Friday, October 21, 2011


The whole atmosphere in the house changed. The juveniles felt it. The elves and cherubs pick up on things like that. They knew. It was like anything can happen now. Not that there weren't episodes similar to this before. But this one felt different. This time the hunger was deeper and even more viceral. I don't know? Maybe it's like those werewolf myths, where they change and go on berserk killing sprees at the time of the full moon? Vampires have lunar cycles too. That, we know. Perhaps the need just builds and builds till it explodes? Maybe Jonathon is just bitter and disillusioned about what transpired in the Holy Land? Yet that doesn't explain Sarah. Let's see what she does tonight. Papa, their twenty eight thousand year old patriarch, in a thirty two or three year old body, had experience with all this. He knows. But he just sits there in his leather club chair staring at the fire and inhaling those aroma candles. Or he goes out and runs to his 'hootchies.' That's what Edith calls them. OK, maybe they ain't hootchies. Maybe they got just a little more class than that, even the ones livinng down in the tunnels. It's just that he has so many. And he loves them. And he bites them. And he strokes them. And he pleasures them. Then he comes home. The Red Paint guys want to ask  him what he knows. I can see it in their eyes. They're not always stoic and quiet. Sometimes they whisper to each other, or to Edith. Sometimes they go out in the back garden after a rain, especially at night. And I see them saying things to the air and the trees and the grass, or a vole maybe. They'll smile and grin. It's like they know each other. And from what I've seen, I think the birch trees are friendlier than the oaks, but that's just my opinion.

Annie's real quiet too. She's planning something. Edith says it's the toe hunger coming back. That's when she silently walks up to the foot of the bed of a sleeping human and cracks through the bones of their feet, biting off a toe or two before she kills them. Then she spits out the little toesies, wraps 'em up in a kleenex, or maybe a lot a kleenexes and takkes 'em home for her collection. It's funny, but those nipped off toes never spontaneously combust like the rest of the body. 'Magic''s just crazy.

The cherubs are dartin' about like flies in a smokehouse. They're gonna do some nasty stuff too. And they hardly ever do. Years go buy, decades they tell me, without a cherub 'kill.' They usually just zip by so fast you can't even see 'em. But then you feel this deep, stinging cut on the side of your neck, or on your face, or on your butt cheek and what do you know. Damn, it's really bleeding. They take a few drops here a wet kiss there and that's how they fill up. Except for the nasty times. Then they get like piranhas. Three or four manic, little cherubs can zip 'round a fat human so fast, whipping out those little tongues. In thirty five seconds (or twenty eight heartbeats, as the vampires say) he's ashes. No blood. Blue flame. Greasy residue. Nothing.

I keep to myself. They know I blog all this. They want me to. There's no real explanation for how they feel, or what they want. They're vampires. Look, we try our best to put a good spin on it, but they kill people. Sure, a lot of the victims deserve it.......but not all of 'em.

Wait till they all get out of here. Wait till it gets quiet. Won't be long. I can hear Jonathon and Sarah getting dressed now. He's slipping on those close fitting pants. She's adjusting the cups of some lacy, expensive, form-fitting brassiere. Fifteen more minutes and it'll be real still around here. Papa will be off playing cowboys and bar girls with his doxies. The other two will go catting 'round Center City. And the 'young ones' will just fly out into the night sky and raise hell. Edith'll sit down in the kitchen, eatting some cookies. Maybe she'll watch the little television over on the counter, do some word-search puzzles, or something. The Red Paint People will disappear. They're humans, but they give me worse creeps that the so called 'dead' ones. Then we can go down to the pit again. Then we can play games with the slave girls.........

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Nitey-Nite.....Don't let the Annie-Gal bite.....

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