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Vampire Jonathon speaks----
Something happened here and I want to tell you about it. Sarah brought someone 'over', a little soul named Larry. He's two years old... and now he will be two years old forever. I know I owe you more tales about Jeanette and my life with her in medieval France. I think it was France. Borders change so over the years. But then this thing happened and I just want to talk about it.
I've mentioned 'cherubs' before, back when this strange bit of vampire therapy began. You don't know how many times I've wanted to stop, but I can't. I know you know it's me. I know you know it's Jonathon.. Some might recall periods when I went as Tomas. Well, so what? They're both me.
A vampire. I'm a vampire. And others are Elferinas, or Elferinos, or witchy-folk, or 'born' witches, or my God, what's the name of those others?... the Red Paint People! Yet we're all manifestations of the same thing. We're all touched by 'magic.', or 'the magic,' as I should say. But it rests differently on each and every one of us. Those labels I just mentioned are types. They're just basic varieties. Not every vampire is the same as every other. Many of the 'noxious' types are little better than glorified zombies. But we still call them vampires.
Cherubs are vampires. I hate to say that. Such sweet, innocent things they are... among the rarest of night-folk.
Please, I'm trying to control myself, but she took a little toddler and made him into what we are.
They're upstairs now. He's sleeping. She has him in bed with her. She's sobbing. Said he was sick. Said the attendants at the home didn't care. Lying in a crib, coughing. All alone. He didn't understand. He didn't know what was going on. Kept saying - A hug... A hug... But no one came. They were all in a rush to get out and get ready for New Years Eve and the ones who had to work were sharing a five dollar, pepperoni pizza at the front desk. Mariah Carey was more important than the little ones. Besides, the doctor said he'd probably fade. Not much more they could do and stay in budget.
When she told me, I said - Couldn't you have just given him a few drops like you do all the others?.... She cried. I hate when Sarah cries. Sometimes the attraction is too much. We can't stop and the ones we love most die. A lot of vampires destroy themselves after that. But at the last moment, before the spark goes out, a few pull back and give the marked one a deep, deep drink... and that does it. The blood in their body is vampire blood... the blood in their heart... the blood in their brain. The fluid that gives them 'life' is not, itself, alive. But they 'live' and they 'breathe' and the laugh with delight..... Sarah said when it happened to Larry his baby laughter sounded like chocolate. And when went - A hug! A hug! A hug! She wrapped him in her arms and sublimated out of there.
So now he's ours... and he'll never grow up... Every day will be filled with wonder... Toys will be miraculous things, until he discovers he can fly. Cherubs can, you know. The caretaker's wife, at Laurel Hill Cemetery used to knit warm, little outfits for the three or four cherubs she kept in their cottage. They'd flit through the trees, monuments and mausoleums at night, when no one could see. Sometimes we hear reports of child vampires who, after decades and decades develop something resembling 'adult' souls. But they're older. Those like Larry don't do that. Maybe they're better off?
And they go on. There are cherubs in London who date to Roman times and now they love books about Sophia the Giraffe. I suppose we'll have to get some of those...
The little ghost boy, the polio victim, who stays downstairs in the basement... or used to, wants to see him. He knows about Larry. He's excited. He has a baby brother.
Does all this sound strange?
We're night-folk... It's not strange.
We have 'lives' and we live them and we do the best we can.
I know our friends will understand... They've been with us for six years and that means a lot...
<more next time>
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