KILL ONE FOR THE ROAD II

Papa sat and studied the entrance to the cavern. He wanted to go in. He knew he would have to. But he was afraid. What did a life-eater look like? He'd never seen one. How would it treat him? Was it human? People said they were shaped like humans. But who knew the truth. So he stalled and he prayed and he wept. Humters did not show fear. They might feel concern, but not fear. Well, he felt fear. Sometimes he'd explore the nearby thickets. The game here was similar to at home. A few more rabbits. A few less voles. There was a small herd of ass-like horses in a little meadow not far away. Still it would take more than a person to bring one down, so he made due with berries, greens and rabbits. One day, there was a strange scent on the breeze, like human, but not human. He followed it, quietly progressing on his belly till he saw them, a couple, two wood gnomes. We would call them Neanderthals and know them for what they were, simply an exotic strain of people. But to Cro Magnons they were magic, possessed of stout, strong bodies and coarse hard working hands. They were able to endure wintry blasts and searing heat. They spoke. They communicated. But their language was rich with clicks and clucks and other tongue noises, for their jaws and throats could not shape many sounds. Papa watched them work. The  female appeared to be smoothing skins. The male finished chipping off the edge of a fine hand ax. Oh, they knew he was there. That was a given. For their senses were even sharper than Papa's. Yet none would make the move. Violence was not necessary. The Neanderthals picked up scents too. And they had not tasted the scent of a woman or of another man. They knew he was alone and possed no threat. So he studied them for a while. And they studied him in return. Maybe six or seven cubits seperated them. Some horse flies settled on them all and began to bite. The Neanderthals with their heavy, prizefighter-like faces were stoic. Such was life and they had work to do. Papa would have liked to slap the demons away (yes, everyone knew they were demons), but he feared for the noise. Now his tunic provided some upper body protection, but his loin cloth did little to save his lower body, so he had to endure the torment. After a bit, the female pulled out a small, carved out piece of wood, a bowl of sorts. It contained some solidified fat, an oinment. She dipped in her thick fingers and smeared some all over her body. Then she passed the bowl to her mate who did the same. It was warm. They were naked. The oinment seemed to help. Papa sighed. He thought he was quiet, but the male acknowledged him. He stretched out his arm and offered Papa the bowl. Papa slowly inched forward and took it, smoothing the rich, soothing salve onto his exposed skin. Then he said 'thank you' in his own language and gave it back. The Neanderthals never actually made eye contact with him, nor with each other for that matter. The woman picked up the bowl and returned it to her sack. Papa fished in his belt pouch. The Neanderthal stiffened for a moment, but relaxed when Papa placed a few large. pierced beads down on the dirt. He motioned for the male to take them. He did. The gift of graditude was accepted. Each subspecies gathered up their belongings and left. But later that night, Papa sat by his fire thinking about the encounter. And he wondered what his meeting with the life-eated would be like. Now he  knew they were prone to go wandering by moonlight. So there was more chance of a meeting out here than in  there. So he got up, smoothed his tunic, adjusted his loin cloth, prepared a small torch and went inside. The first chamber was large. The band, obviously used it to butcher and dress meat. You could still smell it. Scattered hearthstones littered the floor. The rotting corpse of a child occupied a corner. Strange that this one was not burned and buried (the bones anyway) with the rest. Yet it appeared more sad than grotesque in the weak, orange flickering light. And he wennt in deeper, winding through a rough walled tunnel till he came out into a small chapel. There is nothing else to call it. The undulating walls held beautifully rendered images. Animals, all sorts of bovine creatures. All facing the same direction. He could just barely make out an even larger presentation up ahead in a grander chamber. But he was afraid to move so far from the exit. So he turnned around and left. The torch still burned,but not much. The light was weak. He thought as he passed through the tunnel. Who could have painted such fine dreams? Who could see well enough, even with torch light to do it? It had to be the life-eater. Everyone knew night vision was one of their special powers. He hurried along, anxious for the moonlight. But then he heard it, a breathing, soft but strong. Then came a low, gutteral laugh. Papa froze. His heart almost stopped. After all he owned thirty two or three summers. Slowly he raised what was left of the torch. He saw it. He saw the flickering outlines of a sizeable individual blocking his way.....It was a female...And he saw the fearsome teeth when it smiled.....

KILLING ONE FOR THE ROAD

Papa did plan to return to a more benign lifestyle. He was ready to reconstruct some sort of family. Maybe Jonathon would be there with the others. He hoped that he would. It's not as if he never lived that way before. Twenty eight thousand years is a long time. He 'd seen constellations change and the heavens reconfigure.. Giant prehistoric mammals populated his youth. Tall heavy, giraffe-like creatures nibbled leaves from the trees. Saber toothed cats of many varieties spread terror everywhere. The people tried to live in huts, rather substantial huts, built on raft-like supports mounted atop stout vertical logs. Small bands could not accomplish this. It took many strong backs to force the rough supports down into the sticky ooze. But Papa's band was lucky. They were accomplished hunters. Few fell to beasts of prey. Even less were trampled or gored by the herbivores they sought. His mortal life was quite regular. His father was not a head man. His mother was not a witch. But he had a talent for story telling. And many were the nights spent 'round the communal hearth listening to his tales.. It was often a peaceful way to live. Meat could be had. Hunting was hard work, but as I said, they were good at it. Sometimes they managed to land one of the giant sturgeons inhabiting the swift river emptying into their lake. Then they'd feast on wonderful, oily. smoked flesh, not to mention the fresh, fragrant roe (eggs). True, they had no life-eater. Some bands had life-eaters. And the magical powers and strengths possessed by such beings were useful. The head man tried to get one. It was almost impossible. Most were related to the mortals in their group and completely unwilling to leave. Do to their superior strength, kidnapping was out of the question. Yet a traveller told of a band nearby, only eightteen days distance. Well, they used to be a band. But a bewitchment befell them, a sickness, a terrible pestilence. And after a while, all were dead. The life-eater grieved for his people. Yet there was nothing he could do. He offered them his blood. He did do that. But different bands have different beliefs and they would not take it. So he cried and watched them expire. It was left to him to burn the bodies and scatter the ashes. It was left to him to say the prayers. Now he existed, all alone, deep in a cavern decorated with his holy paintings. And he prayed and prayed and prayed. But when the hunger came he was forced to take whoever he could get. And so his reputation suffered. It was decided that one of the lake people would go back with the traveller and attempt to meet this miraculous being. The group picked Papa, since he was their best speaker. His wife had recently  died and his two surviving daughters were already serving husbands in nearby encampments. So he left the lake and followed the traveller deep into the forest. Deep into the green and mossy shadows. Sometimes he spoke with his guide and sometimes they did not speak. It took twenty three days to reach the cave of the life-eater. And the journey left Papa exceedingly fit. He enjoyed the roots and berries. He savored the woodland nuts. And fat squirrels were so easy to come by. Bird's eggs were tasty as well. But finally, his laconic guide (in turned out that he was on some sort of spiritual quest ) pointed toward a low cliff-face and said - The 'being' rests in there......Papa felt fear for the first time. He turned to the man and said - What happens now? Will you come inside with me?.......The man simply shook his head and walked away........Now remember, Papa was not called Papa then. He had a name. But it is not for me to say it. Let him tell you when he will. So do not think of him as old. Although he was rather advanced in years for his time. Let's see. I believe he owned about thirty two or three summers by this point. But the average person was sturdy back then. And he was well above average. So he constructed some sort of crude camp near the entrance to the cavern (which was low and somewhat hidden along the cliff-face). There he waited till the time felt right. He slept with his best knife in his hand.and thin, fine spears were close by. What were the nights like? Like none you have ever seen. The darkness was complete. Animals ranted through the blackness. His campfire repelled them, but did little to thwart the tiny things that crawled. A gossamer band of stardust wandered though the sky. The moon waxed full and fat, heralding a meeting yet to come.....Heralding an altered existence....And the start of something wondrous.............

THE LORE OF THE ENCHANTED...magic 101

This is the rest of what I tried to tell you earlier. This is the rest of what was 'taken away' from you. The first post told you of the two orderds of life-eaters, the noble, angelic form and the noxious, murderous variety. But there is more to the enchanted universe than that. Let us begin with the ELVES. They are older children, no more than twelve to fourteen years of age. I am speaking of their age when transformed. The magic rests differently on them than it does on adults. Due to their elevated hormonal levels, ceretain cells continue to grow for a short while, thus their pointy ears and long, artistic fingers. They also have the ability to communicate telepathically. Best of all, they can fly. Younger children, specifically babies and toddlers who suffer the life-eater fate are termed CHERUBS. They are a tragic breed brought over almost entirely by noxious vampires. Although lacking teeth, they are able to break the skin and draw blood by other means. The tip of their tongues lengthens and tapers to a point. This point grows a hard, sharp keratin-like probe used to pierce the body and promote bleeding. Cherubs also communicate telepathically and possess the power of flight. The child varieties rarely drain victims to the point of death.............Another unusual specimen is THE PINEY, a totally human breed found in the pine woodlands of New Jersey. They seem to be able to predict future events and can sometimes share thoughts. Certain members of the group have the ability to 'throw spells.'.........It is believed that these talents result from interbreeding with a group called THE RED PAINT PEOPLE. This 'tribe' has a culture going back at least fifteen thousannd years. Intermarriage is common, but no genetic diseases have been reported. Males favor Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprize. Females favor Olympic Skier, Peekaboo Street. High levels of telepathy run throughout the group. They are belived to possess other, as yet undisclosed powers as well.........There is another completely human population inhabiting long forgotten, unused subway tunnels beneath Center City (think of a 1/3rd scale Manhattan, a still respectable area) in Philadelphia. They stem from formerly homeless individuals and have been breeding for at least eighty years. Most call them THE MOLE PEOPLE. Little is known concerning their talents or abilities. VAMPIRES (adult nobles) often take shelter with them......Now comes the touchy part, for I must tell you about  the ANTI-ENCHANTMENT-BUREAU, a government agency that doesn't really work  to stamp out magic, but seeks to control it. They operate from a vast, underground complex below the old naval shipyards and are believed to possess powerful technology and unexplained abilities. A 304 year old BENJAMIN FRANKLIN appears to guide them. He lives in palacial quarters within the complex......Other forms, called ANCILLARIES also exist, such as the nightmareish JOHNNY JUMP UP, a near seven foot tall emaciated male in a tight, black, nineteenth century suit able to leap up to third and forth floor windows and gain entry to otherwise secure domiciles. Those sleeping inside are killed in an assortment of hellish ways..........PLEASE NOTE - cells similar to the forms outlined here exist in other locales too. Avoid them at all costs....including the agents of the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau......Open your eyes...Believe your senses....But be careful and stay safe.....More information will be forthcoming.....thank you for your support.......Your observations and comments are greatly appreciated.

A VAMPIREWONDERLAND PRIMER..vamp 101

1) vampirism has existed on Earth since that period when Neanderthals disappeared and Cro Magnons became the norm. its source is not completely understood. the roots appear to be thoroughly spiritual. those with the 'life-eater' burden (as it is called) struggled to explain it. they broke into 2 strains, the noble vampires (angel-like beings who only 'cull the wicked') and the noxious vampires ( who suffer from no moral dilemmas).

EXPERIMENTS ON A CHILD

The dinner was a quiet affair. They ate in the petit salon, a favorite room of Franklin's, done up like a Parisian diningroom. Everything was cream and gilt. The ornate moldings were all first class. Some of the pieces had been in the city since the French Revolution. You know how it was. They looted the homes of the nobles and sold the booty to new world speculators. Practically ran in with axes right after Baron this and Comtesse that went sobbing off to the barber's chair (popular term for the guillotine). Rumor was that the old doctor himself made quite a tidy sum buying and selling the knick-knacks and what-nots of various recently extinguished courtiers. And he had to be quiet about it all, since most people, especially the nobodies, thought he was dead. But Zebulon digresses. Jonathon did not consume anything, but they did provide him with an assortment of lit aroma candles. Wild apple was still a favorite. Little Miss Doctorix tucked into her entree. I think it was some sort of crustacean. The old postmaster (a later title of his) finished off a nice steak. One of the countless 'Jamisons', he was still calling them that, stayed to serve and clear away. I think it had to be that way. I think the higher ups in the 'Agency' insisted. Franklin knew that Jonathon was anxious for the liberation of Sarah. And so they spoke. The doctor said - I'll show you some things when we're through, my boy. Give you a taste of what we can and cannot accomplish. Are you sure you would not like 'someone' to eat? Jamison here could fetch somebody. We have quite a well stocked cellar down below. You can have two if you want.....Thank you, sir, maybe tomorrow. The need is not accute just yet, said Jonathon.... The doctorix kept quiet. I think she was there solely because our young vampire enjoyed her presence. It calmed him and caused him to forget his quasi imprisonment. When they were done and the table cleared, Doctor Franklin was first to rise.... Come, follow me. We have places to go and sights to see, - said the doctor. So they all got up and left. He walked very well for a three hundred and four year old gent. That electric scooter he used was nowhere to be seen. Jonathon's blood must still be working. They progressed down a corridor and went into some sort of gallery. But this one did not have pictures. It had specimens. Beings, life-forms, monsters. Each displayed behind a thick, glass panel. What? You want to know about Bigfoot? Yes, they had a bigfoot. Looked a lot like that Chewbacca fellow in that other realm movie the children like. He occupied a mossy, piney glen. And he did not look to happy about it. I must tell you. But experience taught him patience and so he sat there, silent and morose. Another display featured a mermaid. She had a small pool and a tub of herring. Not a beauty, this one. Must have already been old when they got her. Lined face, boney shoulders, withered breasts. The scales on her fish-ass and fish tail looked dull and raggedy. Her hair was like Grandmama from The Addams Family (Zebulon has seen reruns). And she stuck out her tongue and made lewd gestures as they passed. A monster here. A nightmare in the flesh there. This place had it all. There was a horse-faced Jersey Devil. I saw him. He was leaning against a rock in a fake, little forest, reading a copy of The Atlantic City Press. I think he was trying to solve the crossword puzzle. One of the guards passed him a pack of smokes (there was a little slot). Doctor Franklin said - We allow them certain indulgences. And tobacco posses no problem since he is immune to its poisons. A cure for cancer might come out of that one.....Then he stopped and looked Jonathon in the eye.....But what you want is in there...... And he pointed toward another door. Someone on the other side opened it. I do not think it was artificially powered. They went in. The chamber was round, about twentyfive feet in diameter. And the ceiling arced overhead like a dome. A small platform occupied the center. It was made of some non-porous material, like that 'corian' they use for kitchen counters these days. On it rested a small toddler, bathed in a muted light raining down from no particular point at all. The child looked as if it had recently been crying. It hiccuped a bit. and blood tinged tear tracks ran down its chubby face. After a moment, Jonathon realized that it was one of the 'cherubs.' He almost passed out from shock. It hurt him to see one of those little innocent souls treated like this. And he  instinctively reached out to it. But six 'Jamisons' marched in to stop him.... The doctorix said nothing. Apparently she knew about this. She just turned away. The immortal child shuddered. It trembled. The tiny chin quivered, as its eyes looked for help. But its body from the hips down did not move, for that part was still made of stone......Doctor Franklin put his hand on Jonathon's shoulder and said - We are trying. We have made progress. The armonica, the Great Armonica, that is what we used. Each sound, each frequency has certain properties. And we can produce an infinite number of them. We can blend them to make chords. We can manipulate almost anything.......How did you do this to the child? - asked Jonathon......With the device, as I told you, - said Franklin.......No, I mean how could you do that to this child? - whispered Jonathon......But the old man did not answer..........

LOVERS AND ALLIES

Jonathon still did not know her name. She was simply the young doctorix, simply his little bed buddy. Did he have the same feelings for her as for Sarah? Zebulon does not think so. She was simply a ...how do they say it now?....a friend with benefits. Such things existed in my time, but we called them courtesans, or and I am not proud of this...handmaidens, serving girls taken into households as slaves or little better than slaves and almost always used for such purposes. But sometimes it was a way to gain allies and riches or even freedom. Who knows, maybe Jonathon was the handmaiden in this instance. Only male handmaidens were usually called cup bearers. He looked over at her. She was still sleeping. Her features were fine. Her hair a deep, rich russet. And did she find it strange to be physically involved with a vampire?  Had she done the like before? These people, this Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, had to be very powerful. How long have they been around? Jonathon guessed decades, maybe longer. If Doctor Franklin was truthful, they'd been there more than a century. And the Philadelphia vampires had never been able to detect them. Sometimes it seemed as if Edith and some of her Piney/Red Paint crowd sensed things. But still.They had to know something. The Anti-Enchantment crowd, I mean. Jonathon's thoughts matched my own. He wanted to know. So he slid his arm back under the sheet and tickled her. She purred. Her breath came more rapidly and her eyes fluttered and opened. She yawned. He smiled and kissed her. She snugglled up to him like a kitten. He put his arm around her and whispered in her ear. He said - You know I'd feel better if I knew what to call you. I mean other than one of those names from your box of identification tags.......There was silence. He felt her tension. He nibbled at her ear and said - Well?....She said - We're not supposed to share such information with our subjects..........He whispered - Is that what I am?.......More silence........He added - What am I saying? Of course I am.....And he retreated back to the other side of the bed. She flipped over so that she could face him, as she searched for words......Please, please, don't get me in trouble with those people.....Are they that dangerous? - he asked........Dangerous? They're beyond dangerous. They don't even look at it as being dangerous. It's just what they do. It's just what they 'can' do, - she pleaded.......But they let me know about Doctor Franklin and that one man who stayed in the room with us. Doctor Franklin called him Jamison, or something like that. I heard him, he said.......Yes, and next time he'll call him Smythe, or Ginsburg or Caruso, she explained..... Oh? Well then, I will give you a name. I will call you 'Bonita.' It is an old Spanish name. It means 'pretty' but in a cute and girlish way. You knew I spoke Spanish. didn't you?......Yes, she said, we know a lot of things........The silence returned. They layed there, intimate, yet far apart. And from somewhere else in Franklin's quarters, came the pure, clear dulcet notes of a small armonica. The master was composing a song....

STRANGE SIGHTS

Certain things are just true. They are not open to discussion. Mathematics just makes them so. One of them is the inter-relatedness of humanity. Everyone alive today is descended from one person who lived fourthousand years ago. So, Abraham the Patriarch...he your pop-pop. Cheops who built the Great Pyramid..he your pop-pop too. And that warrior queen from up in Albion (Britian) who commisioned a little chapel known as Stonehenge..she your mom-mom. This does not mean that we are all exactly the same. Ethnic differences still exist. God knows, I was not even that much like my brother. If he was in fact my full brother. How can I tell? Untill the great scientist, Maury Povich, invented the paternity test, those things were better left unsaid. But Papa is over twenty eight thousand years old. Did he have mortal children before he passed over? Yes, he did. And for that reason he cares greatly about the future of his children, when he is in his right mind. Who would have thought one skinny, 'six' year old vampire brat would be the one to cure him. Oh, but Annie was hard to take. She'd mess with the mummies too much. Those 'familiars' on the night crew went crazy getting everything back the right way before opening time. Quenn Hep-Hep posed as if she was locked in carnal union with General Tothrama (whom she hated in real life). The royal toddlers of Princess Ka-Ka smoking cigaretttes and reading 'busom' magazines. While Ka-Ka's mother was posed laying on a sofa in the mid-century furniture exhibit, eatin' piles of Twinkies from the snack shop. May the wrath of Horus fall upon her. Oh, but that Zebulon was a pagan and able to throw such curses. Papa took to leaving the tiny wretch alone for longer and longer periods of time. The familiars hated that. But what could they do? Oh, he made it up to them. Everybody got baubles from jewelry shops in the diamond district. If you come to town, don't miss it, branching off from Eighth and Sansom Streets. But Zebulon sometimes wanders.....Papa floated around the perimeters of the buildings in the old navy yard district.. He'd sublimate into the air and become more or less invisible. Then he'd listen to what went on inside. He knew about Jonathon and how he played cowboys and bath-house whores with the young doctorix. It made him smile. He knew about Sarah and the little 'elves and cherubs.' And he felt sorry for them. But he was just coming 'round to his sanity and could not yet remember how to bring them back. Let Franklin do it. Let him use that Great Armonica of his. Papa was curious about that. He had not seen anything like it since the court of Radimar the Magnificent, Warlord of Old Delmun. That one had his toys. But drunken revels were the norm back then and all the toys got broken. And when the necromancers couldn't build them back up fast enough, they got broken too. Anybody care for a wizard's leg?? Ha ha ha, it was actually funny. But I guess you had to be there. ......Now, where was I? Oh yes, Papa's wanerings. He knew what Sarah saw, for he could see it too. She walked across an infinite plain made of thick glass. The sky above was featureless and gray. The air, misty and cool. Below the glass stretched a vast lake of fire. And every once in an eternity a stringy demon would manage to pop through the surface, only to be roughly yanked back by his angry brethren. For who was he to deserve such blessings? The glass plain was warm and sometimes Sarah would lie down on it. She could see the demons on the other side rapping on the glass and making faces at her. But little of the sound came through. And she had no way of knowing how long this numbing torment would go on........or what the elves and cherubs saw through their eyes........