The Vampire Jonathon's Time In Renaissance Italy 7/13/18

There was a man living in the town. He was a stranger, far more strange to the Mediterranean world than any vampire. And please know that as a Spanish Jew (at least in my mortal form) this world was fundamental to my very being. I met him at an evening symposium, a dinner and intellectual get together for gentlemen. Please know I used my Spanish name, Tomas de Macabea, to avoid the Inquisition. Agents of that fearsome organization were quite adept at vampire catching. Those of you familiar with the elferina, Marianne's sojourn in the Fortress of Lead, recounted in Vampire Wonderland - Marianne In Britches know this. The rest of you can Google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz Marianne In Britches for countless points of access. I use the name of my twenty first century 'familiar' for convenience. 

Six of us attended that symposium

the music of Tom Odell woke our vampires up 10/15/18

No more lies. Not that's it all been lies, but for seven years I've sometimes pandered to what I imagined you'd want to hear. But that was a mistake. I am not a juvenile. I am not made for teen aged vampire angst. Jonathon (yo-na-TAHN) ben Macabi (ma-KAH-bi) is not fiction. Do you know that? Can you accept that?... 'Reality'... my friends, can be quite intoxicating...

For approximately one thousand years, I have sheltered in this 'eighteen' year old body, the pampered scion of an old Spanish family going back to The Caliphate of Cordoba. But those as yet unfamiliar with my 'nativity' can always click on http://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com ... scroll back to the beginning (August 9th, 2010... I think it was) when one of my esteemed 'familiars' started to transcribe this wandering account right here...

Autumn is a special season for 'life eaters.' Our humors quicken. The chill suits us, for it matches the extreme coolness of our skin... and the increased darkness... well, what's not to like about that?... Life, for those you call 'vampires' slows down. Can you imagine what high summer is like for us? Only eight hours of true darkness and the heat rising from the streets... from the buildings... from the cities... Granted, mortal odors entice us, but the unending, animal stink sickens all but the most feral of our breed. I can tell you what it was like in the past, but you wouldn't believe me. Fecal contamination was everywhere. Bathing, among certain faith communities was seen as a heretical conceit. Please know I speak of more remote (to you, anyway) eras, yet even the nineteenth century and a good bit of the twentieth, if we're going to be truthful. left a lot to be desired.... The twenty-first (stares into camera)... permit me to demure...

So I array myself in my 'uniform.' ... the black jeans, trim leather bootkins, black dress shirt and close fitting quilted leather jacket.... all available at MACY'S, by the way. I get a cut. Not that I need the money... not after centuries of quietly snatching rings and purses from my unsavory victims, along with collectible knick knacks and all... but I do crave the notoriety. Look, by this point I imagined at least an edgy cable series based on my life. But it's all who you know and who does a finely drawn, well put together, Spanish-Sephardic aristocrat with dramatic wavy hair know in L.A.?... If they only knew what they've ignored.

I retell much of this every two years, for new comers basically. There's supposed to be a 'page two' on this blog. I don't know what's on it... even Billy's forgotten.... Memo to self ---- Put a basic synopsis and Vampire Wonderland facts sheet on page two... Till then, if anyone has any questions, please contact Billy on Twitter. That's where he sits. Click Questions For Billy ... He'll be so pleased....

With that, the vampire known as Jonathon ben Macabi finger combs his romantic locks, checks his image in the mirror above the long commode table in the townhouse's  black and white marble floored entrance hall, steps out onto the Society Hill street and disappears into the night...

And check out Tom Odell's evocative music that got through to Jonathon in the first place on Youtube...

Thank you.

THE VAMPIRES HAVE A PLAN TO SAVE THE ROSEANNE SHOW ... 6/1/18

It's been a long quiet spring here at the townhouse. Everybody just minds their own business and keeps to themself. Edith runs back and forth to The Jersey Pines. Seems they got two or three new little Jersey Devil foals and you know how she dotes on children. Sarah loses herself in the bookshop. They redecorated PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK. Still looks all snug and old timey with them wing chairs and pin-up lamps scattered 'round for reading.... the narrow aisles... the collection of tick-tock clocks and 'small game' taxidermy specimens posed on little shelves behind the old (and discreetly, newly refinished) seventeenth century work table-counter. Folks take pictures of the mullioned windows and the dark green wood trimmed facade with the gold lettering all the time. Say it looks real Harry Potterish. Damn, lot a little streets in Society Hill look that way and always have.... brick sidewalks.... scaled down trees. Ghosts love the place. It is a regular ghost resort. They don't have to blind themselves to the future, 'cause it ain't there, 'cept for the cars and narrow streets don't see many a them. Folks walkin' through got that 'modern' look. Guess you can't have everything, 'specially being basically dead and all... But are ghosts really dead? They run around without no fleshy bodies 'cause them fleshy bodies wears out. Yet they still the same as they always was. And a old place, like Philadelphia, got whole bunch a ghosts. Folks who say - nah, we ain't got no ghosts... ain't got no idea. Not every ghost is a show-off. Most just were not brought up that way....

I forget I'm a ghost. I recognise folks know me as Mister Never You Mind, an old Creole gentleman from the French Quarter. But I forget about the 'dying' in a vat of acid, or burnt up tied to a chair and doused with gasoline, 'cause that recollection is just a who mess a unnecessary pain. so I simply let it go.

Jonathon, the main vamperino in this tale (well, at least he thinks he is) still do his nightly rounds, walkin' all over the place. Vampires think like big jungle cats and Center City is his territory. Oh, he fine with another vamperino or two, just so they know he 'alpha.'

Doctor Franklin gettin' active again. They up to somethin' at his scientific installation under the Navy Yard. He not a vampire. He just a scientifically preserved, three hundred and twelve year old, self centered founding father. I don't mess with him much. He got this device that detects us spirit folk and I like to be discrete, bein' a true Southern gentleman and all...

Jonathon got an idea for that Roseanne fiasco. He says they should get Bette Midler ('cause she can be loud and brassy too, you know) to play long lost Aunt Toots.... name's really Aunt Betty, but she always been called Toots... She got some money too... Used to front for a Bette Midler tribute group.... One dark and stormy night when the rest a the Conners is sittin' around talkin' 'bout how could Roseanne be so dumb to let herself get snatched by 'the Gypsies?' (that is somethin' the real Roseanne might say) the front door at 714 Delaware Street SLAMS open and a drenched Aunt Toots (really Bette Midler) holding two stuffed trash bags yells - Well?! Which a you fat asses is gonna help me with my luggage?!.... Thus the show goes on.....

Jonathon wants to get one of his 'familiars' (mortal helpers) with Hollywood connections to call somebody...

Vampires are always thinkin' stuff up.
Night-folk are actually very creative....

<more next time>


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Jonathon Remembers Emotional 100,000 Attend Selichot at the Western Wall

 

Jonathon speaks -

In fiction we read about vampires who shun their mortal faith, replacing it with bleak distortions. In real life few actually do that. Most cling to their creed and desperately try to make sense of it all. We pray for divine understanding. We pray for acceptance and forgiveness, just like mortals do... And we search for 'reasons.' Why do we kill? Who do we kill? What purpose does it serve?

You know me. You know what I believe and what other life-eaters with other faith histories believe too. We 'cull' the wicked and help the worthy live... Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog... That's what we say. I hope it's real. I think it is. I believe it is. What else can I do? And this time of year, with the advent of  Rosh Hashana (literally head or start of the year) I, along with many mortals, attend midnight penance services for forty days, culminating in the great spiritual rebirth on Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). The penance services always start at midnight, or perhaps a few hours later... for it's always darkest before the dawn. A perfect liturgy for vampires. I take advantage of it as often as I can. Some see me, sitting in the back, at an old Sephardic (Rite of Spain) synagogue in Society Hill, the ancient, red brick, Center City district in Philadelphia. There are little brass, rectangular frames, each holds the name of a family, mounted on the back of every pew. Mine says 'de Macabea.' That's my Spanish name. I represent a long line. From time to time I hear of a mortal kinsman. That makes me feel good. Life goes on in all its forms.

As the forty days go on, things begin to change in the sanctuary. The rabbi, cantor and choir wear white robes. The sacred Biblical scrolls in the Ark are dressed in new, white sleeves. Some congregants now dress in the symbolically new and pure color too. For it is not just the 'next' year that is coming, but a 'new' year that is coming. In Ezekiel 36:26 it says - I will create in you a new heart and a new spirit. Many feel that in a most personal and visceral way, especially those who know they receive those things via grace and not, strictly speaking, in return for their own thoughts or actions.

Why does this promise happen yearly? Why is it an annual renewal? Because God never forgets. A promise is a promise. A covenant is a covenant. And that's what I, Tomas de Macabea, or Jonathon ben Macabi, take your pick, experience at this time of year.... I'm sure other life-eaters with other faith histories experience similar things according to their own spiritual calendar.

I know sometimes we fudge a little and post blood drenched tales of death and horror, because according to the numbers that's what readers like. But this isn't fiction and sometimes (most times) the truth comes through.

Vampires are not all monsters. We're just people with a very particular collection of issues.

I hope you understand that.

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PRIONS BECOME WEAPONIZED IN THE VAMPIRE WONDERLAND .. 3/14/17

After what happened in the advisor's residence, Jonathon found refuge in a boarded up row house in another part of town. There were others there, but they ignored him, adrift in chemically induced dreams more vivid and comforting than any part of life they'd ever know. The vampire quietly settled down in an empty basement closet, waiting for sleep to come, though sleep did not come. He sat there, leaning against the wall and he thought. He saw catacombs... bunk beds for the dead... passage after passage of recumbent moldering bodies. Some stared at the wall, others at the bottom of the platform above. A few turned their skulls toward the passageway, as if greeting (or judging) the occasional visitor who sullied the darkness with their flickering oil lamps. It was as if Jonathon was one of those visitors. He silently walked on for quite a while, too scared to turn around and face the horrors behind him. Then one corpse, a long slumbering woman in an ancient, moldering, lacy gown, turned her eyeless, parchment skinned face toward our vampirino and in a dry whisper said - None bear fools' righteousness more than they who fail to see the fault within themselves.... After that she collapsed into dust....

Then he roused from his stupor, quietly left the basement and walked through the creaking and groaning structure giving a 'vampire's kiss' to all the ruined people resting there. A drop of his enchanted blood passed from his mouth and through the lips of each recipient. Three score heartbeats after the act of acceptance they were restored. All the people got up and left that place, returning to their lives. Did they know who did this? Who cares? It was done and they were well.

But Jonathon wanted to go home. He needed the townhouse in Society Hill. He needed his own surroundings. The sound of that whimpering child haunted him. What memories would she have? One soul's 'good' is another soul's 'evil.' He once heard a saying - History is hard on children.....

Boy, is it ever....

When he got back to Philadelphia, Doctor Franklin was waiting for him. He sat at the granite peninsula in the kitchen, with Edith , the witchy-woman housekeeper and Sarah, Jonathon's vampirina consort, playing Risk.

Franklin said - Diversions calm the heart, dear boy. Come, sit down. We'll talk. As you know, I have no love for the current administration. If the 'Annex' in the Poconos had not been there after what they did to me, well, not to me, but to my complex, I think I would have killed myself....

No, you wouldn't - said Jonathon. You'd have screamed and cried and yelled and ruminated, but 'killed yourself?' No.

Well, you tell me. What would I do? - said the old reprobate...

You'd get even - said the vampirino.

Franklin chuckled and went - BINGO! Was testing you! Knew you'd get it! That's it.....

Then he just grins and sits there....

Do you mind telling me what you've done? - asked Jonathon.

Looking down at the Risk game board, Franklin said - I've just conquered Irkutsk, my Andaluciano, hidalgo friend. King of Siberia! King of Siberia! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

Sarah went - Finally. Game's over. I'm done...... Me, too - said Edith and they began to put all the pieces away.

Then, in a quiet voice, he goes - So, Washington was rough, was it?

Jonathon nods..... Franklin said - Close contact always is. You're a vampire. You're stuck with it (reaches into the pocket of the cardigan he wears over his Philadelphia Eagles sweat shirt and puts a little silver cylinder on the counter), but maybe not.

What is that? - asked Sarah.

A septum plug from a piercing shop. What do you think it is, you saintly vampirina, you? This, or what's in it is an almost perfect weapon. It doesn't explode. It just 'changes' things. And don't ask me to open it. God! That's the last thing you want - went the patriot-scientist.

The others just stared at the small, shiny thing glistening on the granite, so after a few heartbeats Franklin continued - Deep within that protective barrier rests a few micro-grams of the prion that causes Jakob- Creutzfeldt Disease... the human version of Mad Cow. Think of it... a simple scrap of something not really living, not really dead... like you all. Not you, Edith, but 'them' I mean. No cell that comes in contact with any of those lethal agents is in any way chemically changed. They're merely contorted into a slightly different shape. It turns out that, that shape is the wrong shape for normal cerebral functioning. Brains stop working. People die. And it's fast.  We can pinpoint its application, or we can be slightly less discriminate.

And then silence.....

After a bit Jonathon says - Tell me more.

Not now - responds the scientist-statesman. But we will test it overseas first.

Against who? - asks Sarah.

Look at the news, my dear. Can't you figure that out? - went Franklin. And, no, official government channels are not 'in' on this. Well, maybe a few rogues are. But it's essentially just me, myself and I, plus everybody else up at the 'Annex.'

Then he laughed, dropped his head on his chest, as if dead and went 'guhk.'.... A quiet, little 'guhk' noise is Franklin shorthand for mysterious, sudden death. The old reprobate has been responsible for a few of them over the years.

Edith said - Yeah, OK, right. Who wants cold drinks?

Jonathon carefully picked up the silver cylinder and studied it.....

What a game changer.....

<more next time>

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Our Vampire Jonathon Discovers a Lethal Tool.. consider the GRENOUER 'Brain Fever' video too.. 2/28/17

 

Our vampire hero, Jonathon, carried out his plan. He sublimated into a posh D.C. residence and abducted a certain, highly disliked presidential advisor. Then he deposited the man down on the street  in a , shall we say, very rough Washington neighborhood. Before rising into the dark, night sky he ripped off the startled functionary's night shirt, howled as only one of the night-folk can ( setting off car alarms, waking sleepers who ran out with pit-bulls chomping at the bit), kicked him in the butt and disappeared. 

They cornered the naked presidential advisor (who shall remain nameless) behind a 2011 Cadillac Escalade. He was whining and crying and going - No...no... Oh God... Oh God........

Some of the guys from the block would get too close with their pitt bulls. He'd go - Get away from me!... The dogs were pulling on their chains and growling and all...... Finally, an old woman goes - He's that fat 'Baby Hitler,' sloppy, government bastid..... Then everybody starts shaking their heads and clicking off even more pictures.... Kids go - Make him dance a little.... Old woman says - No, you're not gonna make him dance a little. You want him to have a heart attack?!....

Then she goes over to the sloppy, government bastid kneeling and shaking behind the Escalade and says - Wouldn't you be more comfortable if I got you like a blanket, or something?.... The guy nods and goes - Uh huh... Then he sniffs back some snot, 'cause it is getting chilly.... Some guy offers him  a flask. He don't want to drink it at first. Guy goes - It's Scotch man! That ain't gonna hurt you!... So he takes a couple swallows...

Five minutes later the 'Baby Hitler' unnamed government guy is wrapped up in a Dora the Explorer polyester blanket (for when the grandbabies visit) on the sofa next to the old woman's sister, Helene, who nods and smiles a lot. They turn the sound down on HGTV so he can make a call on an old fashioned house phone, which he likes, 'cause it's harder to hack into and twelve minutes later a black vehicle coincidentally quite like a Cadillac Escalade pulls up, full of Men In Black who give everybody suspicious looks and bundle him off toward the White House. They keep the Dora the Explorer blanket, but give the old woman an envelope with twenty five hundred dollars in it, so she don't care. Helene says - Bye... and they leave. She wants to hear how much that beach house in South Carolina costs anyway.

The Men In Black try to get everybody off the street and back in their houses. But that doesn't mean anything. Pictures and video are already going viral all over the internet.

When they take the guy in the Dora The Explorer blanket into the White House (the private 'residence' upstairs), the president asks one question. He says - How did this happen?.... The advisor tells him about the man who came through the wall and swooped him up into the dark, night sky and carried him over the city and left him, naked, in the middle of that 'dangerous' neighborhood..... The president goes - You son of a bitch! What the f#ck are you talking about?.... The man in the child's blanket says - You go to hell, you shit for brains! I know what happened! I KNOW what the hell I'm talking about!.... One of the Men In Black clears his throat and says - Excuse me, Mister President, has anyone briefed you on the 'Night-Folk Protocol?' ..... Thirty minutes later he knew it all. He knew about the 'lead room.' He knew about the failed attempts to kill Lenin and later Hitler with our own, domesticated vampires and he knew how easy it was to 'turn' them. Such easily distracted, fickle creatures they are... but sometimes very effective.

Now Jonathon was planning to stay in the capital (or is it capitol?) for a bit, but vampires feel things through the ether (the matrix that supports everything). Franklin... it seemed to be coming from the Doctor. So he sublimated back through the starry sky and entered the townhouse twenty one hundred and sixty heartbeats before dawn. Edith was up (when DID she sleep?). And Doctor Franklin was there waiting.

Our vampire hero said - Franklin, why aren't you up at the 'Annex?'.... The artificially preserved (but not vampire) scientist-statesman sighed and said - I came back to show you this.... and he handed him a small tablet, showing the video of a poor, unfortunate woman thrashing about with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease... 'Mad Cow' for humans.

Jonathon watched and read the captions at the bottom, as the scenes changed.

Franklin said - Prions... all because of a tiny scrap of genetic material that makes viruses seem complex. Yet they're the most infectious substance on Earth. And they don't reproduce. They recruit. When a disease causing prion presses itself against a benign specimen... and there are many benign specimens throughout nature, the innocent one is corrupted, becoming just like its attacker. Then it goes off. The cycle goes on exponentially. Infected human brains eventually turn to mush.

And it all comes from eating tainted meat? - asked the vampire. (he'd been watching the video.)

Franklin nodded.

It's very hard to come by. The Center For Infectious Disease has some... a few research labs... the government. - whispered Franklin....

They use it? - asked the vampire....

Of course - said Franklin.

For a weapon, I mean? - ads the vampire....

The scientist-statesman nodded again...

<more next time>
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A VAMPIRE GOES ABOUT HIS ROUNDS AND TEACHES US ABOUT SOUL THIEVES... 12/25/15

Jonathon picks up where he left off Monday night~~~

Not all the gold coins are given to homeless people. Believe me. Center City is not over run by them. I just know where they hide. I just know who they are. But sometimes I share with working people. I'll walk through a hospital and slip one of the velvet, drawstring sacks (actually, my Hanukah-'Gelt' bags. I've been giving them out for weeks now) into the pocket of a hardworking orderly.. or a practical nurse... the overlooked people. They don't make that much. I can help them. They rarely see me. Vampires can effect people that way. It's more instinct than art. Cats can do it too. If I really 'feel' for a mortal they get a few sacks... each with the carefully folded note inside telling them where to go to sell the coins and also that I meant them to have them. I learned. I have to put that line in, because one recipient put an ad in the papers trying to find the rightful owner. I'm sure he's in the presence of God. He died young. Where else would he be?.... a saint.

Though not all are saints. There are other things out there too. Not vampires. Not other vampires, or ghouls, or witches... nothing like that. These have no preternatural identity. They sit... hidden in plain sight... Maybe in a bus shelter, or on a bench. They mumble to themselves, emitting evil, little giggles. Their eyes glow orange in the night. Some smell like stale, wet ashes. I'm not talking about mentally disturbed people. These are different. Many times the mouth never moves, yet words, or what passes for words, comes out. And the trickle of blood from a nostril is not a trickle of blood, but a greasy, red worm. I hate them. They trick people. They grab people. A feverish hand flies out, locking on a wrist. Then the language... a low, guttural barrage of words. 'Soul thieves' they are. Oh, the victims still move and talk and work and go about their lives... or what used to be their lives. And it can go on for decades... until the mortal dies.... I've seen human babies, snatched early on, exist as shells of what they might have been for the better part of a century. Puppets, they are... and sorely used. Eleven are on 'death row' right now.

Lesser fiends I'd just kill. I'd sublimate  [when a vampire passes into and out of living tissue, the cellular and molecular structure is destroyed, leaving naught but a viscous, oozing puddle]through them and that would be it. But, just as you, I am a soul too and I don't want to lose it.

So I stroll back toward the townhouse. Quite a distance really. I'm walking through a cunning, little gothic courtyard of The Wharton School now, The University of Pennsylvania's famous nursery for titans of industry and powerful money barons and that's in the 'thirties.' Our place in Society Hill is over three miles away. So I walk and I think and I communicate..... Billy types it all up... brightens the vocabulary a bit... deepens the atmosphere... He's good at that.

And please don't believe him when he tells you we give him 'looks' because he hasn't made us famous yet. He reads it all wrong. We know how hard he works. It's he who craves the spotlight. Every writer is an actor. Every writer is a 'ham.' They perform on the page ( or lap top screen ) instead of the stage. That's all.

Now permit me some privacy. I'd like to distribute a coin sack or two to some troubled undergrad. They wander around now. The night can be quite attractive. I'm sure I'll find one soon.

Peace of The Season to you all.

(with that he turns and walks away)

<more next time>

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VAMPIRES AREN'T MORTAL BUT THEY NEVER STOP BEING HUMAN... 11/11/15

This is Danny speaking. Please excuse any typographical errors. It's late, even for a vampire. The sun will begin to rise in two hours and I am sensitive to light. Once in a while I'll endure a snippet of violet dusk, but only once in a while. My resting place is not grand, like those other vampires. There are no specially designed and luxuriously furnished sleeping cabinets. I make due with what I have. So let me begin.

I desperately wanted to see my family. Heidi knew. I told her. She didn't think it was a good idea. Now she was a runaway. Her familial estrangement was discretionary. I was abducted. Mine was not. We rode around the city, snug in the back of 'our' big checker cab. I say 'our' because we always had the same driver... a familiar of sorts. A Jamaican, who considered himself fairly adept at 'Voo Doo' and the African-European-Native mélange that is Caribbean Witchcraft. They say the term 'Voo Doo' comes from the French words (and Gallic spelling is not a skill of mine) Veaux Dieu, which means 'Old God' or 'Old Gods.'

There are many Voo Doo 'schools.' Indeed, the symbols, services and accoutrements are merely a means to concentrate and focus  the natural abilities of the human conduit. Some incorporate West African, Native American and Christian divinities. Others feature ancient Celtic gods. One often overlooked 'school' practiced by a line of 'Wise Women' among the old Jewish families of Charleston and New Orleans calls on Scriptural Arch Angels and Seraphim. Saints too. A particularly flamboyant early nineteenth century practitioner, Margaleet De Montoya, from an original Spanish Jewish family come over on the Saint Charles in 1654, held court in her Low Country rice plantation, Evermore. They say she had a vampire 'familiar' of her own. I bring this up, because that Jonathon, also known as Tomas, whom regular readers all know, was said to be a friend of hers. Though I don't know if he was actually the 'familiar' in question. One night, if we meet, I'll ask him.

Excuse these digressions. I know you expected to read about my return home. But it did not play out as I expected. I'll tell you. Just give me a little more time. Vampires have souls you know. We're not mortal, but we are human...

And a self-taught specimen like I am is more human than most.

I'm sorry. I can't tell you more tonight.. I'm sorry... Please let me sit here and stare at my movie... THE ROSE, from 1980... Driven artists are a lot like vampires too...

We need so much... but get so little.

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Vampires Get Political ... 3/31/15

They're in the den, or the family room, or whatever you want to call it, watching David Letterman. Jonathon likes Dave. Vampires like good humor. People don't realize that, but they really do. .

It's me, Billy. I'm typing this tonight. They don't even know I'm here. It's like on a reality show... after a while they don't even see the cameras.... Baby Moses Baskets are all done. Big, tall displays all wrapped up in amber colored cellophane  and tied with yellow ribbons. Each one loaded with traditional seasonal goodies.... chocolate covered jelly rings (the ring symbolizes the never ending Covenant)... chocolate covered marshmallow logs (I forgot what they symbolize... something ecclesiastical ... take your pick)... orange flavored gum drop wedges... honey-sesame candies... educational, hardback, children's books for the kiddies... his and hers Tag Huer watches for the grown-ups.... and a little-boy-baby-doll all swaddled in a soft, blue blanket, playing the part of Baby Moses... Baby Moses must be thinkin' --- Damn, how'm I supposed to get comfy with all the crap that goof got shoved in here? Real Baby Moses would a peed on it. One of the books in each basket had a $10,000 VISA gift card in it with a stipulation forbidding use for alcohol purchases and casino cash advances. Jonathon learned from before. You never know with homeless people. Some got serious issues.

Sarah said - I like when Dave ends with a music guest. And I have got to say the yearly Darlene Love appearances around The Holidays where she sang 'Christmas' were the best. Oh look! He's GOT a music act... The Suffers. See? He gets the best ones.... Jonathon tried to say something. Sarah went - Shhh, let me listen.... They were Afro-Cuban-Soul. Real good. Front woman's the best. Then James Corden came on, but I needed a bathroom break and missed the first few minutes... (got back)... Gee, BETTER CALL SAUL is real hot. Corden had the Bob Odenkirk (forgive spelling) guy from the show... Sarah watches him. Loves it. Vampires don't spend a lot a time killing people. They go for walks... drink wine... buy all kinds a crap for themselves ... order fancy shit from CRATE & BARREL or WILLIAMS-SONOMA. I don't know where all the catalogs come from. Companies must target vampires. They watch a lot of television too.

Jonathon's upset about @trevornoah taking over for Jon Stewart (hey, they're both 'Jonathons') 'cause of that flip 'Israel doesn't know how to be peaceful' line... Says he's gonna write a letter. I say - Tweet, or Email... He gives me a look. Technology ain't his thing. We're all supposed to know that by now...... on TV David Beckham and James Corden are doing an underwear thing. Wow, Beckham's got too many tattoos, like an eight week old plaster cast. Man, what lampshades the Nazis 'd make out a him.

Sarah says - You know, Jonathon, if you're so worked up about that new Daily Show guy, why don't you do something about it?.... What? - he says..... She goes - Confront him. Where is he, Los Angeles? Go out there. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. What's his name will let you use his plane. See, if you ask me, night-folk don't get involved enough..... What do you call 'cull the wicked. save the worthy?' - he says..... Micro, that's micro. I'm talking about on a macro level. change the world in a big way. If I was a vampire in the nineteen forties I'd have killed Hitler, Tojo, Stalin and all their acolytes. Maybe some others too...... Jonathon goes - We go through this all the time! Deranged dictators ACCEPT the existence of the paranormal world. They HAVE vampire bodyguards, for God's sake. (then he points to me) You know that blog 'rerun' he ran last night, Roman emperors, night-folk imperial assassins and all that? Well, NEWS FLASH! They're STILL like that. You think Putin and Whoever the got in China don't have a few vampires stashed away somewhere? It's not so easy. They know about lead. They know what it can do to us. Look! What did that 'unofficial' Vatican group do to 'Papa?!" They kept him for centuries!!!

Edith comes in from the kitchen and goes - What are you fighting about? I can't hear my movie..... Jonathon goes - Nothing. We're just talking.... Edith says - Nice Baby Moses Baskets. Who's gettin' them this year?.... He goes - I don't know..... But he shakes his foot, so you know he's getting nervous.... Sarah says - I am not trying to fight with you. I just think you should be a little more confrontational where it counts... He goes - Uh huh, you don't know. You just don't know....Then he starts rattling off stuff real fast in Old Spanish..... Edith goes - Stop it! Nobody understands when you Ricky Ricardo us like that. Stop it!.... He stomps out and goes upstairs muttering medieval Andalucian oaths.  They watch him go.... Edith says - I'm gone back to Gene Kelly... and leaves. Sarah switches to some PBS thing about Helena Rubinstein and Elizabeth Arden. But she's not really paying attention. Three heartbeats later, she turns to me and says - Billy, you know when he mentioned that new guy from The Daily Show?..... I go - Yeah?.... She says - Make it clickable. That way any reader, and I know we have readers, who wants to say something can. Either way. I don't care. For or against. Let them talk. That's the important thing. Let them talk. I know what I'm going to say.

So I made it clickable. We'll see what happens.... Night-folk venture into politics.

Another evening at the townhouse.....

Annie's out somewhere with the elferinas. That's all I know....

<more later>

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Night-Folk Observe The Human Condition... 1/1/15

I will cross over to my old 'home.' I will re-assume the burden of vampirism soon... But not this night... not this 'Eve' of The Trinitarian New Year. This night I go forth once more and Sarah goes with me. I enjoy walking the streets on nights like this. Holidays reveal the truth of things. The convenient numbness of ordinary dates is swept away, replaced by heightened sensitivity and emotions. Sometimes this temporary condition tilts toward the good, as it does during Christmas, or Passover time, or even the universality of a 'hot dogs for everybody' town square Independence Day. But more often than not 'they' (people) just become more full of themselves and aware of their own desires.

It's cold and crisp. The stars are bright. The firmament is so precise, I can see scuff marks on the surface of the moon, though I am not privy to who, or what made them. Center City is alive. Twenty somethings flit from club to club. Tittering girls hug their naked arms and shoulders, as they tap-tap along in high heels. A few intelligent examples bring their coats. Fathers would be so pleased. Their gelled up dandies are little better... shirttails out, cuffs rolled back, yelling to all the 'bros' and 'dudes' in loud, artificially lowered voices (what's the opposite of falsetto?). Some carry bottles of beer. 

Older revelers huddle in high priced booths, hidden from the masses in palatial dining salons selling status and meat to the rich and almost rich. They laugh at jokes from last night's talk show monologues, drink fifteen dollar cocktails and suck bits of flesh from between their teeth. I could watch them for hours. There's an oblivious complacency about them, like the court at Versailles before the fall. Though this crew would probably mutate rather than disappear.

But tonight we look for other souls.... scared people... threatened people... struggling people. They buy party fare in mean bodegas and convenience stores (convenient for whom?) for familial get togethers in rude walk-ups, or crumbling narrow row houses.... a box of doughnuts... a bag of chips... perhaps an artificial tasting, chemical laden 'dip.'

We drop paper money where they will find it. How wide their eyes grow. How quick their hands move. A 'twenty' here. A 'C' note there. Some grow furtive, lest neighbors see and 'try something.' Others continue smooth as silk. A pound or two of tavern ham beats canned Vienna Sausages any day. We don't judge. 

One girl, foreign, East Indian, I think she was, though dressed in 'skinny' jeans and grimy shearling boots, was happy. She approached the counter with two scratch-off lottery tickets. The slacker clerk, deep in a convo with visiting colleagues about the merits of this or that rolling paper tried to avoid her. He looked. They all did, what with her long, dark wavy hair and that little diamond chip in her nose. She tried not to notice. Finally, after thoroughly exhausting the academic ins and outs of rolling papers, he turns to the girl and says - Yeah?...  She shows him the scratch-offs and says - May I please redeem these for the money?.... Clerk says - I-I-I can't help you. You gotta do it in the machine (they have a completely incomprehensible, digital gambling machine.) Get a voucher. Bring it back and I'll cash it.... Girl goes - I do not know how to work that type of machine. The other one, the lady often helps me. Could you please help me?.... He looks at the tickets... two of them... each good for one hundred and fifty dollars. I suppose he didn't like that. Why should he help her get three hundred dollars? His friends didn't like it either. I could tell by their faces... dull, flat, expressionless hate.... He says - Nope, can't leave the register. Go read the instructions. You can't read the instructions?   

She takes her tickets and goes to the machine. Sarah and I pretend to browse containers of hummus, but we watch and we listen. The slight, small girl reads the screen and scans her tickets. She has her heart set on the  money. I can tell. Though five heartbeats later she moans. The machine doesn't care about her either. The screen says - Three hundred dollars has been credited to your balance. Didn't even let her pick her game. Just spat out a whole tray full of ordinary, daily number 'quick picks.'... She blanched and sighed, whispering - No.. no.. no.... Then she found a bit of courage and called for the clerk. She said - Excuse me. It scanned my tickets and gave me all this..... Clerk comes over. NOW he comes over. He goes - You must have picked that.... She pleads - No. I told you I did not understand this machine. I told you that. Can you switch it? Can you cancel it? Please, can you help me?... His friends at the coffee station take it all in too. Clerk goes - Nope. Lottery's a whole different thing. You gotta call them..... The girl doesn't know what to do. I think she came out to buy treats for her family for New Year's Eve and all. Why they'd send her, I don't know. Maybe the others are children, or older people who can't speak English?.... One of the guys by the coffee station yells - Turn it over. There's an eight hundred number on the back... She doesn't understand. Clerk shakes his head. Guy yells again. She takes one of the papers and looks. Clerk says - You got a cell phone?... Anyone could see the store phone right on the counter but he didn't offer it.

If I didn't take vows. If I was a vampire already, I'd kill all three of those guys.... By now the girl's crying. No, weeping would be a better word. She's standing there, staring. She doesn't know what to do.... Clerk says - I don't know what to tell you. Call 'em. You got a phone..... Then he just sits there.

Sarah slips an emerald ring off her finger. She looks at me. I pass her a few hundred dollar bills. She rolls them and puts them in the ring. Then she taps the girl who sniffs and looks up. Sarah holds up 'the gift.' The ring's got to be worth at least nine thousand dollars, not counting the three hundred in cash. Girl doesn't say a word. 'Vampire eyes' can do that. The other three creeps don't look. They think it's funny. They don't want to do anything for her. Sarah nods. The girl takes the ring and the money and stuffs it in her pocket. Sarah whispers - Go... The girl runs out. She did take her Daily Number tickets. Hope she wins plenty. We slipped out too.

Maybe I won't kill that clerk...but I can scare him plenty. Late nights in that place will never be the same again.

Wait til I cross over. Wait til I begin to sublimate. Wait til he starts seeing things.

That's how it goes.... 'Wait.'..... Everything is 'wait.'

Maybe this year will be different?... Happy New Year....

Have a good one...

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PROGRESSION TOWARD LUNA .... our unusual band visits a strange place..... 7/20/14

Space is quiet. When worlds collide there is no sound. And space is dark... an endless frigid void sprinkled with tiny, orbs representing various degrees of insignificance. Tomas sat by a window gazing at pinpoints of light, the distant hearts of remote planetary systems. He was silent, almost meditative.... a post-vampire lost among the stars. Such things he's seen... The exquisite tinkling fountains of the Caliphate of Cordoba... Elizabethan London.... dhows off The Yemen... Carnival in Venice. He was a vampire for roughly one thousand years and mortal for eighteen years before that. Now adrift... No trim, leather bootkins.... No finely tailored white shirts, black jeans, or other trademarks from those days. Vampires are vain, you know. Iberian aristocrats are too... Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi, presently in a large, midnight skinned, triangular craft floating toward the lesser sister in our Earth-Moon binary system.

He thought about Philadelphia and all his plans... A better world... A spiritual place.... Magic and the mundane reconciled... An enchanted existence where science and the ethereal plane intersect. But now it was over. Power must be controlled. Magic is power and those immersed in it must be contained. Governments and the people behind them demand it. 

He was too vain. Not satisfied to be dead, or whatever that state was. So now Doctor Franklin's Anti-Enchantment Bureau is in adversarial hands. 'Enemy' wouldn't be the right term. They're our government after all and the self absorbed scion from Al Andalus refugees toward Luna..... Not the vampire-physician-protegee of Doctor Franklin, but the world she's named after. 

Crew members padded about, outfitted in those attractive, yet strange, trim, navy and white, Early American uniforms. And were they all really named Jedidiah, or Lucas, or Absalom? Doctor Franklin liked such conceits. Where'd the fresh flowers come from? And the 'Spanish Ladies' (goldfish)? Tomas picked up a decorative trinket from the dark, polished table beside him, some silver shape, maybe it was pewter. Then he opened his hand and let in drift back to the fine, ebony surface. There was gravity, just enough. Franklin never said where it came from.

The others were off somewhere. Onboard timepieces read 7PM. Perhaps they were dining? Sarah and Luna, being vampire, might ingest clear broth, or wine. They could have that. The blogger, Billy, is human. And although Doctor Franklin is a three hundred and seven year old, scientifically preserved 'Founding Father,' he's still essentially human too.

Odd that Tomas wasn't with them. He's human too now. But he has to think. You know how spiritual he is. There was a momentary hiccup. The ship changed direction... just a minute correction. But now he could see the Moon, a large, gray-silver globe... so sharp... so tuned in and precise. The ship drew closer. Where would they land?

He motioned toward a footman... a 'Rupert.' or an 'Eli,' or something and quietly asked - Where do we land? How will we live?..... But the well trained factotum just gave him a cool drink (in a spill-proof, sterling, sippy cup) and smiled.

They passed over the rim of a large crater... like a scene from Kubrick's 1968 epic. Tomas loved that film, even if his part in it was thirteen years too late. But the floor to the crater was not there. He still had a vampire's keen sense of perception. He knew where the surface should be, but it just was not there.

The space-faring craft, The Poor Richard descended down through the lunar crust... through a cylindrical portal round as a Mayan cenote ... flat and steady, like a giant elevator, finally entering into an impossibly immense expanse more than eighteen hundred miles across. And Tomas saw the green, moist, true face of the moon. Rivers traced lacy paths through ancient forests. There were towns. Well, at least he saw the lights. An orange radiance... a miniature sun occupying the space where the core should be, bathed all in a late day glow.

W-what is this thing? - whispered Tomas.....

Your new home, sir - said the Rupert, or Eli.

But the former vampire, who'd seen many things, just stared....

Not even Byzantium came close to this...

<more next time>

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THE VAMPIRES, DOCTOR BENJAMIN FRANKLIN & OTHER NIGHT-FOLK FLEE GOVERNMENT FORCES... 7/17/14

SCENE - Doctor Franklin's vast, cutting edge, research facility, beneath The Philadelphia Navy Yard.

Technicians and functionaries race down a bright, sterile passageway. Lights flicker. People scream. Small, tactical concussive bombs thrown by advance squadron of 'Black Knights,' covert U.S. government forces used to confront magical types and crypto-biologic creatures. Bodies shatter. Limbs fly off. Eyes liquefy . Tongues sizzle, swell like baked balonies and explode. A female wearing  a white lab coat throws squirming mer-folk toddler, as her torso splinters into a million bits in an almost fireworks-like nimbus of blood. But a Black Knight catches the pudgy sea-child before it smacks against the polished concrete floor.

Up ahead, DOCTOR FRANKLIN, the vampire TOMAS, his consort SARAH, the vampire-physician LUNA and their 'verified' tweeter/ blogger, BILLY make a mad dash for safety, accompanied by various hangers-on. The mad doctor, astride his souped-up  electric scooter, wispy hair flying in the wind leads them.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - You fall, you're dead. That's it. We're not stopping.

BILLY pivots 'round to catch a glimpse of their pursuers. TOMAS grabs him, just as a severed human head ricochets off the walls, floors and ceiling, bouncing passed DOCTOR FRANKLIN who unceremoniously smashes it under the wheels of his vehicle.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Careful the blood! 

More Black Knights round a corner up ahead. Our heroes are caught... (maybe)...

DOCTOR FRANKLIN yells - The guns! The guns! Shoot 'em! shoot 'em! Shoot 'em!

They pull out little 'glass' pistols with a series of carefully ground, crystalline discs mounted in the barrel. LUNA fires off a shot. 

The crotch of one of the dark, spandex clad Black Knights up ahead vibrates for an instant before disengaging into sub-atomic particles and raining down upon the floor. He tries to run, awkwardly, but crumples down and dies. DOCTOR FRANKLIN whoops!

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Watch my head! 

TOMAS fires (all the time running). Black Knight number two loses an arm plus a big hunk of shoulder, tries to run, but it's a little rough maintaining balance. SARAH vaporizes his cranium. BILLY eviscerates the last one. losing a belly full of slightly digested mac and cheese upon the floor.

And the 'Knights' behind them keep on coming.

Our heroes slip and slide on the bodies, as they follow DOCTOR FRANKLIN  'round a corner toward an opened portal leading to a 'safe room.' Then, the ceiling above their heads begins to sweat... then leak... then cave, as an interior 'tsunami ' floods the hallway, washing them into the waiting refuge...

DOCTOR FRANKLIN yells - CLOSE!

A twenty four inch thick crystalline slab (ever so slightly milky) slams down sealing them off, as two Black Knights smash against its exterior surface. DOCTOR FRANKLIN (struggling to his feet) thumbs his nose at them, as he leads them up some steps to a round chamber lined with fluted alcoves.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Get in. Get in Get in!

Each follows his lead, grabs an alcove and buckles up.... Nothing happens.

Tomas - Oughtn't you Say something, old man???

FRANKLIN smiles.

Then WHOOSH!!! The round chamber streaks up a cylindrical passage, like a sealed canister in a pneumatic tube. Seconds later they break through and rise above a battle, as government operatives, local Philly cops and Anti-Enchantment Bureau personnel slug it out... A few errant Bigfoot creatures and other 'guests' from the exotic 'hotel' (really a menagerie) join the melee.

Three heartbeats later, the mysteriously powered crystalline conveyance (harmonics, Doctor Franklin's science of choice, requires quartz-like substances) 'mates' with a circular opening on the under side of a large, silently hovering, midnight black, triangular air craft (who knows? maybe space craft too?). Seconds layer, crew members tricked out in snug, updated, navy blue and white, eighteenth century Continental Army uniforms help them out and lead all into a grey hushed salon with ergonomic recliners. Each takes a seat...

EXTERIOR SHOT of huge craft, as it ascends above dazzling, nighttime cityscape and flies off...

Back inside....

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - We knew this was coming. I've had offers. The Russians want me... The Chinese... The Canadians...

SARAH - The Canadians? 

He nods.

SARAH - Who brokered that?

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Seth Rogen.

BILLY stifles a laugh.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Don't judge. Quite the operative, that one. It's all just a cover.

TOMAS - And your decision? 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - As your countrymen say, my dear boy, 'Que sera, sera.'... (to smartly tricked out crew member) Some grog, please, Jedidiah....

Seconds later they slice through an aurora kissed ionosphere into the endless vault of space... 


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The Formerly Dead Vampire, Tomas, Gets 'Reborn'..... 7/5/14

When it was over, these cute, little chimes went off, just like the ones that play when an LG washer or dryer completes a cycle. Those in attendance politely applauded. Doctor Franklin turned and bowed. The effort made him fart a little, but he didn't care. A faint pressure wave emanated from the polished, bronze box. Everyone felt it. The 'clean room' was infused with a subtle, organic, 'human' scent.... rather like those low cost musky colognes from the nineteen seventies. 

Doctor Franklin said - Open the box. Get him out!..... But after hearing all that Old Castillian mumbling and all, everyone expected a successful outcome. Two functionaries (I guess they were technicians) fussed with the clasps. A pin light shot down from above, hitting the shiny box and highlighting this second nativity. Franklin loves special effects and theatrical gestures, you know. He poised for a portrait in a raccoon skin cap eons before Davy Crockett. A regular eighteenth century Will Rogers he was, though with a knife-like, white-hot cunning. 

And when the 'new' Tomas popped up out of the box, it was The Rocky Horror Show all over again. People cheered. They waved tiny American flags (Fourth of July weekend, you know) locked elbows and danced little jigs. ....

So similar to the original Tomas. That agency was good. They really found an unbelievable lookalike. Too bad he 'died' for the part. Not his flesh. Just his 'everything else.' When they helped him climb out of the polished, bronze box he trembled. He blinked. He stumbled. 

What's his body temperature? - yelled Franklin...... Technician Number One made a quick scan and said -  Thirty four degrees Celsius, sir. - he said.... Now normal Celsius human body temperature is thirty seven degrees. Three degrees discrepancy is a big thing, maybe just over ninety degrees Fahrenheit. and apparently it was dropping.

Franklin yelled - Luna! Go get him! ....... With that, his vampire-physician protege pushed through the crowd and ran up on the platform followed by her own cadre of medics. They wrapped him in a pliable metallic membrane and carefully passed him down onto a gurney. He looked gray. His eyes fluttered. But he whispered something. Tomas, also known as Jonathon, whispered something. He called the attractive, vampire-physician over, pulled her close and said - Vampirido? Estoy vampirido? Si, o no? ( Vampire? Am I vampire? Yes, or no?)........ Luna sighed, shook her head and said - No....... And he laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Photographers shouldered close to snap pictures. I don't know who sent them, or how they got in. But they were there and with today's digital technology the images would go viral in no time.

Tomas put up his hand and said - No, not like this. Not now. Please... please... please.......... 

Ever the vain gentleman. Al Andalus dies hard...... But the pictures were posted before they wheeled him out of the room. Young people, magical types, gathered at venues throughout Center City, saw the images on their smart phones and cheered.

Somebody told Doctor Franklin and he went - Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

I don't know what happened to the picture takers. A guy next to me said one was a robot, a human-like robot, developed in Japan.... Who knows? But if that's true, what the hell did he need a phone for? Wouldn't they build that circuitry right into his eye?

Meanwhile, Sarah, Tomas' rather saintly, vampire consort, raced toward the Bureau, as a genuine Jersey Devil swooped above the crowd in Washington Square with commercial grade sparklers in his hands... 

Independence Day, 2014..... More next time.....

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Paul Potts sings Nessun Dorma ... Symbolic to the Vampirino known as Tomas de Macabea in so many ways... 3/28/14

I know you probably saw this before. It did go viral, but the material is legendary. Some claim it heals sickness and restores faith. The vampirino we know as Tomas de Macabea considers it positively Biblical. And if you know our world, you know how he feels about Scripture. So listen to it before you read this, or after. It won't hurt. guaranteed.



AND NOW THE EPISODE~~~~~



The taxi pulls up to the curb, right in front of this most venerable edifice. Tomas, Sarah and the 'born' witch (still in Laura Linney mode) get out. She (the witch) breathes into the palm of her hand, where a large, glittering diamond slowly materializes. They regard it a moment. Then she raps on the window. The all-in-one-piece and resurrected driver opens it. Witch hands it to him and says - Here, for your trouble... He takes it, stares incredulously, looks at the witch and drives off. Then they ran up the red granite steps and sublimated through the original glass and gilt doors into the Second Empire grandeur of Philadelphia's 'La Scala' The Academy of Music. All was quiet. The oldest continuously operating grand opera house in thee Imperial Republic of The United states of America slept soundly. A 'dark' night.... A 'down' night.... Locked tight and guarded by the best digital security 'presence' gold can buy. Too bad science is so physical.


Tomas lead the way through large burnished doors into the lobby, dark, save for tiny, flickering bits of illumination dancing on the wicks of rare and meticulously maintained gas lights. Fire protection was first rate too. He walked to the middle of the space, held up a hand and whispered 'sleep.' Then he turned to the witch, who nodded in agreement and wherever they might be throughout the cavernous 'wedding cake' the guards all drifted off, secure in their slumber til dawn. He pushed open a door, turned to the others and said - Shall we? And they entered into the almost completely dark (security lights only here), jewel box interior of  this vast cathedral of the arts. Tiers of boxes rose to the heavens and even in the gloom the three ton chandelier reflected bits of light. Tomas just stood there and took it all in. He said - The thing happens here... Sarah went - Shhh, Whisper. Your voice sounds so loud...... He said - And you feel like we're not alone?.... She nodded. Even the powerful witch looked concerned.... So he did whisper and said - Maybe we should sit down. Best in the house, by today's standards. Front and center? Shall we, ladies?..... They silently tip toed down the center aisle, took off their furs, laying them across nearby seats and sat down. Two heartbeats later the lush, dark pelts disassembled, becoming living minks (or perhaps they were sables?) and slithered up, over and under the rows before disappearing into the ether. The witch whispered - Shit! I hate when that happens....... Then they heard a low, barely audible voice up above. The demure vampirina and even the witch jumped, twisting 'round to scan the darkness behind them. Tomas stood up and turned toward the looming shadows. Three tiers above, maybe four, a dull, white gleam shone in the darkness. A face, or what can only have been a face, looked down from a box. It mumbled something and pointed. Then evaporated into the blackness....... Tomas whispered - Behold, the man in the upper box. A cadaverous presence. Been here since the beginning. And no one knows who he is. I sat next to him once. During La Traviata, I think. Eighteen fifty seven. He frequents the narrow, little dark, empty space at the back of the boxes. They say his body's still here. Can you imagine what the prop rooms are like? Sarah, are you alright?..... I'm alright. And I've seen Johannon and the boy in the cellar, I think, but they're 'our' ghosts. This is different - she whispered... The witch just said - Look, you bastards, when do I get my baby? When does he get here... And she was beginning to veer off 'Laura Linney' mode toward her true, repulsive self. 


The dead presence, the man in the box leaned out again. This time he just laughed, although the face never changed. And the galaxy of crystals on the huge chandelier tinkled ominously.


Then another voice broke the darkness... Peter's voice. And he said - We're already here.....


That's when Boopsie cried... an innocent, little, baby wail, as the long, abiding, white faced, expressionless entity held her out over the void.


Ghosts don't often do that...


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