Sunday, October 2, 2011

TWO JINNS AND A JACK PLAY DEATH GAMES (but not spontaneous human combustion) UP IN THE HEIGHTS FROM WENCE COMETH OUR HELP

The evil jinns played their tricks. It was so easy. Burlesque the  form of a human, wander the cafes and marketplaces, strike up a conversation with traveling students or anyone else short on coin and that's it. Offer a meal. Hint at the possibility of a clean pallet. Smile. Look sincere. Finger the appropriate religious talismen . And keep from laughing. Most of all, keep from laughing.

Two jinns had a  good one, a young man, a student from some big university like Yale, or McGill. What an attractive, prime catch he was. Well, someone won't be back for the fraternity Halloween party. A semester overseas? How tempting. How beguiling...How fatal. He had a backpack, stuffed with one hundred percent cotton clothes, some toiletries and maybe a few slightly worse for wear photographs.

The first jinn, the sly one, insisted on carrying the burden. The second jinn, smiled, leading the way through the dense evening crowds and  thick, humid air to a charming old villa in the hills. Come...Come....Not far at all... It will be cooler there.....We'll have dates and wine...You can tell us of your life in North America.

So he went. This was Jerusalem after all. And they seemed to have so much in common. What could happen? One of them said he had cousins in Los Angeles. The other mentioned a father in the clergy. And a respite in such commodious quarters certainly outweighed another night in the hostel. 

The three new friends snaked through  old stone passageways, exiting the ancient quarter and ascending the heights. Ah, taste the breeze, fragrant with the scent of hibiscus and rosemary. Ottoman manor houses, set amidst carefully tended 'dry' gardens lined the footpath.

That's it. Right there. The one on the left. Did the first jinn unlatch the gate, or did it just swing open? Oh, don't be that way. Such a misanthrope you are! The curly haired youth put such thoughts aside and entered. It is said that a bey or pasha once held court here. Cool, handmade tiles under foot. Fine plastered walls, carefully decorated by the most accomplished, long dead artisans. The furnishings, an eclectic melange of dark, Mediterranean pieces and 'Mid-Century' chrome and leather modern. Quite striking. Martha Stewart meets Lawrence of Arabia. The North American student approved. Such good taste the hideously tortured owners had. . Shhhhh, I think one of the newly dead spirits heard his thoughts. See? It smiled! Disembodied narrators, such as I, can sense such things. If the curly haired lad's olifactory abilities were a bit more accute, he might have sensed things too, like the stennch of rotting corpses drifting down from an upstairs closet.

Oh, but dismemberment was not to be his fate. The jinns had other games to play. The first one favored drowning him in a rather large, blue willow, Chinese rice jar. Pure, virgin olive oil would suffice. Slip on the lid. Seal it shut with wax and there you have it! The perfect ornament for an inglenook or landing. And so heavy too. Not prone to tipping, that one is.

The second jinn had a preference for maggots. Why not? They were close at hand. Throw the mortal baggage into one of the subterranean stone lined vaults (after carefully paralizing him with the appropriate incantation). Slap in a few handfuls of the plump, pus colored wormies. Go on. Just scrap them up off the dead ones upstairs. More than enough for everybody. True...good, honest maggots have principles. Most would turn up their noses (or whatever they were) at the thought of a living meal. But their minds were small and very easy to bewitch. The slightest bit of prestadigitation would loosen their mandibles.

Look at him sip his wine. See how he relishes the sugary dates. Catch his eyes, as they take in all the wealth. Oh, how his parents will cry. You know how that goes. Television appearances. Pleas to the culprits. Rewards. Crying siblings. Grim-jawed fathers. Such a circus... What a show.....But too late...too late....for their particular 'Elvis' will already have left the building.

Yet who can tell how such charades will play out? For Sarah walks by.......and ... shhh... she can smell it all...

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Should our tale entice you, remember to visit us at @wilkravitz on Twitter...and please be sure to pass on the magic link. Send http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/ / flying off through the ether to your nearest and dearest..... Untill the next time, oh best beloveds...... Oh, yes. One more thing. Papa reads a lot and he's discovered some other blogs worthy of your attention ---
1) http://mondovampire.blogspot.com/
2) http://biting-edge.blogspot.com/
3) http://vampirewire.blogspot.com/

MORE TO COME.......READ......ABSORB.....LEARN















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