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The world, or rather 'all worlds,' the omniverse, I might say, is quite an unusual place. So please, do not be self-limiting. Don't let others plot your course. Do that yourself.
Jonathon experiences many things this night. He is emotionally 'busy.' That's why I'd like to ask you all to permit me, Johannon, his faithful servant since the beginning, to channel this. You know me. I've done this before... one of the disembodied, spirit, narrators and all that. Let me say the words...
And they assembled in the underground 'station,' a never used, subway stop, deep beneath the streets of Philadelphia. The mole-folk were there. Sarah was there. The elferinos and elferinas saw it all too.
I suppose there were other spirits in attendance. Nobody counts the ghosts. But that doesn't mean we don't see things, even if we fail to see each other. Now let me tell you what I saw...
Flickering light from the many homemade candles gave the place a neolithic look. Such an assemblage... wide-eyed, grey skinned mole-folk, pubescent, elfin vampires, other more mature life-eaters and God knows what else was in there. I suppose the ghosts buried alive during the cave-in when they built the place (or at least some of them) were there. I saw two or three eighteen nineties mustachioed navvies (laborer, ditch digger) myself. One with a half crushed skull and eyeballs dangling from optic nerves looked interested. His buddy, flopping along like a seal on mashed arms and legs seemed intrigued too. I don't know what fixed-in-place entities endure. They are like sentient pieces of furniture... abiding and absorbing every worm, dust mote and beetle. Apparently the entombed navvies can move about a bit. They have a certain 'radius of operations' so to speak, perhaps governed by their spirit-strength at the time of their deaths? A student of the ethereal world I am not. I just 'live' here. Thank the Lord I am not fixed in place, but rather tied to the physical form of my 'charge.'... I am tied to Jonathon, also known as Tomas. And that arrangement is largely consensual. Nine hundred and fifty years (roughly) a body servant. I saved him when the Crusaders burnt that Provencal synagogue and was there (in spirit form) when a vampire found his sooty, barely living form in the moonlit ruins. But enough about that.
Let me focus on what went on in that never-used subway stop.....
All eyes looked up at a point in the center of the rough, moldering ceiling, originally painted in a rather Maxfield Parrish sundown motif. Though most of the image planed down like snowflakes long ago. Right where the nucleus of a streamlined comet used to be came 'a something.'.... a dark presence... a huge drop`of tar-like excrescence that grew and hung there fat and pendulous for an instant, before plummeting down to the (what was once) polished concrete surface with a sharp, concussive force.
Inky fluid splashed everywhere, peppered with tiny bits of pulverized cement. Everyone moved back, as noxious smoke rose from the spreading stain, coiling into a column and condensing into a 'human' form....
Jonathon (standing by Sarah) froze... 'Papa,' the very same being who saved him from the smoking ruins all those centuries ago was back. And, you know what?... Jonathon was resigned. Sarah was too..
And who is 'Papa?'.... Well, maybe 'What is Papa?' would be a more natural question. If you've been attentive, you know he is a vampire. Though that breed has many variations. This one is said to resemble a thirty two, or thirty three year old Richard Gere. At least that's what Sarah says. And he's twenty eight thousand years old, 'mothered' by the great Renate, herself even twelve millennia older. They move in and out of the world capriciously. We see much more of him than her. 'Renate' is not her birth name. No one knows that. She just picked it up somewhere. Imagine her time... her mortal time, I mean. Among the first 'modern' humans to venture into Europe, or that part of it uncovered by ice. Vampires, you see, go back to the Neanderthals. They have this 'prayer.' They say --- 'Each but a link in a chain. May no one know the source.
Sometimes Papa's benevolent. But only sometimes. He did save Jonathon, after all. But he did destroy the Etruscans and Mohenjo-Daro too...
So there he stands, dressed in full Highland Regalia, of a type worn in Jacobite times ... seventeen forty five... last gasp of the Stewarts and all that....
Papa can do many things... a 'man' of many appetites.
And now he's back...
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