The Book of Sarah

Poor, little Annie. Her true, human psyche will need a lot of work. There, there, don't cry little girl. It will not help you. So don't even bother. Close your eyes and imagine happy things... if you can remember any. It is I, the will -o-the-wisp, the disembodied spirit. I feel for the tiny bundle of meat and bones.  That second rate puny spirit holding her hostage has her locked in a seldom used storage closet tucked away in a dark corridor down in the second basement of University Museum on thirty fourth street. Her only company a quartet of partially unwrapped, low status, dusty Egyptian mummies. And as we all know, some of those preserved, dead Egyptians can be very, very dull. The pathetic ragamuffin has managed to push them back a bit in order to carve out a beach head for herself. She sits curled into a fetal position, rocking back and forth in the darkness, as salty tears roll down her cheeks. Once every day or two the door opens and someone (I don't know who) throws in a sack of horrible, flat, dried up 'burgers' from some dollar menu. The mummies would make a better meal. There's also a case of Snapple juice drinks that gets replenished from time to time. At least that's made from the good stuff. Her toilet? A bucket. I haven't seen the like since  death trains ferried martyrs to the test  in the Europe of the nineteen thirties and forties. He's holding her. He's keeping her stored away. Oh, he will use her again. And she will be grateful for even that illusion of freedom. But for now she waits, chained to a rock just outside the entrance to the caverns of hell. Tomas and Sarah moved. They have a new place now, another tiny, secluded, jewel-box of a townhouse set up by one of his lawyer familiars. The lawyer's wife decorated it. She got a fat commission check too. Thinks it's for a 'dedicated' relocating pediatric surgeon from France. Since it was a rush job, everything had to be bought right off the floor. No special orders. So it looks a little like a high priced suite in some faux Federalist boutique hotel. But Tomas says he's willing  to put up with that, since he (and Sarah too, I guess) can always make things right in the future. Tomas culled a victim (some brutal pimp) behind one of the massive, gray stone towers supporting the Ben Franklin  Bridge. I'm telling you, the name and image of old Ben is all over this place. He's like Snow White in Disneyland. I guess that's what Donald Trump will be like for New York. Sarah has been running into some of the elves and cherubs. I think Albion has a thing for her. She doesn't know that much about them, but they seem to be drawn to her. I don't remember. Did Tomas ever take her to meet them or did he just talk about it? Perhaps I will search the asashic records. But right now I feel lazy. Maybe I'll drift into The Forrest Theatre and take in a performance of Jersey Boys, or slip under the security gates at the municipal prison (you know... where L'il Kim lived) and watch the dumb thugs in the holding pens knife each other. Either way, it should be quite a good show.

The Book of Sarah

I think my favorite late night talk show is Jimmy Fallon. I like the way they dress him. There must be a vampire on his staff somewhere. The whole production just has that look. It has that effortless sincere wit. That is how it is when we all sit and talk. Of course we have our concerns, our problems, but existence still goes on. Listen to me. It has not been that long and I'm already beginning to sound like a veteran. At least they named me right. Sarah is a good name for a vampire. It has a poetic pull to it. Much better than Debbie or Tina. I'm glad I don't have one of those names. Maybe we're growing complacent. There has not been any Shaky Hand Man business for a while. The streets appear to be safe again. I've become somewhat friendly with one of the goth girls. Her name is Morticia. Yes, Morticia. Her grandmother was a fan of The Addams' Family back in the nineteen sixties. And her mother spends too much money on Silvia Browne books. She says what she really wants to be is a background singer for Pink. That and a vampire. She tried to major in it at the community college back around her way. But they refered her to the student health center and recommended she consult a therapist. The therapist told her to become a registered nurse. At least she would get the opportunity to play around with blood. She doesn't know I'm a true life-eater. To her I'm just an astute, spiritual, worldly type and the fact that I treat her to coffee, sandwiches and hamburgers doesn't hurt either. She was cold. So I took her into H+M, or H+W, or some place like that and bought her some winter clothes (all black and gray of course). I think she really appreciated it. A few more 'genuine' vampire videos showed up on the internet. None of us were in them. Probably fakes made by some inventive film student. Bob is scared though. He's afraid to go out on the street, because the neo nazi types might try to do something. What could they do? - I tell him. You're a vampire. - I say. But he says they could always do something low tech like douse him in gasoline and light a match. If the fire 'takes' and burns strong enough, he may have a point. Still, you can't recognize him in that recording. His face is all distorted. He's so terribly angry it does not even look like him. I don't know. Maybe it's just his guilt. Not about killing Barbra. But about how he lived and what he did in the past. I like the gifts  Tomas brought me. I'm learning to appreciate quality. The Pow Wow Woman says that maybe we should think about leaving our refuge under the synagogue and find a real place again. She and Baylah are still going strong in their little nest over the piano bar. Bob sleeps all over the place, sometimes he goes back down to the mole people. They don't really care what he is or what he was, just so long as he keeps coming forth with the blood gifts. I do not understand it. Why do they want to live so long? Their lives are not so great. Yet who am I to judge? Some tortoise live to see onne hundred and fifty years. A whale was found with a two hundred year old bullet imbedded in its hide. Methuzalah lived nine hundred years. And that was back before the bronze age. Things couldn't have been so interesting back then. Morticia says she'll help us find Annie. She says it's the least she could do since I got her the winter clothes and all.Two of her friends are also willing to help. I don't know. How could she not spot me as a vampire? Maybe she does. Maybe she's just playing me. I can't get a good read on her. The Pow Wow Woman wants me to stay away from all those goth kids. She says they're crazy. Yeah... crazy. Then what are we? When I culled my last victim, I gouged one of his eyes out at the last minute. I suppose I just wanted him to suffer. Oooh! The fire-jugglers are out on Head House Square again. I simply adore them. Listen. Can you hear the drums? Forgive me as I dash outside to watch. Here, tip the waitress for me. Who knows? Tonight I may just join them in their dance.

The Boob of Sarah

I stroll along the boulevards eying the flocks of toy blood drinkers descending on this town. Look at them in their pathetic black nylon rags. They must be cold. But a coat would surely ruin the look and so they shiver. True vampires never shiver. A few of them did not shiver. But they were not  members of the tribe. Their stillness came from drugs. I bought some extremely flattering garments for myself. The black, leather trench coat is a good look for me. It's true. My favorite saleswoman said so. I also purchased a few items for Sarah, a finely styled handbag, some matching kid skin gloves. Such luxuries would be lost on Baylah. It is not that she fails to  favor such  goods. But she prefers an edgier shop on South Street and I do not go  there for I sense  the proprietor is a reincarnated vampire (now human) and she seems  to know things. Baylah says she just appears that way due to a case of full-body, alabaster, I cannot recall the term. Michael Jackson's disease I will call it.  But I avoid that enticing portal never-the-less. Who knows what she truly  is. There are stranger things than us. I thought I caught the scent of the Old Woman somewhere around Washington Square Park. But it may just have been a few errant molecules percolating up from the  corpses of Revolutionary War dead moldering away down below the carefully maintained sod. There was a homeless man, curled up and shivering upon a stream grate. I took off my Rolex (there are others), kneeled down and snapped it onto his dirty wrist. As I walked away, he said - Hey, asshole!  What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Where the hell can I fence this? Who the hell's gonna believe me?..... I went back and slipped him a few Benjamins. That seemed to rectify things. I am sure Doctor Franklin would approve. Oh! Do you know that Doctor Franklin  was actually much better looking than those horrid images we have of him today? His features were more finely drawn. His jawline firm and sharp. Larry David. Yes, that's it! Larry David! If  you watch that show you see old Ben as he truly was. Blame  it on the Old Philadelphia artists, a stiff-backed, totally anal sort. If George Washington thought he really looked like that, he'd have run out onto Market Street and thrown himself under the wheels of Wright's Omnibus. We all knew how vain he was. Sarah has a plan. She wants to deputize some of these Halloween costumed vampires. She wants to use them to help track down Annie during the day. Maybe they can discover where she sleeps? Maybe they can provide some information. Who knows? Look at the winter stars. You can't see too many of them in the city, only the brightest ones. I hear they discovered some rather complicated organic atomic configurations on one of the moons of Saturn, or was it Jupiter? Perhaps there's someone up there like me too? Hopefully I will still be here when they find out. Take care. Do not die. Humanity is on the cusp of greatness. I can feel it ... in my blood.

The Book of Sarah

I bought some nice things last night. The woman at Boyd's who measured me remarked about the coolness of my skin. I told her I did yoga, whatever that's supposed to mean. But she bought it. And I bought everything else. Oh, and Sarah got a luxurious triple ply cashmere scarf. I can't shop for Baylah there. She says it is not her style. She prefers this little place on South Street. And the last time I gave the Pow Wow Woman, the last time I gave Edith something special from this place, she just rolled her eyes and whistled. But she never wore it. She dresses like a rich bag lady. I could not help but notice all the ingenuine vampires on the streets. What possers! The last time I witnessed anything like that was during the Black Death when they used to ape the grim reaper. And there are obscure death cults in Hind that do something similar. I know I got looks from some of the toy night stalkers. But I don't know if it was because they suspected the truth or because they thought I resembled that actor on Entourage. Remember? I think I told you about him. I think I might have picked up the scent of the Old Woman  somewhere near Washington Square Park. But it could have been the lingering aroma from the thousands of moldering bones planted there after the American Revolution. I am not sure. There was a shivering homeless mass curled up on a steam grate. I took off my Rolex (I have others), kneeled down and snapped it onto his wrist. As I walked away he said - Hey, Asshole! How am I gonna be able to sell this?

The Book of Sarah

This is what I'm thinking. He lets her sleep during the day, the Shaky Hand Man I mean. That's when she has her own, independent dreams. That's when she sees her family. That's when she talks. So maybe he can't control her then, or maybe he goes off to do his own business. I'm not exactly sure. But I did research her family in California. Not what you'd label prime cut. She (Annie) has her own opinion. But what else would you expect a child in her position to say? Do you want to know how I did it? I  focused in on that disembodied spirit. It was easy. He (it, she?) was quite open to the whole thing. Well.... at first he did not want to talk to me, because he doesn't  like the cadence of my speech. He said that vampires are enchanted and poetic creatures who owe it to their public to express themselves in a more artistic manner. I told him I agree. But old habits die hard. He told me he could arrange for me to have a run-in with a truly fine diction coach practicing here in Philadelphia. I thanked him and told him I'd think about it. Honestly? I can work on that myself. All I have to do is watch a bit more Masterpiece Theatre. Really, I learn fast. In a few weeks I'll be a regular Helena Bonham Carter. I told Tomas, but he said that then he'd miss the Jill Clayburgh part of me. That's easy for him to say. He never loses his 'Antonio Banderas' thing. You should hear him do that Nasonex commercial. What? Oh, yes, my plan. This is it. We follow Annie and abduct her when she's spiritually 'alone.'  It'll be rough, since that only tends to happen during the day. And you know how the brightness tends to make our skin break out. But the Pow Wow Woman could do it. I'm sure she could handle it. In some ways she is more adept than we are. And Tomas does still have a few familiars. One or two of them could help. Then maybe we could do something. What if we knew what hotel she'd be sleeping in? We could come up through the underground parking garage, ride the elevator to her floor, send somebody into the room to make sure the drapes were all closed. You know they have 'blackout' draperies in all the holtels? Take her back down to the car. Maybe give her a few drops of our blood (a little from each) to drug her just a bit. Sit in the car playing Old maid and Go Fish til it got dark (I'd bring snacks and drinks from the WaWa)  and then drive her back 'home' and we'd have her. The blood would give her a little immunity to her former captor. I'm sure it would. We could wean her away from him. The disembodied spirit is always mumbling something about the elves and cherubs. I don't know that much about them, but maybe they would be willing to help since Annie  is just a little child and all? I can't picture her being reunited with her tribe out in California. After two  months on the covers of the tabloids plus a sit down or two with Barbara Walters and Oprah, she'd be just another hard-scrabble, borderline abused kid in a trailer park. And ten years later Chris Hanson would use her to fill an hour on Dateline, or whatever they call that show. No. I want more for her. I know. I know. I know. My maternal instinct and all. Look, the world can be a really bad place. I'd just like to do my best to help her avoid some of that. I have to go now. I'm supposed to meet some goth kids from Youngstown Ohio at Little Pete's Coffee Shop. They want me to tell them how to achieve true vampire allure. God, how do I get roped into these things? I don't know what I'm supposed to say. Baylah says I should stop on the way and pick up a copy of Vogue. you know 'sultry looks for chill autumn nights'? I don't know. Maybe that's what I'll do. Everyone else is out too. Thank God for U Tube. Thank God for all the media attention. At least it keeps the big bad wolf away. I mean this is the first time Tomas has been out clothes shopping in weeks and I have a distinct feeling that commisions at Boyd's are gonna skyrocket tonight!  Ooooh, maybe he'll bring me back something from the women's department?!

The Book of Sarah

S 'me again, the, hell, I don't know what I am. I'm just here. but, yeah, call me the disembodied spirit. At least we're all used to that. OK, so those of you who keep up are wondering how I can possibly download the scene where Bob goes berserker on Barbra and helps her flip her lid. Well, then you are forgetting who you're dealing with. We eternal presences can flit around Creation with the staccato speed of an Andalusian (Tomas' old 'stomping' ground) flamenco dancer. Human please... do you doubt me?So pay attention, 'cause this is how we do it. Weak seams, we squeeze through weak seams. The Infinite Known Universes are full of them. Nobody takes  pride in their work anymore. So I slip out of this salmon run and into the next and BAM, I am doing the backstroke in a parallel universe. Actually, the place is hardly any different from that kennel you all are stuck in. OK, so their Liz Taylor stayed with their Eddie Fisher until the very end. Their Colts stayed in Baltimore. And Rome never completely fell, shrunk a little, but never fell. You should see all those stylish Italians in their Prada togas zipping around the Amalfi Coast on those cool, little vespas. If I had hands and a genuine booty,  I'd get me one of those. OK, back to Bob and how I got him on U Tube. In this eternal episode of The Honeymooners, Barbra had a hook-up with Skype, I think they call it.  Her lap top was turned on and the film was rolling. I don't know who pushed all the right buttons. I figure the cat did it. And the rest, as they say, is history. Only now I have a convenient,  copy on a micro-disc or some little piece of mundane-human-gadget- shit. And after I arrange things so it instantaneously combusts into existence right by the left elbow of that wilkravitz person, he will plug it in, go tap, tap, tap and BOOM!! Presenting the first, bonifide vampire domestic murder on  the internet. Damn, it's had sevenhundred and fifty thousand hits already. SEE BOB GO NUTS!! SEE THE HIDEOUS, FERAL SNARL!!. SEE THE TINY, SHARP, LETHAL FANGS!! SEE A WRINKLED, NAZI, BITCH'S HEAD SHOOT OFF UP INTO THE AIR!! SEE THE WHOLE THING IN GLORIOUS HIGH DEFINITION!! IT'S TRUE!! IT'S TRUE!! IT'S TRUE!! (photographic and video experts have already verified that). The pay off? Goths, neo-goths, sorority girl wiccans, Trekkers, International Brides of Barnabas Collins Inc., and every other kind of crackless crack head  they got running around on this planet (and some from off it) has made a bee line to Olde Philadelphia in an effort to join the club.  Our real home-grown vampires can now go sashaying 'round the city with impunity, because they stand out about as much as a bunch of cowboys at The Calgary Stampede. Look! There goes that TV van from SyFy! Oooh, hope I get a producer's credit! But all this media attention is causing the Shaky Hand Man to keep a lid on it. And Sarah has a plan to rescue Annie. Whoa! That girl fom The Vampire Diaries just walked by. Get a load of her ass!!

The Book of Sarah

Bob slipped out. That sublimation thing has been going real good for them lately. True, I understand that the ability comes and goes. It's effected by stress, emotions and all that stuff. But for now, everything looks all right. I'll bet you can guess where Bob went? And for those of you who didn't key in on last night's episode, I'll tell you. He went to find Barbra Muller. He went to find his eighty-something year old, nazi priestess wife. And he did it. He found  her. It wasn't hard. He just popped in on that computer whiz mole kid and after a few carefully aimed clicks he had her. She was living on top of a greasy cheese steak joint somewhere under the Frankford El. Strong old bitch too. Nukes her own frozen 'meals on wheels' dinners and everything. She holds court from a big, dirty, worn out easy chair. Got a little swastika tattooed on her liver spotted, wrinkly forearm, long grimy toenails sticking out of her terry-cloth 'scuffies.' A real witch, a feamale troll. Definitely not the valkerie she once thought she was. And when Bob seemed to pop out of the air right in front of her, (a neat little sublimation trick) she never even missed a beat. She just stretched her turkey neck a little to the right (so she could see which letter Vanna was turning) and said - Jesus Christ! Where the hell did you come from!? But if you knew what to look for, you'd have seen that her left hand was trembling a little bit more than usual. From hell, you low-life virago. From hell - said Bob. His one time sweetie said - Yeah? didja have a nice trip? He did not reply, but moved a bit closer and whispered - You made me kill those kids. You made me destroy those people. She just laughed, cackled actually. She liked that one. Couldn't stop. Couldn't help it. Her upper plate almost flew out. But then her bloated features came together in a mask of evil - Shut your tatter trap you escaped convict from Hell you! Lucky I don't turn you in. And I know 'people.' I can do it. I got friends down that way. And who'd you kill, a bunch of liberal,Mount Airy Jews and Redheads? (her joke name for blacks)? Shit, this place is better off without them - she belched. Then she began to chant some occult spell the nazis all learned from a 'Madam' Blavatsky, some late nineteenth century, big-bellied, drawing room, free food guzzling phony that Wagner had the hots for. I guess she thought it'd send him back to hell. But all it did was make him angry. And he lunged toward her and tore her head off. Man, her cat was sure surprized. I've never seen any green eyed demon freeze that still and open its eyes so wide. But a heartbeat later that chizling, back alley tramp was already licking up the blood gushing out from the raggedy stump of her dirty neck. And Bob? He just spit right in her face (lucky she was looking up) and walked out. Man was that a show. Better than that planet I saw blow up the other night. Better than the party games at Caligula's sweet sixteen. It's a shame I don't have the use of anybody's fingers, or I'd have put it on U Tube. What the hell am I talking about? I am pulling the strings on that wilkravitz familiar guy. But Tomas might not like it. He's private that way. Maybe I better think about this a little bit..........Hummm........ OK, I thought.......