GHOSTLY VIBRATIONS IN THE NIGHT

Papa has a theory about the Enemy, the alien enemy, I mean. He thinks they've always been there watching and waiting. How can we, both humans and vampiric, know how long other races have existed? Is it not possible for some to be millions of years old and perhaps even far older than that. Look at the Neanderthal vampires inhabiting the unexplored vastness of Siberia. What would happen to them in a modern city? How would they function? What role could they play? The evolutionary line known as human has moved on. They no longer appear to be one of us. Might we not seem just as primitive to other beings? What regard would they have for us? Do farmers in Africa turn away to avoid disinheriting troops of chimpanzees?

It could be that we were merely curiosities up to now. They must have occupied other worlds. They must have exploited other resources. Maybe they need more? Maybe we have them? But isn't it reasonable to assume they'd possess the ability to artificially fabricate the necessities of life? Could they not be World Builders instead of destroyers? Yet things change when faith enters into it.

I think Papa knows more than he lets on. It could be that he has had dealings with these beings in the past. What do they call them, the Aninaki, the Nefalim, the boogey man? Please understand that Zebulon (your ever obedient disembodied spirit) has never encountered such entities, neither in the flesh, or in the spirit. Perhaps their dead pass on to another part of Heaven. Perhaps they do not die?

The mysterious Red Paint People know something too. I've seen them, the two Captain Jean-Luc Picard clones and their Picabo Street women. They sit together under the trees. Look, they're doing it right now, all wrapped up in their plaids and mackinaws. Do you suppose they order from L.L. Bean? (even disembodied spirits know things like that). One of the women holds a raccoon. See how she strokes it. No fear at all. Her mate (I assume) warms a little snake in his hands. How bright and colorful it is. Do not serpents sleep through this time of year? But this one seems so lively.

And a subtle frequency passes between them, an electronic vibration. How do they generate such a thing? Papa feels it. He senses it. Look at him, sitting up there on the porch. See? He's not rocking anymore. He's just 'listening.' The others are off exploring, Sarah and Jonathon, I mean. Annie 'flew' off with the elves and cherubs. I don't think she can actually float up into the air by herself. She needs them. Look, maybe she's managed it once or twice, but it's not something she can rely on. Not yet.

Jonathon likes to silently pick his way through the old ghost towns. They have them here in the Pines. Tiny, isolated settlements dating back to the Revolution, or to the dawn of the industrial age. He finds things, old discarded cups holding snips and snaps of shredded ghosties, wandering memories, the moaning echos of ancient songs. Sometimes someone greets them. Perhaps a long forgotten granny woman left shivering under thin, worn blankets? Look at her bones shining in the moonlight. I wonder if she sees the stars? They leave the tumble down shack and sublimate down into a deep, dark mine. Men are buried here. Let your fingers feel what your eyes cannot see. How contorted they are. What was it like to be buried alive? Did the soil scrape their corneas? Did the pressure crack their ribs? Sarah passes through the body of a young boy. She tastes the words of his final prayer. Jonathon adds benedictions of his own.  They rise up into the dappled moonlight, playing through the crispy lace of brown and crumbling leaves. A bobcat studies them. So does the still twitching rat in its jaws. Even the fleas take notice, kindred spirits. Blood suckers all.

Yet someone with out eyes sees them too. No ghost eyes, or jelly filled ones. It feels them. It savors them. It measures them. And then it moves on. Papa 'sees' it. He freezes, as if listening to the wind. But then it passes. And Edith puts down her knitting. She steps off the porch, moves out into a moonbeam, spreads her arms wide, looks up toward eternity and smiles. The night birds provide haunting accompaniment.

And when night comes to Jerusalem, the night birds sing there too. The aliens are everywhere......Shhhhh... don't move......Can you hear them?

~"~"~"~"~~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~~~~""""""~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"""""~~~~"~~~""~~~""~~""~~""~~""~~""~~""_"

http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/  RSS FEED LINK http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default  TWITTER http://Twitter.com/wilkravitz  AND FORGET NOT OUR WORTHY ALLIES AT http://Twitter.com/billoberstjr  http://Twitter.com/Caballoblue  and http://www.getfanged.com/  PLEASE WHISPER OF US TO YOUR FRIENDS. AND KINDLY CLICK THE 'SHARE' BUTTON YOU SEE BELOW.

HUMAN CHILDREN TURNED TO SLUGS UPON WHITE HOT SAHARA SANDS

Meanwhile, back at the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, Baylah is making a good recovery. She remembers little of the searing pain, but recalls a troubling dream. Hordes of tiny piranha surround her in a hot, steamy shower. They spurt out of the shiny, wet tiles and wriggle up from the drain. hundreds of them slap their cold, clammy bodies against each other as they swin toward her naked flesh. You know those little metal and plastic jaw-clamps they use to pull staples out a papers? Well that's what their teeth are like. Each and every razor sharp bite scoops out a neat, little appetizer sized dollop of flesh, till she looks like a screaming slab a bloody swiss cheese with a  soaking wet lady head and  oh-so-vulnerable bouncing lady breasts. OUCH! that must hurt! And as the red fluid washes down from her once shapely body, squadrons of miniature, strong-armed lunchroom matrons squeeze their asses up out of a bottle of Herbal Essence shampoo to manically stir the borscht-like concoction into a heady brew. Then, approximately half a hearbeat later, she's lying naked on a freezing ice flow pitching and rolling through cold Antarctic seas, as Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons (circa 1963) play buck-buck for the right to do all kinds a nasty things to her under a vivid, star-kist, clear, black sky.

Then she wakes up, suspended in the throbbing chords of the GreatArmonica and it's all over. The tickling vibrations feel good. Each magnetic resonance stimulates her body in a new and delicious way. The burns begin to pucker up and close, till her skin seems covered with thousands of pouting kissy-lips.

And she hears the muffled sound of rasping sea ditties, as the mermaid hag serenades her through the walls. While somewhere, in a hidden place come the raw and oozing screams of an imprisoned Jersey Devil.......Shhhhh, he's rattling the bars. Someone yells - Throw him the fat, little human girl. That'll shut him up......... But another voice says - No, she goes to that vampire bitch they got twitchin' in the G.A. (Great Armonica) Room. Can't you SEE the number on her ass!?........ Thus Baylah knew her next meal was in the offing.

Doctor Franklin poured over data spewed through the many fontlets of his new liguid matrix computer (the first of its kind). I could provide a more detailed description of this miraculous device, but then our agents would be forched to pluck you out of your warm, cozy beds the better to de-spine-a-tate you (the bones make such good soup and after all, the Jersey Devil DOES have to be fed.)

Don't be shocked. We prepare for war, kiddies. Desperate times breed desperate measures. The aliens don't hold back. Look down from the heavens ( if you have that ability). There, behind those towering dunes. Right there, just a little to the left of the navel of the Sahara. See them? No! Not the fleeing, human skeletons! I mean the children, those boys with the shaven heads. The ones turned to caterpillars from the neck down. How plump and funny they are. Oh, the sun must burn. See them? But how can you not see them!? The vultures do! And the little black things.... what are they, scorpions? Well they appear to see them quite well too.

And our friends in the New Jersey Pine Barrens? What news have we of them? Well they stomp their feet to old Scots-Irish bawdy songs, played through a chill, November night, while Little Annie hugs her knees and rocks deleriously in the corner..... Oh, look at Pin-Head-Mel clapping. He likes it. He really likes it....... Faster, Annie! Rock faster. Rock faster!

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/   RSS FEED LINK  http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default  TWITTER http://Twitter.com/wilkravitz  AND DO NOT FORSAKE OUR WORTHY FRIENDS AT http://www.getfanged.com/  and http://Twitter.com/Caballoblue    Please tell YOUR friends about us. Kindly click on that little SHARE button . See it? There, right down below us.