Thursday, August 28, 2014


Imagine the poor, little soul... a small child... half human and half ape.... What father would let his essence be used that way?...What mother her womb?... But such things did happen. I saw them. Pathetic, mewling wee ones, kept in pits for the entertainment of curious boyars and other Eurasian nobles. They always blame Stalin. But that monstrous branch of animal husbandry predates him. Arab traders and explorers reported such things centuries ago. Some were hearsay, gathered 'round hearths in rude inns on frigid nights. Others were true.

In the Urals they embalmed them. Little halflings, I mean. Sold them as relics...Siberian Demons, they were called. And not just in the Urals. Certain medieval Scandinavian kings had their own specimens. I saw a coupling once. There was a woman. They had her in a pit. The Bride of Kong, so to speak. I see movies too, you know. She screamed. She prayed. She clawed the dirt walls with her nails. She shrieked and cackled like a banshee. Caked with dirt and naked, she was... an older woman, known for her fecundity. The potentate wanted healthy 'cubs.' For ten days hence they fed her liver and rice, occasionally mixed with strongly pickled pigs feet. A suitable diet for those about to conceive, or so they thought. Such low, brutal people they were. Wolf meat... they actually ate wolf meat. 

A powerful wizard, they thought I was. Night-lore was new to me. I wandered. I witnessed. I explored. Basically, I had one good trick... curing the sick with tiny droplets of my blood. But they didn't know it was my blood. I couldn't tell them that...

<Tomas sat and regaled his adolescent vampire companions, as they waited for a man willing to take him to the JERSEY PINE BARRENS. He wanted to reunite with EDITH, his friend, ally and 'witchy-woman.' She'd know how to contact the one who 'made' him... the one known as 'Papa.'>

Called it the 'red elixir,' I did. Said it was liquified rubies stolen from the hoard of a Hindustani king. They 'oo-ed' and 'ahh-ed.' Tried it on a sick, condemned slave first. Brought from Pomerania, he was. Caught with a royal daughter and for that he must die. But he had a case of the 'flux.' Don't ask me what that was. Everything was 'flux' back then. He coughed a lot. I know that. And his stool was loose and bloody, so 'flux' it was. 

We laid him on 'the groaning board'... the huge table where all the 'A' Number 1 rapists and pillagers ate their meals. I gesticulated a bit. There's no business like show business, you know. Then I carefully tapped a few drops from what looked like a silver eyedropper into his mouth.... Nothing happened... The rapists and pillagers waited. Some mumbled a bit... Then he hiccuped. The coughing stopped. His copious farts grew a tad less noxious. His breathing grew less labored. He relaxed. He even sang a little prayer ( to some outlandish, South Baltic, pagan deity. I don't know). Then he sat up and laughed.... The grease smudged assemblage cheered... Two minutes later they summarily pulled off his genitalia with white hot pinchers and threw them to the hounds. But I was safe, a valued member of the ruling class.

Getting back to the dirt-caked naked older woman in the pit... she soon met her groom, a broad, hulking, vaguely Neanderthal/Gorilla looking gentleman with the red pelt of an orangutan. She froze. He sniffed her... examined her breasts, then knocked her cold with one sharp backhand. The aristocratic audience (snacking on crisp, fried seal hide) nodded their approval (though some of their womenfolk seemed none too pleased), as he threw her to the dirt and sealed the deal. ... Nine months and three weeks later (yeti-like beasts apparently have longer gestation periods) the little thing was born. The mother loved it. How could she not? It was hers. But I saw the sadness in its eyes.

As one born to vampirism in a likewise violent way, I understood that all too well. Though nothing is devoid of charm and I soon learned to see the good of it.

<then he stopped>

Marianne, one of his closest elferina friends, offered him a clear liquor and he drank.

Then they sat, waiting for the man to spirit him away. No one comes to the old, woodsy cemetery after dark, so they were safe, staring up at a new crescent moon. The city was quiet that night. They could even hear crickets, as God's silver Thumbnail climbed higher into the sky...


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