Tomas called Doctor Franklin. He got on his armonica thing, trying to detect changes in ethereal vibrations. They picked up the elfin-folk over in Laurel Hill Cemetery right away. Magic folk, or whatever you want to call them, have a certain aura.They give off this 'thing.' So I guess there is a physical component to it all, or maybe that's just the way it manifests in our particular universe? Baylah was back in town, so she came right over too. I don't know how much help Leo and Conrad are gonna be. Sure, they're vampires, but lets just say if vampires had professional representation, they wouldn't be signed by a big agency. And the 'familiars' are just mortals. They can't do anything. Likewise the cops.
The ghosts fingered Pig Blood Annie's husband, Little Joe, right away. Johannon asked Tomas if he wanted him to scare the dirty, runty bastard off. Was all set to drift into his corpse-burnt-in-a-fire phase, which is what he was. That is how he died. No lips. No eyelids. Nose all gone. Skin like a pepper left on the grill too long. But Tomas told him not to.
Sarah, Tomas' consort, took it upon herself. She simply opened the big, red, lacquered door, stepped out upon the white, marble stoop, looked down at the strange, little man and whispered (since it was quite late and very cold) - Can I help you? Can I be of any assistance?.... And she made sure he saw the fangs..... He was flustered, but just a bit. Being spouse to a big, old, powerful born-witch, like Pig Blood Annie gave him some measure of accomplishment. After all, she ain't crushed him yet. So he rose up to his full, substandard height, thrust out his weak, little chin and said - My lady wants her grandbaby back...... Nineteen heartbeats later he was seated by the big, granite island in the kitchen giving everybody nervous looks. What big teeth they had, don't you know. Not 'big.' That's really an inaccurate word. Wouldn't want to give any new readers the wrong idea. 'Noble' vampires have discrete fangs... a tiny bit longer... sharper and pointier. That's all. But a scalpel doesn't have to be a machete and the rustic, Piney 'gentleman' got the point.
Tomas told him they didn't have the dumpling in question and were doing everything enchanted beings could do to get her back. Then he asked - Where are the parents in all this? .... Little Joe sniffed and said - We don't speak about them. .... Why? - asked Sarah. The mother, isn't she a born-witch too?.... She a born-slut. That's what she is. Sometimes it skip a generation. - he said. Wanna be a whore. Sent her to the best whore school money can buy. But she flunk out once already and look like she fixin' to do it again. How you know that baby ain't dead?..... Sarah said - In a house filled with supernatural beings we feel things. I walk through her room, the place where she slept and I know. Your granddaughter is alive. And it looks as if she wasn't taken...... She ain't my granddaughter. She's my step-granddaughter and what do you mean? - the really rather sad, little man asked.... Well - said Sarah, It looks as if she just left...... Little Joe put his head in his hands and cried..... She gone kill me. She gone kill me. My sainted wife gone bust my head like a sausage casing.... And he cried some more. Edith gave him a mug of tea. But he say he want Sprite and a doughnut instead. They don't have no Sprite, 'cause only ones what drink soda is Edith and Billy and all they go for is diet iced tea and diet Coke. So she give him diet Coke and a TastyKake. That like a Philadelphia Twinkie only better. Chocolate cupcakes, I think it was.....
Meanwhile, seven miles away, in the freezing, winter woods of Laurel Hill, the nine or ten month old born-witchling named Boopsie clapped her little mitts and made warm, orange light orbs to keep away the chill, as she and the elferinas and elferinos ( including the new one, Peter) passed around two, old, disoriented drunks, taking little blood drinks from each. Would they live? Probably, but don't ask me to guarantee it. That 'Peter' make 'em do things a little bit different. Not the drunks. The elfin-folk, I mean.
An' folks what got telescopes 'round the city get quite a show, watchin' them hills they got in there, 'cause them warm, orange light orbs seep out a that snug, little, never-used mausoleum an' go floatin' all over the place, just like 'ghosts' an' 'aliens.'
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They got lots a dark places in The Pines.... that pit back in a cave where the 'Talk-To-God' man sit.... place where they had a 'Throwing Of The Bones'...... shit stinkin' pond where flesh-lovin' snappin' turtles live. Pines is @weirdnj (yeah, you can click it) central. But you ain't seen all what they got. You ain't seen Pig Blood Annie. Some say she jus' half in this world an' half someplace else. Guess it gotta be like that, 'cause a how putrid she is. Full aroma liable to make folks lay down and die.
You gotta do crap if you wanna see her. An' I can't tell you what it is, 'cause five or six in-bred maniacs what got f*cked up brains'd have to chew you up. That an improvement over what used a happen. She sit in one a the dark places. Look like it in a cave, 'cause like there no light, like where @CharlieRose (yeah, you can click it) sit. 'Cept he wear a real nice Ralph Lauren suit and she a bit, fat, crazy, naked white woman. But y'all ain't gonna see too much. Pig Blood Annie set herself down in a big, old sink hole full a hog blood. She cackle. She splash. Greasy, black hair all wet. Drip in her eye. Drip in her malf. Run down a tittie. Some time she drink a little on purpose. Mostly her husband, Little Joe, feed her. He scrawny-like. Used a be a jockey, but not on no horse. Rode them giant capybara down in Brazil. It like a rat what think it a sheep. And yeah, they real. Beat them dingoes in baby-eatin' contest any day. Got nice fur though. I do gotta say that. Little Joe an' Pig Blood Annie met real cute. She have her teef in an' everythin'. ( the good set where the top match the bottom) But we not gonna talk 'bout that now.
Little Joe shove earth worms and Doritos down her throat. She like that. An' he get to lick off all the crumbs. She a 'born' witch, Pig Blood is. Not like Edith. Not no witchy-women. Don't never need no lessons. It come natural to her, like step dancin' to them Irish folk, or pickled herring eatin' to them Jews. (she make good fart noised under her big, old arms, but that not come natural. She took lessons. Pay a guy five dollar an' twenty nine cent, but he learn her real good. They gonna put her on AMERICA GOT TALENT. But producer say she gone wear like a brassiere an' hose off some a that pig blood. She say - No.... They fight. He tell her to go to hell an' spit out part a that corned beef sandwich he brung her. So she make him into a turd. But not no regular turd what float in gutter like they 'sposed to. She not no monster. He a special one what blink its eyes an' eat ice cream cone.
But what you gotta know is she Boopsie's mom-mom an' she want her little grandbaby back. Mama not want her. Daddy not want her. But she do. An' Little Joe out lookin' for her now. He no 'born' witch. He no 'born' nothin'. He jus' Little Joe. Look like Michael Jeter in GREEN MILE, 'cept punier and not so purty. He jus' a step pop-pop , but he want her back too. I do not know what for, but he want her.
Pig Blood give him toe nail clippin's. Her toe nail clippin's. Body parts got power, like a magic ring, but in this case not so fancy. He got 'em in a little, brown, suede, drawstring sack. Wear it 'round his neck on a thong.
Right now he hidin' outside the townhouse. Crouched down by some steps. But he lookin'. Oh, he lookin'. Got hisself a hippy-girl hat like Janis Joplin used a wear. Got like a old pea-coat, 'cause it freezin'. It also a lady pea-coat, but he don't know that. Think it jus' button funny 'cause he drunk.
Mostly night-folk what live in townhouse not know Boopsie gone til jus' now. They screamin'. They runnin'.
Little Joe not know what for..... But he lookin'.
I your favorite disembodied spirit narrator. I Mister Never-You-Mind. But them what read this know that... OK, I done now. Good night.... Lemme alone.....Oh, one more thing. You know @questlove (yeah, you can click on it) from TONIGHT SHOW wit' Jimmy Fallon used a play clubs right by here? Still come by on weekend. I sneak in for free... Heh heh heh heh heh..... That a ghost joke...
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The February thaw was over. Icy shadows dripped through the silent, winding foot paths of the old necropolis. Laurel Hill.... a crowded 'country home,' though still in the city, for dead people. One hundred and seventy years ago this was Beverly Hills for corpses. Mausoleums, some Greco-Roman, some Gothic, some Moorish lined narrow, little, private drives just wide enough for a glossy, black, horse drawn hearse (incongruously decorated with jet black ostrich plumes... what the hell were the plumes for?) And they used to save carefully trimmed locks of hair, wound or braided into cords which were coiled into black onyx lockets or knotted into earrings. In an age before anti-biotics death was a leitmotif that never went away.
Peter liked this place, a veritable cadaver playland to him. He carefully inspected the stone facades, lightly running his fingers over carefully chiseled details and finely fashioned vines...... What is inside? How do they do it? How are they arranged? - he asked..... In his day most dearly departed spent their 'down time' cheek by jowl in damp, moldy, underground catacombs or jammed into painfully narrow coffins and planted in old churchyards, sometimes two and three deep. Like individual cigar humidors for the dead. Imagine being buried alive in one of those. No room to bend an ankle or raise a head.
Marianne said - They sleep as if in salons. Wide, stone, bench-like platforms line the walls, bearing perhaps two tightly sealed caskets on each side and one across the back. Extra 'guests' simply lie on the floor. Some crypts have little floor room left, like a juvenile, mortal girls' 'sleepover' that never ends. The walls are thick and strong. Few have windows. Some might have a high, thin band of clerestories under the eaves....... She was like a regular tour guide here.
Roland said - I think the one's with windows, small as they are, are the worst. The thought of tiny shafts of daylight tracing dim paths across so many dead boxes, spiders here and there, cobwebs, maybe a mouse-ling. It's horrible. The dust and all. Sometimes the wood cracks and buckles. A skeletal hand pops through. Who wants to see that?....... Peter said - I do...... And he sublimated through the faux stone wall (actually molded, or embossed concrete) into the mock Rhineland slumber chamber of a mid-nineteenth century beer baron. About two hundred and ten heartbeats later he came out giggling.
How could you see in there? - asked Albion (the second elferino).... Peter quickly passed a hand before his face and said - Like this..... Seconds later a muted amber light shone forth from his eyes, as if lit from within...... Can you teach us? - asked Celeste..... But Peter just shrugged. Yes he was an elferino, though he was also other things too.
Little Boopsie, recently delivered via peregrine falcon (and I want you to know a normal peregrine falcon could never support the weight of an ordinary nine or ten month old baby, but she has powers of her own) snuggled in Marianne's arms. Such a wide-eyed little thing she is. Looks at everything. Gurgles. When Peter came out of the crypt she reached out with her arms, opening and closing her little hands saying - Me. Me. Me........ No, baby doll. Not you - said Marianne and she kissed her. But the witchling struggled to break free..... Peter said - Why not her? Let her go. no, don't put her down. Let her go...... He reached toward her. Marianne didn't want to do it, but she knew he really meant it, so she did.
For a moment Boopsie floated there. They thought she'd fall, but she didn't, thrashing about with her arms and feet like a child thrown in the sea. Then she steadied herself, gurgled some more and clapped her fat, little hands.... Peter said - Come, baby. Come here...... And she did, following the light in his eyes. He held her, a strange 'twelve' year old and his 'baby sister' there in the cold, dark land of the dead... She pointed to the mausoleum wall and said - Me. Me. Me. In. In. In..... None of the others felt that he should, but he did and five heartbeats later a barely visible aura enveloped them both, as he tucked her powdery head into his chest and passed back through the icy wall..... The bones of an ivory, white hand reached through a crumbling casket. The baby was entranced. Her gaze never left the macabre scene. And Peter indulged her, setting her upon the stone platform, so that she might get a better look. He knelt down beside her, radiating just enough light to cut the darkness. A ring sparkled in the gloom, upon the third finger of the partially revealed corpse. The baby said - Ooh, pretty...... Peter whispered - Do you like it?.... Babykins nodded. So he took it for her, a square cut amethyst set in gold. The dead girl got it on her sixteenth birthday, two years before her passing. But her essence, her soul, made a clean break from this world long ago, so she didn't care a bit.
Peter did things the four, original elferinos and elferinas never would. And they noticed. A bit later, when they holed up in an old, but never used mausoleum, way in the back, built into a little hill (the well-fixed owners all went down with the Titanic, even the children. not all the rich folks made it to the boats) Boopsie fussed. She wanted the ring and he gave it to her. That made her happy. She went - Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
But the others didn't like it, especially when she put it in her mouth...
Peter closed his eyes. The bare, stone space went dark and they slept.....
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There was a mouse in the kitchen. Tomas didn't care. Sarah felt sorry for it. Conrad right away started to projectile vomit. And Leo, his hyper, ersatz step night-folk brother (they came into the 'family' at the same time) said - You're a vampire, you crazy son of a bitch! Stop bein' such a pansy!... And then he slapped him right across the back of his head. Edith said - I'm sorry. I'm not gonna have it. I cook food in there. I eat. Billy eats. You all drink tea and coffee and broth and all. No, I'm not gonna have it...... Conrad said - You forgot the baby. You didn't say 'Boopsie.'........... That set her off. She smashed a plate on the granite island and yelled - Ok, ok, ok! Boopsie! Boopsie! But what the hell's a mouse gonna do to a God damned little rat like her!? And I don't think she's a baby! Do you know that!? I don't think she's a BAY-BEE!..... Tomas said - What do you want me to do, drive her out in the country and set her free? We're stuck with her now.... Sarah added - Look, she's a baby, a witch-baby, but a baby. So that's it. And you're a witchy-woman. You have some of those abilities. What do you care?..... Look, don't judge me! Go read a book. You don't talk. You don't say nothing. Go read! And I am not a' born' witch. I just know a few things and can do a few things. That shitty, little bundle upstairs is something else. - said Edith. And she was really serious. Last week, Boopsie gave her cooties. No, really, she did. Who knows where she got the idea. Sarah pushes her around in the stroller. Walks her through TOYS R US. Maybe she saw something on a shelf? But still, how would she make the connection? Only now, tiny, barely visible, multicolored, plastic, mite things are eating Edith alive and what do you do to kill something what ain't even organic? Sarah has to groom her like a monkey. Ghost boy from the basement won't go neat her, 'cause one night she 'froze' him like a stationary translucent 'cloud' and levitated him outside. Looked like a 'crashed' hologram. People were passing their hands through him and looking for the projector. He don't like it. I mean he's a nice, littler boy, after all. It's a shame that he's dead. It's a shame he had polio. No, it really is. But living with vampires and all the rest of the unusual guest stars makes me philosophic. Even if science gets us to the point where people live for like two hundred years, we're still gonna be dead a lot longer than that. And I believe too, just like the rest of you. But it still makes you think sometimes. Tomas used to sit and look at 'Papa' and say - Twenty eight thousand years old and he still can't solve a cryptogram. ..... You know, time is just time, unless you do something with it.
And while they were all downstairs gettin' real with each other, the little bundle up in her crib did something else. Climbed out, crawled over to the bureau, hoisted herself up on top of it using the draw pulls as stirrups, padded over to the window (ain't got no attached mirror up there. got a cheval, Second Empire mirror off to the side. Sarah worked with the decorators and attached, bureau mirrors are officially 'yucky.' Decorator says - Raymour & Flanigan are worse than Sacco and Vanzetti ), 'witched it open, gingerly stood up, stepped out onto the narrow brick ledge (it was night. their street was pretty much residential, so nobody saw) and reached out her little mitts, as she baby gurgled to a peregrine falcon (you see them in the city from time to time), which understood a bit of (born) witch-baby talk and flew over, laboriously hovering just beyond and above where her head was. Boopsie leaned forward ( a true test of faith) and grabbed hold of its legs. How strange they were, like ridged sticks of polished wood. In a moment they were off, sailing over the roof-tops and on toward adventure. Earlier, when Sarah dressed her for bed (Edith was too itchy from the plastic cooties and all), Boopsie used her inherent talents, causing the maternal vampirina to dress her in two pair of winter-weight, fleece snuggies, not to mention a flannel 'one-sie' underneath, so she was quite prepared for the flight.
And the elfin-folk (see last night) over at Laurel Hill knew that she was coming.
Now the mom who feeds her kid shitty pizza was supposed to be in this, but she had cramps and didn't do anything worth writing about anyway, so let her wait til some other time.
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They raced through a dark and shuttered Lord & Taylor's. Troublesome guards and cameras easily befuddled by Peter's own brand of old Renaissance magic. .... Such treasures you have! - he said. Grab a few more of those cashmere what ever they are's.... And his (at least for now) dedicated acolytes, Philadelphia's four original elfin-folk, jumped to it. They had fine, leather slippers, trim blue jeans and glorious, rich, cotton shirts. Roland suggested some bright, graphic t-shirts, so they grabbed those too. I think there were sweaters, socks and handfuls of designer underwear thrown in some of the bags. And the newly freed juvenile vampire (that's basically what 'elfin-folk' are) palmed a bottle or two of high priced scent as an after thought. No, wait, the last after thought was the watch. I'm told they took a Breitling or Tag Huer. I don't know. Must retail for five grand, at least. Peter wanted gold chains too. They were big in his early days. Young blades up and down The Veneto were regular Mr. T's. But Marianne changed his mind. Peter likes her. He trusts her. She's the first 'modern' elferina he saw. You know how ducklings imprint on whomever they see first? Well, it was like that.
They stopped by the large, bronze eagle, mounted atop a marble plinth in the center of 'the grand atrium,' a Philadelphia meeting spot for well over a hundred years. Peter looked up at the massive casting (maybe seven feet tall) and said it reminded him of similar 'marshal' statues in Venice. I think the image also appeared on the last series of true silver dollars minted in America too. Celeste (the second elferina) quietly asked - Where do we shelter this morning, Peter? ..... But he didn't know. It was obvious he didn't know. He blinked. He looked. He turned to Marianne and whispered - Are there catacombs here abouts?..... She said - No, not like over there (meaning Europe). There are crypts, but they're clean, empty spaces. Nothing's down there. Maybe an entombed arch bishop or two...... Dead? - asked Peter..... Yes, dead - she said....... Peter knew he had to do something, or lose them, so he animated the eagle. The stern, graven image opened its beak, revealing a red meaty tongue, gave out with some raptor squawks, spread it's burnished wings and vaulted toward the heights. The elfin-folk were truly impressed...... Peter said - Stand back...... They hurried off the plinth where they'd been sitting, retreating to ladies accessories, the better to watch the show, as the huge bird traced figure eights and other moves stolen from the Winter Olympics (Peter had seen a TV, after all) before gracefully returning to it's eternal pose on the marble platform..... Albion (the second elferino) said - How can you do that?..... For elfin-folk, though adept at sublimation as well as possessing true flight, have limited abilities to alter and enchant physical matter. But Peter didn't answer. He just smiled. Then the eagle suddenly 'ruffed' it's feathers and they all laughed.
Marianne said - Come, there's a place in Laurel Hill (vast, old, mossy, forest-like necropolis) we can go..... So they filed out of the almost dark atrium toward the original, (also bronze) revolving doors, hugged their parcels to their chests and sublimated out into the night.
When they were gone, the electronic security devices crackled back to life.
But the watchmen never did. For each and every one of them was dead....
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The family room was dark. Night-folk like it that way. The vampirino, known as Tomas sat in one of the big, leather, wing chairs watching a film. He likes films and this is his favorite. A regular Kubrick aficionado he is, ever since Paths Of Glory, or whatever the first one was called. The elferinos and elferinas were there, but now they've left. Peter, the new one, is quite the firebrand. The others think he's Jack-The-Lad. Wants to dig out a hidey-hole down in the tunnels. And maybe an ancillary abode, up in a long forgotten attic atop some grand, old hotel.
Tomas is hurt. Vampires feel pain and disappointment quite keenly. He likes their little establishment. Edith in the kitchen. Billy at the keyboard.... and night-folk everywhere else, not to mention the occasional 'unusual' house guest from 'The Pines.' Baylah might have her cozy piano bar and her little, jewel-box apartment upstairs, but even she , when not there, or with her wealthy mortal boyfriend at the shore, stops by for hot toddies and conversation.
Vampires seek permanence and hardly ever find it. Times change (boy, do they ever see that) and 'enchanted' souls join other communions. Crypt-mates rest their bones in novel tombs and dream with other friends. Tomas had a 'family' before.... more than one. But a certain assemblage back in the time romantics call 'the gilded age' was special. He rarely mentions it. I don't know about it. ( yeah, it's me, Billy). The disembodied spirits, like Mister Never You Mind, or Zebulon , or the others are ignorant too. Them whats passed on don't know everything. I think the reason he likes this movie is the music. He likes the waltzes. I hear him talk about the waltzes. Subscribed to assemblies and cotillions. Knew everybody in town.... all the old, Rite-of-Spain families from the ancient synagogue, which I'm told, back then, wasn't too far from here. How he loved conversing with them in the soft, cultivated accents of Old Castile. They'd been here even longer than him..... Saint Charles families from 1654. Tomas came later, 1682, on The Welcome. Don't know if they knew he was a vampire, but he sailed on that ship. Must have had a 'familiar' among the crew. Had to, or else he couldn't have done it.. He knows Doctor Franklin since 1727, I think it is. Imagine how many people he's lost since then. And now Peter wants him to lose more.
Edith says they'll come back. But even though she's a witchy-woman she's still mortal. She don't know. Witchy-women can do a lot. Still, it's not like she's a born witch. Just knows a few 'gee-gaws' and 'pow-wows.' .... Sarah thinks 'Mister Edith,' her current husband, is the powerful one, only she can't prove it.
So Tomas sits there watching an alternate take on early twenty-first century technology. Maybe he knows what the monolith was?...If not the object in the movie, at least 'things' or intercessions like it. You know, some of them night-folk really do think 'alien forces' played a hand in our evolution. Seem to recollect channeling an 'arc' 'bout that not too long ago.
Funny, Tomas being a 'believer' and all. I asked him about that 'alien intervention' stuff. He said - That doesn't mean God didn't do it. That just shows us 'how' He did it...... Then he goes - Our hands are God's Hands.
Everybody else out walking around doing night-folk stuff. But they'll come back. Just wish them elferinos and elferinas would too....... Got a meeting with his 'New Junto' crew coming up. Tomas, I mean. This is like the third one. Kevin, or Liam, or one of the kids wants to take it on line. Got it set up already. Think it's a hashtag on Twitter.... #StarLight or something like that. You know, from the old rhyme.... Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish you may. I wish you might, grant the wish I wish tonight..... People go on and make a wish, add the #StarLight hashtag and hope somebody out there's willing to help. But Tomas says there already IS a #StarLight and #StarBright thing that helps kids, so why not start one for young people and adults called #GimmeABreak? And it's not that people can't help. They just don't.... even if it don't cost a thing. In many ways a 'gatekeeper' is also an executioner. Artists aren't always good salesman.
If you like, here's a clip from Tomas' favorite movie down below. God bless You Tube. They grant, or at least facilitate the granting of a lot of wishes. Voice to the voiceless and all that.
Tomas likes this part.... Go see..... and if you want to read more #VampireWonderland stuff click on THIS .... If you want to join me on TWITTER click on THE OTHER THIS ...Now, like we always say --- Cue the music.
I do not wipe my name about your world like a dirty rag. My existence is unknown to you, just as the ant knows little of the boy who sets it afire. And the night-folk who live among you in your Philadelphia are lesser incarnations of what I am. My 'meals' are legion. My capacities unlimited. 'Fiends' comb dark places gathering morsels for my table. Who are these 'fiends'? They are my 'familiars,' mortals bewitched by hot, rich, rivulets of my blood, or rather the blood that washes through my body. Your Jonathon in his 'Biblical' rantings calls me 'noxious.' But I call him and all like him weak. How they cower o're the truth..... pathetic deniers. Does the lion spare the gazelle?
Look for me in violent places. Death throws are my dancing and screams, or even tiny, little pleading moans, the music. I walk the streets of Kiev, Homs and Aleppo. Traveling is a passion. And if I am not where you are now, how lucky you are..
They drag the near dead to my pit. And it does not take long to dig one. 'Fiends' are not free-agents in my world. They are slaves. And they do as I say or they die. I whisper 'dig.' They dig. Forty 'fiends' with forty shovels make quite a deep, dark whole. Then while they are still in it, I leap down.... tantalizing some with kisses and caresses ... while others go 'into the pot.' Like a terrier let lose among the rats I am. I tear. I crush. I bite. I taste. They scream and plead and cry. And the strong climb up upon the weak, shattering skulls, breaking necks, gouging eyes and dislocating mandibles. At times I let them go, clambering up over the brink, hastily pulling on rags and coverings, as they fall out into the alleys and run away. Where do they go?... Anywhere.
I need no wealth. I have no cache. I 'eat' therefore I am. My halls are draped with entrails and skulls my blood filled cups. Bones, bones, I love the bones. Perhaps they are my 'gold?' There are subterranean caverns filled with vertebrae. Like nature's 'legos' they are. I play with them and count them, though I never reach the end. And the blood dries on my skin. It crusts up in my hair, 'liming' back my locks like some old Celtic warrior.
Time is such a different thing to me. Once I slept for centuries beneath an Olmec temple, never once stirring to gnaw on 'the leftovers.' Though my essence did soar free to hunt with jaguars and 'dine' with army ants.
Call me what you will. I'll kill you in the end. It matters not to me.
Disguises are such fun. I peel my lips off, top and bottom, the better to show the teeth, eyelids too, if I feel like it. I like the sound of ripping flesh. It grows back. At least mine does. Occasionally the nose goes too. Sometimes I start at the nostrils and pull up, or use a straight edge razor.
I've been known to sublimate into houses, quietly creep up to the sleeping chambers and stand there by the bedside watching the 'meat pies' breathe. Such cunning things, you humans are. Like big, toy dolls, just ready for a bad boy, like me to break. Careful, your 'Barbie' heads don't wind up 'neath the couch.
I like the sound your heads make when I pull them off.... Like rubber snapping, if tires had bones. ...Wheeeee!
Maybe one night I'll see you in the pit?
Oh, what am I talking about? Eventually I'll see every one in the pit
'Noxious' indeed..... I am the genuine article...... You don't want to dream about me.
Shhhh, (whispers) I'll touch you while you sleep
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MARIANNE and PETER SIT ON AN ELEPHANT
He stared out at the sea. You know how it can be real flat and calm in the wintertime? Well, that's how it was. A little bit of moonlight sparkled on the surface. Peter said - Why did you bring me here?..... Marianne said - I like this place. I come here all the time. I was here when 'she' was new.... Peter said - You know I've never seen a live elephant. Only saw woodcuts once or twice. Are they all this big?..... Marianne laughed - No, this is a building. This is fifty five feet high. I mean where we're standing is fifty five feet. Real elephants are maybe twelve feet tall, perhaps a little more...... Peter said - And I'm guessing they don't have a window where their ass is?.... That, they do not - she said. {if you want to see where they are and missed our last post, scroll down and see the video}...
They stood that way for a while. The street, down below was quiet.... Maybe a car a minute went by. That's all. The sound of the tires blended with the surf. Peter studied the water and said - It gets real cold down there. At first I screamed. When they sealed me in, I mean. It was that, or the block. No, really. There was a headsman and everything. Two others like me were already so dispatched..... He picked up the last head and shoved it in my face and I know the eyes still saw me. Blood from the shredded neck splashed down on my knees. They had me all trussed up. I couldn't move. You know vampire hunters have that special rope with threads of lead mixed in. We can't pass through lead..... How well I know - whispered Marianne. {for her story google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz and scroll around} ... I cried. I didn't answer. Not fast enough anyway. They beat me with lead truncheons. Cracked some ribs. I coughed up blood. That made them berserk. They groaned. They screamed - Whose is it?! Whose is it?! ..... And I didn't kill anybody. You know that. None of us did. Elferinos and Elferinas hardly ever do. Then they said they'd burn me. Had a spit set up and everything... A regular Inquisitional fun-fair. Not that they were part of that. I don't know who they were. People did those things for entertainment. Wouldn't mess with full vampirinos. Vampirinas too, for that matter. But younger ones, like us were fair game. Crown wouldn't let 'em bother no heretics and Jews were rare 'round where I come from. Even so, crown didn't want them burned up either, 'cinders can't pay no taxes.... I didn't say anything. I couldn't. And I wasn't new. Been night-folk since (counts on his fingers)... well, Leonardo was dead already. So was Michaelangelo. But I kept to the woods. Discrete and safe. Tried to hook up with lesser nobility. Big ones draw too much attention. Nice little manor house... snug stables.... dark root cellar.... perfect. Grant a few wishes. Mostly blood gifts to heal disease. Add some cachet to the dining hall. People traveled far to see me. Rich folk don't care. You know that. But some of the 'others' can be so self-limiting. And then when the peasants come with pitch-forks and torches even the rich folks make like they don't know us. 'Cause pitch-forks stab through their guts too and they know it....
I'll tell you my story too some night. Not much different from yours. I was in the real belly of the beast, though - she said.... Peter didn't press. Night-folk, even those without much telepathy 'feel' such things. Besides, Peter still had his own tales to tell. That's why she brought him here... quiet... private. And there's something about the water, even if you were once buried in it.
He looked around at the nice, houses, shops, restaurants and said - I would like to see what it's like inside. I saw but one room at the retired teacher's house and that was very, very nice. They use it just for clothes? They use it just for a laundry?..... Yes - she said. Just for that. Maybe they store some things, but mostly just for that...... He shook his head - And I thought those manor houses were something. Then he went on - I screamed when they threw me in the box. Hardly had time to curl up and collect myself. When they welded it shut I felt the heat. Tried to squeeze down as much as I could. Prayed and prayed and prayed. Don't ask me what. I guess I learned them in the Veneto (northeast corner of Italy around Venice) . Felt them hoist the leaden chest up into a cart. If what they did to me was what they did to the others, they must have driven out onto the sand flats off Mount San Michel. Do you know how it gets there when the tide goes out?..... Marianne nodded. She did know.... He went on - And then later, when the tide came in, some fisherman pulled me up into a boat and took me out. I screamed. I pleaded for them to free me. But they never responded to anything I said. They take vows, you know, not to talk to us, not to address us. We sailed for a while. Then they dropped me in. I was so scared. It felt so final..... She knew.... I think my heart burst. I really do. Children can suffer such things. Vampire children too. We just pull through. But hitting the bottom of the sea was like .... (he couldn't talk)..... She put her arms around him and waited, just like a good, big sister. Though he didn't say anything else, not that night.
After a time they softly jumped down, wandered through a street or two (he wanted to see the houses). Then they flew back to Atlantic City and crept down under the Boardwalk, where they preserved the lives of three or four tubercular homeless people.
Before returning to the retired teacher's house on Long Beach Island, they stopped at an all night gourmet bakery (yeah, Atlantic City hotel/casinos have them too) and got a white glossy box of assorted cookies tied up with string for the limousine driver. Half way back, while flying over some woods, Peter dropped them. String was cutting into his finger. You know how it is.
But the squirrels and wood sprites down below had a feast.
And we picked The Sherelles Song tonight, because vampires seem to like it, Fifty some years isn't long to night-folk, but in that time it's become like a standard with them.... "Will you still love me tomorrow... When the night meets the morning sun?'...........
Make sure you catch the credits at the end and subscribe, because this site's got good audio.
OK, cue the music.
They flew south to Atlantic City, maybe like eighteen miles away. I don't know how fast elferinos and elferinas go. I'm told, at times they can snake through a crowd of mortals so fast no one sees them. Not on foot though. Their feet have to be off the ground. They have to be flying. That's how they feed. The very young (pre-pubescent) 'elfin' ones zip along taking quick, sharp drinks from a multitude of throats. People go 'OW!" and blame mosquitos, or gnats, or bed bugs or tiny, little blocked arteries, or something like that. Few realize others around them have also been bitten.
That's what they did. Marianne and 'Peter' landed near the Borgata, a big, plush, mega-Vegas style place by the Marina. What with their stolen, heavyweight sweat shirts and coordinating scarves and wool ski caps they looked pretty good. Flying didn't mess them up none. If anything it just ruddied their cheeks and tousled their hair. A professional photographer's stylist couldn't have done any better. She says - Lets go get some hot tea.... He says - Please, 'sister,' I am so hungry. When can I feed?..... Then he looked around and added - Who lives here, a mighty magician, a wizard, a necromancer? ...... She said - No one lives here. It's a hotel. It's a casino. They gamble here. They drink here. They laugh at people mocking others and telling ribald stories. They lose their money and sell the children to Gypsies. .... 'Peter' stared wide eyed and said - Really?..... But the elferino, Marianne just shrugged and went - I don't know. I don't know what they do with their children. I just guessed that part.... Then she walked him through the immense carpeted lobby. He thought it was some sort of chapel. They entered a coffee shop, which in any other locale would have been a very commodious restaurant, but in casino-hotels merely a place for twelve dollar corned beef sandwiches and four dollar cups of tea. Peter didn't say a word. She told him not to, but he studied every single thing. What must our time look like to a boy from the third quarter of the eighteenth century? He did whisper one thing. He said - The wenches, why are they in their bits and pieces? Are they whores?.... No - she said. They just play like they are..... They don't charge any money? - he asked... No - she said. They do it all for free, or like for thick beef steaks, jewelry and gambling money. Well, a few might be whore..... Who? Which ones? - he asked..... Marianne looked around and said - Well, the old ladies aren't. And with the others I can't tell. (whispered) Don't stare. Those aren't her real breasts. She paid some low sort of chap huge sums of money to cut open her skin and make her that way. They do anything for money these days. You'll see..... How does he do it? The low chap, I mean. - he asked.... With pillows. With magic, little pillows that look like jelly fish. - she said.
An impossibly well groomed, smiling waiter came over, who may or may not have been gay. Marianne placed the order, an expensive ( $6.50) herbal tea for herself and a green tea and honey ($5.00) for 'Peter.' Also got a basket of biscotti. 'Peter asked - Why?.... She said - Just crumble up one and move it around the plate. It looks like we ate and they're less suspicious that way.... Do they all know about night-folk? - he asked..... No - she said. But we're a twelve and fourteen year old out by ourselves after dark and that, in itself, might draw attention.... So he did. They each got a little, steaming pot of tea. Enough for two cups. Peter said it was good. He even licked a piece of biscotti, but all he did was lick it. Then he said - Is he a castrato?..... What are you talking about? - she said..... The boy. The one who brought the tea. Has he 'had the operation?' Has he been 'fixed?' Tell me.............................
Marianne whispered - No, they haven't chopped them off. They don't do that anymore, not for singers anyway. He's gay, loves others of his gender. That's all. Or he may just be very, very, very, very fussy. How would I know?..... She took a sip. When she looked up, he was gone. At least to mortal eyes he was gone. But she saw him streak through the booths and tables taking discrete, little bites from perhaps eighteen or twenty people. Some scratched their necks. Some didn't notice. Elfereino puncture wounds are really quite small and no more than a tiny, watery bit of plasma escapes. ....When he sat down and flickered into view, she said - Why did you do that? Couldn't you wait? I went through the same thing and I waited. Took me four nights and I waited. Was so scared. Didn't know where I was. But I waited. I learned...... He just gave her a sly smile. Marianne knew this one was going to be different. So she put down a tip, paid the bill and they left. The cashier thought they were brother and sister, two nice kids. She even said - Why don't you take some of those little, wrapped mints? They're good...... 'Peter' said - Thank you... and palmed a big handful. Then he zipped through a packed house laughing at Kathy Griffin's Kardashian jokes and 'kissed' maybe a dozen more.
They passed through the large, mall-like arcade of rather carriage trade shops. She said - Have enough?........ He said - For now... as he deftly snatched a beautifully wrapped box of impossibly expensive chocolates and passed it to a happy toddler in a yuppie-perfect stroller. The parents never saw a blessed thing.
Fifteen minutes later, after another starry flight, they stood atop the howdah of Lucy The Elephant, a beloved, beachfront landmark in a nice, little seashore town to the south. It was cold. No one was about. The shops, open earlier, were shuttered now and few cars passed on the street. Marianne gazed out upon a calm, moonlit, winter sea. The newly freed elferino beside her...
And then he began to speak...
( oh, one more thing. the video up above, courtesy of the great @weirdnj <yes, you can click on it> tells all about Lucy and her colorful history... a nice taste of summer, seashore whimsy on a cold, dark, winter night)
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That evening, when the sun went down, the strange night-folk boy from the leaden box woke first. He straightened up all the towels, but could not wash them, as the technology of our age confounded him. Faucets and spigots were unknown in his time. Water came from wells. Though he did conjure a bit of magic to fold the cot and stow away any other things the teacher's wife gave them. Then he peeled off the silver duct tape, took down the carefully folded, black ,plastic trash bags and peered through the window. Since it was set high, near the ceiling, he hovered up off the floor, the better to see out.
When the elferina, Marianne awoke, she saw him up there, illuminated by a few weak rays coming in from the streetlight on the corner. How his eyes glowed and his back was straighter now....... What is this? - he said..... And he flew off to the switch flicking it on and off three or four times in quick succession...... That's the light. - she said..... Her answer puzzled him. He thought for a moment and asked - Where is the fire?..... She laughed. Marianne knew what he meant, for her life too began in another place and another time long before our own...... She said - Parle vous Anglais? ..... The newly freed elferino said - Is that what this is? I found the sounds in your soul and used them...... My, you are a powerful night-boy. - Marianne added.... But he just settled down on top of the matching, front loading washer and dryer and thought.
Where am I? - asked the elferino. Who sits on the throne of France? Why do I not smell horses?..... Marianne told him. She said - You are in a town by the shore of the Atlantic Sea in the Grand Republic of The United States of America. The magic you see all around you is called 'electricity,' based on the alchemy of the American Patriot, Doctor Benjamin Franklin. The retired teacher, the man upstairs, whose house this is, is a Jew. And the woman, his wife, is a Jew too....... Nooo!? - said the young elferino. For in his time The Revolution, the storming of le Bastille had not yet come and Juifs were scared, quiet, silent beings in dark, narrow streets and ghettos..... What year is it? - asked the elferino..... Twenty fourteen. - said the elferina..... Her new companion gasped, made some mental calculations and said - Two hundred and thirty nine years? I was sealed in that horrid cube for two hundred and thirty nine years?..... She nodded and he began to laugh as one insane...... Are you hungry? - said Marianne....What do you think? - asked the more than four hundred year old being. His body was the body of a twelve year old, for that was his age when the 'burden' fell upon him.
The retired teacher hurried down the steps and came up to the other side of the laundry room door and knocked..... Excuse me. Is it alright if I open this? - he asked.... Yes - said the elferina.... He did and said - Can I put on the light?.... Then he held out a pair of sunglasses - These are for the boy.... The light coming in through the window, feeble as it was, allowed them to see a little bit. The boy took the sunglasses and examined them. The man said - Spectacles. A type of spectacle. Smoked glass, or something like glass. They soften the light. Put them on. you'll see....... The elferino did. Then the man switched on the light. The elferino looked over the frames, raised them up, looked over the frames again, raised them up again and laughed. Marianne laughed too.... You look like the boy in Risky Business, but thinner. - she said...... What is 'Risky Business?' - he asked.......... Oh, do you have a lot to learn. - she sighed...... Then they said 'bon nuit' to the retired teacher, opened the back door with the small, high window and ran out into the semi-deserted, dark, winter, shore town night. The man wanted to yell. He wanted to say 'Wait! Wait! Take a scarf. Take a hat, some sweat shirts, some gloves!' But he could not. Some houses had people in them and he did not want to attract any attention.
So the two supernatural beings raced down the two thirds empty street, passed neat coastal houses shuttered for the winter, though some were not so shuttered and had fragrant smoke rising from their chimneys.
After a quick sublimation through the exterior wall of a closed for the evening sportswear shop, they exited wrapped in warm fleece, wool caps and everything else necessary to beat back the chill. Marianne wrote down the address. Her 'familiar' would send them more than enough cash.
The boy told her his name, Peter, or Robin, or Pan, or some such thing like that and of his nativity in sixteenth century Brittany. Then they took to the air (elferinos and elferinas can achieve true flight, you know) and headed south, toward the bright lights of Atlantic City just over the horizon.
I'm sure he'll find a nice dinner there...
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The saints have smiled upon us and the planets have aligned! We are able to post what was channeled below the music! You who are of the #vampirewonderland for any length of time know the difficulties we have had which such things. Gadgetry of your age vexes us so. And if it is important for you to know who speaks, know this, it is I Marianne, most vociferous of the elferinos and elferinas. I tell you of the coming of Gustave, also know as Robin, or Robin Goodfellow, or Puck, or Pan. Some call him 'Peter,' but they are Anglais and I hate the Anglais. Odd that I live among their bastard children.
When were we last together, two, three nights ago? I take you back to that time. Return with me to the laundry room beneath the coastal cottage on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. The first Isle of Jersey was French, you know? But, as with most night-folk, I babble and digress. My face is fourteen. My soul so much more.
I slept on that little cot by the matching, front loading washer and dryer. Gustave lay curled upon the furry, throw rug, all covered in thick, warm towels. It was snug in there. The furnace radiated warmth. We slept like kittens. But the boy had been sleeping for centuries. Vampire-folk do that when buried 'alive.' I knew he was night-folk, because during a passing wakefulness I looked. I went over an gently pulled back his lip. The fangs were there. I saw them. He blinked a few times, but did not stir, though I could see the dull, black film dissolving from his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't mold. Maybe it was only dust? Then I slept some more.
Sometime later I smelled coffee. The retired school teacher's wife was up. She bustled about the kitchen. I heard an occasional car, or truck in the street. It must have been morning, but the black plastic bags taped over the windows (which were small to begin with) saved us. And my roommate was 'up' too. I couldn't see him. It was too dim for that. Some night-folk see well in the dark, but elferinos and elferinas tend toward the 'human' in that regard. Oh, probably better than most mortals, though not as well as the vampirinos and vamperinas. Our world is extremely complicated. Please don't think what they show you on television is anything but lies.
I could hear him singing. No, more like humming, up in a corner where the ceiling met the wall Though he did repeat a few phrases over and over.... A French song... a country song. I know French and Flemish, some German and of course, living here I know Anglais. We speak English night to night. That's what we use...mostly. But I do recall the country French.. He said - The perfume of the trees... the perfume of the trees... the blossoms and the moonlight and the breeze... And he sang it over and over and over... Droned it actually. I wanted to switch on the light. I remembered where it was from before. But I was afraid. He must have been scared. Relieved, yes, to be out of that horrible chest. But still terrified. Even the very surface of the wall was strange to him. 'Dry wall,' what would he know of that? Or the electric circuitry? Or the washer? All of it. The noise of the furnace going on and off. Your magic rivals much that we do and it grows stranger every day.
I whispered. I said - Boy, what is your name? He told me, but you already know that. I said - May we have light? ... He said - Yes.... I said - The light of this time will seem harsh to you. Please hold your hands over your eyes and peek through your fingers..... He clambered down from his perch. Don't ask me to explain how elferinas and elferinos climb like that, or how we stay up there. Albion did it, that time in the fine townhouse near our own, when I told my story. People saw and were amazed. If you like, google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz. I hope they make a movie of it. I want others to know me. Am I vain? Of course. I am night-folk.
Then I felt along the wall and found the switch. But before I turned it on I said - Find one of the towels and put in over your head...... He asked - Were those things, those coverlets towels?... I said - Yes..... He found one and did as I asked. I flicked the switch and he tensed. He gasped. I saw him crouched between the matching, front loading, washer and dryer. He trembled. I said - Are you alright? Why don't you lie back down?..... He said - I can't. I cannot straighten up. I can't move my neck. I can't move my back....... The retired teacher's wife heard us and ran down the steps. He moaned. She gently knocked on the door and said - Excuse me. Would you like some hot tea? I made some hot tea. Can the boy drink some tea? I know you can drink that...... Who is that? - he whispered. What does she say?..... She is a mortal woman. This is her house. Her husband helps us. She made tea. - I said. Do you want some?...... But he just hugged his knees, rocked side to side and moaned some more.
I went to the door and said - Please, madam, not now. Give us more time..... Then I heard the husband say something. The wife said - Okay, okay.... She didn't want to say it, but he made her. She went - He didn't do anything to the washer, dryer, or the cabinets, did he? You know they're brand new...... I said - No, he did not harm those things..... We traded a few more words. The retired teacher told me the limousine driver went out for pancakes and sausage. Breakfast places are big at the shore, even in winter. I thanked her for telling me. They ran back upstairs. A small bit of light from one of the windows in the next room began to leak under the door. But I stopped it with a towel and we were alright.
He tried to lay back down on the rug, the towel still over his head, but couldn't stretch out. His back still quite immobile. I helped him onto the cot and covered him with my blanket. Then I turned off the light lay down on the furry throw rug and covered myself with his towels.
Two hundred years under the sea in a cold, water tight leaden box. My ordeal was but twenty years. But two hundred years. What must that have been like?
I laid there in the darkness, as he quietly began to sing again...
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Now kindly avail you-self of it and watch it the film...
THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL
They sent for Marianne, because she'd know. So Tomas put her in a big black car, like a plain limousine rich people ride in. 'Cause you know they do not roll around in them pimped out stretch things. The 'familiar' on Long Beach Island sent it. We asked if she wanted one of us to go with her. Conrad would have gone. One of the other elferinos, or elferinas could have. But she wanted to go by herself. Figured this might be a 'rising.' That's when a sad, scared vampire waif sees the world after being sealed away for years and years and years. Marianne says regular mortals can't even imagine it. Even most vampires can't imagine it. But she can, because she went through it.
If you would like to learn about that, google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz and scroll around. We only pretend it's fiction, because we have to. But it really happened to her. Still, that's another thing.
They had to leave after dark. The driver was from a livery that knew how to handle night-folk clientele. Each car had a special trunk fitted out with special padding, in case somebody had to lie in it and a thick, rubber gasket 'round where the trunk lid came down to seal out the light. Marianne dressed warm. Cold would not harm her. What could it do? She's a vampire, or a type of vampire.
(I have to temporarily 'publish' this again, like I did a night or two ago and go back into it via 'edit' to finish... Someone doesn't like when I share these insights into real vampire life. This has been going on since the beginning, more than three years ago. I check. They tell me it's not a virus or malware. But it's there and it's something. ... Let me go 'out' and come right back in... Thanks.)
Tomas made sure she had money. I don't know what she needs it for, but it makes him feel better. He says - In case they stop, she can go in a McDonald's or someplace and get a hot tea, or a bowl of chicken broth. Elferinas and Elferinos can tolerate a little more than other vampires. Plain soup shouldn't bother her. So she sits in the back of a big black car traveling down the dark, slushy roads of South Jersey. The driver likes jazz. Got a cool jazz station on. She doesn't care. Dozes a little. Thinks what it was like when she popped out of the box. Driver goes - There's a nice wool, lap robe in that nylon bag on the floor, if you want it..... Marianne goes - Thank you, but I'm OK.... She's got a long pea coat with deep pockets and a high collar, a scarf, a thick ski cap, gloves. Plus the car is heated, you know. Though night-folk don't like it too warm. Whole ride took three and a half hours, much longer than usual because of the weather. But the jazz was nice, so she didn't care.
Soon as they got there the driver ran into the bathroom. Town was quiet and empty, all wet and shiny. Rain coming down. Tail end of a Nor'easter it was. Some of the little streets leading toward the beach were swamped up to the curb. But that happens all the time at the shore when it rains. Most of the houses were empty. You could tell. One light on a timer downstairs. Smaller light on a timer upstairs. Maybe like one third of the houses had people in 'em, not counting the ghosts. People get attached to them little shore towns. Death don't stop that.
The 'familiar' is a retired school teacher and his wife. She raises long-haired, angora guinea pigs for people who really want like a toy dog, but are allergic or lazy. Has them all in a nice dry, clean space off the laundry room. The old, leaden chest is in the laundry room. Wife gives Marianne a hot, mug of tea. Elferina goes - Thank you..... She's a good kid. Three hundred and seventy years old. Been through a lot {I'm telling you. Google it}, but still basically hopeful and innocent. They go in to see the chest. Driver sits in the cozy living room watching the Olympics. You know those rooms they got at the shore... off white, bead board walls... light blue, sun yellow finely tailored upholstered furniture, light wood tables and all... glossy magazines... tab curtains... What did I forget?... I don't know why I channel so much of the details. Guess it's 'cause I want you to see how real this is. I know I say that a lot too, but so many people think it's not. And you know what I say to them?... Don't be so self-limiting.
Marianne knelt down and ran her hands over the chest. There were no seams. They'd all been carefully welded shut. Oh, you could see the ridges where they were, but no air, or water, has gone in or out of that thing since it was last shut..... Marianne whispered something in French, or Flemish. I don't know. She tapped on the heavy lid. A few heartbeats later, someone tapped back. It was weak, but they heard it. The retired teacher said - I have tools... a saw... a metal saw, like plumbers use. Lead is fairly soft. It'll cut through. Should I get it?..... Marianne said - Yes, please. Get it. ..... He rummaged in a cupboard and came back with a short, tapering blade attached to what I'd call a pitcher handle, laboriously got down on his knees and began to saw. The wife knew his knees hurt. She got a towel and folded it up so he could kneel on it. After a minute, maybe two, a little nick opened up in a corner of the chest, up high, where the lid came down. Then a stench came out. They all smelled it.. the retired teacher, his wife, Marianne. And vampires don't really have a scent. They don't give off a smell. But this wasn't from the being inside. This was from the air... old air from the western peninsulas of Europe, more than two hundred years ago, last breathed when Voltaire lived and Napoleon was a boy. Perhaps it was the interaction between the gases and the lead, or some sort of night-folk alchemy, but the teacher's wife retched. Marianne said - Please, no. You don't have to be here. Go, sit down. Please...... The wife said - That's alright. I want to see what's inside...... An hour and twenty minutes later, after rest breaks, cold water and passing off the saw between them, she did.
Lead is soft, but heavy so the lid stayed more or less in place til the final portion was cut. Then he jimmied the saw blade into the thin, straight crack (following the old welded seam) and shifted the lid ever so slightly off to one side. He grabbed one end. Marianne grabbed the other. Night-folk are strong. And together they carefully put it down on the floor.
Inside was a crumpled gray, linen cloth and what was under it trembled violently. The retired teacher looked at Marianne and said - Should I?...... She thought for a few moments and whispered - No, I will.
The cloth fairly disintegrated in her hands. There, beneath it, they saw him... a thin young boy, locked on his side in a fetal position. He wore black suede, knee britches and what was once a white, cotton shirt, his hair plastered to his skull and covered with a fine talc of lead dust. He was breathing. They could see that he was breathing. The wife mumbled - The poor thing..... Imagine, inhaling and exhaling the same stale air over and over again. True, he was night-folk and had no need of oxygen, but still. The retired teacher said - His eyes, they're open, but why are they black?...... Marianne said - It's mold. I don't know. It's not supposed to grow on our bodies, but sometimes it does. Here, help me get him out..... The man considered for a moment and asked - Is it safe? Is it safe for me to touch him? ..... Don't worry - said the Elferina. If it's not, I'll give you some drops of my blood. You'll be alright. She'll be alright (meaning the wife). Now please. Please help.... He hesitated, but the boy in the box was weeping. They could see that he was weeping, so between them, they ever so carefully lifted him out and laid him down on a little throw rug near the laundry room sink. The side of his body resting against the lead was somewhat flattened and discolored but not too much. His vampire blood prevented that. He started to tremble again. The wife got some big, thick, folded beach towels from a cabinet and covered him up. Marianne tenderly put one under his head. The wife said - What do we do? Do we just leave him like that?...... For a while we do - said the Elferina Marianne.... Now there weren't any big windows in the laundry room, maybe one small one, plus another tiny one on the door. The retired teacher got some black, plastic trash bags and duct tape to cover them up.
The wife said - What happens when he wakes up? Will he see? How long will it take for his eyes to get better?..... I don't know - said Marianne. Not long. A day, maybe less. I'm guessing. But please, you two go relax. I'll stay here with him.... The retired teacher (who was also a night-folk 'familiar') set up a little cot with a pillow and all. The wife got a blanket. She said - Here, lie down.....Marianne kicked off her shoes and did. Then the wife noticed all the lead dust on her nice, smooth, shiny, milky-gray painted floor. She dampened a cloth, got down and cleaned it up..... Marianne said - Thank you..... The woman self-consciously nodded. Before they left, her husband said - When he wakes up, please don't let him go crazy. We just had the cabinets and cupboards put in. And the washer and dryer are new too. After 'Sandy,' you know........ Marianne said - I won't.....
They left. I guess then they had to get the limo driver set up? Think they put him on an old, tweed recliner they had in this little office.
Marianne found a few magazines from last summer in a canvas beach bag near the door. She laid back down and read them for a while. Then she put out the light and went to sleep.
Her roommate moaned a little, but he was alright.
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