The Book of All Things New

Zeb speaking. Now I know they've done some shall we say, unsaintly things in the past. Sarah took delight in the pain of her victims once or twice. Maybe Baylah did that too. though I am not sure about Tomas. I do know that in his heart he wants to hear his birth name, his true name, his 'faith' name. He wants to be called Jonathon, or at least Jon. I know it is pronounced more like Yahn. I still know my Hebrew, for we spoke it, or a dialect like it, when I was in the flesh. Jonathon... It means 'Gift of God,' in the Holy Tongue. And I think he attempts to live up to that. In his own way and reguardless of the various burdens he has had to carry over the centuries, he has always struggled to make the world a better place.... At least from his vantage point. Domestic vampires? Who would ever imagine such a thing. Morticia, Sarah's goth-girl friend calls once in a while. The vamps are big on those no contract-throw-away cell phones. Edith rarely uses them. She says they dull her telepathic capabilities. Morticia says that a lot more of the magic-goth-fantasy-face pierced-I hate my stepmother types have descended on the city. They saw that You Tube posting of the sports arena melt down. And it was quite clear that there were a few nearly naked little babies zipping around  up among the rafters. The big web debate is photo shopped or not photo shopped? Right now the 'not photo shopped' party is winning. Morticia says that if some sort of open spiritual warfare breaks out, the pseudo-enchanted will most likely fall into our camp. But the operative words are 'most likely.' Albion brought back some type of video game system for the little ones. He claims he bought it. But considering his grasp on reality, he probably paid with Monopoly money and Cracker Jack gem stones. I don't care. This season is too commercialized anyway. It reminds me of the Passovers we used to have in Babylon. All the dining rooms were done up in these huge, colorful silk pillows. Everyone sported tunics and over-wraps fashioned from the same fabrics. And if you ask me, the proscribed bill of fare was a bit too heavy on the shell fish for what was supposed to be a reverent, kosher repast. But the wine was good. We used to get these wonderful vintages from the Medes up by the Caspian Sea. Oh, how I still remember them. And it was a rare Cup of Elijah that made it to the end of the dinner/service without some sneaky, little cousin downing the contents for himself. Ah, but where am I? Oh yes, in the middle of the vast Fairmount Park woodlands in The City of Brotherly Love. How nice things look, what with the light dusting of snow and all. Our snug, brick compound is quite cozy. I think I can see Sarah's hand in things. Marianne's  too. Albion 'bought' lots of decorations for the junior vampire set. wilkravitz plays games with them. And Edith makes her predictions. She feels there will not be any great spiritual war. For the Shaky Hand Man does not have to do that. He merely has to snuff out a few pivotal individuals or groups and the balance will  tilt. The veneer of humanity tends to run thin. And he knows just the right way to sand it off.......Now someone trudges through the hard packed snow. Someone progresses through the woodlands. It is a woman, an old woman. I seem to remember her from some time or place. I cannot recall her name, so I will refer to her as the Old Woman (familiar in some way). And she leads a child, a little child, a girl. I think she is crying. Look, Edith senses their approach. I can see it in her face.....

The Book of All Things New

I am happy with the elves and cherubs. Some of them call me 'mother' and that comforts me. I love them. They are pure souls wrapped up in a reality they do not understand. We play games, Candy Land, Monopoly (with the older ones). I braid and style the girls' hair and judge the outcome of elfin wrestling matches, which often occupy all three dimensions. Albion and Marrianne (the eldest girl) bring back things from the market and we prepare meals for our human room mates. I hope they like them. I still remember human food, but the little ones find it puzzling and confounding. I do my best to keep things on a even keel. We're not trying to make anyone sick here. But the enchanted children view these comestibles as ingredients for mud pies and tend to create offerings based on color and shape rather that taste or nutrition. Our wilkravitz tries to be a good sport about it all. It seems he was never much of a cook himself. Yet I can't help but notice his dissappointment when confronted with yet another platter of jellied, boiled chicken in peanut sause, or liquified tuna fish (we have a blender) and cold, peppered dough balls. Sometimes Marrianne brings back a frozen pizza. Thank God for that. Things are fairly quiet and snug in our woodland/park retreat. Two gentleman from the park service discovered our presence, but a quick and timely gift of two or three blood vials (guaranteed to cure what ails you) did the trick. Now they are among our most devoted protectors. Tomas, Baylah and Edith are trying to learn more about our enemy. We really don't know his strength. Is he a universal entity capable of destroying great swathes of creation, or is he merely some disgruntled soul out to vandalize a few celestial mailboxes so to speak. And Tomas' neck itches. He says that's a sign that the Old Woman is near. God knows what that could mean. Annie still acts the part of a demonic Gilly (you know, that bad, little girl on Satuday Night Live). The press never covers her handiwork. Who would believe it? It would be tantamount to professing belief in alien encounters, another thing the bovine masses are wont to admit. Edith takes part in thought nets with the other Piney's and Red Paint types. They've spread out over the whole area. They pick up everything. The C.I.A. should be half as good. We've all been sneaking out to do a little culling. The police are beginning to detect a marked decrease in crime. Even the hospitals have noticed a drop in the death rate (those blood vials and blood kisses). Too bad they're still stealing all the credit and sending out those extortionist bills. Oh god, I have to go. I have to go scrape some diced turkey franks cooked in apple sause off the walls. Lovely. Then maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to relax with a good, old, black and white movie on AMC or something.

The Book of All things New

Edith is a lifeline. She can hear things. She tells us what is happening in the camp of our enemy. The young one, Annie, seems to be losing importance. The spirit riding her has increased in strength. The one known as The Shaky Hand Man is becoming physically able. That is not good. No, that is worse than not good. It is a catastrophy. How can I explain it to you? Picture it this way. Imagine the regimes of Nazi Germany, or Stalin's Soviet Union, or the Realm of Ghengis Kahn. Contemplate the abominations committed by evil minions, willing human minions. Then add in the possibility of natural catastrophies of shall we say Biblical proportions. And the Shaky Hand Man is smart. He knows where to get the most bang for his buck. We all have a feeling, not just Edith, that his dream is to be able to weaken the very foundations of a great mountain, a volcano, in the isles off the north west coast of Africa. I believe it is known as Cubierta en Palmas. If the great peak explodes a landslide such as the world has never seen can give birth to monstrous tidal waves rising to the height of four hundred cubits, excuse me, six hundred feet. Mankind has not suffered the like since the last days of King Midas on the island of Crete. The east coast of the New World and the west coast of the Old World will become naught but memory. America will no longer be the Rome or Persian Empire of our age. The modern day descendants of Charlemagne's Western Empire will all die, as will the children of King Arthur. And new lords, brutal lords will march across the globe. Excuse my poetic tone. But a one thousand year old Andalusian grown up in the Caliphate of Cordoba  has his ways. I am Tomas. And I cannot help that. Now all this is just conjecture. All this may never occur. The Shaky Hand Man can be beaten. Is there a way to do it? Of course there is. Though we are not quite privy to it yet. Sarah retreats to her 'children' the elves and cherubs. She hugs them. She kisses them. She tells them stories. She tucks them in each dawn and in all ways has become the perfect mother. They taste her blood and she tastes theirs. And Baylah has become reunited with her own mother, at least in the spiritual form. The old queen sings to her. She guides her. And Baylah has made a few fortuitous kills in the last few nights. Yes, she does venture out. Yes, she has been taking a victim every night. No, she does not rely on visions, but rather on her own heart beating in her own breast. And the level of evil has diminished in the world, or our part of it. Sarah and I were instructed to do the same. That was the message of the Red Paint Man. Some of his brethren, along with a few of the Piney's have trickled into the city. Edith acts as our 'telephone operator.' She uses her abilities to keep open the lines of communication. We must discover a way to weaken our adversary. It was done in the past. It must be accomplished here. Remember, we are only 'pretending' that this is all fiction. Do your part. All of you. Do you have a part? Of course you do. Remember the words of Edmund Burke -- All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing...... I really do not like to go all scriptural on you, but I feel that I must. Remember the words of Moses our Redeemer, who said, "I have given you this day The Good Doctrine. Chose life and live. Go and do good things.'......... Well, what are you waiting for?

The Book of All Things New

The elves and cherubs flit about the city. They witness everything. A few of the smallest cherubs happened to be swooping and diving through the heights of the Wells Fargo Center just as the lights went out? What were they doing there? Well, they can sense the presence of evil and being such innocent souls they do their best to thwart it. The death toll would have been much higher. But quick, unseen, timely, little blood kisses planted on the lips of the injured did the trick. And some families will have their nearest and dearest with them this Yuletide who otherwise would not. I predict that these tiny wonders will be invaluable and a great help in the 'righting' of our corner of the universe....... I would so like to tell you more. But a trojan microbe or a bewitchment of some sort has insinuated itself into this machine. It seems the enemy is everywhere. So the voice of Zeb (me) must be silent for a bit. Perhaps I can go buzz.. buzz..buzz into that wilkravitz person's ear and have him take this enchanted box to some powerful geek (like wizards) who can banish these tiny demons and make the ether safe for decent folk once more.....;

The Book of All Things New

I'll have to do most of the talking. wilkravitz is busy babysitting the 'little ones' and the others are busy girding their loins (so to speak) for battle. Yes, you have it right. It's me, the former disembodied spirit. But since I've 'found' my etherial identification card, just call me Zeb. Now, the three vamps are up. It's dark, Tomas found his shoe. And if you're a regular, you know how he is with his clothes. He's upstairs, sitting in the 'playroom.' Lord... can you imagine, vampires with a playroom? Anyway, Baylah has the floor. Boy, is she asking a lot of questions. She always asks a lot of questions. And Sarah just sits theere thinking. No, I take it back. She's not just thinking. She's also sorting out a pile of mismatched Barbie outfits for the little girl vampires. You know, the elves. Shhhh, be quiet. Baylah's talking. Here's what she's saying -----What? So 'they' want us to banish evil and destroy all evil forces? What the hell is this, a comic book? Well I sure as hell ain't gonna put on one of them 'V' masks. If you ask me, he ain't nothing but a girlie lookin' Zorro.....(others do not respond...... she looks around) Look at all this Chuckie Cheese crap. I miss my piano bar. I miss the Mutter Museum. That was a good place for vampires to talk..... All them disgusting, medical oddities and all.... (Sarah reflexively nods. She liked it too) ... You know how much I liked that pickled baby collection. I was kinda attached to one particular little pickled, two-headed, white baby. You know the one I mean? He was in the third big jar on the second shelf. Hey, Albion, you think when you go out, you could bring back that pickled white baby? ..... (But before he can respond, Edith puts down her copy of In Touch Magazine and speaks)......Edith ---- They're coming.......Tomas----- What, here?........ Edith---- No....... Tomas ------ That is a relief.......Edith----- They're coming everywhere.........(the talking is over. it is Zeb again).....Tomas' knee started to twitch. Baylah just mouthed the word shit. A suddenly concerned Sarah absentmindedly put a piece of Barbie cruise wear into an old Ken case. They just sat. And they thought. Vampires are good at that. But they were girding their loins.They were spiritually preparing themselves for the test, because they knew. They all knew. They could feel it too..........OK, now we have to cut to 'Jock City,' the sports complex down in South Philadelphia, the Wells Fargo Center. The joint is jumpin'  to the rhythm of a tight, back and forth, sweaty, round ball contest ( a comparative rarity in this town). A fight breaks out down by courtside. Some insipid (though well connected) Center City professional type spills a little bit of his, lava hot, double mocha onto the Banana Republic clad thigh of an insecure, celebrity restauranteur. The food maven jumps up and sends his pencil necked attacker flying. Chairs arc in all directions. A whiney, little white girl in the second or third row (the kind that Sir Charles just loved to spit on) starts bellowing and crying. Her 'Real Housewives of the Mainline' wannabe moma slaps the big, dumb goof next to her. Security guards come running. The game is interrupted. Scattered  posses of Joe Six Packs campin' up in the cheap seats start yellin' encouragement and attacking their neighbors just for the  hell of it. Kids run down onto the court and start doin' hootchie dances. Then they get tired of that and run out into the 'mall' area where they loot some t-shirt concession and make off with half the freshly baked stock of a nearby Cinabon. What can I tell you? Sports fans are passionate around here....But then the lights up high in the rafters begin to explode and go out. Look, I can't lie. The Shaky Hand Man is behind that. Up till then it was all just a lot of fun. But now the panic sets in. And off by a darkened entrance, Annie holds a door open so forty or so of her wild, snarling canine friends can race into this churning mass of humanity and take their pick from among the desperately fleeing asses, or if they so desire, from some terrified, vulnerable throat. And the whole thing is recorded on dozens of cell phones streaming directly onto You Tube. Look, if you want to see more, stay up tonight. The whole thing is gonna be on Nightline....... Fiftysix people died that night. Thirtytwo of them were people who'd received free tickets as a reward for charitable acts......Score one for the other side.....

The Book of All things New

Zebulon speaks. And our three life-eaters slumbered. Evening would fall soon enough. But in the remaining moments the essence of the Red Paint Man tickled its way into every particle of their bodies and into their souls as well. They knew what he knew. And his knowledge was great. It may seem odd to you that vampires gain magic from a mortal. Yet  it is not odd. Enchantment is everywhere, if only your eyes are willing to see. The elves and cherubs are sleeping too. Each in his dark spot. Each in his refuge. The wilkravitz person busys himself straightening up the place. Eternal children can make quite a mess. And it's a constant battle  to keep them away from his exquisitely detailed lego creations. Albion is getting a bit better when it comes to doing the marketing. Last night wilkravitz dined on three cinnamon raisin bagels, a can of Campbell's Chunky New England Clam Chowder, two dried up clementines and a box of baking soda. Well, he did not actually consume the baking soda, but you get the point. Oh! Before I forget. The Shaky Hand Man is getting stronger too. It is like that with him. His energy tends to rise and fall with the passage of the centuries. But for now, he is on an upswing. His spirit mind is gaining volume. And he's starting to be able to manipulate the physical realm as well. Spiritual beings rarely develope this type of material force. But it does happen. Look, some people, both living and post-living, claim that a two years dead Marilyn Monroe in fact , shot John Kennedy. Why she had to do it in Dallas, Texas I don't know. She had friends who would have been happy to see her in L.A. and in D.C. even. But Dallas? I don't understand that. Maybe she was looking to boost some soft and slinkies at Neiman-Marcus or  something? But those in the know swear that the sixth floor of The Texas School Book Suppository smells like Chanel #5 to this very day. So basically all I am trying to tell you is the S.H.M. is getting 'jacked' as the modern day urchins are wont to say. He can, or will be able to move things. No more whispering in ears. No more verbal prodding and poking. No more hissing - Kick him in the ass...into some poor schmuck's ear and then hoping that the poor schmuck will do it. Soon he will be able to kick asses with the best of them. I suppose that should be quite liberating....... What's that?....Does he still use Annie?...It seems so. He must be used to her. But she is getting to be superfluous. And the poor, little girl doesn't know how much danger she's in. The last time he tired of a human conduit, he fed him to a giant squid. The abandoned chap slid right off the deck of a heaving sailing ship and straight into the churning sea, where he was drawn into the gaping beak of a stupendous mollusk. The repulsive invertebrate reflexively swallowed. And the screaming and scratching cuss slipped all the way down the slick, sticky craw. Can you imagine the absolute horror of it all? Be glad if you cannot. For he survived a full seven minutes before death finally took him. Shhhh, our downstairs neighbors are beginning to stir. The sun has left the sky. Tomas is muttering to himself in Spanish, or is it Arabic? I think he lost a shoe. Oh, the 'undead' can be such slobs at times. I pray they are fit for the fight...

The Book of All Things New

We are back. Did we sublimate through the ether? No. Did we scurry back through the shadows? Not quite. We simply bought tickets on NJT (New Jersey Transit) and rode back on a crowded, sticky, urine tinged bus like everyone else. I like nighttime bus rides. I enjoy the rhythmic hum of the engine, the passing lights through black, mirror-like windows and  the soft snoring percolating up from the distended abdomens of my sleeping neighbors. Tomas read a book. Some moldy, dog-eared paperback he picked up from one of the Pineys. Baylah worked on her crocheting. Edith just closed her eyes and hummed old songs. It was all very peaceful. Some of the other Pineys and a few of the Red Paint types were heading for Philadelphia too. But they were filtering in at their own pace, sharing rides in old trucks, hitching, whatever. I sat quietly and heard voices. One voice actually. It even told me its name --- Zebulon. I did not have to tell him my name. He already knew I was Sarah. At first I thought he was just a damp, greasy spot in my own imagination. But he knew things that I did not know. At least he did if he was telling the truth and I think he was telling the truth. He, it, the voice, seemed to offer a running commentary on our lives. If we were characters in a book, he would have been the narrator. And he repeated the same thing over and over and over. He said ---- Follow what you know is true... Follow what you know is true. It was almost like a mantra, like a meditation tool. But it calmed me. When we disembarked at the station, Tomas' 'familiar' wilkravitz was there to pick us up. I don't know how he arranged that, but he did. We piled into a huge, Ford SUV and rode back to his refuge among the elves and cherubs, deep in the bare, December woodlands of Fairmount Park. Our friends on the dark side wouldn't bother us here. I think it's because they couldn't figure out the elves and all. Or maybe they just didn't care about us anymore. Edith, whose powers were all juiced up after our recent meetings with the 'Reddies' said that Annie and her 'handler' had been busy. And she could visualize a lot of tortured, dead bodies to testify to that fact. The victims seemed an indiscriminate bunch. They didn't appear to have any particular political agenda. The 'baddies' were killing because they enjoyed it. Who knows? Perhaps they would refocus now that we were back. And what would we do? Confront them. Defeat them. Kill them. What else? We heard what that 'Reddie' guy, that Captain Jean Luc Pecard guy said. And we beleived him. No more waiting. No more relying on visions. We knew what to do. We always did. But now we had the courage to act. Our little Peter Pan-like buddies helped us settle down for the day in a neatly swept, cozy, windowless cellar. I tried to make the best of it, bundled in a fresh, new pile of Dora the Explorer quilts. The others were similarly cocooned. Tomas sported the Run Diego Run collection. Baylah burrowed into an equally commodious Princess Jasmine set. And we slept. Dusk would come soon enough. Let the battle begin.