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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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