LET YOUR VERY BODY BE A HOLY SPEAR... vampire revenge... 10/31/14

They had to practice in secret. But by that time the 'father' person and the 'mother' person were vampires too. It gave them a certain sense of security, though even vampires can be crushed. The children they left alone. And the other human female, the one who stayed up in her room all the time, remained mortal too. She's a dope. She wouldn't know the difference anyway. The maid was gone. Well, not completely. Her dried, mounted body ( re-dressed in maid's habit) was displayed behind glass, in a little, golden frame at the door to the cloakroom just off the baronial entrance hall. The blond giant-dog-woman took her one night after dinner. Came upstairs, carefully lifted up the roof (altered to be removable), reached in and delicately snatched her, just as the reverent servant was preparing for bed. Went back to get the uniform too, carefully smoothed out over the back of a miniature chair.The female canines were 'crafting' that night and they needed a maid (for some reason maids symbolized cloakrooms, powder rooms and all that), so the afghan looking blond thing thought it'd be clever to use a 'real' one. The others laughed as she smothered her in the wet, chloroform soaked cotton wool. Whether or not the incredulous, terrified maid laughed is unknown. Fortunately, during the time when the roof was off, none of the other dollhouse residents were molested, for the adults were downstairs playing whist at the time and the children were dreaming over picture books in the library. But Tomas knew how real the danger was. That's when he started to teach them.

Now instructing a new life-eater (politically correct term for vampire) in sublimation is a lot like showing a baby bird how to fly. The flesh is willing, but the spirit is weak. Have you ever seen a wet, skinny, little human child shivering at the end of a diving board? Mom-mom and Pop-pop chirp encouragingly. Pa-pa waits in the pool. Ma-ma sits nervously on a chaise pretending to read about J-Lo or whatever 'Lo' they're selling that year. The hesitant baby bird inches forward... inches back... looks... grins... groans... cries... fidgets... bends over, straightens up... bends over, straightens up... sucks in a lung full... breathes it out.. does it again... runs out and takes a leap. Arms flail. Legs pump and SPLASH! They did it. Pa-pa hugs them,  but they break away, eager to do it again... and again... and again.... That's what sublimation lessons are like, only the stakes are so very much higher.

They went down into the dollhouse cellar. No trays and towers (see previous post) there. Tomas found some thin sheets of oak paneling, spares for the library, the smoking room and other places. He took one and gave it to girl from the glass kitchen tank, since she'd been 'vampire' longest and instinctively knew what to expect. So she held it like a giant playing card. Then he turned toward the others, squared his shoulders and passed right through it. THAT'S sublimation. Every atom of his body vibrated at a slightly higher frequency. Each repelled the others. Did Tomas fly apart? No, but the space between particles was ever so slightly greater than normal, enabling him to move through solid mater like smoke. The girl from the glass tank in the kitchen went next. Took her about two hundred and thirty one heartbeats to get up the courage, but she did it. Third was the 'father' person. He was scared, but managed to do it too. Last came the 'mother.' She cried and shook her head. Tomas encouraged her, mostly with gestures since they spoke different languages. The kitchen tank girl, by now quite proficient, passed her hand through from the opposite side and waved. The 'mother' person laughed. She was scared, but she did it. 

Tomas sighed. Lesson over. Night one. They did it. Now it was just a question of raising the bar... thicker barriers... harder surfaces... denser materials... Inanimate matter isn't effected. Glass is still glass. Bricks are still bricks. But living matter isn't like that. Organic tissue is destroyed. Flesh shreds. Bone shatters. Organs liquefy. Creatures die. Tomas could most likely pass through the skull of a giant civilized dog creature quite easily. Stone, brains, air... it was all the same to him. The others would need a bit more training. But one night they'd do it. Entry through an eye was best. Like a 'living' spear they'd be, melting the brain and ending the life.... Supernatural wasps with long, sharp stingers. Quite a force. Then they'd liberate the masses in the Great House cellars and the others in the glass kitchen tank. Did the culture deserve to end? Had it not accomplished much in the way of architecture, literature, domestic arts and God knows what else? Perhaps they had a religion? The giant canines were devoted to their children. That much was obvious. But the small and helpless humans were living creatures too. And God knows what they might do.

A new Spartacus would go out across the land. Or considering his relative size, a new Mighty Mouse. 

Did Tomas want the job? No, but the job wanted him.

So much for his nights as an amoral, vampire wastrel .

Solo Deus sabe que sera --- they said in Old Vahmperigo. Tomas' original vampire tongue.... Only God knows what will be.....In our dimension and every other...

<more later>

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LIFE IN THE STACKS..how the human food lives ... 10/30/14

Every great house had them. They were like mushroom farms. Special facilities for the propagation of foodstuffs. And in this world the caviar was people. Only few thought of them as 'people.' They didn't talk. None had names. Young ones among the civilized, giant canine things might occasionally keep a few as pets. But they were only 'sea monkeys.' If they died (and they did) there were always new ones waiting in the cellars. 

The trays were stacked fairly high, maybe fifteen to a 'tower.' Each tray required five or six inches. That meant one inch for the soil mixture, two and a half inches of 'air space' so the mushrooms and fungi could grow and the people could stand up and walk around, plus two more inches taken up by the thick, wooden base and sides of each tray. 

Remember, these are 'inches' on this world. On ours that two and a half inches of 'air space' would be equal to ceiling height in an average room. Individual towers, to the civilized canine giants, might be roughly six and a half to seven and a half 'feet' tall, equal to a fifteen story building on Earth. And many cellars had four to six towers.... Cities of the doomed.

There was only the tiniest bit of light. Most believed 'the crop' grew better and matured faster in the dark. Imagine living out your life on one of those trays. Grazing on mushrooms and other varieties of fungi. There might have been a few, straight, metal lined troughs serving as streams. Some for drinking. Some for bathing, when they thought of it. One for a latrine.  Humans were animals, after all.

Junior kitchen help,  perhaps a stable 'boy' or two took care of it all. Sprayed water in with hand pumps... Picture old bicycle pumps, or bug spray pumps. That's what they were. Humans dove for cover during 'wet downs.' They shoved them metal tubes in all the way. Some got hit hard. People died... got torn apart. No need for burials. Just fall down and lay there. Dirt and what grew in it ate them up real quick. Some life.

Matured in about seven years. Reproduced a few times. Slide out a tray. That was a chore. Each tray was about six 'feet' by ten 'feet.' Pluck out the 'bigguns.' Carry them up to the kitchen. Dump them in the glass tank and serve 'em up. Some houses drowned 'em first. Some houses served 'em up alive. Some pinched the heads off. Other places let 'em keep the heads buy chopped off all the limbs. Guess their recipe called for that.

Juveniles left behind had it rough... Little ones... Toddlers. ... Just sat there, all huddled together. You know how lobsters do in lobster tanks? Same thing.

No words... No language... No nothing.

That's who Tomas wants to galvanize. That's who he wants to save. Them and the 'pampered' dollhouse humans upstairs.

Only Tomas. Only a vampire... Lemme tell ya...

<more later>

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ONE AMONG THE TINY HUMAN VICTIMS PUTS TOGETHER A PLAN... 10/29/14

He hid her from the light. The new vampire, the girl Tomas created last night, writhed when the sun came it. He saw the welts and smelled the oxidation, so he scooped her up and threw her into one of the tiny, dollhouse closets. She shivered and cried.   

Tomas told them when he went down for breakfast. The Australian man understood. Being from Earth, he at least knew something of vampire lore, if not the nuts and bolts reality of the thing. And strange as it was, no one let on about the missing 'uncle'... Not the maid, nor the 'mother,' or the children. The other one they never saw, an 'aunt,' or a 'grandmother,' continued to stay in her room. But they knew. Tomas could tell. Maybe it was due to all the sublimation, but his 'sixth sense' was coming back. The thing is, they saw him as a champion. Who else did they have. 

The Aussie spoke first - So you think she means to kill us, that giant afghan thing over there?..... Yes, I do - said Tomas - Maybe not right away. You're not that important, but she mentioned it and the others laughed..... You knew the words? You understood her? - asked the Aussie... No, but I felt them. I could tell - whispered the vampire.... The stranger from Down Under sighed.... If you stay as you are, you'll die. But I can offer you something - said Tomas... A vampire? you want to make me a vampire? You want to make us all into vampires, even the children? -asked the skeptic.... Tomas nodded. Then he said - Would you like me to show you the cellars? Do you want to see the kitchen? The glass tank on the counter?... The other man didn't answer. 

Six acres away, across an expanse of patterned 'wool' carpet and polished 'oak' floor, the giant dog-woman stretched and yawned. The dollhouse humans froze. But she rolled over and went back to sleep. snuggling under the coverlets on her four poster bed.

The boy and girl resumed eating.... tiny sweetened rice cakes, broken up into droplets of milk.. at least it tasted like milk... They had some kind of juice too, plus minute shavings of bacon. Tomas had hot, weak tea. He could manage that.

Across the table, the 'mother' woman watched. She appeared to comprehend the basics. People are like that. They understand before they speak. Maybe she knew something about vampires. Maybe they had such beings on her world. Who knows? She looked at the children. The little girl waved playfully. The 'mother' woman smiled and waved back.. The boy stuck out his tongue, but he didn't mean it.

From her place, by the sideboard, the maid heard it all and she picked up a few words too. The Aussie mumbled to himself  in English all the time. Although she didn't know what 'vampire' meant, she instinctively knew what Tomas was. Maybe not exactly, though she knew he was more than mortal... and that scared her.

Vampires have a talent... a certain ability that might give them the upper hand. Could they drink dog blood?... No. But they could do something else.

And that, in itself was lethal...

<more next time>

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NAMELESS FUGITIVE FROM THE KITCHEN OF THE GIANT DOGS... 10/28/14

She had no name and no real family. Just stable mates. She was raised up on a vast underground tray... a giant, dirt filled platform.. all stacked up, one atop the other.  Two thousand head on each. Fed 'em on mushrooms and bean sprouts. They laid in it... naked, little (to the dogs, anyway) dazed, mindless humans. 

Kept the place warm. A cellar it was, dark and buried deep beneath the kitchen of a great canine manor house. In the language of the giant civilized dogs they were called 'pinkies' for the color of their flesh and they were a great delicacy, usually eaten live, or just south of life, like clams.

None dared escape. Indeed, they never thought of it. Hungry, red 'snappers' (crabs) roamed the 'depths' ( earthen floor), eager to shred little fugitives in their hellish oral openings. But the girl with no name was different now. She knew things. She knew it was possible to get out. She's seen it that night, when Tomas crept into the kitchen. She saw his eyes through the thick, green glass of the tank. He watched from a hidden niche, squeezed in behind the terrarium, pressed up against the cold tile wall of the 'back splash,' as canine cooks and kitchen girls scooped up handfuls of 'little pinkies' from the excelsior bedding. But one terrified human was over looked... a grape, so to speak, left on the vine. And now she shivered there under the soft, straw-like covering, pressed into an icy corner. Her thoughts were images... some fleeting... some not so fleeting.  Could she scale the glass? How could she, without even the words for it. But the scared, young female laid there and she endured.

Sometime later the canine kitchen girls came in to do their chores. One scraped and washed down the baking counter. One swept and mopped the floor. Another emptied the 'pinkie tank' ... Big, strong thing, she was, like a Boxer. The dog kind, I mean. Shook everything out in a dustbin. Girl fell in too, a bit bruised, but she was alright. Shredded paper and banana peels took care of that. One of the others, a dumb, clumsy thing, kicked it over. Leader yelled - Lord God in heaven (civilized dogs got religion too) you clean that up, you dumb bitch!... And she did... But the little 'pinkie' girl had a chance. She dashed into the covered place where the lower cabinets hung out over the kick board.  That's how she got away. Almost broke her spine on a mouse trap. But almost don't count.  Almost got all squashed and cut up by the rough, sharp broom. Night chores are serious business. Can't leave no dirty kitchen. Gotta be clean in preparation for the next day's breakfast. Big House jobs are scarce. Nobody wants to be sent home.

So she ran, naked through the shadows.. and that's how she saw him again. That's how she met Tomas on his way back up to warm the others. He sees how scared she is, puts his arm around her and pulls her under a chair... Big old thing... a club chair... got a skirt and everything... Real private, like an Arabian tent. He scared off some bug, laid her down on the rug and did it right there. Drank up all her blood and gave it back. Not having much in the way of smarts, she don't fight much. Follows his lead. Drinks from his wrist. What's she know 'bout night-folk and all? She don't know nothin.' Little while later she's almost there. Still got the skin-shedding and all, but she can do that upstairs. Tomas got plans for her. He got plans for the whole mess a them. Don't know if he's gettin' home, but they all gettin' out.

That's when he stands her up, crushes her against his chest and sublimates right through the chair... right through the springs (his energy shoots out and sublimates her real good too. looks like she likes it. must tickle or something), up through the air and one or two ceilings, back to the boudoir of the giant, blond, afghan looking canine woman. Pitch dark in there... No light. Stink from that toilet water she likes. Doll house dark too. Takes her in through the door. It ain't got no lock. How they gone keep anybody out?

She smells the greasy stain left from the killed-up 'uncle' guy. He know she hungry... 'vampire' hungry, but he don't let her kill nobody... not yet anyway.

Beds her down in the room with him. Don't know if the sun they got here gone effect her. Don't know if it gone burn her up. So he cover her like a baby, all wrapped in a bunting and lays down tight, right next to her. She cry a little, 'cause she wanna eat some bastid. But he rock her and whisper in her ear. She like that too. Goes right to sleep.

But he thinkin.' He figurin.' He rememberin.' 

Vampire got weapons and soon he an' that gal not gone be the only ones...

This your favorite disembodied spirit, Old Mister Never-You-Mind, narratin' these festivities. Long time no see.

Ghost get homesick too you know...

<more next time>

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DEAD LITTLE THINGS ON NEEDLES AND PINS... 10/26/14

Tomas wandered the exquisite doll house mansion. How real it was.... the wall paper... the sconces... He began to think that maybe it was real. Perhaps worm holes are like tornadoes. Maybe they can touch down anywhere and suck up whole domiciles? Who knows? Maybe even planets? Maybe even galaxies. We might all be in the wrong place and not ever know it.

He found the room where the 'uncle' person slept and slipped in. The shades were drawn against a low, amber radiance from the fireplace in the dog-woman's boudoir. But vampires don't need light. The man slept, covered in a fine quilt. He looked drugged. Maybe they gave them something? Maybe it was in the food? 

Tomas bent low to feed. His touch was oh, so soft. He made not a sound. How easy it was to pierce the skin. The man never stirred. His blood flowed smooth and warm. After two hundred heartbeats it was over. The man was dead and his body disappeared into 'cool' blue flames. Nothing else burned, not even the quilt. In the morning they'd find the greasy residue. But canines have a superior sense of smell. He didn't think of that.

The meal strengthened him. His night-folk abilities flickered back. He sublimated through the walls of the doll house, levitated down to the floor, slipped under the door and ran to the stairs. He heard sounds. Not human sounds. Beings were conversing somewhere down below. Giant canine beings. Tomas climbed down, holding onto the nap of the carpet. that went on for maybe three treads. Then he felt it. He knew he could do it. He climbed over the edge, stood between two spindles and looked down. How far the hall floor was. Sixty stories. Like jumping off William Penn's statue atop Philadelphia's 'wedding cake' of a city hall. But he'd done that too. So he leaped out, closed his eyes and flew. Now vampire sublimation is not true flight. They do not float on air. They pass through the very molecules of the atmosphere and are upheld by magnetic resonance. Why didn't he pass through the floor? He didn't want to. It's as simple as that.

There were beings in the dining room. Candlelight shed a romantic glow. Dinner was over. The males had gone off to discuss canine politics, or some such thing, but the females remained, chatting quietly, as they engaged in crafts. He climbed up the velvet draperies to get a better view, careful to stay hidden in the voluminous folds. They chose leftover humans from the large serving bowls. Some mature. Some just children. Each was lain on a cotton wool pad and completely covered with a similar cotton wool 'blanket.' Then they passed around a small cruet of some camphorous fluid and dowsed each victim til dead. After that each tiny corpse was carefully dressed in detailed garments taken from a small pile next to each 'artist.' Upon completion the dead bodies were arranged on special backings. Small straight pins held them in place. Each sealed under rectangular panes of glass. Like mounted butterflies.

Tomas watch transfixed by it all. Then he saw one, the blond, Afghan looking bitch from upstairs, say something and gesture toward the ceiling. The others looked and nodded.

They went back to crafting til all the people were gone. If one wasn't exactly dead from the camphorous compound, the pins took care of that. Juveniles have such strong lungs you know.

Tomas raced upstairs to warn the others. Even amorality apparently has it's limit.

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Sad Episodes can be good ones... Listen to ALL the MUSIC down at the bottom at the end. Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: From "On the Town" - Some Other Time! - Eileen Far...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: From "On the Town" - Some Other Time! - Eileen Far...: She gave then scarves and mittens. Every year she made them new ones. And they sat on the floor of the little caretaker's cottage liste.... I'll put up a new post after we do our #realSNLtalk after #SNL goes off, but til then, revisit this episode from almost a year ago. Everybody sees night-folk differently. Tomas is having a crisis of faith. And (in our story) the civilized world is in chaos. But the circle turns and seasons change... We do too... Please enjoy the music...



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JUST ME, Billy, the one who writes this ... 10/25/14

I've been tired lately. Longer autumn nights do that to me. Get my laptop all ready (who'm I kidding? it's 'ready' all day) sit down. Tweet a little. Start the brain juices percolating. Go to tap that key and BAM, Seth Meyers does something, or Carson introduces somebody and it's over... My jaw slacks. My eyes glaze. I breathe like I'm snoring and all them blog ideas go straight to hell. 

Think I want to wrap up Tomas in the Land of The Giant Dogs Who Wear Victorian Get-Ups and Eat Shrimp Sized Naked People They Raise Like Mushrooms ... Eh, you know how it is... Been there... Done that. Not that I won't finish it. I will. But can't wait to bring my favorite vampire back to Philadelphia so he can clean up all that 'almost' apocalyptic stuff
and go back to being a reverent, caring life-eater. 

SPOILER ALERT ~~~ Think he's gonna spread vampirism among the shrimpy folk and they'll use their new powers to fend off the towering canines and race with him through a worm hole back to Philadelphia. Then he'll lead his vampire army against the local exploiters and warlords. Once Philly's cleaned up, contingents of life-eaters will fan out to other cities to kill all the bad folks in those places too.. After that, they all get pilots' licences, or create pilot 'familiars'... fly oversees and destroy social/political nastiness wherever they find it.

Then, once Earth is real nice again (as if it ever was), Doctor Franklin comes back from the Dyson Sphere-like world inside the moon.... And he brings the first half human-half alien baby back with him... Little Winky.
Man, those Little Winky dolls should sell like crazy.

What I really want to do is go back to EL RANCHO TEXACO. I know I always say that. If I was making them as movies, EL RANCHO TEXACO would be first, then EMPIRE OF THE JADE ORB.

I got a lot of scripts.. PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK, the coherent vampire saga that started this all. Different than Vampire Wonderland...Smaller and more dramatic...Sad too. In my mind people dab away tears and clap at the end. Hey, I'm allowed. 

Other scripts not so paranormal. I'll talk about them another time.


HEALTH-FITNESS TIP--- do chair crunches to fight Holiday Spread. Sit in sturdy chair. Lean back. Grip arms and raise knees toward chest (at least up to waist level). Do twenty reps to start. If you have to do less, do less. Fifty is ideal. Then do a set during every commercial. This really tightens up the whole corporation. If chair lacks arms, grasp the seat. Easier on the tailbone than floor crunches and just as effective...

I don't know why I said that. Just go with the flow, I guess...

And make sure to wash your hands all the time...Get your flu shot...and if you kiss a lot a babies, or one in particular, get that adult - whooping-cough shot too.

Now the 2AM Meredith Viera rebroadcast is on and I'm getting hypnotized again.

Excuse me while I slip into catatonia.

<more next time>

Billy

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THE DOLLHOUSE but not Ibsen's .... 10/22/14

The maid brought in a decanter filled with wine. A tiny, delicate piece of art. I don't know how they made it. And the vintage within was much like Mediterranean 'new wine' I remember from my mortal boyhood. Who knows if they even have grapes here. But they obviously grow some fruit suitable for fermentation and it tastes good. Even the children got some. What difference could forbearance possibly make here?

After that she brought in a miniature brick of cheese. I'd say it was similar to a sweet munster. We each had some. I asked the little girl her name. She didn't understand me. I knew that. But sometimes children sense things. The father figure told me to call her Sheila. I did. She giggled. The boy just played with his napkin. Odd how the fabric is so fine and supple, considering how large the 'hands' that make it.

The mother figure said something in her tongue, got up and retired to another room. Then the little girl stopped grinning and rolling her eyes, pushed out her chair, went to the little boy, took him by the hand and led him off.

What do they all do? What passtimes can they have here? - I asked...... The father figure Aussie shrugged and said - There's a harpsichord. Well, I call it a harpsichord. Primitive thing it is. But it works, after a fashion and you can play tunes on it. Keys are arranged a bit different than ours. I can manage a few old hymns.... Waltzing Matilda? - I said... But the Aussie didn't know what I meant. Waltzing Matilda came after his time. 

A tardis sized (to us) ormolu table clock chimed the hour. In that way this place resembled Earth... seven o'clock. A towering (might as well have been Godzilla) dog-maid came in, gently roused the blond, afghan looking thing and helped her prepare for dinner. Now I was told, if we were in a townhouse, there would have been gaslights. But out here in the home counties oil lamps were the rule. Tiny ones for the doll house. Oak tree sized ones for the dog creatures.... They shed a cozy glow. 

In a still small voice Tomas said - What do the children do? Where do they go? Do they play?....The father figure said - There's a playroom, a nursery of sorts. Dolls. Soldiers. Board games. They must be like miniature petit point is to us. The toys, I mean. I saw it in Sydney once at a fair.  They work under magnifying glasses. Metal thing holds it. Remarkable. Them dogs must do something like that..... Tomas said - Maybe the people in the cellar do it?... But the man just shook his head. He didn't want to believe that. Said - Tell me, if they're real, if they're down there, why aren't we down there too?..... Tomas looked at him and said - That's easy. You talk.

Then he watched as the maid helped the blond female change into a formal dinner dress. She smoothed the fabric and added a necklace, studied herself in a huge cheval mirror and left. Both tiny humans breathed a sigh of relief when the tall door clicked shut.

The Aussie showed Tomas the music room and played a few songs on the harpsichord. Then they retired to the library. The books were large, more like artist folios. The script indecipherable, like medieval, block German meets Talmudic Hebrew. But the illustrations were exquisite... fine and detailed. Canine pirates scaled the rigging. Guard dog soldiers knelt before kings. Heroines pined by garden walls. They discussed a few. The Aussie went upstairs first. The maid kept vigil in the hall. She'd lead Tomas through the shadows and show him where to sleep. Til then he sat by the fire (tiny cinders of long burning coal) and thought... How would he survive? Whom should he devour? How would he live, hiding in the walls like vermin? And the spiders. Were there other spiders, other creatures, other things? There must be. And worst of all, even the sun couldn't kill him here.

So he went upstairs. The maid settled him into a small room with a dormer window. Dog-woman couldn't see through that. And he slept under a tiny, satin duvet.

But the hunger gnaws hard on a life-eater. Two hours later he woke up and prowled the darkness... looking for someone to kill.

<more next time>

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland~~> THIS IS HOW MY NaNoWriMo NOVEL ENDS. SCROLL BACK & SEE HOW IT BEGINS: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...: BINGO BOY - post 65 So the new house at the shore was all filled up that night. Marge and Jimmy in their room. Ricky and Little Chrissie ...No vampires. Not really paranormal, save for a few, well meaning, disembodied spirit narrators. Sixty five episodes, each about as long as this one. Please click on the '65th Bingo Boy episode (like a film treatment) ... above. If you want to see it all, click OLDER POST at bottom of each posting. Or look at the TOP of blog page for simple instructions for getting to the beginning (in the white letter 'header' info). A strange, but nice romance, with cute babies, nosy neighbors, a crumby bingo hall and a prisoner kept in a cage, down in the cellar of a narrow, Philadelphia row house. 



We're hoping for a movie....



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TOMAS MEETS 'THE FAMILY' ... 10/20/14

The father figure at the table said - Welcome. What part of the forest did you come from?..... And the little girl began to laugh. She seemed a bit crazy. The others just sat, heads bowed and ate their food.... Tomas said - I come from the city of Philadelphia, in a nation called America, on a planet known as Earth.... No one said a word. But the father figure did nod, though. He motioned to a chair and Tomas sat down. The maid, standing by a sideboard, asked if she should bring him some dinner.... Tomas whispered - No.... The father figure said - I am from that place. Not your America.Not your Philadelphia.... Then he stopped and picked at his food.... After what seemed like a polite interval, Tomas asked - Please sir, where are you from?..... The man said - The eastern shore of nowhere, a place in the antipodes... Do you mean Australia? - asked Tomas... The man nodded, then said - I suppose you want to hear about the rest..... Not as a question, but a statement. The mother figure dabbed her eyes. The little boy put down his fork and folded his hands.

She comes from somewheres else. I mean a whole other place. A planet, I mean. But I don't know where it is. Don't talk her talk. Know a little bit. Same with her. Same with all of them....them kids... that maid. Got a 'granny woman' and a 'young uncle' upstairs. They are of a more delicate nature and rarely dine with the rest of us.

Tomas said - How did you get here?..... The father figure said - You ever hear about a book called Alice In Wonderland? I think it's Alice In Wonderland. Well I found a rabbit hole too. At least that's what I call it..... When did you come? - said Tomas... The man said - You mean what year?... The vampire nodded..... Eighteen seventy - said the man. Burke and Wills weren't the only ones. You know them? You know Lewis and Clark? Well they're like them, only where I come from. We tried cuttin' 'cross east to west, Australia, I mean. Had a pack of Aborigines run out ahead. All different kind, from all different places. Figured they talked the talk, or something like it. But you can go for months and not see no people. See spiders, though... dingoes... Australian 'tigers,' bats. We ate the bats when food ran out. Boomerangs brought 'em down. Aborigine fella from some place I ain't never heared of teach us. One day, I go lookin' for water. Didn't find no water. Found this 'Bedlam' (British colloquial for insane asylum) instead. (gestures toward huge dog-woman snoring away on the gigantic chaise) Some dingo, though. Ain't I right?

Tomas goes - And them?.... The Australian explorer says - Same as me... rabbit holes, or whirlwinds, or whirlpools, or flush crappers. They got flush crappers where you from?.... Tomas goes - Yes.... Explorer goes - I seen 'em.  Some hotels had a few. Rich folks. That kind a thing. That's how I know. What year you from?..... When Tomas answers 'twenty seventeen' the man starts laughing... He says - Bet you had a whole lot a flush crappers  by then?..... Tomas laughs. Doesn't want to tell him 'bout the troubles and all them warlords and all.

Mother figure tries to say something, but he can't understand her. Father figure gets angry and shuts her up. She bows her head. Little girl cackles. Cracks a fish eye 'tween her teeth. Maid leans against the wall real quiet like. But she's looking. Tomas knows she's looking... Little boy tears up. Turns out he was the first one there... All by himself. Dollhouse used to have little carved, dog family in it. Still got 'em in the cellar. Must a been rough on that little guy. Wonder where he lived when them jewelers fit it out for real folks? Tomas learns all this later.

Maid knows he's a vampire though. Mumbles something in her own language. Says a prayer. She's gonna be the first to go. Tomas knows that. When he tries to tell the Australian guy about all the 'cattle' humans in the kitchen, guy won't listen. You know how people are.

Tomas points toward the dog-woman and says - Aren't you worried about her?... Australian shrugs and goes - Nah, novelty wore off. Used to watch us through the windows all the time. Sometimes we give her a show (throws little kiss to mother figure, who pretends not to notice) I even picked up a word or two in doggie talk. Sonny boy over there knows more than me. We're lucky she feeds us and brings us crap now. She got a dog-maid. That's who fills them water bottles for the sinks and tubs and all. Don't worry. We'll hide you. She won't know. Be tight rations, but we'll manage... Right mate?

But the vampire doesn't answer... And the Aussie acts like he knows something too.

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When The Angels Call Your Time - Wily Bo Walker... a detour into what I call VAMPIRE BLUES ... 10/19/14

Listen to the naughty, nighttime blues of London's Wily Bo Walker and tell me this ain't what vampires listen to in little boites  (do I spell it right?) tucked away on dark, narrow cobbled lanes in old cities throughout the world.



I swim in this music when I write. Edith, our Jersey Pine Barrens witchy woman found it for me. They feel it all in The Pines. 



Was gonna put it up last time, but got lost in it. Folks in England know. New everywhere else. You among the foist. 



Too late to channel our Tomas - Among - the -Giant - Civilized - Human - Eating - Dog - People (is that a compound word?) arc. I am cravin' a bit more sleep lately. Lengthening nights does that to me...Hibernatin' time.



Before I forget, if you want to follow Wily Bo on Twitter, click here~>Wily Bo ... Links to lot more material there, plus google Wily Bo Walker videos on You Tube



If you want (and I am grateful if you do) to peruse all my Vampire Wonderland episodes, please click here~>OLD STUFF NEW STUFF WEIRD STUFF REAL STUFF for an easy way into it all. Scroll down to some old stuff. I like the old stuff.. The Hermetic Order of The Golden Dawn... all of it.



And, as always, my sincere thanks for your support.



To join us on TWITTER (we have a whole group) click here~>WHERE WE TALK .....



But listen to the Wily Bo Walker material. Let it wash over you.



Goodnight,



Billy



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Marlene Dietrich - Lili Marleen.... Tomas Encounters a Canine Woman Very Much Like Her... 10/16/14

Tomas climbed the table skirt and approached the (on his scale) huge, glass doors. The human creatures pressed their foreheads against the  inside of the barrier straining to see this unexpected visitor.  But the brass framed doors were well made. They locked tight, with no way to slip in. He stepped back, looked up shook his head and gestured. The man, up above, peered down from the carefully fashioned, miniature living room and shook his head too. Odd that we use the same signals - Tomas thought.... No one expects finding like-minded folk in such exotic places. The children and some of the others looked down too. They all seemed so sad.


Our misplaced 'vampire' (by now quite hungry) made ready to climb back down. He imagined the people 'upstairs' to be specially favored 'food' humans from the kitchen and the cellar. What could he do for them? But just as he was about to slip over the edge, he heard a footfall in the hallway... a gigantic footfall. Something 'canine' this way comes. He jumped up and ran 'round to the front of the dollhouse, hiding himself in some green, more or less, pipe cleaner bushes.


It walked in and closed the door. Such a soft, metallic click. Then it sat down on a satin chair and looked in the mirror.... a dressing table for dog-folk women... Tomas could see this, for he crept out and peeked  'round a corner. A little girl from the 'family' inside waved to him through a basement window. He ignored her, because what sat before him was far more compelling.


A dog-woman, in a long, silk, dressing gown, she was, quietly studying her delicate Afghan face in the carefully silvered glass. She sat there and didn't move. Then she picked up an engraved hairbrush and began to pull it through her long, wavy, blond tresses. After perhaps thirty or forty strokes she put it down and sighed. Then she laughed... a small laugh. Tomas supposed it was a laugh. Dog ways were still strange to him. Her left 'hand' trembled. She held it in her lap. Then she roused herself, found something in a drawer and took it out... a small, enameled pot. She opened it, dipped in a finger and delicately began to apply some sort of gel to her eyelashes. After that came a larger, round container filled with dusting powder, lightly worked into her short, mohair-like facial coat with a stiff bristled, artist's brush. She looked at the results. Was she satisfied? Who knows? She just sat. She just looked.


Maybe thirty six heartbeats later came a slight tapping noise. The 'father' rapped against his side of the glass with a tiny walking stick. The dog-woman heard (they do have superior hearing, you know). She stared toward the scaled down residence through half closed eyes. Then she got up, went over to the dollhouse, flipped the precision crafted, tiny, brass latch and opened the doors. Everyone stepped back. This was a dance. They'd done it before. The melancholy dog-woman reached into her pocket and took out two very small parcels... carefully folded squares of stiff waxed tissue paper, such as jewelers might use to wrap individual gemstones. To the eager humans they measured three feet square, each tied up with fine, silk thread. Then the female canine thing went over to a tufted chaise lounge and laid down for a before dinner nap. Must look well for guests. Appearances are everything.


The chatelaine of the petit palace took out a pair of minute, golden scissors and opened the parcels. One held foodstuffs... tiny, smoked fish, big-eyed fry from some unknown species.... a toy sized mound of diced bean sprouts (who did the dicing, I cannot tell)... some coffee... some cocoa... a few grape slices ... a small dollop of marzipan and something else. Such was dinner. The other parcel had exquisitely fashioned examples of tiny clothing...interior wear... shirts, blouses, stockings, that sort of thing.... Could be the work of intelligent bees, as far as I know..... Well practiced hands stowed everything away... Every faucet worked (via small, daily filled, carefully concealed bottles). One even dispensed wine. You should see the almost microscopic silverware. 


But she didn't close the door. Tomas never heard it click and he never heard the latch flip into place. Vampire ears he had, keen as any dog... and he knew. So he moved 'round to the place where the front of the house meets the right hand wall and peeked. The dog-woman was sleeping. Not only that, the giantess had rolled over, facing the other way. A depressed soul, she was. Lost love and all that. Thus the classic Dietrich song up above. Please listen.


So Tomas carefully tip toed 'round and stepped inside. It was quiet. The hand laid parquetry gleamed. A tiny 'tall clock' (with a dial exactly like those on Earth) softly ticked. A Queen Anne mansion in every way, though also a prison too.


He found them in the dining room, where a hear-to-fore unseen maid served dinner. The father person, without looking up, said,"We heard you come in. Please... sit down."


But Tomas froze, for the father person addressed him in English...


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Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Minnie The Moocher<~~ this in my mind when I write this stuff TOMAS IN DOGLAND... 10/15/14

Night-Folk love Big Bad Voo Doo Daddy. And after four years blogging for them, I love it too... Le Swing Noir is the best.



Now back to DOGLAND ~~~~~~~



Wait a minute...This is narrative evolution. I can see it. DOGLAND ... Philly in the 30's, 'cept all the people are CGI anthropomorphic canines. The cars.. The clothes... The booze... The music... Perfect for cable. All played straight. Just that they're dogs... showgirl dogs... cop dogs... momma dogs... priest dogs and just plain bitches... Listen to the video up above. Can't you see it? Come on... a biscuit for your thoughts.



Now back to our story~~~~~~~~~~



Tomas woke up. Somebody was making noise. He peeked out from under the dresser. The cook was gone. Must be killing  lunch. But a big, hulking, Mastiff woman was cleaning up. And this one moved furniture. BAM! BANG! (bed went flying from the wall). Gets in there real good with like an Edwardian Swiffer... a feather duster on a long pole... cleans the base board... gets down on her hands and knees to do the floor.... THUD! WOOMP! Bed goes back.... Spits out some dog talk curses. Opens a bottle of cologne on the bureau. Smells it. Puts it back. Spits out a few more curses. Shoves her long handled feather duster under a tall chest. She's getting close. Tomas gets worried. What if she lifts the dresser? What if she shoves it aside? What if she sees him? He waits til she gets down on the floor to retrieve some coins that her bob-tailed ass knocked off a night table. Uniform's got a little tail-hole in it, but sometimes the tail slips out. Dogs always saying - Excuse me, while I go adjust my tail hole... Human people'd say - Ooh! I gotta put powder my nose, so it don't run away... 

or... Excuse me, 'cause I think I peed a little... But dog-folk got their own thing.



When Mastiff thing down on the floor, Tomas makes his move... runs out and grabs hold of her hem... not on the outside, on the inside. He don't want her to see him... And he hangs on most of the day. While she eats a shish kebab of whole roast pigs on a skewer.... enough for like three Hawaiian luaus ... He holds on when she climbs the service stair to the second floor to dust and steal change up there.



Then he jumps off and sees a room with a doll house. He goes in. No one else is around.... a little, puppy-girl room, all mauve and pale pink and frilly. Baby (dog) dolls all over... But on a small, skirted table is this doll house.... like a full sized Queen Anne in his own world, only here it's a toy for a child. The back wall, the one facing him, is open, like doll house back walls always are. But this one's not really open. There's a glass barrier on it... a carefully made, snug, tight barrier, framed in brass, divided down the middle with a little lock... And when he cranes his head back and looks up at it, he sees people inside... other little people like himself. Whether or not any of them were vampires (or even witches, for that matter) he did not know. They rocked in chairs and talked to each other. One brushed her hair in a bedroom. Another bangs his head against the glass. But at his size it doesn't even vibrate.



A man, maybe he was supposed to be the father, or a grandfather, saw Tomas, yelled something to the others and they all ran to the 'fourth wall' and peered out. The tiny children were so cute. Tomas couldn't see it, but there was a thick rope of velvet piping where the doll house floors touched the glass to prevent the valuable 'toys' from falling down from one level to the next, or not falling down and getting stuck. They seemed shocked to see him, for they had absolutely no knowledge of the food-people in the cellar.... The mother 'toy' took the little boy 'toy's' hand. She seemed to be crying...



But Tomas was hungry... They were mortal and he was not. So he climbed up the tiny rose patterned skirting to get a better look...



<more next time... if you want you can scroll back to see what you've missed>



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TOMAS GETS A GRUESOME COOKING LESSON... 10/14/14

A few hours later, when the kitchen staff came in, Tomas was ready, but he didn't know what to do. Two females, the cook and the head-pincher-offer from before plus a little, Boston Terrier looking errand boy. Every big house had a runner and he was it. They did have a bell system... little brass chains hanging from a plaque on the wall. But 'the master' likes quiet.

Sunlight streamed through the large windows flooding the place with winter light. The granite counters reflected like mirrors... the white cupboards... the white hexagonal tiled floors.... cream colored crockery. If Martha Stewart was a giant dog, she'd have loved the place.

Then they fired up the stove, a great, wrought iron and brass, coal burning affair. The pathetic naked humans hiding in the rectangular glass tank knew. They had to know. But there was no sign of life. The shredded paper layer at the bottom was still. Tomas watched everything from behind the tank, wedged into the narrow space between the glass and the wall. He crouched down, as low as possible. Vampires don't cramp, not after a few hours anyway. On some level he enjoyed the sunlight. Apparently this sun was different than his sun, or whatever hand stirred the celestial pot created different ordinances for different places. Here humans were morsels, shrimp sized tidbits adding goodness and flavor to a multitude of recipes.

The cook said something to the errand 'boy' sitting half asleep on a stool by the counter. Canine dialect was highly inflected.
Pitch and tone are everything. He roused himself, pulled a shiny metal bowl from a deep drawer and began to pick people out of the tank. That's when the straw-like bedding began to move,as the doomed humans piled into a corner. They always run toward the back, usually the right hand side, as far away from the stove as possible. Bruising didn't matter. There were fractures too. They made little mewling sounds. Noise was bred out long ago.

The Boston Terrier 'boy' (in his navy wool, short sailor suit and black stockings) raked them up with his somewhat humanish, evolved, doggie fingers. He had to shake them off into the bowl. Heads cracked. Skin ripped. Some died. They were the lucky ones. The kitchen girl deftly picked up a person and pinched off its head, just as she did to the three during the night, only this time she didn't eat any. Not with her boss around. She knew better than that. Cook dredged them, one by one, in a flour and egg mixture before dropping them into a big, black, sizzling skillet. Sometimes the kitchen girl forgot to pinch off a head. She worked so fast, after all. But those sorry souls were pan fried two... burnt little heads with 'o' shaped mouths, eyes shut tight and knees drawn up. Tomas saw it all. One young girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old, survived the culling. She dug down deep into the excelsior, her cheek pressed hard against the glass, eyes shut tight as the people in the pan. Tomas looked at her through the glass. What would she gain? They'd find her tomorrow. Did she know the people in the pan? Could she smell them? Could she pray?

An omelet they made. More like a big frittata (crustless quiche) with peppers and onions and helpless slaughtered people. One hundred and nine souls served up in this cousin to a pizza. Cook plated everything just so. Then two formally attired Doberman footmen came in to carry it out. After that they assembled simpler fare for the staff.

Tomas watched. He studied everything with keen vampire eyes. Cook wore a long, full, starched white apron, still surprisingly clean. It had pockets, but they were neatly pinned shut. She never used them. Too fastidious for that. Trained in the old ways and proud of it. And she bustled about the kitchen, working here at the counter, or turning to face the sink. Kitchen girl was a long way off polishing silver. Not the good set used for dinner, but a casual collection seen at luncheon, or tea. And the errand boy was long gone, off to fetch shawls for chilly Greyhound aunts, or a forgotten pipe for the old master.

If I can reach the apron strings - Tomas thought - I can climb 'round and slip into a pocket. She must take a break before luncheon. Tomas knew something of baronial domesticity from his days in Restoration England. So he watched and waited. But it proved easier than he thought. She came over to the counter and reached up high, straining to return a sugar bowl to its place. Her pocket was right there. So he darted out from behind the tank, raced to the edge (almost falling off) and slipped inside. The pathetic young girl in the tank saw him go. Imagine what she thought.

After a time, some of which he spent pressed tight against various bull-nosed edges, she returned to her quarters where she took off the apron and hung it from a hook. Then she eased herself into a chair and dozed. Tomas waited till the snores were loud and regular. Those with experience in the matter know dogs snore too. Then he poked his head up out of the pouch looking for a means of escape. One apron string fell down to the floor. Rapunzel's braid offered no finer road. So he climbed out and made his way down ( equal to a ninety foot drop in his world), scampering off to hide beneath a commode. Eighteen heartbeats later he thought better of it. What if she relieved herself? What if she emptied it? She'd see him then. No, the commode was no good. The graceful, little cut-out at the bottom of the legless dresser was better. So he raced over and dived in, cool and secure in the welcoming darkness.

No spider here. He was grateful for that.

Then he fell into a vampire nap and dreamed of Old Kashmir.

<more next time>

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TOMAS HIDES FROM A SLEEPY ANGRY GIANT ASSISTANT COOK ... 10/12/14

It's got cold in that kitchen late at night. Central heating was primitive at best. Most manor houses were like that. Perhaps there were some sort of hot water radiators in the bedrooms... maybe in the sitting rooms and dining room. But backstairs and downstairs were left to their own devices. Lucky servants had small, coal burning braziers... little cast iron safe-like things tucked in a corner. Kitchens had nothing. Oh, the ovens and stove keep it toasty enough during the day... cozy in winter... stifling in summer. But stoves and ovens cooled fast and granite counter tops got like gravestones.

Maybe the giant canine-folk living there didn't mind. Dogs normally run a temperature of one hundred and two degrees. That's why they think nothing of laying down and waiting for their human pack mates on icy sidewalks. And their brethren here in this universe wore clothes. They had special, fine leather, dog shaped boots for their feet and everything else dog-faced money could buy.

The cook's helper, roused from her sleep, by the falling broom, stumbled into the kitchen half asleep. She didn't want to come, but if anything was amiss and her superior saw it in the morning, they'd throw her to the wolves (backwoods primitives not known for social niceties). So the one hundred and eighty foot high (equal to a five foot tall girl in her world) Border Collie looking thing, pulled on her robe and went in.

Tomas saw her. He froze... an insignificant scrap of flesh, there on the long, chill counter. But she shuffled right by him, a passing behemoth, and picked up the broom, returning it to it's rightful place in the corner. That's when Tomas did it. He silently ran to a narrow space behind the glass tank. It didn't touch the tiled back splash. It was tight, but he could do it, standing there with his cheek pressed against the thick, green glass. The straw-like excelsior inside the tank was still. None of the humans hidden there so much as breathed. It was dark, but he could see it. How scared they must be, desperate for a few more hours of life. 

But she came back. The kitchen 'girl' came back. She stopped and looked down at the tank. Moonlight falling in through the big windows made things just a bit discernible. She tapped at the glass with a claw-like nail. She sighed, leaned down on the counter and peered inside. 

Tomas saw it all, as she reached in, searched through the shredded paper and fished out a terrified human, delicately holding him between her thumb and forefinger. How he kicked his feet. But he never screamed. He was too scared to scream. Sound would only make it worse. 

The giantess raised him up to her eyes, as she reached over with her free hand and quickly pinched off his head. There wasn't much blood. Pressure took care of that. Then she popped him into her mouth and chewed him up. Maybe she didn't like crunching heads. Some people are fussy. 

After that, she ate two more. There were thousands in the dirt trays down the cellar. A gourmet treat they were, grown with utmost care, just like the snails they raise in France.

It'd be dawn soon. Siderial rhythms here were similar to the ones back home. Then they'd all die, but the breeding stock down in the trays would go on.

Then the border- collie- looking  kitchen help sponged a bit of blood from the counter and went back to bed.

What she did with the heads was anybody's guess. 

Tomas stayed where he was, watching the excelsior that never moved.

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TOMAS MEETS THE 'HUMANS' IN THIS CANINE WORLD ... 10/10/14

Fortified by the blood, Tomas slid under a door into a dark service-way. All great houses have them. Arteries enabling the staff to soundlessly flow through the manor without being seen until necessary. Smooth slate floors... rather inexpensive marble wainscoting and pale grey polished plaster above that...although at this hour shrouded in complete darkness.

Tomas proceeded with caution, quite the necessity when only two inches tall. He couldn't rely on vampiric abilities. This universe wasn't his universe and that caused some sort of space/time interference. Thus his usual talents flickered in and out... magical 'static' if you will. 

Now there were doors along the way. One led to the housekeeper's office. Musty, old upholstered pieces from elsewhere in the property.... Another fronted a storeroom for pots and pans. Tomas didn't need much. Momentary flickers of enhanced olfactory ability provided more than enough information.... a metallic scent... sachet.... onions and potatoes.... Ah! onions and potatoes... That must be the kitchen... There, up ahead.... Dim, watery light leaked out from beneath the door. He squeezed under. Apparently this one was hung with more precision. 

A tiny bit of light washed in through the huge wall of windows.... leaded glass, from counter height to ceiling. Odd that this world had a moon so much like our own. He looked about. How vast this space was, more akin to a catering hall than a private home... Neat, hexagonal, white, tiled floors... Avenues of drawers and cupboards topped with cold, flat, granite. He knew that, because bull-nose edges protrude a bit and he could see them,

Then he smelled it... a human tang... strong, salty, dense and sulfurous. He sniffed. Where was it coming from? Scents echo in cold, hard rooms like this. But as he progressed, it grew stronger. There! Up above... on the counter... Live humans... But how would he get there? Tomas tried to dig his nails into a cupboard door. Perhaps he could climb up that way. Yet the lacquer was too hard. Then he saw it... a broom... an old style, rolled, corn broom, such as Cinderella would have used.... carelessly forgotten, it leaned against the edge of the counter maybe a hundred and forty steps down.

He ran to it, a two inch tall mountaineer, in the land of the giant collies (and Alsatians and Husky-Wolfie things). It looked rustic. Probably made on the estate. But the broomstick looked smooth, though not too smooth... easy to climb, once passed the witchy looking business end. He scrambled up. Then he felt it move. Not really move, but shift a little. The broomstick, being round was sensitive. He'd have to go slow... and he did, inching up through the silvery darkness.

He stepped off. The counter top was cold and empty.... everything in its place... nothing lying about. Aristocratic establishments were like that. But up ahead, against the tiled wall, sheltered from the moonlight by overhanging cupboards, was a fish tank... or a terrarium... smooth, clear sides, rectangular in shape, with black metal seams. Tomas ran over, put his face up against the glass, shading his eyes with his hands, the better to see through the reflective surface, and peered in. A thick layer of excelsior (shredded paper) covered the bottom, perhaps as high as his knees, or a bit above his knees. The human smell was so strong. He rapped on the glass... Nothing... He rapped again... This went on about four or five times.... Then they started to move. There, back near the far side, the shredded bedding began to shift. Heads peeked out. Tomas saw them. Scared, sad eyes looked back, glistening in the shadows. He couldn't be one of them and they knew it. He was clothed. Humans never wore clothes. Where would they get them? How would they make them? That's what excelsior was for... burrow in and huddle together. It worked... sort of.

And Tomas remembered the dinner. Had to be eight hundred humans. Where'd they all come from? There couldn't be more than maybe a hundred and ten in there. 

No one moved. Those in the tank knew. They knew what would happen. No one ever came back. This was the end. They'd never see another night again... or even another afternoon... Breakfast fare, they were. Destined for the griddle... Scrambled with eggs. How fine and crunchy their bones were. Huge canine muzzles had no problem with that.

Tomas wanted to talk to them. He didn't know the particulars. He couldn't sense their thoughts. He didn't know their language. OK, maybe he'd drain a few. That's how he was now. But, if they could communicate, some would probably live, at least for a while... If they could get off the counter....

That's when he felt it. That's when he heard the CRASH, as the broom slid down to the floor.

Every little head ducked back into the bedding and he was left there, exposed and alone on the wide, cold, stone expanse...

But what else heard the noise?...

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