Saturday, May 19, 2012

A SOUL PARADE and, no, it's not like SOUL TRAIN

Sarah and I are sitting on a bench in Washington Square park. That's the one designed over an old Revolutionary burial ground. Now it's a charming, urban greensward surrounded by stylish, Center City condominium towers. It's also where Chi-weenies go to pee.  


I like a clear, night sky. Actually, the residential nature of the immediate neighborhood cuts down on light pollution <see? i do keep up with contemporary terminology>. Summer constellations slowly float by overhead.. I see tiny red pinpoints of light from a passing jet. Sarah spots a shooting star, but perhaps it's just a piece of space junk? Hope that has no bearing on my wish. 


I'm due for a Soul Parade. I don't think I've ever told you about that. It happens, to vampires,I mean, about once every ten or twelve years. The life-eater in question retreats to an isolated spot, often in a cave or a grotto, or a crypt. Some preferred catacombs. The immortal being goes in, lies down, closes his eyes and prays. Then, in order, from first to last, each and every soul 'culled' within that time period condenses out of the ether to visit a while. Oh, it's very real. This is no illusion. Occasionally one of the innocents killed during a lapse does not make an appearance. That means they've reincarnated, hopefully into a more benevolent atmosphere. Could be their death was meant to make that possible? At least that's what we tell ourselves. 


Sarah wants to go with me. I know an old, abandoned gray, Pennsylvania stone cottage, deep within the up-state forests. Wolves still frequent the area. There are no roads or paths. I sublimate in. The site came to me in a dream. I've seen ghosts there. Once I saw a headless child stumbling through the filtered moonlight. But then I blinked and it was gone. Another time a pack of skinless Indians, obviously the spirits of those flayed alive, passed single file by the doorstep of my refuge. Worst of all are the orange eyes reflecting out from the blackness. Some are just animals, but some are not. I hate the way they stare. 


Some souls cry. Others just hover and say nothing. A few screech like banshees. Some babble incoherently. 


They pinch me. They scratch my face, gouge at my eyes and molest me in the most horrible ways, all within the velvety darkness of a ruined cellar. I believe the remains of a murdered vagabond lie buried in the rammed earth floor. But he doesn't bother me. He just laughs and blurts out obscenities. 


Some expect apologies. Others want to dance. But I never dance with them


One time a cold, young man silently entered that place. However, he was very  much alive. God knows what he heard. His presence roused me from my painful reverie. I sublimated straight up through the remnants of the old, oak floor and smiled at him. It was an evil smile. Needless to say, he died right on the spot. Pity, the blood died with him. 


You see, dead blood has no 'good' in it. All the vampire specific 'vitamins' fly away, like ravens from a dried up corpse. So I was forced to drag him out into the midnight chill and feed him to the wolves. I had no knife, but by twisting the limbs repeatedly, was able to separate them from the rest of the body and feed them to the greys.


Then I crawled back in ...to finish my ordeal......


Perhaps tomorrow, I'll set off again. Will I take Sarah? I suppose. She never ceases to surprise me. A strong life-eater that one is.


Now leave me alone. I want to go kill somebody


Exactly 2:00am EDT, on a wrought iron bench in the forgotten bone yard that is Washington Square...


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