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Who is it, that 'thing?' - the spirit of the Russian vampire oligarch said to the red eyed baby. And the baby, held in the arms of the headless 'thing' responding in a patois not quite Russian and not quite Ruthenian said - I do not know who he is. Body came preserved in big pickle jar. Not pickle jar, but big and full of brine, so I call it pickle jar. Head is in Grand Palace of Soviet Ethnicities....... The still alive Russian prisoner listened in amazement, as the strange, ghostly bundle switched from baby gurgles to the rather raspy voiced adult he heard now. He shuddered and shrank back against battered cartons hiding God knows what. He didn't want to know, especially considering the 'Thriller' remake he just lived through, so he babbled like a crazed maniac and said - Mommy-Daddy Mommy-Daddy Mommy-Daddy Mommy-Daddy Mommy-Daddy. With that the little red eyed, baby thing began to bounce and clap. Finally, the spirit of the impatient, Russian, vampire oligarch yelled - Enough! I want to take his body!....... The crazed, Russian prisoner giggled and peed a little. From his viewpoint, what else could go wrong?
Four hundred and ninety heartbeats later they sat in the small, battered and rather institutional remnants of a Soviet office. The Gregori Usipov spirit thing (rather dapper, in an overblown, new money billionaire sort of way) took a seat behind the desk. The still living, severely trembling Russian prisoner occupied a squeaky old chair placed in the spot where the petitioner would normally sit. Frantic ape-human, ghost hybrids screamed from the space next door. The prisoner swiveled back and forth like an idiot. He wanted to bolt, but he was so completely terrified and besides, where would be go? The place was still dark. Every room was dark. The only reason he could see anything was the 'glow.' The spirit 'glow.' Apparently, they could emanate a form of illumination. Ghosts? Spirits? Who knew?
Finally, the prisoner found his voice, shaky as it was, and said - Are you a ghost?....... The vampire, oligarch eyed him judgmentally and said - Only temporarily. Did I 'die?' No, I never died, unless you count when I became vahmpyr. But to me, that is not death. No, not 'true' death. Though I am without my body..... And then he grinned..... Believe me. You don't want to see that grin..... The poor prisoner silently studied the empty, worn, institutional gray, metal desk top and said nothing. Even the frantic screams from the ape-human hybrid ghosts next door stopped. There was no sound, save the wind, from somewhere out beyond this hidden place.
And the Russian, vampire, oligarch... the 'ghost' though not a ghost, told him certain things... Of his time (at least in mortal terms) with the elusive entity known as Madam Shang... Of their visits to other worlds and different, temporal planes.
For a while the prisoner was entranced and listened attentively. Tiger hunts in Old Baroda and chime-like auroras on worlds far from our own. But when the disconnected spirit spoke of losing his own body somewhere along the way and the near perfect 'harmonic' match he had with the still living mortal there before him, that mortal started to have second thoughts, right about when that 'baby' thing crawled in and said - Don't worry.... You'll like it here....
<<o> <o>>
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Four hundred and ninety heartbeats later they sat in the small, battered and rather institutional remnants of a Soviet office. The Gregori Usipov spirit thing (rather dapper, in an overblown, new money billionaire sort of way) took a seat behind the desk. The still living, severely trembling Russian prisoner occupied a squeaky old chair placed in the spot where the petitioner would normally sit. Frantic ape-human, ghost hybrids screamed from the space next door. The prisoner swiveled back and forth like an idiot. He wanted to bolt, but he was so completely terrified and besides, where would be go? The place was still dark. Every room was dark. The only reason he could see anything was the 'glow.' The spirit 'glow.' Apparently, they could emanate a form of illumination. Ghosts? Spirits? Who knew?
Finally, the prisoner found his voice, shaky as it was, and said - Are you a ghost?....... The vampire, oligarch eyed him judgmentally and said - Only temporarily. Did I 'die?' No, I never died, unless you count when I became vahmpyr. But to me, that is not death. No, not 'true' death. Though I am without my body..... And then he grinned..... Believe me. You don't want to see that grin..... The poor prisoner silently studied the empty, worn, institutional gray, metal desk top and said nothing. Even the frantic screams from the ape-human hybrid ghosts next door stopped. There was no sound, save the wind, from somewhere out beyond this hidden place.
And the Russian, vampire, oligarch... the 'ghost' though not a ghost, told him certain things... Of his time (at least in mortal terms) with the elusive entity known as Madam Shang... Of their visits to other worlds and different, temporal planes.
For a while the prisoner was entranced and listened attentively. Tiger hunts in Old Baroda and chime-like auroras on worlds far from our own. But when the disconnected spirit spoke of losing his own body somewhere along the way and the near perfect 'harmonic' match he had with the still living mortal there before him, that mortal started to have second thoughts, right about when that 'baby' thing crawled in and said - Don't worry.... You'll like it here....
<<o> <o>>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
link ~> GOOD POSTS TO READ
link ~> JOIN US ON TWITTER
link ~> AND FOR REAL PHILADELPHIA GHOSTS CLICK THIS
please leave a COMMENT down below. thank you..
2 comments:
One more reason for me to have a distaste of pickles, even if it wasn't really a pickle jar!
YOU must google the specimens on display in the Mutter Museum of Medical Oddities.
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