The Book of Sarah

There are others. We do not come from the same line, mortal or immortal, but we share the city and so make common cause. My oldest companion in this place is The Transvestite. She is not really a transvestite, but a tall, statuesque black woman who burlesques such an individual to fool the populace. It is all a question of misdirection, an old magicians'  trick. They see her surface incongruity and fail to recognize her  own true, special self.  She goes by the name of Bylah and if my recollections are correct, she has been 'working the night shift' as they say for about twohundred and fifty years. At first she used to haunt the inns and taverns. Now she picks up a meal or two in the clubs and bars. She was traveling with some French-West Indian voodoo woman, who turned out to be more than just a follower of the old gods. That's how she caught the midnight fever,but she's a good soul and like me, takes only those deserving of death .Then there is Bob. He appears to have about fortytwo mortal years and we can't remember when we first encountered him. I think he just combusted on the street one night, like that old time Philadelphia preacher, Father Divine. Even Bob can't remember his real name or how long he has been called to this mode of existance But he is a 'nice guy' and his name appears on various mailing lists for Atlantic City casinos (yes, we go down to the seashore from time to time), so we get tickets to all the shows. I liked Charo the best. I presume it was because of all the Spanish music. You can keep all the illusionists though. When one can work a bit of true magic, one loses patience for the ersatz sort. But there is something about the little mute one from Penn and Teller. His soul is deep. He knows things. I believe he would make a very good vampire. If he suddenly disappears from the act, or developes an aversion to daylight, don't say I did not warn you. For now, I have been working my 'wilkravitz' familiar person very hard. I feel guilty, so let me permit him to stop this typing. I think I will go to The Footlocker and purchase him a new pair of sneakers. Who knows, perhaps I will purchase a pair or two for myself as well?

How Sarah Lost Her Family~~~

Some insights into Sarah's early life, first appearing two years ago, but never even read...  Please click on this. Do that tiny bit of magic and make the tale appear... I will do as I promised. I will tell you about Sarah. They say that time is an illusion. They say that everything that was, is and will be occurs instantaneously . Our minds perceive them as unique events unfolding in a seemingly endless sequence. But that is just God's trick. There is one universal celestial jewel, yet it sparkles with a trillion lights reflecting the radiance of Heaven. I believe that Sarah is one of those lights, one of the brightest lights. And when I discovered her it was my special blessing to love her and my sacred duty to keep her safe. She is the daughter of well respected school teachers and her childhood was warm and secure.Her people were known for their good deeds. And when she was a bit older, they sent her off to a small college, rich in history and colonial ambiance. But she never graduated. Her aging parents, in an attempt to safeguard her future, gave their life's savings to a blood sucker much more vicious than I could ever be. He was a self-styled investment adviser, a money conjurer. They believed his lies and so lost everything. For the only sorcery he could accomplish was transforming other people's wealth his own. Sarah was compelled to make her solitary way in the world with what little money remained. She opened a cozy, nocturnal book shop. She opened Philadelphia After Dark, the place where I found her. The place where I  fell under the spell of her pure, warm beauty. For me it is a holy place. Not a large, overpowering one, like some Gothic cathedral or the Temple Mount, but rather like a small spring hidden deep in the green, mossy shadows and dedicated to a beloved saint. I kept watching her, from the shop and from other sites as well. And I think she is the last child of my human line. I am certain. A father knows. A father can sense his own.

The Book of Sarah

After the coupling my skin began to burn. An acidic agony spread over my whole body. I began to tremble. The girls began to scream. My two mysterious companions looked down silently from above. A tear developed in the skin along my hairline, as I started to molt like a snake. I heard my benefactor's voice. He said - Now it is complete. There  is no going back. Welcome to the demi-angelic host. I stood there watching my skin slough off and roll down my bare body. I really didn't understand it all and was just grateful that the burning stopped. But then I was gripped by a visceral craving. The strange man watching from above knew this. He felt it and he said - Take the rejected one. Take the one who will not be the mother of your mortal line. I hesitated for a moment, but I knew what he meant. She screamed. My 'bride' pulled back into the shadows. I grabbed the second girl and began to feed. It was not gross. It was not sloppy. It was not like what you see in the cinema. The whole act was neat and discreet. My eye teeth, now formed into razor sharp, cunning fangs, broke through her skin. There was no tearing. There was no mauling. It was rather like a kiss. It was like a restorative drink from a warm, rich fountain. And in a few heartbeats it was over. I was satisfied. I was fed and she was dead. The fat, little dwarf started clapping his hands, as he capered about making disgusting sucking noises. My strange benefactor yelled - Silence! It is as his first communion!... The dwarf sneered and said - He no have first communion. He Jew. He no believe in real god...The strange man struck him hard and he collapsed. I could hear it. I could hear his mohair covered, fat, little ass smack down against the cold, hard stone floor. And I saw the corpse of my victim ignite in to a cold, blue flame and. disappear. I know I promised to tell you about Sarah, but sometimes these things just come pouring out. Please forgive me.I can't help it. We of the 'demi - angelic host' are in fact a very emotional breed.

The Book of Sarah

Things like this were common practice among the vampirisi in the old days ~~~ This is not fiction. I am not supposed to say it, but I have to. My God, I have to..... I heard  muffled screams coming from somewhere deep within the maze of caverns. My strange benefactor just stared at me, never saying a word. I got up and began to explore. First I came to a hidden 'room' covered in primitive, though evocative murals, rich with animals and other rudimentary signs. The colors were basic, yet still vivid. At the time I did not know how I was able to see them in what I took to be complete darkness, but I was able to see them. Now I am quite used to these abilities, but then it was like a dream. And still the sound of the muffled screaming drew me on. More rough tunnels. Dampness. Cold gray rock, then another room, larger and rounded. A manic, little, naked dwarf danced about a yawning, dark pit. He was festooned in chains and jewels from the treasure vault. His skin seemed softly golden, but as I drew nearer, I saw that he was covered in short, glossy fur, like a horse. Weak moans came up from the bottom of the pit. I approached the edge and peered down. Two pathetic, dirty girls dressed in filthy tatters stopped their crying and looked up at me. I heard the voice of my strange savior. He said - Go down to them. Go down, before the last of your human self dies. But I did not comprehend what he was saying. So the manic dwarf danced behind me and pushed me in. I tumbled to the bottom, a distance equal to four times the height of a man, but was not injured and quickly sprang to my feet. The strange savior called down and whispered - Now, before the last of your living essence dies. I understood. It was elemental. It was instinct and there in that arcane place, I coupled with one of the filthy victims. Through that act, my human line survived. Some of them are walking with you now. But the second one became my first true meal..... And I remember her taste to this day.....

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

please hit the SHARE BAR. please grace us with a COMMENT. adios.

I have to think fast. They know my familiar. They know who that wilkravitz person is. I'm channeling to him. He's sitting in the library right now, but one of my enemies grows suspicious. I must work fast. The vampire lifted me up and carried me out of the smoky ruins. I was near death, very near to the end, for I was already entering the River of Radiance. But he took me into a sheltered place near the town wall and that's where he did it. That's where he made me into what he was. I know now that he could have simply given me a saving draught of his miraculous blood, but he did not do that. He could have saved me and sent me back to my father's camp, but that was not to be. When I woke up to the night world I choked and coughed up great clots of dampened ash and blood. He chuckled quietly and ponded my back. When I finished he hoisted me up over his shouled and carried me out of the town and into the surrounding woodlands. No one paid us any mind. Just a couple of drunken Crusaders going back to camp after a night of fun. He entered a cave. I was afraid to so much as move. I think I held my breath the whole time. But what was oxygen to me? Did I even need it anymore? I think not. Even now, I only breathe out of habit. The rhythm comforts me. He proceeded into a series of tunnel, dark, but I could see. It was like a maze. How would I ever find my way out? We must have been at least a  half mile into the earth. We came to a larger space. It was like the lairs of dragons one reads about in stories. Treasures were heaped all about us. Gold and jewels glittered in the soft light from creamy candles. He threw me down onto an old, gilded, Roman divan. And that's when I heard the muffled screams coming from somewhere deeper inside.

THE MARTYRDOM... plucked from the ashes

Do you promise to accept this as fiction? During a lull in the hymn singing (their cantor was very good, actually) we heard the pounding roar of hoof beats, as a hoard of newly minted Crusaders galloped into the town, only to dismount . They shouted to each other in a dialect I could not understand. But it all happened so fast. The native Jews inside seemed prepared for what was to come.In the few seconds of silence, I studied the simplistic, scriptural paintings adorning this place, Solomon and the other kings, an archangel or two. Very different from our Moorish influenced Beit Sefer in Granada. Johannan slid close to me. There was a loud, pounding sound, like rocks slamming against the great oaken doors and monstrous hail stones assaulting the roof, as volley after volley of stout fire-arrows rained down upon us. There was no escape. In seconds this house of prayer was engulfed in flame. The people inside softly began to intone the prayer for the dead. I just sat there. I was not used to persecutions like this and knew not what to do. Some tried to smash through the small, stained glass windows, but they were instantly shot dead and the rush of air racing into the breech only served to fan the flames. Johannan grabbed me and threw me under the heavy, stone table holding the scrolls of the Bible. I was surrounded by what looked like fiery human automatons. Some just sat there. Others prayed. The sad little boys just prior to their consecration (bar mitzvah) huddled together and wept.  Death was all around me. I passed out from the noxious fumes, but did not die. And a bit later, in the smoking ruins,  was found by a being who I eventually learned to be a vampire.

The Book of Sarah

What is it I always say? Oh, yes, about this being fiction. You know the drill. Now, while we were proceeding up the east coast of Iberia to the vineyard/manor of the great biblical scholar, Rashi, in the south of France, Crusader fever had begun to grip what passed for the hearts of the local Trinitarian populace. We were camped for the night, just over the border of the Christian, Visigothic kings in the north of the peninsula , and in the domain of some Provencal noble. I do not remember his name, but do not worry. He is of no importance. There was a town nearby that styled itself a city. I was eager to visit one of the grey stone municipalities of the north and set off with one of our retainers  to explore this exotic site. We were dressed in the manor of well born travelers. My creed was my own business. Upon entering this  country town, I was struck by the abundance of foliage. It was quite different from what I was used to in Al Andaluz, in the south of Iberia. The edibles and wares hawked by village worthies seemed attractive, but I was bound to follow a righteous diet and could partake of none of it. Well, maybe I would have fudged things a little and eaten a bit of fish, or tasted a tankard of ale, but Johannan, our retainer would have none of it. He espied the local synagogue, which was quickly filling with fellow believers to celebrate the birthday of some sainted regional sage, so we joined the throng and went in. The service was similar to ours. The chanting was a bit different. The order a little off, but what could we expext from these pre-Frenchie Jews? Come back for the next post. I'll tell you more.