NOW DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN WANTS HIS TURN TO TALK

I suppose the title of this installment provided the necessary clue. So now you know it's me. I come to you from deep under the former naval shipyard, well hidden within the bowels of The Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. What a name that is. Look, call us whatever you want. Say we're 'Sally's Dirty Knickers.' of The Rancid Peach Pie Society. Do you wretched masses really think that I care? My Intelligence Quotient is to yours as yours is to the bedbugs who torment you.

But I do understand that some of you are waiting for this opus to ooze  down certain pathways, so I will tell you this much, that 'force' out in the woods (and I mean the South Tyrolian Woods Jonathon and Sarah are currently frolicing about in) is none other than the legendary RENATE. I know she's been wandering around these pages for a while, threatening to make an appearance, waiting in the etherial wings, coolin' her heels in the Great Astral Green Room, but worthy demi-goddess that she is, she just (and I quote) 'can't take this chicken shit crap no more.'........Remember, she was born long before the laws of syntax, decorum, or grammar were even thought of. People said 'chicken shit' a lot back then. I'm told some still use the term today.  And It seems that Little Annie is planning a major career change too. What it is, I do not know. But the mermaid-hag we keep here picks up things. She keeps chanting 'children's crusade...children's crusade...'  Yet it's hard  to understand her, what with all the Wagner playing in the background. She's convinced she was one of the original Lorelei immortalized in the Great Jew Haters famous score. I've tried to explain the futility of that poosition. We got her off a whaling ship cruising the Azores. The Rhineland was nowhere in sight, but she doesn't want to know that. Milton, one of my closest associates, tells her we got her off a label from Chicken of the Sea. Can you imagine if people had to look at her shrivled form smiling down from a grocery shelf? Albacore the world over would rejoice.

So Renate is about to sing her first aria. I think she means to tell our two Philadelphia based love birds something pertaining to their quest. My own forays into the universal ether (via the Great Armonica) provide me with a certain measure of knowledge. It seems a former boyfriend of hers was a guy, or heavenly personage, I should say, who flunked out of Michael the Archangel's Officer Candidate School. Not quite a fallen angel, just a dumb one who tried to crib a few answers hastily scribbled onto the inside of his left wing. One encounters types like that all over.

Why didn't any of the usual characters, or their attendant disembodied spirits come through to you tonight? They didn't because they're hurt and angry. After ten months of nightly truth-tellings, coupled with sincere expectations of imminent fame (even the D-List would have sufficed), they've only managed to drum up just under twelve thousand hits, a goodly sum, when compared to the rest of the universal blogisphere. But they're not spitting out macaroni recipes and half-assed investment tips here. These personages...ARE PERSONAGES. They take you behind the very vault of heaven, into the tick-tock workings of the cosmos, while you lust after vampires of a lesser god.  And that especially hurts some of the hot ones. Why do you think Baylah squanders so much time in Atlantic city poker rooms. How come Jonathon spends so much money on his cunning, little, black leather bootkins? Jeez, open your eyes. Sure, Papa remains stoic and above it all, but he plays and plays and plays his DVD's of old Richard Gere movies and thinks--- 'why not me?'

So be a little 'human' (I assume that's what most of you are). Visit more often. And bring some of your little friends along with you. All right? That's all I'm going to say now. I gotta go oversee the bathing of the Sasquatch.

And if any of you snide, little pieces of baggage ridicule me for my typing skills, may hades down you whole. I'm a 'doctor,' God damn it, not a secretary.....

MUSINGS AFTER MIDNIGHT...a vampire 'familiar' speaks

This is wilkravitz. I usually just inscribe what the vampires and other beings in our little circle want me to inscribe. but tonight, I'm talking. I'm tapping out my opinion of what's been happening around here. First of all, we learned a lesson. Me, the life-eaters, everybody. Actually, I brought it on. There was this tweet or something (really don't remember) about a new kind of high-tech, visial search engine guaranteed to generate lots of hits. I told Papa about it. He's as big a ham as anybody and he said - Yeah, try it......So I listed each post through the new set-up.

For the  first week or so it was great. Hits increased 1000 percent. We went from 50 to 100 hits per day , up to ten times that amount. Luna (Papa's current lust partner and the most superficial vampire  you'd ever hope to meet) was thrilled. She expected to become the first GENUINE vampirina celebrity since famed, etherial Incan songstress (ever hear her voice?) Ima Sumac.  Even our 'Piney' mind reader, Edith bought into it, predicting an imminent call from Bravo any day. Well, we're still waiting. Only thing is, all those hits disappeared, along with that new search engine. What's strange is NOT ONE of the more than 6,000 hits we 'got' during that short happy time carried over into the post 'new big thing' era. They saw our link. They knew where we were. You'd think SOMEBODY would have hit us via an alternative method.. But I suppose a statistical impossibility happened and nobody did. See? I told you magic really happens.

Now we're right back where we were. Papa says that's humanity for you. Luna went back to torturing harried shopgirls. And Edith? Well, she just repositioned the date of that imminent call from Bravo. Edith wants a reality show real bad.. Our six or seven year old  'juvenile' vampirina, Annie, believed with all the innocence of an immortal child. She expected to be on TV. She expected those front row seats to the next Justin Bieber concert to float down from the full moon any night now. She expected  her 'My First Vampire' Barbie Doll to sprout wings and shoot Skittles out her ass. Annie don't eat 'em. She just likes all the colors. But she expected lots of things. And when you frustrate a powerful, little vampirina, a plethora of weird, dookie events tends to happen. Remember that strange BOOM and ominous rumbling in #PHILLY the other  night? (they 'said' it was a mini-earthquake....yeah, right.)  And the thing with that eightteen foot, great white shark at the New Jersey Aquarium (right across the Delaware from Center City Philadelphia) suddenly 'blessed'  with the ability to fly and talk French? Sounded a lot like Maurice Chevalier, actually..No, wait a minute. You couldn't have heard about that. We kept it out of the media. Papa handed out five thousand dollar checks and bought two hundred and six cell phone/cameras at here-to-fore unheard of  prices to kill that story. Well, actually he didn't do it, one of his 'money' familiars did.

Look. I was going to tell you other things too, but I'm tired. I'll fill you in some more next time. Thank God they were able  to rip open the belly of that shark and pull that little Canadian kid out before he suffocated. Nice boy too. Didn't make a fuss, or anything. Real polite. I think they gave him a two hundred and fifty dollar gift certificate to the souvenir shop. I don't know. Maybe they gave him a little more............

Watch out for sharks.

VAMPIRE LOVE SCENT

The two vampires moved quickly, sleeping in caves or digging dens, like wild canines on the run. Their feral brethren watched from a safe distance. Did they have enough strength and power to confront them? Each case is different. It's one thing to shred a weak, pathetic human, yet quite another to go mano a mano with a trim vampirino in his prime. Lorenzo, the male noxious, seemed to sense this. But the woman, Kadeema ran on pure emotion. Win or lose, she'd do enough damage. A simple soul, that one. Mayhem makes her happy.

They had a close call one day, while holed up deep inside an abandoned, late Roman salt mine in the South Tyrol.  It came during act two of a life-eater lust fest. Some innocent hiker, down from Vienna, hears 'strange noises' coming from a 'mysterious tunnel,' so he kicks aside a few boards haphazardly placed over the opening by the local authorities (Jonathon and Sarah shimmied in through a less apparent apurture) and tip-toed inside. God, only knows what he expected to do if he actually  confronted something in there. But what am I talking about? He DID actually confront something in there. Lucky  for him they were what they were.

The vampire and vampirina were deep into an authentic recreation of 'The Pirate and The Cheer Leader' (never known to actually cross paths in captivity, but you get the idea), when the skinny kid almosts trips over them. Sarah screams. Not a human scream, a vampire scream. Roosting bats instantly release guano and swarm out toward the sunlight. Mister Eldest Von Trapp Son accompanies her in his best falsetto aria. Jonathon instinctively snaps and levitates up to the slick, dirty roof (remember them bats?). The kid drops a Bowie knife almost as big as his adam's apple. But he saw. They knew he saw. He knew Jonathon just didn't jump. He saw him levitate. Almost like a cat, but better. And he grabbed onto the roof and he stayed there.

The Vienna Wonder froze. Sarah grabbed a shirt and covered herself. Then silence. This went on for maybe four or five heartbeats. Then Jonathon spoke. He said - Hey, kid, what the hell are you doing? Are you crazy? You know it's dangerous snooping around in places like this??!.............You're in here - spat out the kid. What are you doing in here?!.........We are experienced, professional spelunkers! - said Sarah. We are trained for situations like this!.............Is that how he manages to stay up there? - said the kid...........Yes! - said Sarah. We are equiped for things like that!......Equiped? But he's naked - said the kid.......So Jonathon took a brerathe and jumped down. Sarah passed him something to cover up with. But the first thing she grabbed was her bra. So he was sort of limited.......No, come on. You're not spelunkers. W-what are you? - whispered the kid........Sarah was almost ready to tell him. But Jonathon beat her to the punch......You seen the ads for the Le Cirque de Magique appearing in Venice this week? - he said......Yeah??? - said the kid. You from that? So, what are you, acrobats?........Jonathon, feigning his best tempermental artiste, said - What do you think? ..........And the kid bought it. He nodded his head and he bought it. Turned out he was heading for Venice (had a Euro train pass). Jonathon told him to ask for them at the box office of La Fenice Opera House. I guess his telepathic powers were really firing up. Gave the kid a name. shook hands (dropped that bra) and sent him out so they could  'get dressed.'.....As he left, Sarah yelled - Hey, kid, what did you expect to find in here?...........He mumbled - I don't know. Thought it was hippies doing mushrooms. There was this smell. It..it drew me. - he mumbled....And then he was gone.

Now vampires have been known  to exude an intoxicating aroma used to attract prey. Nobles, such as Jonathon and Sarah do it to help subdue their preordained victims. The only trouble is, that kid was no victim.......Who else was out there?.....And why couldn't they sense it?.....Nobody should ever have  gotten that close..........

A LITTLE EXTRA INSIDE INFORMATION CONCERNING STRANGE EVENTS IN NORTHEAST PHILADELPHIA

OK, here's something you should know about. There was a 'phantom' explosion, a concusive force about an hour ago in #PHILLY. It happened at the intersection of KNIGHTS & FAIRDALE ROADS in the Northeast section of the city. Extensive investigations conducted by various governmental/civic agencies failed to turn up any cause (gas, combustive devices or substances, underground tremors, etc.). However many people fled from their homes, congregating in the streets. Vibrations were felt for miles around. You can Google coverage provided by local, network affiliates, such as ABC Action News (channel 6).

No one knows the cause. No one has a clue. But a certain, much chastened, contrite, little vampirina is cooling her jets in her sleeping cabinet because of it. I can hear her threatening to kick out the fine, mahogany panels right now. She already murdered about three innocent Barbie dolls (you know, those whorey looking vampire ones?) and chased  our much beloved, Jersey Pines, Pow-Wow Woman 'houseguest' into a no longer used (they're vampires, don't you know) Kenmore freezer down in the sub-basement. Thank God one of the 'elves' (pre-pubescent vampires on the cusp of physical maturity, with pointy ears due to continued cell growth after vampiric conversion) let her out.

In case you're not a regular follower or reader of this site, I'll tell you the vampirina's name. She's Annie, until recently known as Little Bastard Annie, because of her, shall we say, unpredictable behavior. Picture Lily Tomlin's Edith Anne character (google her) only with hot chili peppers stuffed up her butt and  rapidly manifesting, supernatural abilities.

This is all a tantrum. She wants to go to the shore. Her human playmate from nextdoor, a little witch in her own right, is down there. Look, she knows she can't go out in the sun, although plenty of people in this house would love to pop open the garage door on her and watch her 'splode into spontaneous, more-than-human combustion, right there on the dirty, oil-stained slab. It would be 'happy-happy-joy-joy dance' all over the place...with Cuban heels and castanets!!! But our vampires got morals and they don't do shit like that.

So, if you live in or near #PHILLY, be careful. I don't think she'll do it again, but you never know. Papa, our twentyeight thousand year old (in a thirty two or three year old human body) fearless leader (by default, since Jonathon and Sarah are away on Pilgrimage) threatened to send her hurtling into the corona of the sun. For some reason she really hates that.  If she has any sense, these 'stink bombs' as she calls them, will stop. Just keep your eyes open, 'cause her aim ain't so good. Okay?

And please don't think 'vampire lifestyles' are ANYTHING like what they show you in those Abercrombie & Fang fiascos, 'cause they're not. You wanna know the truth? Read VAMPIREWONDERLAND. Look, our regular readers know we didn't post this for them. But with the explosion (stink bomb) and all, we had to do something. The public deserved an explanation. Just remember our link http://bit.ly/gw7fAE  and drop by any time (we got over 268 posts). So feel free. don't be a stranger.

DINNER IN THE WOODS

Jonathon and Sarah took their leave from the monk and went back out into the forest. The noxious beasts were still in the area. Sarah knew her mate meant to do something. She wan't sure just what. But she knew. If they wanted to make progress, they had to go east. Only Jonathon had them going around in a big circle. He wanted to confront the  'nightmare.' He wanted to destroy them. I suppose when you're on a quest, you do things like that.

Sarah had to make a 'cull,' It was her time of the month. She wasn't even sure what the son-of-a-bitch did. All she knew was she had the dream, or the visison, or whatever you want to call it. And now she felt the gnawing pain in her stomach. It got worse every hour, even when she slept. So Jonathon let her lead the way. Did she know what she'd find? No. But her feet knew where to go.

They cut cross country, through fields and bracken and scrub pines. When dawn approached they dug dens like coyotes. Vampires can dig fast when they have to. It's a survival adaptation. Dig a tunnel, make a turn, make another, widen it out and go to sleep. Animals leave them alone. I guess they sense what's inside. Bears don't though. In colder climates, vampires often bunk with grizzlies or polar bears. They snuggle right up to each other. Sometimes the hibernating giants even let the vampires take a little drink. I don't know what good it does them. It's not the same as taking a life. I guess vampires get curious from time to time. And for the bear, what is it? Like a mosquito bite?

About a night and a half later, they began to climb up into the foothills of a small mountain range running down from the Alps. Cute little tourist town. They skirted around it. But something happened. The 'cull' was there. Her heart began to pound. Then she saw him, standing by a long, black, shiny car, passing off an envelope to some dapper gent wearing Hugo Boss, I think it was. Jonathon whispered - Weapons dealer. Worst kind. He tried to grab her. He tried to make her wait. But she couldn't restrain herself any longer. She  broke free and ran over like some socccer mom racing to confront a big blow hard coach. Two more guys jumped out of the car. Three seconds later after four automatic pistols were leveled at her (they all packed), Jonathon races in and sublimates right through the Hugo Boss guy, rendering him into a nebulous bloody pulp, that retained it's shape for a heartbeat, but then went splashing down into the dirt. Everybody freezes. Faces blanche. Jonathon brushes himself off, cocks a sharp, little grin and says - Next? .....Oh, they could see the fangs. They definitely saw the fangs. She flashed 'em her pearly whites too. One of the guys jumps back in the car and speeds off. Now there's two bastards with guns and two vampires. The 'cull' says - No, don't. Please, don't. I have money. I can get it. It's in Zurich. I can pay you......... But in a hyper-second Jonathon's hand flashes out crushing the wrist of the other one, who instantly crumples down onto the ground screaming like a  skinny, pissy-pants, little white girl...........Sarah locks eyes with her dinner. He falls to his knees, whimpering. He goes - Oh, God...Oh, God. .....She twists his neck. I am almost positive I heard one of the vertebrae pop. Then she tears into his throat  and drains him dry. His feet were still kicking when the blue flames began to burn.

That's when Jonathon spied Lorenzo and Kadeema watching from the edge of the clearing. He helps Sarah to her feet and nods to the feral duo, as they slowly back off. After a few heartbeats they turn and start running,  just as the guy with the ruined wrist begins to wail and shreik.

A SAD LITTLE VAMPIRINA IN LUXURIOUS CHESTNUT HILL

Jonathon and Sarah were confused. Those noxious bastards were tearing up people left and right, yet the world thought it was OK. The monk thought so. It was obvious his 'higher-ups' did too. So did the civil authorities. Better to live with a lie, than to eradicate an evil. Still, Jonathon is quite capable of independent action. Kadeema and Lorenzo just might start drooling out the opposite side of their mouths after all. Now, let me turn you over to Zebulon for a while. Most of the stuff being channeled tonight comes from Philadelphia and he handles that part of the forest. So let him fill you in. There's a spring soiree over in Venice I want to see anyway. Reminds me of my mortal days. Ciao, you fleshy bastards. This disembodied spirit is outta here.......

Am I coming through? Testing, testing. It's me, Zebulon. Can you read me? That wilkravitz, 'familiar' guy is typing this all up, but he looks a little bloated ang gassy to me. And you know how capricious the heavenly ether can be, 'specially if he starts mixing some of his gas into the ether. What? You want to know where I've been? Well, it would make more sense to ask where I haven't been. Just let me tell you one thing. They got life everywhere and some of it is quite colorful and very accomplished, if you know what I mean. Remember those manta-ray people over on Europa (that moon of Jupiter's)? Well, you can roll them and us (I WAS a human once) up in a big meatball , roast it right next to the sun, drown it in gravy and we still don't come close to some of the folks they got living out there. I pity those two alien bastards they got locked up in New Mexico. I really feel sorry for them.  If God wants to perform a miracle, He'll free them folks. They pray enough. But I came to tell you 'bout bastards we got closer to home....

Little 'Bastard' Annie's been crying lately. I don't mean whining, like she always does. I mean crying. Real-sad-wet-little girl-tears. Look, she's only been a vampirina  for a few months. And what? Before that she was Papa's puppet (back when he was locked up) for a few months more? What do we know about her? You do realize that even vampires get confused? They forget what's real, what they picked up by telepathy, what somebody told them. You think their brain ain't still a human brain? Bullshit. Ain't no different kind of gray jelly locked up in there. They 'know' what they want to know and 'forget' the rest.  Did she come from a 'good' family? Was her mother a low-life? Who cares? It don't matter. They'll say what they want.

Evelyn, from nextdoor, is taken her kid down the shore for Memorial Day Weekend. They got a place up on Lonng Beach Island. Annie talks to the pudgy thing once in a while. She hears about the beach. She hears about the rides and all the souveniir shops. So it's only natural that she wants to go too. Of course she can't go out in the sun. Not unless we want to be on the cover of Star Magazine or something. You know how people eat up 'spontaneous human combustion' stories? But she can go out at night. She can see the beach then. You know how it looks in moonlight. I think it looks even better. She can ride on a rollie-coaster, win a stuffed animal, kill a murderous derelict under the boardwalk. Kids love that kind of stuff. And she STILL has the brain of a six or seven year old child. Can you remember what that feels like?

Papa feels bad about it. He would take her. One of the 'familiars' could set it up. They could be in a nice, deluxe hotel suite in no time. You know. They've done it before, one of those glitzed-up casino joints with black-out shades for high-rollers.  She could even go out and catch a glimpse of the twilight sky, all orange and violet. The seashore looks real good then. Maybe Baylah will take her? Her human boyfriend won't mind.

Boy, kids sure complicate things. Especially vampire kids. The 'elves and cherubs' are all right though. But they're a different story. So I don't think we're gonna be automatically calling her Little 'Bastard' Annie from now on. That 'Bastard' part don't sound right.........Boy, Papa feels bad about all this.....Listen, she's got the hiccups. Banish her. Keep her. Lock her up. We been through all that.....But she's just 'Annie' now. And somehow this is different...........Life with the vampires..........Didn't I tell you?

vampire wonderland: A MONK, A VAMPIRE, AND HIS MATE

vampire wonderland: A MONK, A VAMPIRE, AND HIS MATE: "Jonathon was already awake. It was natural to him. He felt the waning of the light. He knew it was time. Sarah still slumbered. She nestled ..."

A MONK, A VAMPIRE, AND HIS MATE

Jonathon was already awake. It was natural to him. He felt the waning of the light. He knew it was time. Sarah still slumbered. She nestled close. He protected her. Brother Elias entered the supply house. Jonathon heard his footsteps, as he trod the old, uneven boards. Then the monk knelt and rapped on the trapdoor. It's safe now. It's dark. I will let  you out, - he said.  Sarah heard him. She stretched and yawned. So many things about vampires are still quite human.

They sat at the worn table in the monk's quarters occupying the adjacent small structure. A tiny flame danced in the neat, little fireplace. Their host said his grace, before politely beginning his evening meal. The two vampires watched silently, as he ate  the simple stew. Jonathon smoked a pipe prepared by the monk. The tobacco was smooth and fine. Sarah said - I did not know that vampires could smoke. That surprizes me.......Her mate said - Why not? We don't consume it. The smoke, I mean.......Then he said something in Vahmpeerigo and the monk laughed......So, you understand our dialect? - asked the Spanish life-eater......Brother Elias said - A bit. I have met others of your kind.........How? When? Where? - said Jonathon.........Back before I came up here. Not 'here.' This is just a hermitage. The main monastery, I mean - said the monk. Before then, I lived in Rome...........Rome?? - noted Jonathon. And what were your duties, if I may ask?.........Brother Elias sighed. He knew the capabilities of these creatures. Lying woulld be impossible. So he told the truth.....I worked with a, a vampire, - he said. Excuse me. I know some of you don't like that word, but......... No, please. Don't worry. It's all right with us, - said Jonathon. You were telling of your duties. Please go on.......So the monk told them . He told them everything. And Jonathon knew that their host was one of Papa's captors. Sarah picked up on it too....But they said nothing and the monk lapsed into silence.

How is it the noxious ones leave you alone? - asked Sarah......Brother Elias shrugged and said he did not know. Perhaps it was the prayers, or maybe their primitive superstitions. You know these are the types told about in old Wallachian folktales. Dracula's cousins and all that. Who could tell what they believed? The nobles don't even know how their minds work. They discussed the killings. Brother Elias said the local authorities  did all they could to keep tourists out of certain remote areas, but there were always risk takers It happened before...and would probably happen again.........Then he looked square into Jonathon's eyes and said - Please, don't try anything. Don't attract attention. I know this is the twenntyfirst century, but please. I mean look at those poor alien creatures your present nation holds captive in New Mexico. You think only the noxious ones are stupid? It's not as simple as that. Most humans are just as bad. I don't know if I even believe half the things my creed teaches. Maybe in  a century or two, God willing, the world'll be ready for the truth. But most of them would rather have the middle ages now.............After a few heartbeats Jonathon said - I was there the night your people captured that vampire........Really? I didn't think you were that old. - said the monk. And if I might ask, how were you two connected?.................He was my 'father.' Not my human progenitor, but my 'life-eater' one..........

The monk nodded, but said nothing. Sarah took his empty bowl and washed it under the old fashioned pump. Then she stopped and looked up, recognizing the sound of 'cherubs' scampering across the roof.......

ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK

The noxious vampire beasts made short work of the torn and battered humans, draining every remaining drop of blood from their ruined bodies. Death came as a balm to the pathetic victims. Their flesh ignited, consumed by the familiar, cool, blue flames, as their souls moved toward The World To Come. Kadeema, the brutal woman, did a clumsy dance. Her male companion hugged his knees and rocked from side to side in laughter. They enjoyed the fire and capered around  like trolls in hell. When the grisly fuel was spend and the ghostly flames were gone, they sighed in disappointment and shuffled off.

Sarah spoke first. She whispered -  Those poor people. Why didn't we do anything? How could we just lie here?.......What could we have done? - said Jonathon. They were beyond hope when we got here.......But they must have sensed us. The vampires, I mean. They had to know we were here - she asked........Who knows? Maybe they didn't care - said Jonathon. But he went over to the small, twin piles of greasy ashes, reverently scooped some up and quietly chanted the prayer for the dead. Sarah just cried.

Yet another voice joined in with the prayer, intoning the ancient Hebrew verses right along with him. Should that have scared them? Well, it did not. For they felt the worth of the singer and knew him to be no threat.  Jonathon turned to face the man and saw a middleaged inndividual with a thin, fine face, dressed in the homespun robe of a monk. The noble vampire said - How is it you were able to approach us? I never felt a thing.....The man in the cassock responded - I am no threat. You felt that in your soul and you knew. The woman can come out, for I am certainly no threat to her as well........Sarah got up and went to Jonathon. She took his hand....Who are you? - he asked.......I am Brother Elias. There's a hermitage, not far from here. Come. The dawn breaks early this time of year. I will give you shelter and protection from the daylight. .......You know what we are? - whispered Jonathon...........The monk nodded and embraced them both in turn. Then they followed him down a narrow, barely visible footpath and disappeared into the pitch black shadows 'neath the trees.

You could cross these woods for a lifetime and not find the place. There were two snug stone shelters. We might call them cabins if made from logs. Each had two small, high glassless windows. The doors were thick and stout. One served as chapel and study, a 'day room,' if you will. A tiny fireplace did duty as the kitchen.  A thin cot pushed up against the bare, stone wall was the bedroom. The other structure held carefully preserved foodstuffs, neatly arranged on rough, simple shelves. A heavy trapdoor lead down to the root cellar. Brother Elias opened it and said - You can sleep here, in the dark. He gave them a short, thick candle, mouthed a prayer and sent them down. Jonathon said - Thank you..... The holy man nodded and shut the door..

The room was clean and dry. Bundles of sweet and pungent herbs hung from the rafters. Our two life-eaters snuggled together in a corner, their bodies pressed against the smooth, raw, swept, earth floor.. Sarah smelled cat, not the urine of a litter box, but the warm, sleek smell of a huntress. This realm was well patrolled. No vermin scurried here. So they comforted each other and they slept. Sarah dreamt of cruel, tormenting demons, armed with hot, sharp, flesh-piercing sticks. Jonathon dreamt of other things.............

RINGSIDE SEATS

The 'noxious' breed tends to be territorial. More so than the 'nobles.' They very rarely develope any support system. No willing 'familiars' for them. No warm, snug beddy-bye spots. They haunt the dark. They sleep in caves and holes. They wear a bunch a crap, when they wear anything at all. Some say the Biblical Lilith was one. But as I ain't never knowed her face to face, there is no way for me to comment on that.

These wild, children of the night usually travel in pairs. Gennder don't make no difference. You are liable to encounter some big, threehundred pound vaguely woman looking thing  hooked up with a little, pencil-necked vampire geek. You know what I mean? So Lorenzo and Kadeema are close to normal looking, if y'all happen to be a little bit hopped up or totin' a heavy load a wine in your belly. They keep to theyself. Most a their kind do. but a certain amount a 'driftin'' does take place, 'cause they don't sleep in the same dirty nest every night. So battles occasionally do occur. Wild stuff. Blood flyin'. Assorted, mismatched limbs twirlin' through the air. Old lady witnesses drivin' by in old lady cars goin' berserk and crashin' into trees and all. Cops blowin' whistles and runnin' the other way. Yeah it happens in America! They say it don't. but we all know what big liars 'they' are.

Now here's what's goin' down right now. Kadeema havin' fum with some tourist  couple. I don't know where they ftom. Poland or Germany or Hungary or someplace like that. I been a dead spirit hangin' 'round the I-95 (major east coast, north-south super highway) corridor in America so long, I don't know why they got me channeling this. Guess they get crossed signals in the Dead Zone too or something. Don't ask me where the hell that Johannan bitch is. By rights, he should be the one doin'' all the talkin.' Wait I see him. I am gonna pinch him real hard.  And I got these long strong finger nails too. Like the shells from Brazil nuts they are. Hey, we might be disembodied spirits (most a the time) but certain habits die hard, like a good  diggin' and scratchin'finger nail fight. And I sure as hell know you understand what I mean.

So Kadeema got the woman cornered up against this big rock. That's what she gets  for bein' so cheap. Coulda peeled off a few a them whacked new Euros and been wigglin' her tushie into a mostly bedbug free mattress in one a the official camp sites. Her husband shoulda smack her. Yeah, I know that is no longer politically smiled upon. But I don't mean 'smack her' smack her. I mean just raise his hand like he gonna do it. You know, scare her a little. Sure woulda saved a lot a trouble, 'cause she is certainly shittin' herself right now.

That noxious bitch just bit off the sick, little end a one a her taa-taas. Ooooh, she screamin'! The husband got his eyes rollin' up into the top a that bald, greasy head .. (that's cause Lorennzo is chokin' him real good) I do not think the male noxious intends to kill him. Not that way. He just wanna shut him up a little. Now the tourist woman sittin' on her squishy bootie  cryin' and cryin.' The man tourist just got part a his neck bit open. Look at Lorenzo chewin' on that gummy gristle. I never realized it was so white. Don't worry. The vampires ain't swallowin' none a those bit-off, or chewed-up parts . They just do it to be mean and because it's so damn much fun. Soon as it stops bein' fun, them humans gonna go 'gook' (means breathe they last...rhymes with cook) in the usual vampire inspired manner. Lucky the woods is thick 'round here, real Hansel and Gretel like. Only I ain't seen no house made outta stale, sickening tasting European cookies yet. Not even in the little gift kiosk they got squattin' over in the middle of the tourist section. . But just lemme wait till all this photogenic killin' gets done. Then I'll have me some time to look around.

And even though our gruesome twosome ain't gotta deal with no human eyes watchin' all this, that don't mean nobody else ain't takin' it all in. There go a pretty hazel pair right over there. See? Just behind that bush. Ain't she a sweet little life-eater thing? Look just like that sorta red haired one from Thelma and Louise, only a few years younger. And  that Spanish-lookin' vamparino with her does tend to favor a juvenile Antonio what's-his-name if you ask me. Bet we'll be seein' some more a them real soon.

Oh, you wanna know why I talk like all this? Well, my daddy was the voice for Foghorn Leghorn, ya know. And let's just say the role came natural to him. It a family thing. So shet up...I  got me some violence to watch here....

SARAH FILLS US IN ON THINGS

Right off, I want you to know this is me talking. It's Sarah. They tell me I have a role to play in all this, but everyone else pushes in front of me. You should see Jonathon. He's going more 'meditterano' by the minute, mixing the Italian with the Provencal with the Catalan. But that's how they do it. That's 'Vahmpeerigo,' la lungua de los Vampiros, the tongue of the vampires. Oh, he strikes poses and waxes poetic. You know how some Europeans get. He's not 'Jonathon' anymore....Now he's Jonathon-Tomas, his Spanish name. And he says it this way. He says 'Yo-na-tahn--Toe-mas, real fast. You know Mandy Patinkin, in The Princess Bride? Well then you know what I'm dealing with. Next it'll be flamenco. Watch, you'll see. He liked that 'cull' the other night. He liked how he handled that ratty, little gangster guy. Not one false move. New-Age vampire central casting all the way. And the alpine breezes blow his hair just so. Mine to actually. It's hard to be plain in an environment like this. We went into a nice, cozy, Euro-contemporaty rest stop along one of the main roads (still narrow) in Il Parco Nazionale del Gran Paradiso (Romantic scenery to die for). Sure, we didn't want the coffee. You know that. We just wanted to look at the humans and smell the sumptuous Piedmontese aromas.  But the humans also apparently wanted to examine us. One woman told me I was 'motto bella,' I think she said. The husband compared me to a  young Susan Sarandon. He was making eyes at me the whole time. Said he thought Jonathon, no, Yo-na-tahn--Toe-mas, was my younger brother. Whew! You know he didn't like that. But always the courtly Spaniard, he just flashed him his best Andalucian sonrisa (smile) and gave him a curt, little nod.

I could exist here for ever. We carry very little with us, maybe a backpack. Sometimes we lose that. It's easy to sublimate through the wall of some cute, tiny souvenir kiosk and make off with a new ensemble, if you like tee-shirts, hoodies and sandals. Jonathon leaves some of the cash he takes from his 'culls.' We're vampires, but we're not thieves. It's important to me that you know that, OK?

The air here is incredible. The moonlight, like magic. I was two feet from a family of chamois yesterday. You know, those white, long-haired mountain goats with the short, black horns? Beautiful. The mother led her two kids right into our cave. Oh, she stopped short when she sensed us. I know she couldn't see us that far back, not with all the twists and turns. But I could see her. I guess it's those cat's eyes we've got. And the little ones were just adorable. One came up and sniffed my hand. Oh, I almost cried. How can humans possibly eat lamb chops? You tell me that. You'd have to be a real animal.

I slip into nearby towns every now and then, to visit the hopelessly ill. I can smell them. It's a talent of mine. I'll sublimate into some isolated niche in a hospital, or a modest, little sick-room in a house and quietly perform a minor miracle or two. This is my routine. This is how I do it. If they wake up, I say - Fear not. I am come to heal your pain......Remember this is a Catholic area, at least culturally. They're used to such things. According to the local newspaper, saints swing through here all the time. Must be on the annual tour or something? So then, when I have their attention, I bite into my lip, just enough to draw a drop or two, go over to the bedside, kneel down and administer 'the kiss of life.' Next morning, when I'm long gone, Nonna's asking for her biscotti and latte and cursing the grandkids for losing her false teeth again. I don't know. It just makes me feel good. Sure, Jonathon does it too. He taught me how to give that 'Fear not...' speech in the local dialect. But with me, it's different. In my case, I think it's why I was MADE a vampire.

Only thing wrong with all this is the smell. It's real weak. Just a slight, little whiff. I pick it up sometimes late at night, right before the dawn. It's a vampire smell. I'm almost sure of it. Yet it's a bit different. Jonathon smells it too. I can read his mind a little better than he realizes. This is 'noxious' territory. There's no way to avoid it. We have to go through it. Who knows? Maybe it's part of our pilgrimage? Maybe it's like a test? And maybe...we're both starting to get a little scared. Well, at least the world didn't end a few hours ago...Right? Thank God for that.........

PAPA'S DINNER DATE

Papa caught his reflection in the eightteenth century gilt mirror. Thick steel colored waves, soulfully handsome face, he still had it. But he's a vampire. He's had it for thousands of years. If you think he's gonna lose it, you're nuts. Still, that don't mean our Richard Gere look-alike never worries. Emotions play a part too. Mood can enter into it. And life with the uber-vampire-bitch, Luna, plus their (what would you call her?) 'problem child' affectionately known as Little Bastard Annie does take a certain toll. Still, things had been quiet lately. Nosey Evelyn, from across the lawn responded wonderfully  to her under-the-table, vampire blood droplet regimine. Her face looked a little less monkey-fied, less upper lip hair, smoother skin, didn't fart so much. Sure, it made her love Papa even more. Now she was completely devoted to him. And that butt-insky didn't even know the reason why. God bless that pizza kid. No, really. God BLESS the pizza kid. No more shitty pizza for that house. Whiney  big mouth kids spread stories fast. So she got shamed into it. Now Friday nights are a lot happier at her place. That slob kid a hers puts away more than half a pie. But (and here's the important part) the kid won't eat no anchovies. Evelyn loves anchovies. She smells like one too. But that might just be early menopause. So, Dougie, I think his name is, comes  'round the back of our place first, sneaks into the kitchen and opens the boxes. Papa comes in, bites into his finger and dribbles a little bit of red 'Papa juice' onto the fishy part. The salty anchovies  hide it real good. You'd never know it was there. But it does it's job. Evelyn is a bit more copasetic. And the cops ain't called as often. OK, so she makes these nauseating cow eyes at Papa now whenever she sees him. But she been doing that all alonng anyway. Edith, our Piney 'seer' woman, says we oughta feed vampire juice (just from the good ones) to all them hard to handle political leaders they got dancin' around  in them 'goofy countries over there.'  Might make 'em more friendly-like. Papa laughs. He says that would only work if the president was a vampire, or maybe the secretary of state. And, according to him, they tried it centuries ago back in Italy. What do you think Lucretia Borgia had in that ring a hers? She didn't go around killing everybody. Some of 'em just got 'juiced up' a little. We asked Papa if he knew the vampire responsible for those dosages, but he just smiled and looked away.

Oh, yeah, what was I talking about? Wait, I know. That gilt mirror. Papa lookin' in that old French object d'art. You see, he was havin' 'dinner' with Doctor Franklin in the former patriot's palatial quarters over at the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. The threehundred year old plus, jowly human tucked into them premium, all-lump-broiled-crabmeat cakes with extreme relish. A little sickening, if you ask me. Papa tried to ignore the greasy spittle runnin' down the stringy haired bastid's chin. Thank God he had a nice green apple aroma candle (his favorite) in front a him. They was talkin' bout Jonathon's progress over in the Old World. Papa could pick up such things. The old man wanted to know his views on their Pilgrimage and the spiritual efficatiousness of it all. But our twentyeight thousand year old patriarch (in a thirty two or three year old body) said he did not know. Franklin just chuckled. He didn't believe him. But he WAS SURE the world wouldn't end at six pee-em tomorrow, because the old almanac writer had his friends UP ABOVE too. And they ain't never told  him  no such thing.................

THIS IS HOW WE DO IT

Sarah and Jonathon toyed with the idea of goinng into Torino. He wanted to visit the museums. She wanted to look in at the silk vendors. But they decided not to. The museums there are not the same as those in Rome or Florence, or even Milan. And this was Italy, after all. She could see fine fabrics anywhere. So they stuck  to the cozy, alpine valleys, sleeping in deep, narrow caves, or deserted, crumbling ruins. It was all very relaxing.  Once, during his  time of the month, he culled some heartless bastard in a stolen Ferarri. Grabbed the guy when he stepped out to take a piss in the mouldering courtyard of Il Palazzo Riggatore. A would-be mafioso was all he was. And here in a part of Italy that really didn't have much of that. Boy, was he pathetic. Still, the ratty, little , fuck-face had a reputaion as an acid-splasher. And three people suffered from his disfiguring souvenirs.

So Jonathon came up behind him as he was enjoying the urination break. Man, the sticky weasel had a bladder like a beachball, though minus all the bright, colored longitudinal sections, I would guess.But...you never know. The guy's standing there, waiting for that thin stream of 'after piss' to come dribble out and serve as an epilogue to all this, when he hears a whisper.......'God knows your sins.'......That did it. Show's over. Piss stops. Beachball bladder is closed for the night. He zips up and spins around. But nobody's there. Silvery moonbeams drip into the shadows, rinsing the well-worn pavinng with a ghostly luster. Some of the remaining statues appeared almost alive. Still, the stolen Ferarri was close. The rusting, old gate was only ten meters away.  Night can play tricks. And the Italian starlight has magic to spare.The would-be mafioso began a tense turket trot back to his purloined chariot. After two tight, little steps he saw a flicker in the darkness. And he heard the voice again......OK, Punchinello, time to leave the stage........Who's there!? - said the main course..........I am - answered our Spanish vampirino, as he stepped out from behind some not-quite-national gallery-worthy Neptune or another.  The sneak thief smiled. Sure the adversary, whoever he was, looked trim and fit. But Mister Stolen Ferarri had a pistola in his pocket. And he chuckled, as he slowly went for it. Jonathon indulged him, maybe a bit too much. For the bush league Sonny Corleone (no, not Sonny. definitely not Sonny...more like Frodo...Frodo Corleone) leveled the gun at his chest and squeezed off a shot.....The small calibre projectile pierced right through Jonathon's aristocratic, Andalician sternum, coming to rest in the left ventricle of his still beating heart.. Did it hurt? Nooo, cheese cake for brains, it tickled. Sure it hurt. But pain is only pain and a minor distraction to a noble vampire. The man looked on in amazement. Jonathon held his ground. He calmly unbuttoned the shirt. Blood pulsed from the neat wound. He dipped his index finger into the unnatural opening, pulled it out and licked off the red-black, viscous coating. The pistol clattered down onto the fourhundred year old  granite as the skinny bastard collapsed onto his knees. Jonathon smiled. The moonlight knew the script. It knew just what to do, highlighting each sharp, canine with  a vivid dot of cruel, white brilliance. And the man began to cry. Jonathon got  down next to him. He cradled him. He comforted him.....Then he bit into the clammy skin and drank the life away........Oh, he is moral. Yes, he is quite moral...But not altogether helpless...even when confronted by a 'noxious' sort of beast.......He scootched over a bit, as the empty corpse ignited and disappeared, burnt up by the cold, blue flames.....Sarah stepped out from the shadows. And they both watched, as a Mediterranean breeze picked up the glowing embers and carried them, dancing up into the sky.........Lorenzo and that she-bitch will have their hands full.............................................

FOOTSTEPS IN THE DARK

Kadeema and Lorenzo lived like animals, nocturnal beasts preying on victims and shattering lives. Did she call him by name? No, he was simply her mate. Verbal communication was not necessary. Vampires, even the least talented, have enough telepathic ability to cover the simple stuff.  Hunger? Lust? Fatigue? Danger? Shelter? Warmth? No need to verbalize that. Do wolves? Well, all right. You have me there. Wolves do howl and whimper and growl, yet so do 'noxious' vampires.. You know what they're really like? They're like werewolves, just minus that thick, glossy coat and dog show good looks. And they hunt like werewolves too.Sometimes just for fun. Not every unfortunate human gets drained dry. Occasionally they just play, flaying skin and flesh from off  the rib cage,  sucking out particularly enticing eyeballs, commiting sundry and varied sexual violations, or maybe just lighting fires. In some parts of the Old World, they ARE vampires, since rarified NOBLE types usually affect a discreet lifestyle and eschew such declasse theatrics.

Now, if we consider our own position in the space-time continuim, that means Lorenzo has been a feral being for about one hundred annd thirty years. Pretty good run for a 'noxious.' They're the ones townspeople usually come after with  pitchforks and torches. True, they are strong and difficult to eradicate.. Still, gobble up a few too many Red Riding Hoods in the woods and people start avoiding those woods. If the pickin's get too thin, the uncouth bastards move on. I don't know too much about Kadeema. She's old, real old. I know that. But she throws up a good veil and it's mighty hard to penetrate. Some say she was brought back to Genoa by a fourteenth century sea captain, a 'wild woman' curiosity locked in an iron cage. Don't know how or what they fed her though. I heard she was from Cyprus, or some such place as that. One truth is as good as the next.

Edith, the New Jersey, Piney Woman 'seer,' lodgin' with the state-side vampires picks up stuff. She worries about Jonathon and Sarah. She wants them to succeed. So she sends 'em stuff. Stuff from her head, from her brain, from her mind. Somethin's out there. She knows it. But can she focus? Can she see them? Lorenzo and Kadeema, I mean?  Who the hell knows? I am just another disembodied spirits they got floatin' 'round this joint.

But our two noble travellers are beginning to notice a certain 'thin'n' out' of the wild life. Empty caves are gettin' easier to find. Golden eyes stare back less frequently in the dark. And even the spiders have gone away. There be monsters here. I know it...........

So wrap that cloak tight around your shoulders. Say your prayers (yes, the nobles pray...boy, DO they). And step carefully through the world. But most of all, listen...listen...listen.........Nighty-nite.....

KADEEMA SETS HER VAMPIRINO FREE

The noxious vampire woman known as Kadeema continued to dig. The light from a yellow moon lighting the way. Her grunts heard only by the moths and night birds. Few humans from the village vemtured out this way. They heard the stories. They knew the history. Strange cargo rests in that ground, bodies unshriven by the church. Souls in thrall to unnamed powers. Children of the dead. And so she toiled unmolested, a night-fiend at her work. Lorennzo heard her voice. He felt her call. It calmed him,  for salvation (of a sort) was at hand. So he fought to compose his mind and lie still. Now a human carbinerro (the local dialect for 'miner.') would have taken three or four days to uncover the crypt. But this somewhat more than human made it in six hours. Cuts and scraps spangled her body. She ignored them. The red hot pain would soon subside. A vampirina heals in heartbeats.

 And as  to Lorenzo? He felt the soft thud of her strong, peasant feet upon the lid. She knelt down. She spoke to him, cooing softly. But each valley has its own tongue, so her words were lost, yet the music of her voice told it all. She found him. She rescued him. And a lonely vampirina had her vampirino now. Oh, but would he stay with her? How could he do otherwise? She could not even imagine it. There are secrets. There is knowledge. He would need her. She could help him. Such is natural. For in the wild world creatures often band together. Look to the wolves. Observe the sharp-beaked crow hordes, as they tear across the sky.

First she clasped her hands before her, as humans do in prayer. Then rearing up on her knees, she steeled herself  and brought them crashing down against the fire-hardened wood with a force and a passion known only to her kind. Ten times. Twenty times. Brittle cracks appeared. Shards of wood flew all about, as the screams from he still trapped below rose up to join her own. Then she found a stone, a hand axe lost when ice lay all about. She hefted it and used it like a true Cro-Magnon woman, making quick work of the almost shattered lid.

Lorenzo gasped, sucking the crisp night air down into the very core of his body. Did he still need it? No. But human comforts die hard. Some vampires never let them go. With a mighty heave she grabbed his arms  and pulled him to his feet. But where were the chains? How had he slipped them?  What magic made it so? Later, he'd  come to understand the talents vampires possess and would become quick and adept at using them. But in these first hours sublimation was a mystery. His body did so reflexively, passing through the chains in a mad, panicked rush. There! See? Look into the crypt. The thousand links still lie there, tangled like a nest. And he kicked free of them, along with the gory, slippery tissue that was once his human skin.

They clambered up to the surface, two feral, naked creatures , running wild through the night. And a new terror was set loose upon the land, a terror our more domesticated twosome would one day soon encounter. 

OLE MISTER NEVER-YOU-MIND

I do not know who they been tellin' you 'bout. But I am not one of them. I am very much nastier. Oh, you don't have to know my name. It won't make much difference anyway. I have had lots of names in many different ways a talkin'. And don't believe that shit they tell you 'bout Noxious vampires not bein' in the United States of Norf America, or in the United States of Canada, or the United States of Mexico either. We been wippin' our asses in them places for many moons. 'Cept we don't exactly gotta wipe no asses. Heh, heh, heh, you know, bein' vampires and all. Sometimes we gotta wipe up blood. Sometimes we gotta clean up guts.  But in my case, I usually make the next tremblin' bastard about to be killed do that.. And believe me, for some reason they are extremely eager to please.

You see, I don't follow that 'one soul a month' crap. The hell wit that. No sir. This vampiolio got hisself an appetite. I take my meat however and wherever and whenever I find it. Some a the old timey tribes used to call me the 'windago,' a cold breath in the night. The hands that pull little children into the darkness. The gatekeeper of Doom. Frontier folks and them as was goin' West, knowed me as Gravey-Davey. Them that had no imagination just called me the 'boogy-man.' Yeah, I had parts in lotsa plays. And I had lotsa secret recipes too.  Don't ask, or I'll have to kill ya. Hell, might have to kinda slaughter you anyway. My specialty was 'farmer on the bone.' That was a vampire culinary dee-lite if ever there was one. You know, always gotta be some loser got his field too close to the trees. Then, come late September, or October, he desperate to rip up all his hoomin feed and chuck it in the barn. So he runs back out after supper to work by the light of the moon. Well, I can't help it. Them's my hours too. And every fall some a them skinny, raw-boned sons a bitches never makes it back. If a bouncy chested, buxom farm wife comes out wif him, or some nice, Godly young son , they get the full treatment too. Wanna hear how I do it? Well, put yer eyes down close to this magic mirror here and I'll tell you.

First I dig a long, shallow pit. You know, like what them Polynesian Hula-Hula people dig to burn a pig.. Then I line it with coals, or charcol and certain kinda leaves. Gotta get a hot, smoky fire goin'. After that, I shuffle off into a cave (noxious vampires do value a nice, cozy cave) where I got 'em all stripped off and trussed up waitin' to get browned up a little. What do those TV cookin' ladies call it? 'Carmelized.' That's it. I just carmelize 'em a little.. Tie 'em to a spit. Plug up the pie-hole with a big, ole, wad a wet leaves (keeps 'em quiet) and sit back to relax, as I wait for my tasty repast. No, I ain't no zombie. I ain't no ghoul. I do not chew the fat, so to speak . I do not consume the pork-like flesh. You know, that was one a the reasons the Lord tole the Israelites to eschew pig meat. Cause the ancient pagans originally raised it in imitation of hoomin tissue? That and the truth bein' pigs is smart. A pig knows its own death. So it was considered cruel and perverse to treat 'em like that. But I ain't eatin' no pig. I'm suckin' on a hoomin. And who cares what they know? Tole you.I am a 'noxious.'  It is just the blood for me. And they are still alive when I slurp it all up. Sure, sometimes an eyelid or two gets burned up, or a nipple or a dingle-dangle or two. Hair gets all singed off. Skin all nice and crispy in spots. Face gets a littlle contorted in agony. They shakin' a lot. Spit drippin' outta they mouth. Vomit steamin' on the coals. Gotta let 'em cool down  a little fore I dig in. Not like I'm that Hitler or somethin'. I stroke 'em a little. Whisper in what they got left for an ear. Tell 'em it's all gonna be over soon. They gonna be all nice and cool with smooth, regular skin and a their nice, little, pink wee-wee back. Sometimes I wait a few heartbeats. Let 'em cry a little. Let 'em pray a little. I mean some of 'em are still technically children. You gotta take that into consideration. Then I juss rip into they neck and draw in all the blood. Now, I don't fricasee 'em for nuthin'. That ordeal with them flames does tend to bring out a certain tang. Hell, what can I tell you? That is just the way I like it.

My name is Never-You-Mind and I am a noxious vampire. The way I hear it, what they got runnin' 'round  that Europe place is even worse. So now you know.

LIFE AFTER BURIAL

Lorenzo wrailed in the darkness, smashing his arms against the thick, unforgiving, oak walls. The casket was small , designed for a corpse, yet 'hardened' for a monster. He kicked his feet. He rammed his head against the lid...but nothing. He cried. He begged. He cursed. He gagged. Blood dripped down from his forehead. He could smell that and fought to grab it with his tongue, as it trickled down his face. How warm, how rich, how salty and hot. It quieted him for a few dozen heartbeats. Is this hell? Is this it? Would he  go on, sealed within a ghastly tomb, with only his own blood  to drink forever?  But then the panic exploded again. He raked his fingernails along the inside of the lid. He pulled and ripped and tore the dead remnants of his skin away from his body, shredding his clothing to get at it all. Then he struggled, kicking it down near his feet, trying to escape the dead, fetid smell.

But there was hope, wasn't there? He would suffocate? His lungs would burst and it would be over! Sweet death, oblivion. Anything but this. How much air could a coffin contain? He did not know. How long had he been burried? He could not tell. He gulped the air. He ate it. He drew it in and forced it out. Time went by. Heartbeats passed, but nothing. No burning. No weakness...No change. A vampire needs no air. His body is preserved simply because some 'force' wants it that way. Breath comes out of habit. It is comforting, yet not in the least bit necessary. Even the blood wasn't a necessity. True, it  could be unbearably compelling,  though it isn't the drinking of the blood, but the taking of a life. All those fables you hear about vampires surviving on squirrels and rabbits and little Bambis are just that...fables, lies, wishfull thinking. They make me sick. There's a reason people call them 'life-eaters.' There's a reason for that.

So Lorenzo embraced the dark. He was blind to all but his dreams, visions of his family, his home, his face. He felt his face. Why? Who knows? He was beyond thought. Maybe the 'force' sustaining him decreed it. But his finger tips slowly discovered the fangs. How smooth. How sharp. How needle-like....And then he knew...He remembered. He felt the Englishman and he wept. Maybe 'they' punished vampires like this? Maybe he was right? Maybe he'd never get out. He began to cry. Not as before. Not as a human, but as a vampire.

Now, it happened that there was another in the land, a female, similarly afflicted. And she heard his call and ran to him. Throwing herself down onto the hard packed earth, she began to dig. Her talons tore into the dirt. Her teeth bit  into it. Her manic tears burned through it. She fought on like a demon, for in all actuality, that is what she was. Her low, deep growls penetrated right through him and he answered in kind. Kadeema was coming. And the sweet, feral freedom of the night would be his...

KADEEMA AND LORENZO

Not all of Europe is thickly populated. There are isolated empty stretches. The coasts and major river valleys hold all the people. The mountains, except for some tre-chic ski resorts, or Swiss money repositories echo with the keening of the wind. And who listens to this mournful wail? Well, in this particular valley, Kadeema and Lorenzo do. Let me tell you something about them. True, they are vampires, although unlike any you've  met so far. These two are 'noxious' and vile in every way. Lorenzo, the male, was buried 'alive.' Yes, he was a brand new vampire when it happened, but he did not know that. An English tourist, much enamored with alpine fauna found him in a lonely hostel, plied him with flagon after flagon of home-grown ale and lured him out into the night for a lung-ful of cool, crisp air, the better to clear their heads.  I suppose the freshest bit of atmosphere hovered  over a nearby copse. For they found themselves hidden deep  within its shadows. Now tourists are a funny breed and Anglo-Saxon ones even funnier. Lorenzo was (then) a fine, true Catholic boy and adverse  to foreign games. Yet this cold-skinned English dandy played a different, new charade. What could he call this strange divertisement, the cannibal and the explorer? The fox and the chicken?  This fool wanted to bite his neck! Lorenzo cursed. He shoved him. The man came back. He yelled. He punched him. But the man only laughed. And then he was lost, trapped in arms like iron, as the cursed creature broke the skin. A thin red trickle issued forth. The Englishman chuckled and lapped it up. He whispered something. But  in English . Lorenzo failed to understand and shuddered, as the warm breath tickled his ear. The man cut deeper, releasing a thick, hot rush. Lorenzo swooned. The night-guest drank in up. But now our young, Piedmontese floated, caught between the heavens and the earth. His body not yet resigned to death. His soul still fearful of the flight. In short, the perfect resting place for a vampire-yet-to-be. And the strange Englishman knew this. He pushed up his sleeve, biting down into hiw own forearm. Lorenzo inhaled a puzzling new aroma, blood, but not blood. This was something sweet. This was something hot. This was life and danger and death and resurrection. And this was his. He grabbed the arm and drew it in. He couldn't stop. He wanted it all, this drug, this absinth, this elixir of life. Heartbeats raced by. Then more heartbeats and then...it was over. The English vampire kicked him away, turned 'round and ran. Lorenzo leapt after him. He shouted. He yelled for the man to wait. He begged. He pleaded - What is this? Who are you? What am I?......And only one word drifted back - Dead...... The night-guest was gone and he was all alone, crying in the dark. Did he walk? Did he fly? Did he sublimate? Who could tell. But he found himself lying all curled up on the rough floor of a narrow, twisting cave. Then he fell asleep, lulled by the songs of dark-winged angels singing deep within the earth.

Some new vampires take to things right away. Others float in a coma-like state, waiting for their body to adapt. Lorenzo was of the second sort and still sleeping when the shepherds found him early next morning. Simple and conservative, as they who tend the flocks usually  are, they immediately recognized him for what he was. The whiteness of his flesh. The brutal, though completely healed scars upon his throat (which would soon smooth out and disappear after the shedding of the skin). Vampeer!!- they cried and ran to find the priest. Thirtyfive minutes later, they returned dragging a stout, strong dead-box and a cask full of chains. Two condemned men, freed from jail for just that purpose,  helped bind him in the tempered links and stuffed him in the fire-hardened box. They hammered in the nails, thick, black, strong ones, worthy for The Cross.

Fortyeight hours later, Lorenzo awoke, buried  under eighteen feet of hard-packed clay and awash in the gore of his own splitting skin. The darkness? You have never seen darkness like that. The silence? Stiller than ten thousand tombs. His screams heard only by vermin. His prayers heard only by the dirt. His struggle just begun.....Oh, wait. I was going to tell you about Kadeema too.....Yet even spirits grow weary. Molest me not til the morrow. Perhaps I shall speak with you then.............

MOVIE TRAILERS OF HORRORS YET TO COME

this is not johannan. I am another soul. the state of my salvation is none of your concern. you may like to absorb what I say. the old world is different than your candy flavored nation. our history is real history. yes, yes, yes, I know you have 'old' cities. I know all about philadelphia and the aztecs and beverly hills. so do not think I am a stupid. If you do I will see that you suffer. and I am very proficient at that. I came to share information. I came to tell you of the noxious ones. you have not met them yet. so forget about these matinee idols. forget about their luscious, pampered whores. I spit on them. If I had hands to grasp a bull whip, I would whip them all to death. I would whip them til the air was sprayed with blood. And then, if I had feet, I  would dance. Just like the Wham-O Slip and Slide it would be. Ooh, I love de American toys.

but the noxious ones, what makes them so? what makes them wild and  real  and  visceral? oh, come on. do not make me have to kill you now. there are those I could call.  you do not want to hear the quiet knock.  but why is a wolf different than a pomeranian, or a leopard fiercer than a sleek, soft siamese? do we have time ? no, we do not. but I will tell you what I can. how joyful would you be, had your dam dropped you in the woods? how would you look if you had to scrach and fight and claw for every scrap of food? hide from the scortching sun deep within the bowels of a dead and bloated horse. imagine the tomb. contemplate the silence of the grave.. a new vampire, a novice, ignorant of life-eater ways. bound in chains and bundled in a coffin. thrown into the Earth and buried in the clay. would it take you hours to break free, or days? and what about your mind, or what was left of it, how pretty would the dreams inside it be? hate would be your blood and death would be your food. Revenge would be your soul and the cold, dark, lonely places your only grudging refuge........the footstep in the forest. the laughter on the moor. a stranger to the world of men. the scratch upon the door......you know what they are?.....they are to the noble vampires what that breed is to squealing, panty-clad  sorority girls........get ready for the fight..........a spiritual 'boy' and his equally innocent wifey-kins, on pilgrimage to far judea?...what chance do they have? oh, God who rules the Universe, what help will you provide?

'LIFE' is LIFE

Annie's been wanting to go to Disney World. But Papa and 'mama' vampire (Luna, I mean) are not about to do that. So they compromised and took her to Dave & Busters. Not that they were gonna stuff her up with cheese burgers and chicken fingers. And when a friendly staffer noticed they weren't eating, 'Mama' smiled her most selfcentered version of a sincere smile and said - Oh, no, ..peanut allergies. Papa quickly added - We just come for your great games!.....He showed that staffer a cup filled with tokens (probably fifty bucks worth), so she was all happy. You know the type, bucking for an assistant managership, or somethin'.

They played skee-ball and whack-a-mole and some shoot the ducks game. The little 'six' year old vampire shit head won a few coupons. She traded 'em in for a plastic water pistol and a pack a 'sea monkeys.' Only when they got home and added water, she threw a coniption fit 'cause they didn't look like no monkeys to her. So Papa called her an ungrateful, troubled child. But Edith didn't like that, because she knew what Annie could do. And they don't need no cheap-suited bitch from Department of 'Human' Services comin' 'round, wiping the spit from the corners of her mouth while she's givin' them the fish eye. So Luna gave her a 'C' note to keep her quiet. Annie said she wanted two of 'em. Papa crumpled up the second one and threw it at her. But she didn't care. She just scooped it up and ran away. Locked herself in her sleeping cabinet downstairs. She's got a mess a fashion magazines from the CVS thrown all over the place and a bunch a free pens one a the Red Paint guys gets at the bank. Little whats'is uses the pens like knives to X out all the eyes and fancy boobies in them glossy pages. Who they gonna take her too? You don't happen to know of any vampire-child head shrinkers do ya? They try to get her to mix in with the elves, only they don't want no parts of her. Them cherubs cry when she comes 'round. Edith says she pinches 'em. Nobody knows what to do. Baylah comes by when she's not runnin' to the shore. Takes her into Center City. Buys her new sneakers, some black, tight whorey lookin' outfits for them Barbies, maybe a couple aroma candles. That works for a few hours. Over thirty thousand years (total) a vampire 'abbra-ka-whoosis'  at our disposal and this all we can do. It is pitifull.

Now they're lookin' for some regular child psychologist who maybe got converted  to vampirism. wilkravitz thought he found one on the computer. But it turned out to be some whack job eleven year old with  a colorful assortment of  her own problems. Annie got all excited. Wanted to go meet her. Wanted to go kill her is what she did. So we're still lookin'. It is hard. Apparently you won't find too many of 'em advertising in the Philadelphia Magazine. Maybe we will have to look in some other publication.

Evelyn from next door still snoops around. But a little squirt a vampire blood every now and then takes care a her. Cleared up her adult onset acne pretty good. Oughta be happy 'bout that.

Ooh, before I forget. Papa knows what's happening over in the old world. He can feel it. He can see it. Even knows what went on in that 'Other Place.' What, you think in twentyeight thousand years he ain't never been no where? Nothing is new to him. Sure he misses 'em. Jonathon really is the same thing as a son to him. So I guess he just looks at this as his son's semester overseas. They'll be back. Maybe bring him some a them nice cashmere scarves they sell over in Italy. They oughta be headin'  that way soon anyway. Better stay away from them 'noxious' types. You know who they are? Kinda like them hissy-faced, nasty, trifflin' muthas  you see on TV. Look like they escaped from some vampire ghetto somewhere. Shit, when will people learn?..........

EAST OF THE MOUNTAIN

Then they were in another place. A hospital, I think it was. But not a hospital such as you would know. This was an older sort of place. There was a big room, like a long narrow excercise room, or a gymnasium. The floor was some kind of a smooth, shiny concrete. And white painted metal beds lined the walls. I would guess that the room was about fifty feet high. It had windows, long skinny ones, up near the top. They had no curtains, for there was no other light. Sarah and Jonathon walked down the center aisle, looking at the people in the beds. Women were there to take care of them. They brought them soup, or bread or maybe a little piece of halvah (sesame-honey candy). We heard Ukranian and German and Yiddish and Polish. I don't know. I think there were some other languages too. Maybe Gypsy? Maybe Hungarian? Romanian, I know, because it sounds like Italian. And I don't think I heard that. Maybe in another ward.

Sarah asked the rabbi. She said - What is this place?.........He said - This place? This place is a reception hall. They bring them here. The new ones I mean.........Are they dead? - inquirered Jonathon.....Dead, live, sick, healthy. What's the difference? - said the rabbi. They are in the spirit. Do you want to know that? Yes, they are in the spirit. And they need help. So we help them. Look at you. Look at you two. What are you? No, don't tell me. It does not matter. I can say to you that some of them are in comas. Some are tettering on the brink. What readers of worldly books call 'a near death experience.' Them, we send back. They're not supposed to remember - he smiled. But some go back with 'souvenirs.' The ones with comas, if we have the room, we let them in.

If this is heaven, why aren't things a bit more commodious? - asked Jonathon.......If this is heaven - said the rabbi, why do they have to be?...........So they walked and they looked. The hall went on and on. Some beds held men. Some held women. Some held children. And the nurses crooned sweet songs to them. They filled their  souls with tales of better times to come. They brought them beautiful flowers and gave them fragrant nectars to drink. Jonathon stopped and stared. He knew the woman in that bed. He knew her. And she knew him, for a loving smile slowly spread upon her care-worn face........Mama? - he whispered........Yoni, my Yoni - she said......He knelt to hug her and they cried.......

Sarah asked the rabbi how it was possible for Jonathon to encounter his mother in this place, when she had been dead for almost a thousand years. He told her not to bother herself with unimportant details like time. He told her that in this place one heartbeat was the same as an eon and twentyone forevers were equal to a sigh.....It happened that as this 'day' progressed, each of them celebrated reunion with loved ones. And all past problems were reconciled. But was  this the time for eternal reunion? No, it was not. So they parted for a while, secure in the knowledge that God never forgets......... As they left that blessed place, they witnessed something else. Certain individuals 'levitated' up through their covers, drifting toward the ceiling, until finally disappearing in a shaft of warm, gold light streaming in through the windows......They watched, transfixed. In anticipation of questions yet to come, the rabbi said - Do you know that moving picture so popular on Earth these days, the one with Jimmy Stewart? The one about a wonderful life?.......Yes - they said........But the old man just smiled, as he shuffled along and added - Well, everytime the light shines, a 'nephish' (soul) learns to fly.

Soon they were back in the dim, panelled study, seated at one end of the long, oaken table. The rabbi said - What did you learn here? What  did you learn from the reconciliation of the dead and the remembrance of your time as the Golem and your wonderful reunions?.......Jonathon inhaled and answered - I  don't know......But you do know - said the rabbi.....I'm not sure - said Jonathon.......This time, the spiritual teacher just gave him an indulgent look.....Jonathon went on - But it all seems so simple. Is it really that simple?.........The rabbi smiled at Sarah and said - He asks if it is simple. Do you think it's simple?......She nodded........The rabbi said - See? She knows....Love each other. Forgive past wrongs. For some of those you killed at the gates of the ghetto were young boys forced there by their fathers........Jonathon sighed............The rabbi said - That's what comes from building fences, the tragedy of hatered.. None were made to bear a yoke like that. Then he gave them each a kiss of benediction and led them to the door. He said a prayer and they left.......

As they walked through the narrow, winding, cobbled ghetto streets, Jonathon remarked - He never told us his name. Sarah attached little meaning to that. But as they approached a man coming toward them, Jonathon said - Excuse me, sir. What is the name of the rabbi in that synagogue?.....The man barely slowed down. But he answered - Aaron, his name is Aaron.....Then he turned and added - But he's not a rabbi.....Jonathon laughed. Sarah said - What's so funny?........He said - That blessing. That little thing he whispered when we left.....It's what the First Priest of Zion (mistakenly called 'high priest') always said...and it's called Aaron's prayer, after the first one so ordained....... She sqeezed his hand........

Suddenly the sheltering byways of the ghetto were gone. They were following a path leading down from a mountain in the northern part of Spain and  continuing  into the sunny meadow below.......eastward toward the rising sun...

.

JONATHON STEPS INTO THE BREECH

The old rabbi said - Would you like to continue, my boy?.......And Jonathon went on. He quietly explained - I remembered the blind hatred of the Crusaders. I saw what they did. They almost burned me alive. If it wasn't for 'Papa,' I'd be dust. Oh, I survived the fire (he looks around). A prayer house much like this one. But my lungs were gone. I could hardly breathe. If Johannan hadn't pushed me under the stone 'bima' (Scriptural reading table) I would have endured the flames...like all the others. You know, death in a fire, oblivion, does not always come quick. The heart continues to beat for quite a while. I did not want those of this city to face that. Now you must understand that as a traveller, these events could have transpired without my knowledge. True, I may have heard of them after the fact. But a wealthy, young Castilian gentleman, an 'hidalgo' (gentry or noble) frequents loftier surroundings. I had letters of credit forwarded to ranking Bohemian bankers. My English 'familiars' were worth every 'pound.' But my mind was not a purely human mind. And I felt things. I heard things. So I wandered into the ghetto  and the rougher environs nearby. That's how I learned of the massacre yet to come. That's how I found you, rabbi, the Maharal, the revered Biblical scholar of Prague, the man who verged on sainthood. You did not know I was there. Sometimes I'd sublimate through the walls while you were studying or planning a Sabbath sermon. It was late. It was always late....(the rabbi nodded).....I'd fade into the shadows and listen. To your mind, I mean. A vampire can do those things. I saw the tears. I knew your pain. You would never have attemped that. You would never have resorted to such quasi-Kabbalistic conjuring. ...(the rabbi is truly pained).....But what choice did you have? So the tragically comic ramblings of an ignorant eavesdropper, the spell of an idiot based on half remembered gossip took hold of you. I saw you shape that thing. I saw you dig the clay and mix the dust. I saw you search for the proper vellum and write the blessed letters. And I knew it had to work. So when the clay remained clay. When the dust remained dust, I stepped forward . Do you remember what I said?................You said, 'Fear not. Your petition has been heard. I am here to keep you safe.' I asked who sent you and you said Michael the Archangel. And............And what, rabbi? - said Jonathon........Then I fainted dead away - mumbled the graybeard.

The important men of the ghetto heard the good news. They dressed their heavenly-vampiric-golem-champion in the garments of a Maccabean (2nd century b.c.e. Judaen warrior) captain, the short kilt, the sleeveless tunic, the silver breastplate, a rolled head scarf round his brow. Quite dashing, I must say. and we disembodied spirits see a lot. Someone ran to fetch an old tarnished iron sword. They gave it to their newly minted defender. To Jonathon, I mean. But he put it down and said - I fight with other tools. Then they asked God to bless him yet again. I presume Michael the Archangel's recommendation was not good enough. Each man hid his family the best he could, picked up whatever was at hand (clubs, sticks, knives and the like) and formed 'ranks' behind their miraculous leader.

First they heard the rumbling. Then they heard the singing and laughing and cat calls and curses. Company was coming. Their neighbors were here to kill them. What a fitting end to a day of prayer and celebration. But prayer meant little to men like these and to be fair, even the true priests and bishops up in The Cathedral, spirited away all religious valuables, including themselves. God would decide. Let Him judge the outcome. Well maybe, after a fashion, He did.

The ghetto was sealed in. Strong, gray rocks formed the walls. But the gate was weak and the guards were gone to take their own positions among the rabble. CRASH! The old beams trembled. BOOM! The bands began to snap and break., as iron shards of shrapnal  found their rest in human flesh. ROAR! The rotted wood fell dead. And those valiant 'knights' in the rear took care not to trample their brethren, as they streamed in through the breech.

Fortyeight cubits hence, the ghetto defenders stood. Ready to do what? They did not know. Though none would turn. And Jonathon? Well, lets just say that a vampire's heart can race with the best of them. And then there was silence. The enemy stopped, the better to study their prey. Some of them grinned. Others laughed. What an easy chore this would be. A piece of streudl.. Men slowly inched forward. Knives were drawn. Jaws were set. The 'divinely ordained' action would take place.

A heartbeat later, Jonathon had an epiphany. He remembered. A gutteral growl came up from his chest, as he raced toward them and SUBLIMATED into their midst. Now when a vampire transforms into that nebulous state, his 'particles of being' slice into living tissue  with a keenness like razors. And bloody pulp rained down into the dirt. Those yet untouched saw this. They pointed and pushed in a mad sramble, attempteing to fall   back. Some escaped. Many  did not. And the ghetto was left unmolested. Those in the marketplace whispered of what transpired. Men in the taverns drank in silence. But people in the narrow, winding streets of this  formerly defenseless quarter remembered and the legend of the Golem was born.

Funny, but when you think about it, Jonathon's original family name was ben Macabi, son of the Maccabees. The uniform was right. And if he had not been there, if this vampire had not stepped into the breech, the families that gave rise to Einstein and to Mahler and to Heine and yes, even to Wagner too,  would havve disappeared. Strange when you think about it like that...........

Yet what is the lesson in all of this? Look, you,ve been reading long enough. Go eat a cookie. Have a cold drink. We'll meet again (God willing) tomorrow..........

BOHEMIAN RAPSODY

I am so tired. I want to sit in front of the television and doze. It is me, wilkravitz. And I do not even know who is scurrying through my neurons. I cannot tell you who is squatting in my skull. But I will enscribe their tale. Hopefully, they will talk fast. And I will yet be able to nod off during The Larry David Show..

Jonathon and Sarah sat in an old dark study. Two or three sputtering candlles gave out a weak, none to steady light. The old man with the gray beard, the rabbi, was with them. He smiled indulgently to see a female at his table, even a vampire female. But he shook his head  said a prayer and began to speak. ... He said - Those around us were cruel back then, very cruel. It was no crime to kill one of our children, or defile any of our women or to destroy and mutilate the men. But the rulers of the city usually protected us. Not because they felt spiritually compelled to do so, but rather because we paid taxes. Why burn your own fields? Only this timme it was different. Occasional murders we were used to. Strangled toddlers, disemboweled mothers...We endured and we went on. Yet this individual lived for death. Not just any death. Our death. He commandeered a church. Was he a priest? Some said so. He claimed to be. Yet no proof was ever forthcoming. And he drew many followers. They rallied around, cheering every speech and spitting with red hot rage.

Now life was complicated...complicated for everyone. The Turks were on the march. Old Serbia fell. The lands of the Hellenes were absorbed. And storied Budapest kneeled at the foot oof the Purple Throne. Courtiers of the sultan were everywhere. And the word from Istanbul...was 'the word.'..We expected to be invaded at any time.. People were nervous. How could Bohemia prevail against such a foe? Would we (or those of us permitted to bear arms) die in battle?  Does slavery await us? You know many were kidnapped and sold off to the East over the cennturies. Many...countless. Fear gnawed at every heart. All felt helpless...And we of the ghetto were most helpless of all. Some of us did look to the Turks for salvation. They took in refugees from Inquisitional Spain and P:ortugal  after all. Both communities could agree on the Allah Ahkbar...the part about who was and who was not a thoroughly credentialed Heavenly spokesman was a bit problematic...But we could live with that. Their dietary laws and Sabbath customs were also quite familiar. The Land of Israel was in Ottoman hands, yet the Holy Ciity of Safed was thriving. But God would decide. We lived in Prague. And we loved this place.

Still, the misguided 'priest' did not love us. He blamed us for the Turks. He blamed us for the Hapsburg tax collectors. He blamed us for his sharp-tongued, cross eyed sister. And he rallied the coarser element against us. Not a difficult task, to be sure. But he built things to a fever pitch...We had 'money.' They could righteously grab it. We had homes and livelyhoods. They would confiscate them. We had lives. They would crush them. And God would bless them. And that would be the end of it. Isolated perversions had already begun, when we learned of their true plans. A huge massacre, to coincide with their spring Resurrection  Festival. Where could we hide? Nowhere. Who would help us? No one. Even if we did barricade ourselves into the cellars, they'd burn everything anyway. Well, no more killings. No more human torches. I'd heard testamony from survivors of the Chmelnitzki Raids in 'Little Russia.' The same would not befall us here. So I went to work. I 'created' a champion. I shaped and contructed a 'superman' if you will.

How did I know this thing? There was a man, latelly returned from the mystical towns of The Galilee (where Safed is). He was an unlearned sort, but his dealings in those places brought him into contact with true disciples of the Kabbalah, the Road of The Righteous, a traveller' guide into the very heart of God. Yet what he overheard and who he heard it from, I do not know. Was it truth, or was it something else? What did I care? I was desperate. The choice was mine.

So I fashioned a figure, a large figure in the shape of a hulking brute. I used the clay of the Earth and the dust of the field and I made it. Then I said the prayers. I wrote the word. I wrote the most sacred Name of The Lord upon a small piece of parchment, upon a small portion of lambskin. and I pressed it into the figure's mouth. I fed it to the golem (unformed one). After that I stepped back, waiting for him to quicken....But he did not quicken.......The old rabbi fell silent, his eyes resting on Jonathon.....The 'young'  Spanish vampire cleared his throat and took up the thread.....

No, in a manner of speaking he did not. - Jonathon said. But I did. For at that instant, I stepped out of the shadows, a co-religionist of sorts. And I offered you my assistance........Tears dripped from the rabbi's eyes, as the vampire went on.......The blessed magic did work.- he whispered. You said prayers and God sent me...

Did you help him? - asked Sarah.......Yes, - he said.......Did you kill for him?..... He just nodded......And the three souls in the dim study in the Prague which was not Prague, sat there in silence.........

THE GREAT IMPERIAL CITY OF PRAGUE

The life-eater couple left the warm room with the velvet chairs. They had eaten well. Human fare, mortal human fare. And it still tasted good. Jonathon had not so indulged for almost one thousand years. For Sarah the time was shorter. As they walked through the streets of this Other Worldly city, the buildings took on a rich, golden hue and the rooftops all shone red with natural, baked clay tiles. Fine, black iron lamp posts punctualed the gloaming with nebulous clouds of light. Music flowed out from the dwellings. And ornate broughams pulled by matching white horses progressed along the thoroughfares. Then, bit by bit, their physical bodies began to evaporate, til they were naught but moonbeams dancing in the night. Did this thing scare them? No, it felt quite natural. They were still together. They could still communicate. And if the vehicle for their thoughts was more ephemeral than before, the clarity of the conversation, never the less, improved. They spoke soul to soul and that was very pleasant indeed.

Jonathon said - I know this place. I was here........Where are we? - asked Sarah.......In the great, imperial, Hapsburg City of Prague. - said her companion.......She asked if this was the real Prague, or just a spiritual fabrication.....Jonathon laughed and said - I will find out.....So he called to a passing coachman, who saw nothing strange in responding to a disembodied spirit. And when that spirit inquired as to the provenance of the place, just laughed and said - Does it matter?.....The two ghostly life-eaters realized that it did not. They continued on their way...passed a church with a choir chanting beautiful songs....passed a palace lit for a ball...passed a pair of lovers kissing in the shadows...and a tiny tribe of pigeons nibbling pumpernickle crumbs from the cobbles. The streets grew narrow. The path more twisting. The sights more ancient, in a moldering, charming way. And then Jonathon stopped. For he saw it straight ahead, the dark stone Alt-Neu Schule. The Old-New School, the venerable synagogue of Bohemian Jews, a faithful bastion of belief..

He whispered, or rather his soul did, - It was just a genertation or two before my crossing to the New World, an excursion made from London, a chance to clear my head of all that frou-frou Restoration (or practically Restoration) nonsense. For yappy lap dogs and shoulder length wigs of persian lamb can grow exceedingly tiresome. So I drifted over here and learned important things.

The heavy oak door to this place of prayer cracked open, allowing a thin, trickle of light to flicker out beyond. A man stood in the entrance, an old man with a gray beard. He held a square, glass and copper lantern and wore the black robes (such as a judge might wear) of the Hebrew  clergy, his head covered by a dark, satin prayer cap.....And who is that man? - asked Sarah. Did you learn anything from him?.....Yes, I did. - said Jonathon. That worthy, old rabbi  taught me a lot.......

If you are unaccustomed to these tales, search out histories of the Golem. For we venture into Kabbalistic waters and there are certain things you must know.....Go on. I'll wait. You won't get lost.............

COPS AND VAMPIRES

Evelyn called the cops. That Gladys Kravitz (no relation to me, wilkravitz) skinny, nosy, two pound chicken old bitch called the cops. Luck they came after dinner. Can you imagine if they came during the day!? God only knows. Edith answered the door. There were two of them. Big guys. They like playin' cop. Like being bouncers for the city. That's what they looked like with their tight uniforms and their Popeye arms and all. People round here think they especially enjoy stickin' it to the Chestnut Hill crowd. You know - I make sixty thousand a year. You make ten times that. Now get  down on the ground and give me twenty.

One of them says to Edith - Excuse me ma'am, is the owner of the house home?.....She says - Yes. Then her eyes go all crazy, rollin' around and looking side to side. So the other whats-his-name-pro-wrestler-Jericho-wannabe says -  Is it all right if we speak with him? We'd like to ask him a few questions. But Papa is sharp. He spruces up real fast. Comes walking out of the kitchen, doin' his best 'ain't I a cool dad in a movie?' impersonation. Shakes hands with the 5-OH  dudes. Leads 'em into the 'parlor' (no, for real. the vampires actually call it 'the parlor.'). And five heartbeats later (they got me talkin' like them) everybody's sittin' around chewin' the fat. Do I know where he gets the fake I.D.'s from? No, I do not. But he has 'em. One for him. One for Luna. Some kinda paper identifying Little Annie. I am a personal assistant. Edith is a housekeeper. The Red Paints are down in  the sub-basement rec room watching Mrs. Doubtfire with the elves and cherubs. (for some reason, they get along especially well). And everything's honky-dory.

Edith says she wasn't hurt much. She sticks out her thick 'almost an old lady' pasty, white leg and shows them. Vampire blood infusionns work real fast. So except for two small bruises and one tiny, practically healed scrape, she's good as new. Well, not new, just as good as an almost old, pasty, white fat lady can be. You know what I mean? They laugh and laugh  about the crazy nextdoor shrill bitch who feeds her kid shitty pizza. The whole neighborhood knows that story. The kid has a blog about it. No, really. I've seen it. It's caller 'Hi, My Name is (can't say it for legal reasons) and My Mom Feeds Me Shitty Pizza. If I remember right, she's already got thirtytwo hundred hits.. Jeez, they gonna put her on Hoda and Kathy Lee soon....And now our next guest is...the girl whose mom feeds her shitty pizza...

Well, anyway, the Steve Jerichos stand up and get ready to leave. They buy the story that it was just some kid out to steal the patio furniture for scrap or something. She got knocked over. That's it. No big deal. The fact that Edith spiked their High-C with a teeny bit of vampire blood kept in the kitchen for just that purpose didn't hurt either. Everything worked out. We were lucky. Wanna know how lucky? Mrs. Doubtfire ended while the two crew-cuts were still up there. The cherubs start gettin' restless. They start flying around banging into the sub-basement door They wanna go upstairs and get Elmo or something.. You can't control them. The older Red Paint guy almost peed himself. How you gonna explain away four flyin' babies all dressed up in these real glittery, custom made (blame Luna) 'Dancin' With the Stars' tee shirts? Jeez! But even Edith can be shrewd when she has to be. Clicked on the TV real loud. Said she hadda watch American Idol.  Papa walked the boys in blue over to the door. Makes some joke about - Don't you guys have to be off catchin' hoboes with shotguns or something. And that was it.

So now we got Evelyn to worry about......Papa will take care of her....Such is life in the...(what do we call it?)...oh, yeah, ...in the wonderland.

NOW HERE COMES THE EASY TO FOLLOW, HOW TO SET UP YOUR OWN BLOG AND COMMANDEER ALL MEDIA INFORMATION......
1) establish an email account
2) go to blogger.com. If, for some obscure reason that does not work, go to blogspot.com.
3)  click on 'starting your own blog, or whatever the graphics are calling it these days. you CAN'T MISS IT.
4) fill out the quick, short, easy form. EVERYTHING IS COMPLETELY FREE AND REMAINS FREE ALWAYS. The whole form only contains about five questions. a) your name, address, phone etc. b) name of blog. c) email address...and that's about it.
5) they'll ask you to click onto your choice of background 'wall papers' and colors. Hey, when I did this I was a complete computer beginner and I had no problem at all. It was scary how easy it was to grab hold of a piece of  the worl-wide media.
6) you'll see a 'dashboard' (control panel that is self explanatory. Just single click onto whatever it is you want to do...New Post (write new material) check your 'stats' (statistics on number of viewers you've had), change backgrounds...it's all easy to understand.
7) then you're 'on the air.' that's it.
8) if you can type on a standard word processor style keyboard or typewriter you're all set. there is no limit to the length of your blog posts. the space provided will grow to accomodate the material
9) if you are on blogger.com...and you probably will be...your link will be http://thenameyoupick.blogspot.com/.    Your name will appear where it says thenameyoupick. I just put that there as an example. remember, no spaces.
10) then stick your link up wherever you can...on your twitter profile page...on facebook...anywhere. ...you need publicity...make comments on other people's blogs. when you sign in, your link goes up automatically. People will start to see your link. Tweet about it often, but don't be too obnoxious...like we all sometimes get, or people will call you a spammer. But don't worry about that. Get going and have fun. Post often or readers will lose interest. Pick a specialty for yourself-----reprint travel deals from other sites...critique TV or movies, or restaurants, or fashions, or sports...whatever. Just DON'T PUT THIS OFF. DO IT. Fame (even just the chance for it) is intoxicating. And while it may take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months to build up a following, stick with it. Big watermelons grow from little seeds. If you know how to post graphics (I'm still learning) so much the better. Now go out there and become a STAR!!!