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He hails from a land of deep forests. Winter lasts eight months. And stories live for millennia. Blood meals were few and far between. Most times he lived with his benefactors, holed up deep within ancient, maze-like caves, painting totems and spirits to help with the hunt.
Some called him 'The Weaver.' It was his job to bind them all together. They's sit in a circle staring at the fire, dazed from imbibing arcane distillations made from creeping, microscopic lifeforms more than plant and not quite animal. Mold, I think you call them, or maybe fungi.
He'd silently go 'round taking little drinks from each of the congregants, then return to his place and regale them with passionate tales from the old days..... battles with giants..... secrets from bees...... tear drops from the stars.
Then, perhaps twelve hundred heartbeats later, he'd rise up and return 'round the circle, giving each soul present a tiny drink, a rich warm gift from his own veins. In that way they were bound up within the bonds of life-never-ending...... They had a prayer--- May He Who made the universe, make us forever one..... And they covered him with flowers, fresh in summer, dried in winter, as he slept.
The strange man, the 'Neanderthal' vampire shaman who came back with Papa, remembered these things, as he sat with the others watching television. What could Chelsea Handler say to him, or even Charlie Rose for that matter.
Doctor Franklin knew he was restless. And when the Jersey Devil let loose with his piercing wail from the secured menagerie, the ancient soul would bow his head and cry. Occasionally he'd spend nights with the polar bears, cavorting with them, as they swirled and dove through the artificial pools. The night crew knew what he was. But they also knew Doctor Franklin and Tomas, so the zoo was a very welcoming place.
They tried giving him blood cajoled from various researchers and technicians, but he said it made him sick. He said it tasted from processed cheese and artificial sweetener. Granted, he did not use those words. But they understood his meaning just the same.
Conrad, also a man of faith in his own right, commiserated with him. They sat in the corner playing game after game of Master Mind, only Mister Old Bones always won. He always broke the code and by the second row his colored pegs were invariably in the correct positions. Wandering through the thoughts of others came natural to him, as it did to all Neanderthals, mortal or vampire.
He wants to go out. Oh, they've had him out before and not just to the zoo. But he wants to feed..... And he wants to look for others of his kind.
Now scientists claim we have anywhere from three to five percent Neanderthal DNA mixed in among all that Cro Magnon stuff. But it is possible, after centuries of random breeding, that some people have more..... much more. And Mister Old Bones wants to find them.
Imagine.... two strains of humanity living side by side. Sometimes even in the same house. What if word got out? What if people began to realize this? What would it do to society?
It's warm tonight, very warm. And the strange man from the forests of Siberia wants to take the air. Doctor Franklin says he'll let him, if he agrees to swallow a capsule-like tracking devise that should harmlessly exit his body by sunrise. Only problem is vampires never crap. The blood circulates and circulates through each and every bit of tissue til it's all used up. And then it's gone. Perhaps a chip beneath the skin would function just the same?
Ah, what 'we' do for science.
Come back when next the night bird sings again and find out what happens when Mister Old Bones steps out.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
@SevenPointStar (from TWITTER) left a really good COMMENT last night, or maybe the night before. She writes the magically, sensual NEPHALIM series. your COMMENTS are just as welcome. please click on the SHARE BAR. help us pass the story on. thank you.
Some called him 'The Weaver.' It was his job to bind them all together. They's sit in a circle staring at the fire, dazed from imbibing arcane distillations made from creeping, microscopic lifeforms more than plant and not quite animal. Mold, I think you call them, or maybe fungi.
He'd silently go 'round taking little drinks from each of the congregants, then return to his place and regale them with passionate tales from the old days..... battles with giants..... secrets from bees...... tear drops from the stars.
Then, perhaps twelve hundred heartbeats later, he'd rise up and return 'round the circle, giving each soul present a tiny drink, a rich warm gift from his own veins. In that way they were bound up within the bonds of life-never-ending...... They had a prayer--- May He Who made the universe, make us forever one..... And they covered him with flowers, fresh in summer, dried in winter, as he slept.
The strange man, the 'Neanderthal' vampire shaman who came back with Papa, remembered these things, as he sat with the others watching television. What could Chelsea Handler say to him, or even Charlie Rose for that matter.
Doctor Franklin knew he was restless. And when the Jersey Devil let loose with his piercing wail from the secured menagerie, the ancient soul would bow his head and cry. Occasionally he'd spend nights with the polar bears, cavorting with them, as they swirled and dove through the artificial pools. The night crew knew what he was. But they also knew Doctor Franklin and Tomas, so the zoo was a very welcoming place.
They tried giving him blood cajoled from various researchers and technicians, but he said it made him sick. He said it tasted from processed cheese and artificial sweetener. Granted, he did not use those words. But they understood his meaning just the same.
Conrad, also a man of faith in his own right, commiserated with him. They sat in the corner playing game after game of Master Mind, only Mister Old Bones always won. He always broke the code and by the second row his colored pegs were invariably in the correct positions. Wandering through the thoughts of others came natural to him, as it did to all Neanderthals, mortal or vampire.
He wants to go out. Oh, they've had him out before and not just to the zoo. But he wants to feed..... And he wants to look for others of his kind.
Now scientists claim we have anywhere from three to five percent Neanderthal DNA mixed in among all that Cro Magnon stuff. But it is possible, after centuries of random breeding, that some people have more..... much more. And Mister Old Bones wants to find them.
Imagine.... two strains of humanity living side by side. Sometimes even in the same house. What if word got out? What if people began to realize this? What would it do to society?
It's warm tonight, very warm. And the strange man from the forests of Siberia wants to take the air. Doctor Franklin says he'll let him, if he agrees to swallow a capsule-like tracking devise that should harmlessly exit his body by sunrise. Only problem is vampires never crap. The blood circulates and circulates through each and every bit of tissue til it's all used up. And then it's gone. Perhaps a chip beneath the skin would function just the same?
Ah, what 'we' do for science.
Come back when next the night bird sings again and find out what happens when Mister Old Bones steps out.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
@SevenPointStar (from TWITTER) left a really good COMMENT last night, or maybe the night before. She writes the magically, sensual NEPHALIM series. your COMMENTS are just as welcome. please click on the SHARE BAR. help us pass the story on. thank you.
