, pulled himself together and sublimated right through the door. The  young doctor gasped, for she had never seen the like before...... The room was medium sized and lit by small 'security' lights. Metal cabinets lined the far wall. There was no furniture. Someone had laid statues all about the cold, tiled floor. They were arranged in no particular order, like architectural 'findings' delivered to a construction site for future finishing and eventual installation. He got down and crawled among them. Here was Albion, the elf lord, along with the others of his kind. And plump, scared cherubs held court around them. Each seemingly made of the same, fine, gritty, grayish stone. Sarah lay off to the side, like an angel or a French Marianne, created for the place of honor on some fine, public building. A beaux arts maiden, waiting for her perch. He laid down beside her, put his arms around her and cried. And he stayed that way till Doctor Franklin came to find him.......

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


The eerie tones of the musical apparatus continued throughout the evening. At least Jonathon supposed it was evening. There were no windows in this vast enclosure. That did not surprise him. He was a valuable specimen. His captors would not allow him to come to any harm. Not yet anyway. Who knew what would happen when their 'study' ended? He might be rendered down and distilled into some sort of elixir. One of the Louis' in France did that to his court vampire. Dabbed it behind their ears, I think they did. No benefit, except for the gentleman who sold it. Parisian noblewomen paid dearly for the tiniest flacons of the pale, ruby fluid.  Called it Eau de la Font, water of the fountain, the fountain of youth. But they still crossed over into death at their regularly appointed times. So much for guarantees. A bit later, after a particularly appealing crescendo, the ghostly music stopped. And then it was quiet, very quiet. Jonathon would know such things. He had vampiric hearing after all. But no sound came to him. He searched. He tried. He struggled to pick up the slightest vibration. But nothing. And he laid there, lulled almost to the brink of sleep by the soft, rocking motion of his invisible spider web. Was it due to his own contortions, or simply a programmed function of the magnetic field? Who cared. It was comforting. Subsequently, from somewhere near the fringes of consciousness, he detected a tiny, electric whine. After a few heartbeats, it started to grow louder. He recognized it as Franklin's vehicle and was not startled in the least when the door to the great room opened  and the venerable scientist rolled in........ Jonathon? Are you awake, my boy? - said Doctor Franklin......He rolled right over to the outside edge of the 'field' and stopped. Jonathon sniffed. His throat was a bit hoarse. Yes, life-eaters can get hoarse. but he still managed to cough out a response...........Yes, sir. I am awake. To what do I owe this thoughtful visit? - said the vampire.......Why I could do no less. - whispered Franklin.......He rummaged in the pocket of his sweat suit and pulled out a little 'ivory' egg. Jonathon's vision enabled him to see such things. True, the general aura was still dim, but he could make out the basics. The doctor began to roll the egg around in his hands. After a few moments it began to glow , till the old man's face (how old, still a question open for discussion) was bathed in an undulating, milky light. .....Please forgive our rude behavior, about your nakedness, I mean. But certain great thinkers among us feel that extraneous objects might interfear  with the field. I'll see what I can do to remedy the situation in the morning. - said Benjamin Franklin.....Jonathon only managed a weak nod. It was still difficult for him to pull against his electronic restraints.........When did we last meet? - crooned the doctor..........How long ago was it? - he said.........No, no , no, you do not have to answer. I understand how hard that is for you. - smiled Franklin.........But quite a nifty trick, isn't it? I like that devise. It's one of my favorites..........But Jonathon  interrupted. He said - Where are we? Where is this place? I smell water. Are we near the river?.......Hush, hush, hush - said the old man. You will learn all things in good time. But first, perform a small favor for me.......Jonathon did not ask what iit was. He knew what humans, certain humans, especially the older ones, wanted. And he just surrendered, letting it happen. The old man giggled, as he played with a small, plastic, rectangular piece of eguipement. He tapped a few buttons. From somewhere in the darkness a few small, metal drones appeared. They looked different than the first one, the one that cut his skin. These flew into the field (there were three of them) and settled onto his person. One upon his shoulder. Another on his hip. The third on the thigh. Doctor Franklin clapped his hands and tiny needles sprang out from each of them, siphoning off a bit of blood, which they stored in small, stainless  vials. The doctor clapped again and it was over. The needles retracted and the drones flew off........The old man said - Clap on, clap off, the clapper. That was one of mine too. I believe I'll sip them in the privacy of my quarters. They know the way.........Then he switched on the chair and rolled out, leaving Jonathon in the darkness once again..........

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES (or sometimes, the discs)

Jonathon had been let out of the box. The 'puppet show' was over for the time being. He sat at a small table up against the wall of the vast chamber and conversed with the young doctor. He said - Hadleigh? Bailey? A bit heavy on the 'E' sound aren't we?......She said - That's not my real name. I have a lot of name tags. I got 'em in a box. Every morning I just grab one. People expext it. They bring 'em through here for a peek at the magic, politicians and military types I mean, and we gotta look the part. Not just them. You know we deal with all kinds here. It's a regular, Star Wars bar scene, no offense......Their heads come together and they kiss......He says - None taken. Where are we?.......She - Can't tell......He - Well, Doctor Franklin is here, so we must still be sommewhere in  the city?......She - Really, you think so?.......He - I would suppose so.....She - Then you don't know Dr. Franklin.....(he waits for more).....She ads - Let's just say that the wily fox manages to cover quite a bit of territory.......He - How?......She's about to respond, when a nearby portal opens and one of the anti-enchantment agents  enters, taking up position a few yards away. He adopts a threatening stance, arms crossed, feet squarely planted. You get the picture, real 'cop 101'......(see, Zebulon picks up things). The doctor can see him. He's right in her line of sight. Now Jonathon could theoretically sublimate right through him. That would be it, nothing left but thousands of minute, bloody morsels (bones included) splashing down onto the immaculate, shiny floor. But you know, who wants trouble? So they both shut up. Jonathon nods. He understands......He ads - Please tell me, who do I have to thank for this outfit? She smiles. He sports a well pressed, dapper set of fatigues, military all the way, except for his long, wavy dark locks........She - We're a governmental agency. Thank 'Uncle Sam.'........He yells out into the air - Thank you, Uncle Sam!!!.....His voice echos in the immense, white, windowless, clinical space. Other agents run in, weapons drawn. They look to Agent 1. He just shakes his head and they depart.......Jonathon and the young doctor laugh. She goes back to eating her sandwich. He studies every move, how she chews, how she swallows......She - Are you hungry? I mean, do you 'need' anything?......He - No, I can go for a month......She - And then?........He - Then I have to 'cull' somebody.......She - Cull?......He - Kill, kill them. I'm trying to be nice about it. Look, haven't they been working with captured vampires for years? Don't they know? Don't you know?.........She - We know. It's just that I've never seen it. Can I see it? I mean when you 'cull' someone........He (playfully) - And who would that be?.........She - We have prisoners. Human ones I mean. Bad guys. You know the drill.........He - I invented that drill. But let me ask you something. Will I be here that long? For a month, I mean......The agent shoots her a look. Jonathon picks up on it. She doesn't respond. The agent approaches. His heavy shoes resonate on the floor. He comes up beside her and whispers in her ear - It's time. You're needed on 'Level 4.'........ She nods, looks into Jonathon's eyes, throws out her lunch mess and exits........ The agent says - OK, 'sunshine,' back in the cage........Jonathon hesitates. The agent (enhanced with various cerebral chips) focuses on the metal collar around the vampire's neck. We hear a low, electronic hum, as it instantly heats up. Jonathon screams. The agent snaps his fingers and points toward the center of the huge room. Jonathon quickly crosses over the red line painted on the metallic floor annd takes up  position inside the 'box.'.....The agent gows impatient and growls - Gimme the uniform.....Jonathon takes it off and tosses it over. The agent kicks it toward the door. Then he turns on the magnetic field and Jonathon is suspended once more. But he screams - The collar! The collar! The magnets! It's heating up again!! He struggles to reach it. The agent watches him suffer for a few heartbeats. Then he refocuses on the heavy collar, causing it to instantly click open and clatter down to the floor. He holds out his hand, as it rapidly slides across the glossy surface and jumps up into the air, where he smartly grabs it. Jonathon catches his breath. The agent says - We got tricks too, 'sunshine.' Then he turns, snaps out the lights and leaves. The difuse light from up above reawakens, creating a column of weak, watery illumination in an otherwise pitch black chamber.......Jonathon exhales. His muscles relax........And from somewhere deep within this unknown complex, he hears a sound, as someone 'plays' a haunting melody upon an old, mysterious, crystal 'armonica.' This ancient devise, developed (or discovered) by Doctor Franklin before the Revolution has long been rumored to possess many .........But look, Zebulon is distracted. Search for it on the Google thing. They will tell you want you want to know.....


Jonathon has been let out of the box. He's still in the same chamber, only not suspended anymore. The 'puppet show' (for the time being) is over. He sits at a table, conversing with the young doctor....Jonathon - Hadleigh? Bailey? A

Monday, February 14, 2011


Jonathon felt himself shifting. He was pivoting around a magnetic center point. They could do that. They could control him and change his position by adjusting the electron field. His eyes were opened now He could see as well as hear. There was a finely made young thing out there in the shadows. Her hair was tied back into a no nonsense bun and her lab coat was particularly white and crisp. She studied him with a cold dispatch, just like a microbe on a slide. From time to time she'd tap something out onto a keyboard and certain vapors would be added to his chamber. Then she'd observe his reactions and whisper something into a recorder, all quite clinical. One substance had an immediate effect. It excited him. And she noticed. She stared. It took her about twelve or thirteen heartbeats till she refocused and whispered something into her machine. Jonathon smiled at her. She swallowed and pretended not to see. But she saw. The light coming down from above grew just a tiny bit brighter. And she pushed the cart bearing her equipement just a tiny bit closer to his 'cage'. He spoke. He said - I am called Jonathon. What is your name?.......She did not answer......He said - I am no demon. This is not an exorcism. You may address me. You may use my name....This time she smiled. He could see it. Just a little one, but it was there. He focused on her name tag. God bless his vampiric vision. It said - Dr. Hadleigh Bailey. Jonathon said - How should I address you? Are you Doctor Bailey, or are you Lady Hadleigh?.....She laughed, a small laugh, more like an audible smile. He smiled back, attempting to nod his head in a chivalrous salute, but the electron field made it extremely difficult to do so. The doctor went back to playing with her buttons and he just hung there, waiting for their next interaction......Some time passed. New aromas and substances trickled into his presence. A shiny,little drone hummed its way down from the darkness, landed on his buttock and bit off an ever so tiny piece of his skin. Then it tucked this  precious cargo into a small slot, as it hummed its way back up into the void. Apparently, it was able to escape the magnetic field, for he saw it slowly fly over to his jailer and  come down for a soft landing right into the palm of her hand. She snapped open the lid and sniffed the contents. Then she closed it and put the drone into a drawer on the cart. Jonathon said - I hope it was to your liking?.......She smiled. And this time she spoke. She said - We shall see. We shall see. .... The doctor came closer. She stopped at what he assumed was the beginning of the field. She was about to speak. Her eyes looked different. She wanted to tell him something. But it was too late, for from somewhere in the shadows, he heard another voice. It said - Now, now, Tomas. Are you attempting to 'worm' your way into the good graces of my assistant?.....Jonathon felt the breath catch in his throat. He knew that voice. It had to belong to somebody who knew him as Tomas. An old friend perhaps? Someone from long ago? Who?......And then he found out. One of those electronic scooters, of the type used by humans in their dotage, rolled out of the darkness and into the light. And seated upon it was an old gentleman. He seemed to be approximately eighty or eighty five years old. His wispy hair was long and pulled back like some passed his prime rock promoter. Small glasses rested upon his nose. He wore a bright green, Philadelphia Eagles sweatsuit. The cunning, little vehicle rolled its way up to the edge of the field. The old man motioned towards the young Dr. Bailey and she lowered her head and left. Then he spoke again. He said - Well, Tomas, it has been quite a long time. Hasn't it?......... Jonathon (often known as Tomas) looked into the aged, jowly face and whispered - Can this be? Doctor Franklin? Is that you?......But the old reprobate only chuckled, as he turned around and rolled away......

Sunday, February 13, 2011


Thus flows the river of vampirism, at least in these parts. The human retainers are snug in their Jersey Pines refuge. Baylah still holds court with her rich 'husband' at the shore. Sarah and the 'children' (the elves and cherubs) lie suspended in their nebulous limbo, prisoners of the mysterious 'Papa.' But Annie, the six year old child vampire (one who should have made common cause with the younger elves) enjoyed her new existance as Papa's favored princess. Their lodgings deep within the bowels of the University Museum on 34th Street had been somewhat enlarged and beautified. There was an old bed in storage. I believe it once belonged to the spoiled daughter of a Roman noble. Annie liked it. Just like Goldie-Locks, she knew it would be just right for her. So some of their new 'familiars' dragged it out, dusted it off and set it up in another little  used space that opened onto their lair. Other what-nots and gee-gaws followed, till the chamber glowed like a robber's den. She loved it. And if she loved it, Papa loved it. They still went out every night, ripping people apart, stealing bling from burnt up corpses and in general just having a grand old time. Papa would tell her stories as they strolled through the city, or rode in their shiny, black car. He shared tales of his life long ago. Being privy to such tales was like witnessing the arc of all human (and not so human) history. She heard of mammoth hunts on the frozen plains of an ice-age Europe. And arcane rites performed deep within the torturous caverns buried under the fertile woodlands of some dark, rich forest. Papa was the Blood Lord then, a revered seer, who shepherded his tribe through the centuries with a wisdom gained over millennia. He saw things, strange things now unknown to every other soul upon the earth. The thickset, sturdy ones, the gnomes and trolls of the mountains, the ones we now call Neanderthals, were his neighbors. And he became adept at their method of communication, built on melodious trills, simple words and fluid gestures, heavily leavened with a layer of telepathy. To us, it would be magic. To them it was only natural. They hunted the great aurochs (or-ox) a massive, ivory colored bovine standing seven feet high at the shoulders and with horns like Odin's spears. Papa would go out with them, if the hunts were by the moon. He'd race over the plains, vaulting through the air and landing secure upon the back of the giant beast. Gragging hold of the horns, he'd lean forward and give it a little nip, just a bit, right on the neck, to show it who's boss. And it would slow down, snort a few times and begin to circle. The mortals would eventually catch up and reverently surrounnd it. Then they'd offer it bunches of fragrant grass, spiced with certain compounds known to bring on a type of sleepy euphoria. The beast would lay down. Papa would slide off its back, join the others and lead them in a few prayers designed to thank the gods for opening up their larder. One by one, they'd approach the animal and with sharp, flint blades slash practiced cuts deep into its hide. The blood would flow. The great, watery eyes rolled back, as the noble aurochs passed over into the spirit world. Then they'd howl like wolves. And the women who were with them (some, hunters in their own right) rushed forward to begin butchering the dead carcass. After a while, Papa would lead them back to the village, accompanied by haunting melodies issuing forth from an assortment of horn flutes and simple drums. thus was the creation of human culture. And he was there for it all. At times, when the stories were over, he'd think about Jonathon and discover that his hatred was beginning to temper. It was beginning to lessen. He was free now. That pain, at least, was over. and he was starting to mourn the 'loss' of his son. He suffered feelings of contrition about his treatment of Sarah and the children. Who knows? Maybe some night he'd do something about it. To lessen the pain, he'd drop Annie off (she loved poking about in the museum) and then go ravish some waiting beauty alone in her carefully decorated apartment. Lately he'd been allowing them to survive. I guess that's a sign. I guess he's beginning to mellow.........

Saturday, February 12, 2011


Papa and Annie watched from a distance. They saw the men from the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau take Jonathon away. Annie just looked. Papa mouthed a silent - Good for him. His face didn't register any emotion. But he was glad it happened. They were dressed like any other pair of well off Center Cityites. He had on one of his cashmere overcoats, the designer suit, the silk scarf, substantial shoes, the whole works. She looked like the real life baby doll of some over indulged fashionista. Everything said quality, but with a dash of taste and style. No one would ever suspect a thing. They strolled away from the police action. She raised her mittened hand. He took it . How would they entertain themselves? What manner of mayhem could they cause? Papa asked her if she wanted to terrorize a few more naive, single career girls, but she didn't want that anymore. It was too easy. Besides, this was a Saturday and none of them were home anyway. How 'bout a cop? Nah, too obvious. Some stupid, little wannabe thugs out for a night of trouble on South street? She stopped, admiring her reflection in a window. Being a vampire agreed with her. Look how thick her hair was now. She flipped it back, as she adjusted her stretchy, headband-ear-muff thingie. Then she giggled. Papa said - What, you like that idea? She shrugged. He said - You do. I can tell. Come on. It's South Street then. He hailed a cab, not too difficult when you looked like some buff, polished Richard Gere. Or was that Alec Baldwin? I don't know. This contemporary crop of players all seems so alike to me. Now ask me about the actors they had in those old 'divine' epics back in Babylonia. The lives of The Gods and all that. They were something. And the action sequences! Those guys knew how to use a sword, let me tell you. Hands flew. Heads flew. Slaves were cheap, you know? So the money men didn't care. Just so the crowds were happy..No, just so the king was happy, if you know what I mean.  And the crowds waiting just inside the Ishtar Gate (that's where they staged it all) were unbelievable. And the falafel wasn't too bad either. Aaach! Those were the days. But Zebulon digresses. Papa and his little girl had a very enjoyable time on South Street. They knew just how to troll for dinner. Some cheap, little nobodies swigging beer (probably brought from home, for they could ill afford the tarriffs on this thoroughfare) started with their usual repatoire of taunts - Yo, dude! Yo, look at the faggot and his rat faced (urppp!) piece a shit kid there...... Sure they were drunk. Sure they were bitter. But remember, this is Papa we're talking about, not Jonathon. He doesn't care. You walks the streets. You takes your chances. So he lowers his gaze and makes like he's trying to rush off. Annie acts the part of the frightened child. She looks down at her feet and holds on tight. They turn down a pitch black alley. The juvvie hall alumni follow. Papa starts to trot a little faster. Annie 'struggles' to keep up. The junior varsity mafia gives chase. Soon everybody's running. Papa slows down. The alpha-roach catches up and slams him into a brick wall. He starts shoving his hands into the cashmere pockets of the coat. Into the fine worsted wool pockets of the suit. Annie makes like she's going to scream. One of the other two slaps a greasy mitt over her mouth to keep her quiet. They pull off the watch (a knock off). They snatch the fat wallet (filled mostly with singles).  The leader makes a move. He goes to smash Papa across his chops. But the hungry vampire makes a quicker move. His strong, kid-gloved hand grabs the skinny weasel by the throat. He lifts him up off the ground and squeezes. He squeezes real hard. You know he's good at that. Blood begins to dribble out of the kid's ears. He starts to kick. Papa smashes his head against the brick wall. And that seems to make him remember his manners a little. Annie spins around like some tasmanian devil. No, I mmean it. Just like a tasmanian devil. She sucks the nearest eye right out of its socket. The former owner crumples down onto the piss-slicked concrete. Number three makes to run. She vaults into the air, locking her arms around his shoulders and her teeth into his neck. Then, like a cat, she settles down to enjoy her nightly repast. And Papa finishes his stringy morsel too. Some old crone slams open a third story window and yells - Hey! What you doin' down there,  you lousy kids???....Annie yells - Drop dead, you old bitch. Then she hurls up a rock. The prune-faced hag slams down the sash and douses the light. The two killers giggle at each other, lock hands and wander off. Annie will go back to the museum, where the guard-familiars let her fiddle with the mummies (both Egyptian and Incan), while Papa continues on for shall we say a 'more stimulating' encounter. Who knows? Perhaps tonight  he'll even let her live...... .

Friday, February 11, 2011


Jonathon focused. How long had he been out? Not long, maybe a few hours. He could do that. He could detatch himself from events around him and drift off into a snug, balmy state. Many vampires had that ability. I suppose it comes from the long years spend entombed 'alive' suffered by many of the breed. A kind of life-eater hibernation. He was completely bare and susspended within a magnetic field. The room was dark. He could not see the walls, but 'felt' the space to be very large. A beam of weak, tenuous, watery illumination coming from above bathed him in a milky glow. He could feel the tingly hum of the electric field as it danced through him.And he listened and he waited. There were others in the room. Their whispering voices came through to him - Is it dangerous? Will it hurt him?......No, that doesn't have any effect on him. His cells aren't alive. Relax. It's better this way......What do we need all this for? I don't get it. I don't get it......Well, you want him to break free? You know a lot of 'em can pass through almost anything. 'Sublimate' I think they call it. But they need something solid to push against or push on. And this brand new piece of technology doesn't provide him with that......Look at him. He just floats there, like, like a fly in amber.......Exactly. and hopefully he's stuck there just as tight.......How old is he?.......Well, from visual examinations, surface indications, the docs say he's about eightteen to twentytwo.......No, no, I mean how long do you think he's been a vampire?.......We're not sure. Now they did notice that little tattoo he has on the inside of his left wrist. Somme good luck symbol, an old one. Wait, let me bring it up (tap, tap, tap) Says it was popular around the Mediterranean Sea approximately one thousand years ago and, here's the kicker, hasn't been seen since. Contemporary historians know of it from recentlly discovered, mummified corpses found in the Atlas Mountains of North Africa...........Shit! So you're tellin' me that Antonio Banderas looking dude is over a thousand years old!?..........Well, I think he's more like that kid from Entourage, but yeah, I am. And not only that, we think he's from Spain.........How do you know?.........Look at his skin tone. Not too dark. Generally Eiropean. Probably a Muslim or a Jew...... Come on, how do you know that!?........ Jesus Christ! Take a look at him! The guy is 'cut' for God's sake. Ain't no Christians doing that one thousand years ago. Christ!!......So where does this all lead?........What do you mean? We learn from them. They had a couple a few years back out west.............Where? You mean Area 51?............No, Elizabeth Taylor's house! Where do you think I mean? They learn from them. They learn. We got some information on severe weather hibernation techniques. We got other stuff. We'll get some from him too........And then what? What do we do with him? What, keep him like an exhibit or something?..........Yeah, exhibit. We could show him to all the big contributors. Man, that would be some ticket. Wouldn't it?....Do they do that?...........No, you dim wit. They don't. The last ones, the ones at 'Elizabeth Taylor's house,' they burnt 'em. They incinerated them........Why?..........I don't know. Who cares? It was just a hobby.......................And Jonathon heard the whole thing.

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Jonathon and the girls were lingering over their nightly sponge baths. Aura looked particularly fetching in her new, gold choker. It went so well with her rich, olive skin. Sylvia's was a bit different, her skin I mean. She had a rosy glow and for that reason prefered jewelry of a lighter shade, say white gold or even silver. She wasn't fussy. He dipped the cloth into a bucket of warm water and dribbled it over their skin. Then he took special care with the sensative places, so they'd be clean and fresh. The sisters appreciated his ministrations. And they were equally diligent when it was their turn. Bath time was a happy time. On that, they all agreed. What would they do tonight? How would they fill the hours? Silvia wanted to visit the book shops. Trips to the surface were special treats. Aura felt the same way. She favored pizza joints, any pizza joint. Red hot and cheesie. That's how she liked it. Not too much in the way of calzones and pepperoni specials underground. You can  bet on that. Their mole-daddy didn't exactly approve of their nocturnal safaris. He understood just how dangerous it was up there. But the girls were good girls. So let 'em have a little fun. Jonathon dried them off real nice. And they covered their nakedness with sharp, little outfits he'd brought down for them. Not like hookers. Well, not exactly like hookers. They tidied up their semi-secluded refuge, blew out the sterno and were about to leave when they heard it. Off in the distance, probably at least three city blocks away, came a sound. Footsteps, it was footsteps. Lots of feet in strong hard boots. And voices, loud voices. They were shouting - OUT! OUT! EVERYBODY OUT!!.....The cops were clearing the tunnels. They came down every once in a while and made a big show of it. The city had a squad devoted to 'homeless management' and the mole people came under that banner. But the 'grubs' (what the city called them) knew what to do. They'd just scammper a little bit further down into tunnels even the cops didn't know about. Only this time it was different. After a few heartbeats, Jonathon picked up more invaders closing in from at least two other directions. He hurried the girls on and they began to run. It was hard in the dark, but this was their home and they were pretty sure of themselves. Other mole people were making for safety too. Some tunnels, the old, narrow ones, filled up fast. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Why can't some people just move!? But they couldn't go any faster. Some of them were old. Some of them were sick. Others were crippled. You don't get too much of that 'altruistic' medical care when you're a mole-person. The cops, or whoever they were, closed in. Kids began to scream. Tear gas bombs went off. Others collapsed. But their tormentors never flinched. Come on. Come on. Herd this cattle along. They were being driven up toward the surface. Up toward the vans. And this time, there was no escape. Sure, a couple made it down to the inky black, hidey-hole level. But only a couple. Soon the first victims stumbled out onto the street.They clambered up through some sort of open manhole and stood there coughing and shivering in the cold night air. Snot ran down terrified faces. Mothers grabbed children. It was impossible to wander off. They were surrounded by police vans, fierce, barking canines (who were in fact just a type of slightly domesticated wolf) and bully-boys swinging clubs. Well dressed Center Cityites stood just beyond the yellow tape, clucking and sucking their teeth to their heart's content. Tisk, tisk, tisk...about time. Now Jonathon could have escaped. He could have torn off and sublimated through any one of them...more than one. He could do it. He was sure of it. But he'd learned his lesson. No more big gestures, especially public ones. No minutely shredded bodies, lingering upright for just an instant before splashing down onto the sidewalk. No free shows. Not since what happened after that big 'spiritual' hoo-haa he and Baylah staged. Let 'em wallow in their own hypocracy. They want God? Let 'em find Him on their own. In truth, he didn't really think they wanted him at all. He heard a whisper. Some guy was sharing a secret with one of the cops - That one. The trim one. The one with the loose, black, curly hair... One of the bully-boys raised his club and pointed it at him. He shouted - You, in the leather jacket! Over here!!.....Jonathon turned to reassure the girls. Then he walked over. Some men wearing dark glasses materialized from out of the glare and shadows. A cop bellowed to them - This one?!......A dark glasses guy nods. Then a beef trust in blue strong armed him into some van. Not a police van. This was a bit larger. And it was square and black. The walls were made of lead. They threw him in. Locked a thick, heavy metal collar around his neck. Whacked him with the clubs a few dozen times and left him in the dark. He felt the powerful engine spring to life. He felt the vehicle move. They took him away. A few seconds later, the heavy ring around his neck started to get hot, real hot, red hot. He screamed in pain. A tinny, little voice came forth from a speaker placed high up just under the roof. It said - Just wanted to give you a taste. That's all. We could burn  you up, if we wanted to. But we don't. So calm down and don't make any trouble.......Jonathon calmed down real fast. The neck ring cooled off. In fact it  got real cold and soothing...... The voice started up again - See? No harm done. I think you're gonna cooperate real nice.......especially if you want them two, little tootsies of yours to come out of this with....all their body parts intact.........Then silence, only silence. He slumped against the side of the van and sat there, as the men from the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau sped off with him into the darkness.............

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


Jonathon sat in a small ice cream parlor. It was a cozy, traditional space on a little street in Center City. It was easy to fake eating ice cream. It melted so fast people could hardly tell. But he went in there to look at the humans and to think. The death rate in certain hospitals had gone up lately. Blood gifts were hard to come by. The elves no longer made their nighttime, bedside deliveries. No more happy endings. No more 'cured' grannies. No more 'healed' children. Funerals, funerals, funerals.  The magic had left the world, the 'good' magic anyway, at least in his part of it. He did manage to provide  the occasional vial or two. But he was scared. Unknown forces (or at best, slightly known) were abroad in the city. The people from Rome were determined to recover their 'possession' and the U.S. government agents, the Anti Enchantment Bureau, knew how to make their own kind of trouble too. So Jonathon spent most of his time underground with the mole folk. He had his harem. That wasn't hard to do. Yet every once in a while he rose to the surface and culled a 'baddie.'  Sure, he could just rely on the mole men to catch him a worthy meal or two. But the chase was the thing. He enjoyed the tightening of the noose. And it is not as if those so condemned did not deserve it. So he got up, threw his cup into the trash, straightened his seat (most vampires are neat freaks), zipped up that sleek, new, black leather jacket and walked out into the night. The scent was already upon him. He knew exactly where he was going. And he knew exactly who was going to die.......Now approximately thirty or forty miles to the east, the Piney folk and the Red Paint folk had another problem. They could not decide whether to come back out into the world, or to fashion a more permanent retreat from it. So they stayed snug, deep in the evergreen forest, securely hidden in their unexpected, mysterious woodland. They and the Jersey Devil. Evenings were spent sitting by the wood stove, listening to banjos (yes, banjos) and arguing over the efficacy of such obtuse rites as a 'throwing of the bones' or some old Pow-Wow spell.  It  was not a case of one group against the other. There were 'inclusionists' and 'isolationists' in both camps. Still, it was difficult to read the Red Paint folks, what with their supposedly collective mind and all. Who was talking, the individual, or the clan as a whole? I'm telling you, it drove the Pineys crazy. But they were good to the vampire 'familiars' hiding with them. The humans, I mean. And wilkravitz started keeping a journal. He wrote it all down, even learned a little banjo pickin' too......Now if you go a little bit more to the east, say twenty, twenty five miles or so, you come to the sea shore. That's where Baylah is. She's still there, shacked up with her financier 'husband' in his showplace, beach front home. And she passes for human. Does a good job of it too. Those neighbors wintering over don't suspect a thing. So she stays out of the sun. Well, that's just because of a severe drug interaction. She doesn't want to. She has to. And she's become quite adept at miming the act of human dining. Cut, cut, cut. Push, push, push. Smear, smear, smear. And when absolutely necessary, she manages  to swallow a morsel or two. It makes her sick. Could you take a bite out of a moldering human corpse and enjoy it?  Well, you know what I mean...most of you. But with frequent trips to the restroom (always solitary. believe me, the other wives picked up on that) for much needed barf-breaks, she gets by........And what's up with Annie? Just the usual. She manages to entertain herself. Likes to sublimate into bedrooms, stand by the side of the bed and listen to the snores (I guess she learned all this from Papa). Single parent households are her favorite. She gently pokes the mommy or daddy in the belly. Then she whines - I wanna drink a water..... The victim grumbles, but sleepily shuffles off to get it. Then, when they come back, fully awake from the bathroom light and see her clearly for the first time they freeze and say - Hey, who the hell are you? You ain't my kid.......That's when she innocently shrugs and smiles. Only the smile isn't so innocent. And they can see the fangs. That glass of water usually drops to the floor and she's on them in a heartbeat. They go fast. You know the drill. She waits for the blue fire. She watches them burn......Then, from somewhere down the hall, she'll hear - Mommy?.....or....Daddy?......So she wipes her lips, smooths her dress and happily skips off to finish the job............

Tuesday, February 8, 2011


This is what it is like to face a nightmare. This is what it is like to confront a 'demon.' I automatically relate these events from the vampire's viewpoint. But not tonight. This is what it is like to die at the hands of a fantasy.He had a nice home. It was one of those trim, stylish 'trinity' houses they have in the old quarters of Philadelphia, three relatively small floors (hence 'trinity'), each done up to polished hardwood, stone fireplace and premium granite perfection. The atmosphere was rather contemporary, yet with a veneer of 'georgian' charm. He paid a lot for it. Genuine, federalist, red brick properties don't come cheap. Granted, it didn't have parking, but you don't get that in the city, so the Porsche had a snug, little condominium of its own. Heated too. Twenty ten was a good year. Lots of forclosure proceedings. Just the thing for a real estate lawyer. Desperate people, willing to pay plenty (and up front too) to save their homes. Too bad it didn't always work. Too bad for the dumb assholes. Too bad for their innocent children. But real nice for him. You could pick up quite a few bargains in a market like this. And he did. So what was he worth? I do not know exactly. Modern money seems so abstract to me. Wait a heartbeat or two. I will sublimate through his computer and find out.....There, there...I have it. According to his 'personal' records, he had a total net worth (cash and properties) of thirteen point four million (I assume dollars).  Is that a lot? I would guess so. In my day, when my feet last touched the earth, we spoke of shekels and talents. They were tangible. You could hold it in your hand...a certain weight of silver and that was it. But now? Who knows? I hear some measure wealth by 'kilos' of cocaine. I wonder how much cocaine a child must bring to school to pay for his midday meal? .....The man, the 'victim' had dined alone on a dinner of 'take out' shell fish (some sort of unclean crustacean I suppose) a starchy, baked root vegetable smothered in butter and a plate of fresh, cold greens drowned in some sort of milky, eggy sauce. In my day, that sauce would have been used for a poultice. But who am I to judge the diet of these 'contemporaries'? They torture their chickens into growing massive, voluptuous breasts via all manner of dangerous potions. And then they wonder why the dangerous potions (passed on by the sacrificial birds) cause the same voluptuous growths in their own bodies. Yeech!! If I ate like they do, I'd be running to the mikveh (community baptism pool) everytime I took a crap. Ah, but Zebulon digresses. The man got up from his seat at the granite 'breakfast bar'  rinsed his plate and utensils in the polished, stainless steel sink and put them into a matching, stainless steel sanitation device. Then he belched, scratched his belly and collapsed onto a leather couch positioned before a magic mirror where he was going to watch some 'game'. I have seen this game before, but I do not know too much about it. It must have started in Nubia, for all the players (or most of them anyway) appear to be from that venerated country. But the athletics in the mirror failed to hold his attention. He pulled a cunning, little hand-held magic mirror out of his pocket and proceeded to tell it about all the 'shit, nobodies' he was going to destroy tomorrow. Then he got up, poured himself a tall, frosty mug of some fermented grain beverage, went back to his seat, gulped it down and fell asleep. Oh, yes, there was a communication from his former wife (who I suppose is the caretaker of his 'former' children), but he told her to go to hell and drop dead. Now, I would think it imperative for her to do the later first, but customs here still baffle me, so who knows. A few thousand heart beats later, some magic jinn turned out all the lights. The magic mirror went dark too. The man slept on. That is when it happened. A vampire, in this case it was Papa, sublimated through the kitchen wall. He chose that spot , because it was unseen from the street. And he walked through the residence fingering and examining all the fine, glossy, decorative possessions. Funny, but he was almost a mirror image of his intended dinner. Then he pulled up a matching, leather ottoman and sat down, studying the victim in the dark. Oh, I suppose I must repeat this information yet again, but what is darkness  to a vampire? It is nothing. They can see! They can see! All right? In truth, he sat like that for quite a while. Then he reached out a finger and ran it along the sleeper's nose. A slight snort, but nothing. The victim slumbered on. Papa tapped the belly. He pulled off a shoe. He tickled the foot. But nothing. Papa exhaled. How long must a life-eater wait? And it's no fun to eat them in their sleep, especially for a person like Papa. No, he liked to see the terror in their eyes. He liked to smell the sweat and in a majority of cases, the feces too. So that's why he did it. That's why he reached out, delicately pinched one of the man's eye lashes and quickly yanked it out....The sleeper yelped and instantly sprang to life, clutching his red, watering eye........Shit! Shit! Who the fuck are you! Who sent you?- he yelled.... Papa smiled, but did not answer....The 'toy' went on - I don't have to take this crap!You know Fat Sal!? You know Fat Sal!? .....Still no response......Well, the hell with you, you shmuck!.....The 'toy' started to tremble. He went for his little, hand held magic mirror. But Papa just took it from him and crushed it into a splintery plastic, metallic mess. The 'toy' desperately pressed back into the couch. He started to scream. No! No!  No! No!....Papa calmly extended his arm, taking hold of the victim's wind pipe, which he proceeded to destroy as delftly as he had the little mirror thingie. The toy choked. He gagged. He coughed up blood. His hands flew to what was left of his throat. Papa grabbed each wrist in its turn and broke it. Then he did  the same with the ankles too. The toy slid down onto the floor in a sobbing heap. Papa got down  and craddled him in his arms. Then he rocked him as he began to softly whisper in his ear..... Shhh...shhhh...Soon it will be over. Soon the pain will end.....The toy just whimpered. Papa brushed back its hair. Then in one,last violent move, he smiled, leaned closer and bit off the victim's nose. A little portion of the cheek came away too, but really, what did that matter now? The toy shuddered in agony. At first, Papa contemplated tearing off the eye lids too. That was a trademark of his. But he wanted to kill a few more people before the night was over, so he had to hurry. How fortunate for this victim. So he contorted the neck and moved in for the kill. The man hardly noticed when it happened. Papa waited till the body disappeared into the usual cold, blue flame. Then he quickly grabbed the toy's fine watch from the greasy residue and left. Ah, the fresh, cold air felt good. He checked the hour on his new time piece and smiled. Plenty of time for more....Plenty of time for more.....