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The ghost of the little boy polio victim who lives in the basement level of the townhouse waits for me (Jonathon) to come in every morning. I usually come back around three or four o'clock. Once in a while as late as six o'clock. It's October now. I can to that. He waits in the front foyer, siting on the floor by the tall clock. I bring him things...little toys... cars. He likes cars. I've never seen him manipulate larger, heavier things, but small toys are alright. He asks if I feel OK. I say 'yes.' Then he's happy. I know he doesn't mean if I'm sick, or not. He knows vampires don't get sick... not that way. But he's very attuned to feelings. Edith, our Jersey Pines, witchy-woman housekeeper says most ghosts are like that. Says they draw strength from the living people around them... from their feelings, I mean. He has a tiny, old, transistor radio that still works. I change the batteries every so often... make sure they never run down. He can manage to flick it on and off and rotate the tuning dial. Sometimes we hear it playing quietly downstairs. He likes talk shows. Loves listening to people discussing things. And please don't think that the basement is a cold, bare-stone cellar. It's not. We have it set up as a series of small chambers with regular plaster walls, opening up on a narrow, corridor. Some of the vampires sleep down there. Ghost boy has a room too. Edith set it up for him. Not just her. Sarah, my consort helped too. Actually, we married with a real ceremony and everything. But 'wife' seems such a mortal term and although I am in most ways still basically 'human,' mortal I am not.
Truthfully, none of us are mortal. By 'us' I mean both night-folk (me) and day-folk (you). The only difference is you shed your fleshy parts right away and we don't. That's all. (thinks for a few moments) I suppose there are other differences. You know how it is.
I'm sitting in the den watching late night reruns of that show where Bob Newhart has a cozy inn in a picture book Vermont town. I love shows like that. Believe me, the early middle ages were anything but calm and cozy. I like the den... not the larger 'family room' we sometimes call the den. I mean this little place. Really more of a library. No big flat screen over a mantle piece.... just dark wood shelves full of books, a couple little tables & lamps... a sofa just big enough to stretch out on... a wing chair... nice 'Turkey' rug. TV's a little old one. I like old things. Sometimes I doze off in here. Sarah always comes down before dawn to see if I'm alright. She wakes me up. We go upstairs. In case you don't know, we sleep in a regular bedroom. But it's fitted with special shutters, draperies and shades. Nobody bothers us. Edith put a hoo-doo on the house and the cops look out for us. Not all of them... only the 'familiars.'.... only the ones who know.
Vampires can live rather quietly. And I haven't worn a red lined, black satin opera cape in umpteen million years.. Sure there's drama from time to time. Pig Blood what's her name, the born-witch goes on a rampage... Ethereal, unbelievably advanced alien entities might encase the Earth in a salt water, oceanic-like shell roiling miles above the clouds. Edith might forget to buy aroma candles. Night-folk love aroma candles. We don't normally eat, so we have to get 'flavor' somewhere.
I'm worried about little Timothy. He helped Ca-Ca kill Esther, but in his heart, he's not a killer, just a scared insecure, ten year old, assistant killer. I'll talk to Doctor Franklin tomorrow night. Hope he hasn't experimented on him too much already. You know, three hundred and eight year old patriot reprobates tend to get a little ripe over the years. You ever see him ride that little electric scooter around town, dressed in his green, Eagles sweat suits, with his wispy, stringy hair flying out in all directions?
I'm beginning to feel something. Night-folk (vampires and such) are fairly telepathic. What do you expect? October's a strange month...
Dark things always happen.
(with that he dozes off, as the little ghost boy from the basement, rises up through the floor to sit on the rug and watch ancient, black and white reruns of TO TELL THE TRUTH)...
<more later>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
click BACON ... to see more Vampire Wonderland...
click SAUSAGE ... to join me on Twitter...
please comment. thank you.
Truthfully, none of us are mortal. By 'us' I mean both night-folk (me) and day-folk (you). The only difference is you shed your fleshy parts right away and we don't. That's all. (thinks for a few moments) I suppose there are other differences. You know how it is.
I'm sitting in the den watching late night reruns of that show where Bob Newhart has a cozy inn in a picture book Vermont town. I love shows like that. Believe me, the early middle ages were anything but calm and cozy. I like the den... not the larger 'family room' we sometimes call the den. I mean this little place. Really more of a library. No big flat screen over a mantle piece.... just dark wood shelves full of books, a couple little tables & lamps... a sofa just big enough to stretch out on... a wing chair... nice 'Turkey' rug. TV's a little old one. I like old things. Sometimes I doze off in here. Sarah always comes down before dawn to see if I'm alright. She wakes me up. We go upstairs. In case you don't know, we sleep in a regular bedroom. But it's fitted with special shutters, draperies and shades. Nobody bothers us. Edith put a hoo-doo on the house and the cops look out for us. Not all of them... only the 'familiars.'.... only the ones who know.
Vampires can live rather quietly. And I haven't worn a red lined, black satin opera cape in umpteen million years.. Sure there's drama from time to time. Pig Blood what's her name, the born-witch goes on a rampage... Ethereal, unbelievably advanced alien entities might encase the Earth in a salt water, oceanic-like shell roiling miles above the clouds. Edith might forget to buy aroma candles. Night-folk love aroma candles. We don't normally eat, so we have to get 'flavor' somewhere.
I'm worried about little Timothy. He helped Ca-Ca kill Esther, but in his heart, he's not a killer, just a scared insecure, ten year old, assistant killer. I'll talk to Doctor Franklin tomorrow night. Hope he hasn't experimented on him too much already. You know, three hundred and eight year old patriot reprobates tend to get a little ripe over the years. You ever see him ride that little electric scooter around town, dressed in his green, Eagles sweat suits, with his wispy, stringy hair flying out in all directions?
I'm beginning to feel something. Night-folk (vampires and such) are fairly telepathic. What do you expect? October's a strange month...
Dark things always happen.
(with that he dozes off, as the little ghost boy from the basement, rises up through the floor to sit on the rug and watch ancient, black and white reruns of TO TELL THE TRUTH)...
<more later>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
click BACON ... to see more Vampire Wonderland...
click SAUSAGE ... to join me on Twitter...
please comment. thank you.
