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The vampirino known as Tomas looked down at the bones, a full human skeleton, stretched out and bound to an iron rod and grinning like a fool. . He studied the gunmetal metallic sheen gilding each blackened surface and waited for the spirit to gather it's thoughts. Was he frightened? Well, a bit. Even vampires can become unnerved at magic not their own. So he backed against the ruined cellar wall and waited. First he heard a giggle, low and muffled, as if from far away. Then he heard a sigh and the ether grew positively icy. Tomas said a prayer. You know how much he believes. I don't have to tell you that. Something moved in a corner. He could hear the scraping of tiny feet, but it was just a fat,little vole looking for late season maggots. Higher creatures, like dogs or cats, might notice the presence of spirits and such. Little mousy things do not. Maybe they just don't care? Then the vole moved on and the cold, icy silence returned.
Tomas noticed that the remains were fixed to the rod with iron chains, some about the neck, the waist and the ankles. The wrists, bound in similar fashion, were pulled 'round the back. And the chains themselves were melted into place, apparently the result of unspeakable torture. But no sound rose up from the horrific leavings and he prepared to leave, desirous of a sweeter place to sleep. It was at that point, when the silvery slivers of moonlight slicing into the place through spidery rents in the old, stone walls played across his shifting body that the 'presence' began to speak.
They put me in the 'soup' - it said in a low and sonorous voice. The vampire wasn't sure if he actually heard the words or felt them with his mind. But he knew that they were real, so he listened.... The thing went on - But the soup was too hot, so I died. Lead it was... molten lead, cooked in an iron pot. a great witches cauldron brought hence from Scotland and once used by the ancient Stewarts somewhere in the vicinity of Holyrood House. Edinburgh was the seat of great crimes and the souls of the tortured still writhe about the Old Town like banshees. But I digress. A well read man, I was and learned in many things.
Tomas, almost afraid to speak, whispered - Why did they do it? ... For he too remembered brutal acts.... And the soul of the learned man went on... Because they could - he said. Some people are like that. I fell afoul of a powerful man. You knew him too, Hebrew, back in the early days of this place. You are Hebrew, are you not? I can feel the resonance of souls and can discern even a Methodist from an Anglican. Tomas, also known as Jonathon said that he was, but with a certain reticence, for he remembered a time when such an affirmation meant martyrdom. But the tortured spirit, desirous of telling its own tale went on... Lead melts at nine hundred degrees. I knew than even before the killed me. Bound to his bar I was. I'm bound to it still. And they raised me up and lowered me in. I screamed. I pleaded... Please, crack my head. Shatter my skull. Please, throttle me before you do this thing. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! I begged. I cried. I whimpered. I peed. They laughed. Said I was trying to cool the broth. And they dropped me down a little more. A whole apparatus they had... A series of chains. And there was some argument as to whether I should go in horizontally, facing downward, or feet first. But after some deliberation ( oh, how I relished those moments) they picked the later course, since it would prolong the pain. Logical to a fault they were. Nine hundred degrees... Twice as hot as an oven. And suspended as I was, maybe six feet above the thick and hellish brew, my toenails began to smolder, like hot glass pressed upon the delicate skin beneath. I begged again, but they ignored me. Eight of them there were. Two to do the job and six to watch. But they wisely stepped back, lest errant gobbets burn them too.
They say the body falls into shock. They say nerves shut down and those burned alive go numb, pathetic witnesses to their own immolation. They say a lot of things and they are wrong. I lived it all. A thick, heavy searing viscosity,bathed in Satan's own shit I was. And all I could do was tremble. How I trembled. I twisted. I writhed trying to smash my head against the bar. But I was bound too close. One of them joked and said - Oh, smells like roasting pork.... But I couldn't even scream and even the slop in my stomach began to boil...... Then the glassy surface of my eyes began to smoke. I was all alone in hell and didn't deserve to be there...
Now if spirits still had tears, this one would be crying. For that's what Tomas heard. And such a mournful, helpless sound it was. He touched the skull and it stopped. But after a time it went on. And Tomas was scared. Some ghosts hold on tight, binding the unwary like flies caught in a web.... locked in misery and sadness forever... with no way to break free... eternal partners in death...
But take your leave and rest now. I'll tell you more tomorrow...
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link~> EXPLORE THE VAMPIRE WONDERLAND HERE ...
twitter~> @wilkravitz ... please COMMENT. thank you.
Tomas noticed that the remains were fixed to the rod with iron chains, some about the neck, the waist and the ankles. The wrists, bound in similar fashion, were pulled 'round the back. And the chains themselves were melted into place, apparently the result of unspeakable torture. But no sound rose up from the horrific leavings and he prepared to leave, desirous of a sweeter place to sleep. It was at that point, when the silvery slivers of moonlight slicing into the place through spidery rents in the old, stone walls played across his shifting body that the 'presence' began to speak.
They put me in the 'soup' - it said in a low and sonorous voice. The vampire wasn't sure if he actually heard the words or felt them with his mind. But he knew that they were real, so he listened.... The thing went on - But the soup was too hot, so I died. Lead it was... molten lead, cooked in an iron pot. a great witches cauldron brought hence from Scotland and once used by the ancient Stewarts somewhere in the vicinity of Holyrood House. Edinburgh was the seat of great crimes and the souls of the tortured still writhe about the Old Town like banshees. But I digress. A well read man, I was and learned in many things.
Tomas, almost afraid to speak, whispered - Why did they do it? ... For he too remembered brutal acts.... And the soul of the learned man went on... Because they could - he said. Some people are like that. I fell afoul of a powerful man. You knew him too, Hebrew, back in the early days of this place. You are Hebrew, are you not? I can feel the resonance of souls and can discern even a Methodist from an Anglican. Tomas, also known as Jonathon said that he was, but with a certain reticence, for he remembered a time when such an affirmation meant martyrdom. But the tortured spirit, desirous of telling its own tale went on... Lead melts at nine hundred degrees. I knew than even before the killed me. Bound to his bar I was. I'm bound to it still. And they raised me up and lowered me in. I screamed. I pleaded... Please, crack my head. Shatter my skull. Please, throttle me before you do this thing. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! I begged. I cried. I whimpered. I peed. They laughed. Said I was trying to cool the broth. And they dropped me down a little more. A whole apparatus they had... A series of chains. And there was some argument as to whether I should go in horizontally, facing downward, or feet first. But after some deliberation ( oh, how I relished those moments) they picked the later course, since it would prolong the pain. Logical to a fault they were. Nine hundred degrees... Twice as hot as an oven. And suspended as I was, maybe six feet above the thick and hellish brew, my toenails began to smolder, like hot glass pressed upon the delicate skin beneath. I begged again, but they ignored me. Eight of them there were. Two to do the job and six to watch. But they wisely stepped back, lest errant gobbets burn them too.
They say the body falls into shock. They say nerves shut down and those burned alive go numb, pathetic witnesses to their own immolation. They say a lot of things and they are wrong. I lived it all. A thick, heavy searing viscosity,bathed in Satan's own shit I was. And all I could do was tremble. How I trembled. I twisted. I writhed trying to smash my head against the bar. But I was bound too close. One of them joked and said - Oh, smells like roasting pork.... But I couldn't even scream and even the slop in my stomach began to boil...... Then the glassy surface of my eyes began to smoke. I was all alone in hell and didn't deserve to be there...
Now if spirits still had tears, this one would be crying. For that's what Tomas heard. And such a mournful, helpless sound it was. He touched the skull and it stopped. But after a time it went on. And Tomas was scared. Some ghosts hold on tight, binding the unwary like flies caught in a web.... locked in misery and sadness forever... with no way to break free... eternal partners in death...
But take your leave and rest now. I'll tell you more tomorrow...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
link~> EXPLORE THE VAMPIRE WONDERLAND HERE ...
twitter~> @wilkravitz ... please COMMENT. thank you.
