UN POCO DE LA CIENCIA VAMPIRISMO

There are certain things that you should know. Vampires, for the most part, have little knowledge of their true beginnings. Yes, there are old legends and stories, but they are only myths. And each vampiric culture has their own. Some believe the nocturnal nativity happened in Sumeria, back before the age of Gilgamesh. Others revere 'first ones' who ignited into the physical realm inorder to seal a pact between the Sun and the Moon. I could go on and on. But Papa knows best, for he is, if not the eldest, certainly close to it. Imagine, a being who has seen Neanderthals in the flesh. And yes, there were Neanderthal vampires too. Some of the old ones claim that isolated Neanderthal survivors are responsible for werewolf stories the world over. What does Papa believe? Actually, not much. He knows there were beings like himself, Cro-Magnon or 'modern' vampires at least twenty eight thousand years ago. That's when the last of the Neanderthals died out in some lonely caves, down by the sea, near The Pillars of Hercules. Well, the last truly 'human' Neanderthals, for a minute dusting of the vampiric sort managed to survive. Werewolves? Big-Foot? Anybody ever hear of The Boogie-Man?  Come on, you get the idea. What's it like for a man who has clear memories of mammoth hunts to make his way along the public thoroughfares of a contemporary city? What type of cunning must he possess? Who were his 'playmates' along the way? I can tell you that when I sublimate through Papa's mind, I feel vestiges of an old one, a special one, a feamale one, a soulmate. Her original name, I do not know. But in recent centuries she has answered to 'Renate '(Reh-Nah-Tay), a personal label often heard in Central Europe. She knows he is free now. Why she never came to his aid, I do not know. Perhaps she too was passing through a weakened period. Perhaps she did not care. He waits for her. Not so much waits, as anticipates their reunion. Oh, it will take place. That event will happen. Could be she's on her way........ But for now, he fills his time with the little girl, with Annie. Oh, how she loves to kill. Craves human lives like a toddler craves apple juice. And he makes sure that she gets them. Fresh ones. Fat ones. Terrified ones who squirm and thrash and scream (until they are gagged) and sweat. Nice ones. Bad ones. Old souls shuffling off for their almost hourly, nighttime, pee-pee visit. And teen-betweens insolently cracking their gum. They all think they're being taken over into some romantic land peopled by sharp toothed Abercrombie and Finch models (see, I keep up). But they soon learn differently when the 'light' goes out and they begin to burn. What else did I want to tell you?......Oh, yes. The 'other ones.' The elves, the cherubs and the lovely Sarah. What happened to them?  Let me see. I suppose you could think of it as being in Limbo, or maybe what the Buddists call The Bardo. Are they irrevocably gone? No, they can be brought back. Do I know the means? Well, it's complicated and right now it's not on the tip of my no longer existent tongue. But there is a way. Such a fate has befallen others. They are not the first. Indeed, some of the most artistic carvings and high-relief statues found in cathedrals and palaces throughout the centuries have suffered the like. Who knows, you may have seen them. Imagine what the world will be like when they wake up? Zebulon has enjoyed our little chat. But It must end now. For there are events unfolding in Fostat (what you call Cairo) on The River Nile, in the Land of Kemet (known to you as Egypt) which call to me, as I once spent time there, years back, as a youth.........