Tuesday, November 11, 2014

..how a vampire transforms a world... THIS IS WHERE WE'RE GOING .. 11/11/14

This is a continuation, picking up roughly where 11/5/14 left off~~~~~

The kitchen 'girls' came down when it was still dark. They didn't care about the death of the 'young miss,' but they did gossip about what killed her.  The tall, more or less collie looking one thought she shot herself. Her co-worker, a stout, peasant looking, mastiff thing didn't care one way or the other, just busied herself peeling SUV sized spuds for the homemade tater salad, after. 

Tall one says (in giant dog talk) - What all you want me to do with them little people? ... Stout one goes - Shut up and don't ask me, you stuck up, bitch you. I seen you mushin' up with the first footman. He liked me first (tall one rolls her eyes) and you know it. How you do with your tail and all, swishin' it around. That's a whore tail. Everybody say it is and I'm gonna bite it off. So leave me alone.......

They work in silence. More potato peeling. Tall one makes some kind of peanut butter and suet cookies. They are dog people after all. Then stout one says - Raw. Raw. Serve 'em raw. But wash 'em up real good first. Get that little rubber hose and hook it up to the sink. Reach into the tank, grab one, but don't kill it. Lay it down on the dish towel, ass side up. Spread the cheeks and wash it real good, 'cause some a them gonna have lots a shit up there an' you gotta clean it out. Rich folk ain't partial to shitty crap, specially at a funeral. Specially when nobody know how she died. Wonder who's gettin' her old clothes? You know she gets her entire wardrobe from Wolff's in the city. New stuff every year. Wouldn't mind some a that myself.... Tall one snorted- What's a stumpy little thing like you gonna do with her city clothes? Make turbans outta them?..... Stout one goes - You keep talkin'. That tail's gonna go bye-bye. One night you gonna be sleepin' and I'll go 'Whoops! The razor slipped!.. And we're all gonna laugh!..... Tall, collie-looking thing says - Aw, you can go to hell...... But meanwhile she keeps washin' them asses. Then she put 'em in a big stainless steel bowl with steep sides, so they can't climb out, 'cause if one runs away and dies behind a cabinet, or something, it is gonna stink. Picks up another one. Lays it down on the towel. Gets the little hose. Opens up the butt cheeks. Gives a look and sees this one ain't dirty down there. Holds him down anyway and gives a good squirt, just in case. Two heartbeats later she's screamin' and yelpin' and grabbin' her paw-hand, which is all shredded and gushing blood. Everything's all red. 

Stout one yells - What the hell did you do!? The potatoes! The potatoes! Watch the potatoes!..... Collie girl wraps another towel 'round her hand and runs out.

But that clean-assed little thing ain't on the counter. He ain't no where. Stout one looks and looks and looks... He's gone... 
Thing is, he's a vampire. You know the one they call 'Polidori?' That's him. Shucked off his clothes so he'd fit in. Already made four new ones. Vampires, I mean. Ain't all shucked their skin yet, but they do drink blood. Soon they'll be 'sublimating' (passing through all types of matter) and killin' dog folks too.

Soon they'll be a whole army.

Little humans in that stainless steel bowl start buzzin'. Not so you'd hear. Their method of communication is more chemical. Touch faces. Touch bellies, buttocks. Bring hands up to their cheeks and they know. 

You see, they don't all have to go vampire. That would be suicidal. Just some. Just a few...

Just enough to kill all them giants.

Stout one don't even feel that little human thing creepin' up her back. Don't even feel it climbin' up her skirt... her apron strings... her blouse. Thinks it's like a little itch on the back of her neck. But then it's too late... 

Every mammal, except one or two sloths, has seven neck bones... seven vertebrae. Humans, giraffes, bats... dogs. Even monstrously huge dogs on a far off planet, in an alternate universe... Even the stout, mastiff looking thing. And all the tiny human had to do was pierce through one of them..Just sublimate... Just break the bone. Just severe the nerve and that would be it. 

And that was it. No one ever knew if Tillie, or Tomas, or the 'mother' woman, or one of the new ones did it.  What difference would that make?... One heartbeat later she was paralyzed, sprawled on the ice cold tiled floor.... Ten heartbeats later she was dead....

Did the funeral still go on?.... Of course...

But God knows what they did for potato salad....

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