Saturday, June 27, 2015


Our vampire friend, Jonathon, continues--- We saw them devour the girl and the baker's boy too. No one left. There were no 'delicate' ladies rushing from the hall. Some stopped eating, but not all. That's how it was. It wasn't the time. It was the people... at least on a brutal outgrowth of Western Asia, called Europe. 

Handicapped children were thrown down wells.... old wells... dry wells. You could hear them whimper. Not just handicapped children. Death, or witnessing death, was a grand entertainment. But if you've been with us a while you know that. 

The eleven year old boy, a last minute addition to the cast, tried climbing up the bars. He teetered, about to go over the edge. But the graf motioned toward a functionary who pushed him back in with a few quick pike jabs to the belly. The grandees in attendance chuckled at the comedy of it all. Baker boys were two for a pfennig. No one cared.

Then one of the zombies gently took the shocked, numb mortal girl by the hand... He kissed it, turned toward the crowd and leered, before taking each finger, in its turn, into his putrid, oozing mouth and biting it off. A second shouldered in to lick up the blood. A third made a succulent morsel of the baker's boy's cheek. The guests, by now quite into their cups, roared. A few well born ladies opened their bodices and teased the male zombie with their breasts. He rolled his eyes and made 'tongue dances' at them.

The graf's musicians, serfs, not much different than slaves, struck up a lively Bohemian Peasant Dance, as the Poo-Bah's banged their pewter tankards on the table as accompaniment. Zombies must appreciate music and rhythm, for it spurred them on... tearing flesh... crunching bone... ripping gristle. Soon the maiden and the boy were gone. The walking dead sat there, leaning against the bars, legs splayed out before them, stuffed with fresh, bloody meat. And they didn't realize what was going on, as the graf's men threw pitch soaked bundles of straw into the room sized enclosure and proceeded to light them up.

God damned zombies, what'd they think, they were gonna live forever?

The crowd liked the zombie-fire too.

Later, when the hall grew dark, I crept into the Lord's Room (he and his woman slept not in the vast space with the rest of us) and 'culled' them in reprise. The ghosts of their mortal victims, not to mention the zombies, heartily approved.

Just an episode from long ago.... something I remembered...

An Idea! ~~~ 'comment' any questions you might have and I, Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea, will answer...

I hate these short summer nights...

<more next time>


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