Friday, November 29, 2013


I am the disembodied spirit narrator known as Johannon, one time servant, companion and bodyguard to the young and at that time, mortal Tomas. And I still hover near him. Sometimes he feels my presence, but not always. We who you call ghosts are everywhere. Some trace the streets they walked in life. Others curl up in much loved houses. A few hold vigil o're their ruined corpses. And please don't think we are tied to any one place, for we are not.  I've been to Heaven and other exotic realms, but Earth still attracts me. So I'm here and this night the 'voice' is mine.

Tomas is in 'that' mood again. He wants to do good. He wants to save people. Life-eaters are like that. Most of them have always been like that. Sentimental fools they are... The blood does that. I don't know if the blood is always magic, or if it's their bodies that make it magic, or if it's just the 'magic.' But the world is a very special place and most people are afraid to admit it. 

Sarah is with him. They walk down the street, dressed warm against the dark-time chill.  The cold can't hurt them. Tiny animicules (an-ah-mik-u-els... old name for microbes) eat them not. She wears a long, shearling lined trench coat. He sports yet another soft, warm black, leather, hip length jacket too. Knit caps... They have knit caps. Edith makes them. She likes to crochet, you know. His is black. Hers is ivory... big, thick yarn... Almost angora. Well insulated against the cold, damp air they are. 

Soon they come to a coffee shop and go in. Not a smart place. Not trendy... No sleek, leather sofas and cozy hearths. Just a coffee shop... A scaled down dinner with doughnuts, eggs and maybe grilled cheese, or ham sandwiches. They sit in a corner booth and order coffee. Waitress brings them a copy of some Center City arts and events paper from a pile on the counter. They thank her. She goes away. 

Sarah (whispers) - Is she the one?
Tomas nods - Yes. I've been watching her. She's sick. I can tell. There's a pallor. And her boyfriend has a limp. Something with his hip. Doesn't hear very well either. 
Sarah - Will she die?
He nods again.
Someone else enters... the boyfriend. He takes a stool at the counter. Manager/cashier says 'hi, how you doin'?'
Boyfriend says - Leg hurts so bad...
Manager/cashier sighs and shakes his head in sympathy, before refocusing on his Japanese number puzzle book.
Waitress brings her boyfriend a grilled cheese sandwich, then leans over to kiss the top of his head. 
He's a little bit pudgy, but not much. A nice, hard working, hard luck couple they are.
Tomas whispers - Saving for a wedding. One parent left. Her mother. He's got a younger sister. She lives with him. Old, rundown building. Smells like cabbage. I think she's a little slow. And you want to know something? Every time he goes by a red kettle Santa, always throws something in. What are they gonna have... for the wedding, I mean... like sixty, seventy five people? I hear them talk. Place charges twenty nine dollars a head. Wants to get her a ring too.... (discreetly studies them) Oh, God. They are so alone...... (then he just sits and stares at his coffee)..
Sarah - Are you going to 'help' them?
He nods and says - But I don't want to make a big thing out of it. They don't know about us. I don't want them to think.... I just don't want it to be like that. Let them think the world isn't that bad. Let them think it all just worked out. They need the blood. They need that. Just a little bit. Just enough to make them well. Don't know how I'm gonna get it to them, but I'll figure it out.
Sarah - Do you want me to do it? Sometimes it's easier for a girl.
He shrugs, then adds - One of my 'familiars' is going to offer him a job. General office-help, I think. Messenger, actually for a brokerage house near the stock exchange. We're gonna pay him thirty five thousand a year. It's my money, you know.... Gonna find something for her too soon, but don't know what. (silence for a few heartbeats) I want them to have that wedding. I want them to live somewhere nice.....
Manager/cashier - Closing in ten minutes!
Tomas and Sarah leave a tip, get up, pay their bill and exit.
We see them quietly wait a little way off, behind a bus shelter.
Later, when the struggling couple leaves ( those coats don't look too warm) and turns down the sidewalk the two vampires silently follow.
Tomas (voice over) I like to make sure they get in alright.
Then we fade to a shot of Tomas and Sarah, arm in arm, walking back to the townhouse, down a dark, empty street. They retreat from the camera and round a corner. 
Now's where we cue the music. If I could splice it in, I'd do it right here. But I can't, so click on to my selection down below...
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This Mister Never-You-Mind. I been keepin' to myself lately, driftin' quiet-like through people's heads and other dark places. But everything gettin' all shimmery an' enchanted now wit' them holidays comin' on. Stores is all gussied up in fake starlight and fancy ribbons. It that time. 'Magic' comin' on... gonna pour down like rain. Lot a folk gone get wet. Gonna get theyselves betrothed... buy all kind a shiny rings and do stuff they never would. 

You see, magic doan like that sunlight. Magic like shadows. Magic like dark. This when it happen... three weeks 'fore Dark Day, shortest day a the year... an' three weeks after.... forty two nights a mystery. An' you can't hide from it, 'cause it already there right behind you. Oh, it doan wanna hurt you. It doan wanna hurt nobody. Magic doan know 'bout no hurtin' folks. Magic jus' 'is.' An' it not only 'bout all that huggin' an' kissin' stuff. I jus' tol' you 'bout that to set the stage... 

Them what know say some night-folk, young ones... what you all call 'elferinos' and 'elferinas,' junior grade vampires just on the cusp a bein' growed, got the hoo-doo. They got it. They got it bad... or 'good,' dependin' how you look at it. You what's still in the flesh... you what still mortal an' all might a got it too... But not like them. The 'magic' like them. It like 'em up real good. An' them elferinos and elferinas spread it around.

Happen when they 'kiss' folk in the night. Got two kind a kisses... 'givin'' kisses an' 'takin'' kisses... Hardly ever kill folk. Oh, they can do that, but hardly ever do....

Mister Never-You-Mind gonna clam up now. Ain't talked long, but talked enough. This disembodied spirit gotta go be disembodied somewheres else. See, I do the sayin' but that wilkravitz do the typin' an' he 'bout ready a fall over from Thanksgivin' an' all.

Come back next time it dark. He be rested by then...

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Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Vampirino Tomas, Also Known as Jonathon and doctor Franklin Attend a Hanukah Service... 11/28/13

Although Tomas couldn't bear to stay in the Anti-Enchantment Bureau and left of his own volition a few nights ago, he still enjoys the company of Doctor Franklin. Tonight he and the irrepressible  reprobate attended a service at a centuries old, Society Hill, Spanish Rite (Sephardic) Synagogue. They sat in the Doctor's pew. He's been a subscriber for more than two hundred and forty years. Subscribes to all denominations he does... Church of England, Methodists, Presbyterians ... Would have done the Catholics too, but they came to town (officially) after his so-called 'death.' But I'm sure he's done so since. 

Sextons at the various prayer houses polish little brass frames holding his name card. Each says 'Franklin,' though I doubt few realize which Franklin they refer too. He's not a vampire, you know. his longevity comes from science...'harmonics.' But we've been over that before.

Tonight was First Light, the first night of The Feast Of The Re-Dedication (Hanukah) and the children's orchestra performed a concert... Judas Maccabeus, the classic Handel, seasonal oratorio. If you're curious, we found a video on You Tube that more or less matches that performance. You can click this link~> CHILDREN PERFORM THE HANUKAH ORATORIO ... to see and hear it.

Tomas. also known by his Biblical name (think saint's name), Jonathon, loves this holiday, for his family bears the same appellation,  Macabi (Macabeus in Old Spanish), as the Temple deliverers almost twenty two hundred years ago. Legend says there was a connection, but no one knows for sure, though the thousand year old vampire in an eighteen year old body likes to dream. Doctor Franklin calls him a hopeless romantic. 

They went for coffee after, slipping into a warm, cozy, fragrant spot a few blocks away on South Street (where the 'hippies' meet... you know the old song). And they talked. Tomas spoke of 'the magic.' The model for the hundred dollar bill spoke of harmonics. Basically two names for the same thing.  In case you were wondering, vampires can tolerate black coffee, you know. Simple liquids pose no problem. 

Tomas spoke of 'Papa' and their 'voyage' through the stars. The Doctor took notes, preferring a small, spiral bound tablet to the digital counterpart. Old habits die hard. Penmanship, you know... quite the thing in his day. The Founding Father wants to reproduce the voyage with his Grand Armonica. Past experiments achieved similar things, but not exactly so. He'd like to meet 'Papa' and wants Tomas to arrange it, though our spiritual, yet vain, vampirino makes no promises... Look, look, look at him. See how he admires his reflection in the mirror-like night time window. How he vacillates... one night an ethereal saint, the next humping mole girls in tunnels 'neath the subways.  It's Sarah (his casual consort) who must be the saint. I'll tell you that. See how he studies his artfully mussed, long, dark, wavy hair.. the fine line of his thigh in those tailored, black denims ... the trim, leather bootkins. 'Jack the Lad,' I'll tell you that. Proud of himself for confronting the ghoul, though he needed 'Papa' to save his ass in the end. Night-folk are so vain. 

Still, he does have a good heart. When they leave he gives silver dollars (each worth in excess over forty times face value) to people on the street (an old Hanukah tradition)... mostly college students and twenty-somethings off on a pre-Thanksgiving bender, plus the occasional homeless soul. Vampires have a soft spot for them.... Then he leaves the Doctor, who gets into a cab and departs.

Eight minutes later he sits on a bench deep in the shadows of Washington Square Park sharing confidences with a ghost.. no, two ghosts I think it was... One a fallen member of Washington's Continental Army... The other, well, I don't know who he was. Some ghosts play it close to the vest.... Then he sublimated down beneath the earth to see the moldering bones of those interred there. They never moved them when they made the park and vampires have a real fascination for what happens to lesser mortals after death.

After that he just went home. Edith (back from the Pines) let him in, gave him a cold iced tea (he likes that) and clicked on the flat screen. Then she lowered the lights and went to sleep. He sat there for a bit half watching some wee hours talk show and mumbling to himself. I don't know what other vampires were in residence that night. They come and go... even Sarah.

Before dawn, the ghost of the little polio victim abiding in the cellar woke him up and he went upstairs to his snug, little special place and fell asleep.

The townhouse was quiet, except for the ticking clocks.


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Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Vampire Mob Season One COMPLETE!. This how it started ...11/26/13

This how it started. And you know what it's like?... It's like RAY LIOTTA and LORRAINE BRACCO from WISE GUYS with 'teef.' .. The mother-in-law, the great MARSHA WALLACE ain't got no teef , 'cause she wear dentures and her mouth all bald when she crossed over. That way she ain't gonna scare no grandkids . Plus she gonna be able to read 'em story books when they little and when they senile. Ain't gonna make no difference. She gone bury everybody.

Vampire Mob season 1... Yo, check it out.
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Monday, November 25, 2013


They are 'possessed' yet do not know it, or maybe they chose not to know it. Ancient vampiric vessels go about their business on this world and other places too. They look. They watch. They meddle. 'Papa' does. He meddles all the time. So does the Lady Renate. But we so seldom see her. She made 'Papa' you know. She's even older. 

And other old ones make some mischief too. They pull the strings and thus the puppets dance. Some say they made the mer-folk, or at least perfected them. Others say the magic isn't theirs, but that it uses them. It needs their hands. It needs their feet. It needs their teeth. Think of a blacksmith who makes a tool, then uses it to create other tools. Does the power rest with that which was wrought, or with its maker?

Sarah has her own theories and opinions. Although new, she thinks the night-world is changing. She thinks it's changing very fast. Could be blood drinking was just a stage. Perhaps it isn't needed anymore? Elferinos and elferinas rarely drain to the point of death, yet they endure, indeed they triumph. And some night-folk spend centuries wandering the abysmal plain, walking through the depths feeding on whales.... no humans just whales. You think a vampire can drain a whale? Well, that's not going to happen.

'The life'.. 'The life'... The big thing was the taking of the life. Some night-folk thought the blood itself was just ancillary to that. And now? Who knows?... Evolution after dark. That's what it is. Machines evolve. Why not vampires?

But then how will they be created? The sharing of the blood is central to that. And, in a sense, a 'death' does happen. The new life-eater does die.... So much to think about... So much to learn.

Maybe Baylah will find answers in Atlantic City?.... As the old song says - On the Boardwalk, in Atlantic City, you will walk in a dream. On the Boardwalk, in Atlantic City, life will be peaches and cream...

We featured the link last night and we'll do so again. Explore, what do you think?... ... Go ahead. Click it. Comes with a good video too...

It's been said that before anyplace had anything, Atlantic City had everything...

Perhaps we'll see...

Wonder if Tomas' old vellum tome, La Ciencia Vampirismo, has anything about that?...


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The Uber Vampire known as 'Papa' has a New Outlook & Baylah Seeks a Public Personae ... 11/25/13

The two vampirini drifted through various parts of creation for a while. Tomas listened, as 'Papa' shared judgments and insights. He decried the lack of variety in galactic living spaces, for every world was round, or more precisely an orb. I suppose the occasional potato shaped asteroid doesn't count, since naught but errant microbes ever live on them. And the old, old soul was much taken with suns. He loves them in fact. Something to do with their horrific glory when seen up close. In the past, he's been known to banish bothersome night-folk to stellar corona, there to drift suspended above the huge and terrible roiling surface, protected by a 'bubble' of his own creation. Odd they don't immediately ignite from all that 'daylight,' but they don't. Perhaps because minus the refractive qualities of an atmosphere it isn't truly daylight, but just illumination? Yet another point in favor of a Divine Helmsman, for in a purely scientific and mathematical universe they should burn.

Imagine, from Cro Magnon hunting shaman to the erudite critic of creation he is today. In an infinite universe all things really are possible. 

Tomas said he smelled shit. But 'Papa' assured him it was only methane wafting out from inhabited worlds. Not necessarily indicative of intelligence, but merely a sign of expert defecators (such as pig and cows).

Then it was time to go home. No reason. It just was. 'Papa' sighed and the thick, milky, white, almost opaque mist came back again, manifesting in equal proportion from every point in creation. Tomas felt his body grow heavy, as billions of microscopic 'functionaries' hurried to conjure and weave suitable garments about his naked form. And they did it all of a piece... underwear... outer wear... inside and out, til he was attired in full Highland regalia. 'Papa,' on the other hand, sported something from The Gap, a windbreaker, jeans, polo shirt and sweater. You know the drill. Exactly thirty four heartbeats later they found themselves sitting on a bench by the little bronze goat in the middle of Rittenhouse Square Park. The mist was gone. The evening sky clear and sparkly. Few ordinary humans were about due to the cold. So they sat there collecting their thoughts. Tomas pondered his brush with destruction, looked into they eyes of his vampiric progenitor and said 'Thank you.'... 'Papa' waved him of with a casual gesture. Scroll back a few nights. You'll see what it was. Then they got up and walked back to the townhouse. On the way, 'Papa' promised he'd visit more often. And a visit from him might mean anything from full fledged familial involvement, to catatonic episodes on a chair by the fire. That's just the way he was. But Tomas, his more or less 'son' was used to it and the other night-folk there about were too.

When they got there, Baylah, also an infrequent visitor, was waiting. She, like Tomas, is a very spiritual sort and needs 'deep meaningful' interaction with mortals from time to time. And ,no, what she does with her rich, human, bed partner doesn't count. 

Baylah had pamphlets all about a convention in Atlantic City called 'Horror A.C.' or something like that... a symposium for lovers of enchantment and things that go bump in the night. Had a link and everything. ... I think it was. Very real. Not at all fiction. This isn't that, as those of you who visit regularly know. She wants to attend... rent a table and everything... give 'em 'swag' pose for pictures... give advice... lecture on El Mundo Vampido and all.

So Edith bustled about lighting small, apple scented aroma candles (a vampire favorite), as the exotic threesome discussed the rightness (or wrongness) of it.

But our Beyonce look-alike had already made up her mind. 

And the Great Arc of The Heavens advanced over head, as the city slept, while deep within the cobbled streets of Society Hill three night-folk, snug in the townhouse, drank their tea. 

(more next time)


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Sunday, November 24, 2013


Why ain't this on cable TV? Got SHOWTIME written all over it....WATCH THIS... Take an hour (almost) and see what talented people can do. Then please click on @JoeWilsonTV ...and tell him how much you like it. Besides Vamire Mob, he also creates and oversees @PLShorts ... and the much anticipated @fearthecrypt .... Why don't you go follow all of them? Yo, 'creative' people... this means us.


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The Vampire Known as Tomas Floats Free In A Void and Other Places Too ... 11/24/13

And then they were gone from that place. The dusty ruins of the old Gimbel Brothers subway store lay far behind. Tomas found himself floating in a warm, misty, milky-white void. There was no up. There was no down... No shadows and no breeze. Our favorite vampirino surveyed his body and was pleased to find the nasty boo-boos inflicted by that loathsome ghoul were almost gone. 'Papa's' work, no doubt, for maybe three heartbeats later that venerable uber-vampire condensed out of the void and began to solidify. 

Tomas whispered (it seemed disrespectful to talk) - Where am I?.... And his vampiric progenitor pointed toward him and said - Over there.... (No use arguing with one as powerful as that). Then they just floated,  like weightless astronauts in space. 'Papa' yawned, scratched his belly and sighed. Tomas dozed. Perhaps he nodded off. Hard to tell in such comfy surroundings. Maybe Limbo used to be like this before it got cancelled?

But subsequently, things began to change. I say 'subsequently' because time was immaterial, just as it must be after death. you know, when someone conks out (eternally, I mean) one nano second's the same as a billion years. And ten thousand eternities but a heartbeat. Look, you know what that's like. You were dead before you were born. Makes waiting for The Resurrection so less tedious.....

 Then the void slowly grew translucent. some parts seemed brighter. Some parts less dense. The cloud (if that's what it was) gradually dissolved and our two preternatural beings found themselves drifting through space. Stars blazed all around them. Here a comet. There a comet. Here a nebula. There a nebula.... Like a whole bunch of glittery stuff dangling in a real big diorama. Except nothing actually glittered of flickered much since they were lost in space and minus any atmosphere to shake things up. Each star had it's own special color. Some were red. Some were orange. Some were yellow. Some were blue. And when they drifted close to some, the stellar coronas danced like magic auras.

Tomas was surprised they were so small. Most no bigger than a softball, though occasional basket balls and ping-pong balls were present too.  Planets ranged in size from dust mote to bee-bee pellet. Asteroids were invisible, though  comets shined bright and distinct. Tomas passed his hand through a tail (cometary, I mean.) , so cool... so ethereal.  And when part of his butt brushed against  a yellow star, not unlike our sun, he was surprised it only stung a little bit.... 'Papa' made sure they didn't disturb any of the planets, since some may harbor life and the sight of immense, naked, humanoids filling up the sky was bound to be frightful enough as it is.

Then he said - Creation is really so boring. Anyplace worth going to is round. No variation. Just round. ..... And Tomas wondered how the sound was able to reach his ears without any air. But he just mumbled - Uh huh... as his groin passed over a world filled with beings celebrating their summer solstice. Needless to say, mounds and mounds of alien potato salad were left unconsumed, as the populace endured a spectacle no Macy's Day balloon could ever match.

(more next time)...


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Saturday, November 23, 2013


Just some links... just some clickable links... not to our stuff, but for something new and compelling. L.A. movie people know about it. The secret's beginning to ooze out all over the horror community... What? no one's told you yet?....

Well, I will...

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Friday, November 22, 2013


Now to get back to the dusty, buried remains of the old Santa's Toyland, hidden in the bowels of the long forgotten Gimbels Department Store....

The vampire known as Tomas lay on the floor and retched all over a tumbled display of Weevles (they wobble, but they won't fall down). And a thin, rather iridescent, sticky 'gruel' dribbled from his mouth with each gnawing contraction. A roach or too scurried over to taste it, but soon realized the exotic nature of this soup and ran back to their secret dens. 

'Papa' stopped, looked down at his stricken 'son' and the pain immediately lessened. This twenty eight thousand year old presence has great power. No showy hand gestures or Elizabethan verse spells for him. He thinks, therefore it is. Then he turned his gaze to the strange, almost physical ghost and walked on. 

Now ghouls are a rare breed...' survivors' of premature burial. Oh the actual bones rest moldering in a crypt somewhere, but the essence, the spirit, of the soul so tortured, races from the unbelievable horror of the situation, erupting from the earth like a rocket. And the tight, hard knot of terror draws power (the ether is always willing to release a little of that). And the power condenses into something dense and 'real' and cold. Cannibals they are... cravers of human flesh... dead flesh 'cause it's easy... live flesh 'cause it's hot. Makes them feel all real. In that way they share a bit of the magic with vampires. But those noble princes of the night despise them.

Not every soul gone live to the grave becomes such. Most lost darlings gasp, cry, scream, thrash, scrape their fingers to nubs (true, the bones pierce through the flesh), smash their noggins 'gainst the lid (noggins get bloody too), gasp some more, wheeze a little, whisper prayers and die. Them's the pious ones. Some what ain't pious end like this... like Johnny Jump Up, over there... He's scared. Would shit hisself, if he could, but the energy what moves him is strong, immediately burning up each gobbet of meat, leaving him empty, always empty. He smiled at 'Papa,' showing that silvery, shark toothed grin. Maybe he meant to scare him. I don't know. But what a fool he is. Can't put no fear in one like this. 

'Papa' moves closer. The fiend lurches back and crab walks up a Christmas tree shaped display of Great Garloos . Thirty six inch tall green, plastic, robot geniis tumble to the floor. Some of them still talk. They croak - Your wish is my command... Your wish is my command.... 'Papa' points at the ghoul... The terrified thing yells - No! No! No!.. as his body rapidly shrinks to the size of a small, manikin-like doll... Not Barbie... Not Ken... More like Skipper (we disembodied spirit narrators know many things). And the uber vampire scoops him up like a runaway ferret. He holds him. He strokes him. The thing cries. It whines and pleads for mercy. But there will be none of that tonight, for the twenty eight thousand year old avenger presses down hard and crushes him, breaking every 'imaginary' (though to the ghoul, quite real) bone in his body..... The crying stops... 'Papa' cleans his hands on Strawberry Shortcake's dress. Then he drops her to the floor. Two heartbeats later the roaches come out to dine. Maybe the feast seems real to them? Perhaps they're ghost things too?

And whether the thing known as Johnny Jump Up is gone for good, I do not know. Events are quite fluid in the night world. Magic is so hard to pin down.

Then the powerful being picks up his injured 'son' and departs, leaving only frightened child ghosts peering from the corners of this ruined, dusty space lit by dozens and dozens of false, plastic, lithium fueled candles. Heartbeats pass and even the ghosts dissolve, as abandoned toys alone in the feeble, glow look on...


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Thursday, November 21, 2013

The Christmas Candle Official Trailer 1 (2013) - Susan Boyle, Hans Mathe...

You know how seriously our vampirino, Tomas, also known as Jonathon takes his faith. He's said - If miraculous creatures such as we can exist, who can deny the existence of so much more. 
May the 'Season of Miracles' be joyful for you and yours, no matter which part of Abraham's Robe you hold on to. Enjoy the cozy trailer. Links~> 1,300 MORE BLOG EPISODES ... HERE'S WHERE WE ARE ON TWITTER... please explore and as always, your COMMENTS mean a lot to us. thank you.... And now the trailer...

Tuesday, November 19, 2013


And the 'espiridion' froze. For to Tomas it was but a 'little spirit' in no way equal to him. This twisted demonic cannibal is anathema to everything El Mundo Vampirido stands for. But of course you know I speak of the 'noble' breed. 'Noxious' vampires will do anything and 'eat' anyone. And our Sephardic 'grandee' hates them too. So proud these ancient Spaniards are. A millennium spent wandering other realms cannot change that.

But the creature known as Johnny Jump Up was elusive and hard to pin down... less a physical being, more an extremely strong and focused ghost able to manipulate matter with exacting certainty... thus the teeth... thus the claws... thus the strength. He eats because he wills himself to eat. Physical hunger has nothing to do with it. Like a hologram with substance he is. And he smiled when Tomas bit his ear. For no sooner did the vampire loose his grip then the wound disappeared. How can one vanquish smoke?

It went on like that for a bit. They tumbled down to the floor, gouging and biting... lunge and parry... lunge and parry.  Tomas lost an eye, sucked out by his ghostly adversary. Ghouls love that trick. Severing optic nerves is a big thing to them... a treat... a signature move. And Tomas, ever cognizant of his white-hot, throbbing eye (or what was left of it) and an almost testicular, excruciating pain, tore out a nice big chunk of ghoulish loin. But there was no blood in it, for once ripped from the fiend it quivered for an instant, then flickered before dissipating into nothingness. Demonios necrofago can do that. All spiritual entities can. The apparent solidity of their form but an illusion.... though a very 'real' and strong one....

Tomas sprawled on the old, wooden floor amidst shattered doll houses and smashed model planes. A few conventional ghosts, child ghosts, watched from the darkest shadows, not knowing what to make of it all, as the ghoul just stood there and grinned, revealing a rictus of small, silver, shark-like teeth . Tiny, fat maggots crawled over his black serge suit, but they were illusions too.... and how do you kill a dream?

Perhaps a heartbeat later the Johnny Jump Up thing crouched down and whispered - Stand clear of me, 'tarantula' (a ghoulish slur). Then he coldly studied the stricken vampire, before leaning in to bite off a cheek. 'Espiridion' indeed... Vampires can be so presumptuous... so vain... and so wrong.

But before our fine, 'young' vampirino suffered further harm a phantom breeze moved through the space... a shifting of the ether if you will, accompanied by the salty tang of ozone... Then a soft voice said - Who troubles my offspring?... as a figure bearing a strong resemblance to a thirty threeish Richard Gere, though dressed in clothes from I don't know where condensed out of the darkness...

And Tomas mouthed the word 'Papa,' before lapsing into the vampire equivalent of unconsciousness...


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Monday, November 18, 2013


It all happened very quickly. Tomas sat ruminating on Santa's old Toy Land throne (see last night's episode) when one of the child-ghosts, in these dusty shadows, started whimpering...a lost keening sound, akin to an old violin on a dark, drizzly night. The spirit saw, or felt something. So sensitive they are. And after a heartbeat or two our vampirino 'Hamlet' (well, sort of) also felt it.

He rose from his resting place and began to explore... silently... stealthy, like a cat. I don't know why simpletons liken them to bats. They're much more feline in nature with perhaps a pinch of arachnid thrown in. But that's just me... and disembodied, spirit narrators are so particular.

After a bit he picked up the scent... thin and weak, for spectral beings are subtle that way. But the taste of blood was in the air... dead blood... young blood. Then he saw him, perched upon a tall stack of cartons, hastily pushed into a corner during the last days of this place. The midnight fiend, known as Johnny Jump Up finished a meal, gnawing on the ragged remains of juvenile thigh muscle left clinging to a none too fresh femur. The cadaverous monster in his tight, black suit mindlessly savored each semi-dry morsel. You know how ghouls get when they dine? But the vampire, Tomas, ever aware of his surroundings, moved closer, creeping up on old displays (Motorized Erector Set! $9.95!) and surviving, though non-functioning, light fixtures.

Night-folk here about despise ghouls, tragic though they are (victims of pre-mature burial) and confront them at every turn. Odd that the greasy haired monster crawled in here. They usually favor rooftops. Something must be afoot.

But his vampiric adversary cared little for dark-time politics, as he soundlessly crept across  the ceiling, coming to rest just above the loathsome head. The scent, thin though it was repulsed him. He stopped and steeled himself a moment before creeping down the wall, coming to rest behind the chalk skinned ghoul. Then he silently leaned in, delivering a quick, little nip to the monster's rancid ear.....

Time froze for a moment. Such a macabre, artistic composition they made, there in the feeble glow from the battery powered, liar-candles.

But an instant later it was over... and the razor sharp battle was on....


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I left the Anti-Enchantment Bureau. Always hated that name. But according to Doctor Franklin, they had to call it something like that and pretend to be against the very thing they sought. Back then, simplistic bumpkins really did storm 'the manor' with pitchforks.

Of course they wanted me to stay... not so much for my company, but for what they could learn from me and I had given them enough. In his own way, the doctor understood. So I sublimated up through the below-ground levels and walked away. And no, I did not wander naked through the city. The good natured old reprobate gave me garments from his own supply, which meant I was outfitted in Philadelphia Eagles wear from head to toe... green sweatsuit...down filled jacket... knit cap... socks, underwear and sneakers too. Those abroad at this late hour took me for a rabid fan and I actually joined a bunch of them for drinks in a certain, well known after hours club. I do have a tolerance for alcohol, you know. Beer, not so much. That has food value. But alcohol, particularly vodka and gin, is something else. 

I like mixing with mortals. I enjoy studying them... smelling them and feeling their breath. Even their farts are novel to me. They seem so intertwined with the natural world. Oxygen truly means something to them. Organic food, not in the facile marketing sense, but in a visceral way, is life to them. Have you ever noticed how asparagus scents their pee? I love that. But after two drinks I left, preferring to depart before the ugly drunken part sets in. 

I went to a favorite haunt of mine, the dusty ruins of the old Gimbel Brothers Department Store, sealed underground, off to the side of the Eighth Street subway stop. It's still there in tumble-down disarray. The elferinos and elferinas (pubescent vampires) play among the remnants of the old toy department. Santa's Village, it was called. You can still see the sign. Know how they light the place? With hundreds of battery powered artificial, yellow, flickering candles. I believe they 'fell off a truck.' Our elfin caste is so mischievous that way, trading ancient night-folk intoxicants (obviously, I cannot give you the recipe) for whatever they fancy from the bad boys down Delaware Avenue.... No, I believe they call it Columbus Boulevard now. They trade for the batteries too. You see, mortals basically know about us, but pretend not too. Afraid of the 'mysterious' and all that. The police know we're here. The clergy knows. Homeless souls hiding in pitch black 'service' alleys know. Oh, I could go on.... In their truncated parts they do know. But 'humanity' as a whole... whatever that means, does not. It's easier that way. Magic frightens them. They want it, but they fear it.... Maybe we do too.

Night-folk live suspended in it. I know other denizens of this on-going tale speak of 'children from afar,' creatures birthed on other worlds and how they play with and change us, mortals, night-folk, all of us. Yet even those powerful beings are subject to it. Magic is everywhere and it settles on each and every one of us quite differently. Some manifest as witches, or vampires, or elferinos (a somewhat different form). Others grow into merfolk, or wolf-folk, or never-dies, or lucid wanderers. The variations are endless. Perhaps we can move from one phase to the next? Little Annie managed to escape. A vampire no more... 

I think about that now. I think about it a lot. Regular friends of course know that. And although a purely mundane life would drive me completely insane, some other enchanted resonance might suit me very well. I could be a very contented magi. The blood is not the thing. I crave it because I am made to crave it. But even vampires, true vampires, know it's the taking of the life that sustains us. The bloody kiss but a dramatic accoutrement. 

So I sit here on Santa's abandoned throne, pondering ruined displays of childless toys. The dolls seem very sad, Chatty Baby especially so. Sometimes I pull the ring just to keep her company. Sometimes I conjure forts out of Legos, or their elder brothers, Lincoln Logs, just to give them purpose. Ghostly children peek out from the gloom, but they have not yet learned to manipulate physical things, so I, or my little elfin brothers and sisters, do it for them. The flickering, electric, liar-candles shed a deathly glow. The nightmare after Christmas (or after one Christmas) this is... How the dust softens it all.


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Sunday, November 17, 2013



Some guy types away on a laptop under a weak, focused beam from a recessed ceiling fixture. It's 'wilkravitz' (Okay, you know it's me, BILLY)

He stops typing, looks up from the screen... addresses the camera.

BILLY - They had an idea... a vampire blog... an ongoing journal 
               detailing their lives, histories and secrets.. Not fiction. 
               never fiction. We only pretend that it is. Sometimes 
               they talk and I type. Sometimes I record what I see on
               this little audio thing and type it up later. Occasionally 
               one of them 'sends' stuff telepathically. I'm not the best.
               But I try. They tell me I'm pretty accurate, but I think 
               that's because the 'senders' are vampires and they got this
               whole magic-energy-power thing. Maybe that's what does 
                it. I'm just guessing.

               But they're starting to blame me for everything. Vampires
               like a certain amount of 'controlled' notoriety. They're 
               vain. Edith says it's not really that they're vain. They're
               just self-conscious about being different. You know, no
               matter what they say, they really never stop being human,
               just a different kind of human. They want to be accepted. 
              They want to be understood. And this is real life. I'm not
               talking about them leather and lace posers you read about
               everywhere else. Jeez, you know what Jonathon does 
               every year when Hanukah time rolls around? He makes
               little, dark, blue velvet, drawstring gift bags. Fills 'em 
               with like ten silver dollars, maybe some gold foil wrapped
               chocolate coins. And you know how much real silver
               dollars bring. He walks the streets, giving them out to poor
               people. Some are regulars. They wait for him every year.
               And he's done this for like three hundred years, maybe 
               more. I don't know if he did it in Europe. I don't know.

               Tells me it's my fault some TV or movie guy doesn't notice
               'us'. Actually bought a copy of THE HOLLYWOOD 
               think it is. Had me make up these really nice proposals...
               query letters, synopsis'... all that stuff... on real expensive,
               heavy stock too. Believe me. I got the paper cuts, or at 
               least the scars from them, to prove it. Sent out maybe 
               sixty of them. Most never responded. I included stamped 
               envelopes, postcards, everything. A few scrawled 'nope'
               on the postcard and that was it. One or two tried to be 
               polite about it. But it always came down to the same 
               thing...'recommendations'.... 'who sent you's?'.... and we
               just got the wrong kind a 'uncles.' What else can I tell you?

               Sarah don't mind too much. She just does her thing and
               keeps quiet. But Jonathon minds. It hurts him. I can tell.                    It's not like anyone on the other side of the velvet ropes 
               ever read their stories and THEN said no, 'cause that 
               ain't happened... not even once. They just say 'no.' 
               Jonathon stares at them rejections and says - They won't
               even sanction my right to exist.... Then he lights an 
               aroma candle (vampires love aroma candles) and sits in
               the corner.

               The whole idea behind the blog was to draw attention
               and it still is. They're not gonna stop. I'm not gonna stop.
               How can I? And we have had almost a hundred and forty 
                thousand 'hits.' Sure some're spam. Everybody gets spam.
               But not too much, 'cause I keep track of it. First year we 
               got zilch. Page views I mean. Second year we got maybe
               a little more than zilch. Third year was better. And you
               know how grateful we all are for each and every one of 
               you... 'readers' I mean.

               But if you got like a friend, or cousin who 'knows 
               somebody, and if you like what we put out there,
               please point them our way.

               Thank you. I didn't mean to go on like this, but you
                know how it is... And I gotta stop now and get a drink
                'cause my throat is so dry from talkin' so much..

Sighs, gets up. Goes over to the big, stainless steel, French door, refrigerator, takes out a two liter plastic jug of iced tea, screws off the top and guzzled it right from the container... Then he puts it back, closes the fridge, turns off the laptop and flips off the light. 

The screen goes black, save for the words VAMPIRE WONDERLAND IS REAL...


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Thursday, November 14, 2013

Behind 'The Magic' IS 'The Magic'..... 11/15/13

THE MER-FOLK POOL - Tomas sits on the edge, bathed in the pale undulating light reflecting up from the water. He tosses live, baby humbolt squid to the outlandish, aquatic humanoids.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN and his assistant, the lovely physician-vampire known as LUNA, observe from adjacent glass walled room.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Look how they twist off the heads... so clean... so fast... so neat.

LUNA - Shame to waste the tentacles. I hear they're very sweet.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Not 'wasted' my dear. The young ones get the heads as they sink beneath the surface. I think we have three of four of them in there now. It's a teaching thing. The beaks, you know. They must be taught to pinch out the beaks.

LUNA - How long will we keep them?

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - That's not for me to say. It's entirely up to them. Volunteers, my dear, brought here from a colony just beyond the mouth of the Chesapeake. Imagine, mer-folk inhabiting off-shore waters once again. They never liked the Mid-Atlantic Ridge... so dark... so cold... so remote. But they were safe there so they made do. 

LUNA just stares at Tomas. DOCTOR FRANKLIN notices and goes on...

... That one is a remarkable specimen, don't you think? I've dealt with others... older ones... younger ones... all kinds... 'you.' But Tomas, or Jonathon, or whoever he styles himself knows things.... (he studies her and says) Do you still want him?

The physician - vampire, focused on her one-time enamorada doesn't respond. DOCTOR FRANKLIN draws his own conclusions and smiles, as a bare Tomas puts down the empty bucket and slides off the edge to join his aqueous friends.

FOCUS ON underwater shot of the vampire swimming amidst the others.


CLOSE UP... a man's face... one of The RED PAINT PEOPLE... notice how he favors Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the starship Enterprise, but then again they all do... He speaks...

RED PAINT MAN - Beyond 'the magic' is 'the magic.' Each manifestation a reflection of what went before. Passed every door is another room and each has an open door.

PULL BACK.... He sits  at the kitchen table in the Center City, Philadelphia townhouse. EDITH serves dinner to her Jersey Pine Barren guests. She knows the RED PAINT FOLKS from way back. All the males have that Jean-Luc Picard look and all the females favor Olympic Skier, Peekaboo Street. No one responds. They just cut their meat and silently chew.

EDITH - (puts dessert on the table) Well, who wants pie?

The warm, fragrant, apple-filled delight slides down the table, coming to a stop before one of the RED PAINT males...

EDITH - Help yourself.

FADE TO the shadowy, blue, undulating depths of the mer-folk pool back at DOCTOR FRANKLIN'S underground complex.

FOCUS ON Tomas' enigmatically smiling face. His hair floats out around him... 

He opens his mouth, releasing a cloud of live, swimming, baby seahorses... The tiny young ones race to the surface, transforming into bubbles that burst and disappear...


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Tuesday, November 12, 2013

FLY AWAY ALL..How Vampires Might Preserve The Human Species .. 11/13/13

And there were other rivulets on the surface of Tomas' brain. Doctor Franklin's armonica sees all. Nothing can hide from him. The mortal Tomas loved smooth, Moroccan halvah and sweet, sesame candies from confectioners in Cadiz. He liked to ride the fine Arabians in his father's stables (gifts from the son of the khalif) deep into the orange Andalucian evenings. And the jam filled, deep fried chorizos served during The Feast of The Re-Dedication (Hanukah) were, in his boyhood opinion, sublime.

But these were mortal memories. His vampire mind knew other things. 'Papa,' the one who conjured him knows everything. He knows who swims beneath the icy crust of Europa and the resting place of many highly coveted relics. Indeed, the venerable, old one claims once to have touched the golden veneer of The Arc of The Covenant, the only thing in human possession wrought by The Hand of God.  Why he did not die, I do not know. Perhaps the fact that as a vampire he was already 'officially' dead might have saved him?

Have you ever wondered why 'vampirismo' is so big in the world these days? For the passed thirty seven years I'd say. Well, fifty five years hence (from nineteen seventy six in the trinitarian calender) I mean, Nibiru comes. And according to ancient lore, when it does, we go. Kadur Ha'Arets (Planet Earth) will be no more. But that is only what nihilists think. They revel in end times and have little faith. Johannon, the teller of this tale, and one time bodyguard and servant to the mortal Jonathon (also known as Tomas) feels quite differently about this matter. The world will be perfected. And humans will at last become perfect vessels for The Divine Presence.

Though Tomas (also known as Jonathon) walked with night-folk too. Indeed, he became one. And while still steeped in the faith of his fathers, shares certain beliefs with the vampires, incredulous as that may seem. The year '2032' is one of them. Nibiru, the Death World returns, shattering our God-given haven and killing the Children of Eve. Now to me, the spirit known as Johannon, you should excuse the expression, this is hogwash. But I will explain what kernels of belief lie within the 'vampire' Tomas' brain. 

He and certain others of his kind see themselves as saviors, charged with preserving a remnant and rising with them into the firmament (note I said 'firmament' and not heaven) before the ultimate destruction, there to find purchase upon another world.

But in order to survive that remnant must be changed. Mortals can't sublimate up from the Earth. Only vampires can do that. So vampires they must be.... a preserved number of humanity, though anything but human... well, not in the true sense. 

'Papa' taught him these things, or passed them on to him, I should say. Nibiru is a Sumerian 'thing' and you know what pagans they were. 

So answer me this.... Do you think your children will die a most grievous and horrific death eighteen years from now? Is that what's in your heart? For the heart knows many things.

And most of them are true.....

Can you hear the chords of the armonica?....
Shhhh... listen...


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Monday, November 11, 2013

Meet The 'Never-Dies' ...... 11/12/13

Tomas, also known as Jonathon, is still receiving harmonic treatments at The Anti-Enchantment Bureau. He's still very confused and depressed. Vampires get that way sometimes. Lately with him it's a hobby. But we have detected a bit of paranormal information via the full psyche scans and would like to make you privy to it as well...

'Never-Dies'.... Remember that term, for it identifies yet another gruesome toothsome churning in the night-world soup. To keep it simple, they're old people... extremely aged old people, who've lost, or never had, the ability to die. You've heard the expression 'the good die young?' Well, this bears it out. 

Imagine someone who grows ever knobbier and bristlier and fuzzy-downy haired and wrinklier and fungi-nailed and twisted. Oh, and they drool and spit too. But as their muscles weaken, they also contract into thin, little, gristly steel-like cords. Some mistakenly call them goblins. 

They hobble through the shadows (repulsive beings tend to do that) grabbing dirty, city pigeons, which they cram into their snaggle toothed maws, feathers, feet, heads, flapping wings and all. The mole-kids consider them to be great clowns... except when THEIR on the menu, since some resort to cannibalism. The witch in Hansel und Gretel was a Never-Die, in case you're interested.

A few practitioners of the macabre claim they resonate no magic, but are animated by a rare disease, a live-forever germ, if you will. In its early stages children and grandchildren of sufferers care for them via hopefully benign incarcerations in old folks' jails, better known as 'nursing homes.' But time finally takes it's toll and there comes a day when great-great grandchildren have no idea who they are. That's when the sinewy survivors break free their bonds, gum a few ersatz nurse attendants to death and shuffle out into the great, wide world. Most form trios, or quartets. A few are solo acts. Normal mortals rarely see them... But they abide and their rheumy eyes stare with longing at fresh skin and plump cheeks.

Edith (friend, confidant and witchy-woman housekeeper to our vampires) knows a few from back in the Jersey Pine Barrens who live off scared, young kids in stalled cars. You know, they're all not runaways.

'Never-Dies'.... Who'd a thunk it? Gleaned from the neurons of a life-eater's (p.c. term for vampire) mind. 

Even Doctor Franklin didn't know about them and in a sense he's, sort of, like a 'healthy' one himself.


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Sunday, November 10, 2013


They got Tomas into a room, not the big chamber with the big Grand Armonica. This was a secondary one, but more than up to the take. He was convulsing, so they laid him out on a table for treatment. Luna was there. Sarah, his 'declared' consort, hates her. Sure she (finally) recognizes the polyogamous  (not really polygamy. just the opposite of monogamy) nature of night-folk love affairs, but she still hates Luna. She just does. Look at her in that crisp, white lab coat. Look how she has the sleeves pushed up just so. And what, does the Anti-Enchantment Bureau have in-house hair dressers now? How's she get that bun, or twist, or whatever it is so perfect. Must loosen those tendrils with a crochet hook. 

Now please know Sarah was not there in the flesh, however her remote viewing abilities are very strong. She wanders the world at will, observing strange goings on in Roman catacombs and Los Angeles sex affairs unbeknownst even to @TMZ ... Vampires, especially intelligent 'noble' ones are exceedingly curious creatures. Galileo worked with some. So did Da Vinci, Josephine Baker, Alexander Pushkin and Helena Rubinstein. There are hundreds...maybe thousands, but those five just happened to pop into my head.

And did I tell you that Luna's a vampire... a vampire physician, to be exact. Raised by the Bureau. A prodigy she was... able to dissect and analyze mummified tissue at seven years old. By twelve she achieved verifiable cogent thought and observable brain-muscular connections in her first head transplants. Human to human switches ultimately bored her, but her first human-dog switch ( a Quebecois lounge singer and a Great Dane) grew ever more melancholy. The one with the human head missed his thumbs. Dew claws, even intact ones, aren't the same. He could no longer hold martini glasses and that, apparently was a big part of his act. The Great Dane with the human body is a watchman in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and engaged to be married to a cute, little foreign thing with her own nail salon, who's positively addicted to his indiscriminate and not always facial 'kisses.'

But Luna eventually succumbed to vampirism. I think the unbelievably long lived one called 'Papa' had something to do with it (twenty eight thousand years old, but looks like a thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere), though this disembodied spirit narrator does not know, as I was still embodied at the time (only two years ago) and selling vintage hula-hoops door to door. I killed myself. OK? Don't ask.

She intubated her former night-folk lover (even vampire bodies benefit from certain carefully prepared nostrums) and snapped off his tight, little, black, leather, 'Speedo' thing. Then they turned on the not quite as grand Armonica apparatus in that room and levitated him up into the therapeutic (and probing) 'spider web' made from sound. Such soothing chords they were.

Doctor Franklin, sporting one of his signature, emerald green, Philadelphia Eagles sweat suits, arranged himself in a nearby ergonomically correct reclining chair and regaled the more-than-human patient with tales of not so ergonomically correct torture devices. Vampires, even usually well meaning ones, like Tomas, are intrigued by such things. 

The three hundred and seven year old, scientifically preserved patriot whispered stories of a huge, obsidian cube, all black and shiny, owned by an Indian potentate. The house size bauble was split horizontally through the middle, with an indentation in the center meant to snuggly encase a temporarily living human body. Tiny, almost microscopic tubules  let air in. Royal elephants harnessed to decorative pulleys raised the top half, allowing the condemned to creep inside. Then the upper portion slowly lowered, sealing the understandably flustered subject into fatal embrace. Cue the royal elephants. Pull the heavy juggernaut out into the hot Deccan sun. It was called 'Journey To The Center of The Earth.' And when, after a few days, they raised the upper half, the body inside was baked fine and even, as if in the best tandoori.

After a time the vampire, Tomas, slept and soon after the old reprobate slept too.

Supernatural psyches need constant care....


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