A MIDNIGHT SIDE SHOW RACES FOR SALVATION

please don't expect too much accurate spelling or correct punctuation. (not that I'm very proficient at the best of times) We're in a convoy, two big, heavy, black cars speeding along the Atlantic city Expressway. there wasn't m uch time. Baylah had an encounter with the uber-murderous biological entities.(the ones currently camping out on Europa and a few other outter solar system moons).

she was making some food for her cat, Esmerelda. The sleek, little siamese trollop is addicted to nova scotia salmon seasoned with freshly ground black pepper. Baylah keeps a special grinder (God forbid she should run out) right on the counter of her little jewel-box of a pied a terre. It's over the cozy piano bar. Yes, that's back up and running, but we don't have time for that.

trouble is, something startled her. she heard a sound, like a high pitched hum, or a blood vessel about to break. It made her drop the ridiculously expensive grinder, which exploded into a million pieces (it was crystal). The cat ran out to her safe spot under the rare, silk, Louis XV tufted ottoman. It's amazing all these nice things stay intact, but Edith did a hootchy-koo (a pow-wow spell) and so far (not counting the grinder) it's been working

It happened when she bent down to clean up the mess. the tiny grains of pepper simply stuck to her. she could not brush them off. Others, still on the fine, gray, hand-cut slate floor, started to 'gravitate toward her, winding their way along the cold surface like teeny-tiny ants homing in on a honey pot.  As each touched her skin, it errupted into a barely visible speck of fire.  She screamed. she slapped at her legs and torso trying to put them out. but there were thousands of them.

When the fire reached her hair it set off the smoke alarm. People ran up from the bar. Her manager, Mickey pounded on the door. And he's a big guy, but there's no way he could break it down. Vampires believe in extreemly strong doors. Oh, he knows she's a life-eater. but the people at the bottom of the stairs didn't and one of them calls 911. Mickey yells - Baylah! Baylah! The cops are comin'! The cops are comin'!

she goes into a panic. Not all the cops know about them. Some do and some don't. And she don't know who they're gonna send. So she runs out the little kitchen, pounds into the livingroom and vaults through the big window looking out on Rittenhouse Square. Glass flies everywhere. the frame shatters. People scream. A lady throws up. Some guy's brand new Porsche (I'm sorry, but I don't know what model) jumps the curb and smashes right through the front of the bar. Her huge fish tank crashed out onto the sidewalk. Live sushi is slappin' around everywhere. Feral cats are dashing out of the bushes. But the worst thing is some kid, working for The City Paper gets a shot of this human-shaped, orange meteor arcing up through the night and making for the river........ It was like Bob-on-You-Tube all over again. They even talked about it on Night Line. Martin Bashir gave it the last five minutes.

Luckily, Doctor Franklin was out tooling around on his little electric, old-people's scooter. Nobody recognises him. What? With all the ersatz Ben Franklins they got around here (like Mickey Mouses in Disney World) one more fat old fart gonna make a difference? And remember he ain't dressed in one a them George Washington suits. Now he favors baggy fleece wear from Walmart (hey, a penny saved...) Better for hiding the Depends (he's a good scientist, but some things are beyond the range of human comprehension). So he calls to his guys in the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. and forty five seconds later, two small cigarette-like craft come speeding out from under a dock to intercept the steaming hunk a meat thrashing around in the Delaware. They bundle the crying vampirina into one of the boats and race back to their sub-terranean lair.

I don't know. I don't know. A big boat full a bloated tourists and suburbanites on a dinner cruise might a seen something. But I was told most of them were inside doin' the Macarena and fightin' over pigs-in-the-blankets. Thank God for tradition. Still, it was thought best for us all to go into hiding. Look, Baylah's a vampire. She'll heal fast. Those guys at the Bureau will see that she has the best of everything. And she likes visiting with the mermaid hag (google it). But things are getting strange around here. I know. I know. I know. That's a relative term.

Right now I'm jammed into the back seat of a wedding limo (from a familiar) between two wide-eyed, terrified elves and three gleefully screeching cherubs, as we streak down the highway towards Edith's people, deep in the Pines. Some of us have holed up with them before, but not like this. Woo Hoo! The circus is in town!!

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GUESS WHO'S COMING TO 'EAT' YOU FOR DINNER?

Papa finally told them. He calmed down and he told them. I could let wilkravitz tell you, but I don't know if he understands it all. So I'll tell you. It is I, Zebulon. And yes, yes, yes, you're probably asking how much the disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old, dead for more than twentyone hundred years, Judean boy could comprehend. But know this..... I haven't been playing 'hounds and jackals' all that time. This one is precocious. This one absorbs things. I have listened at the tables of the great, both on my home world and in less parochial surroundings as well.

Tell me. you've heard Papa speak of the manta ray people on Europa, no? So you understand humans are not the be all and end all of creation, yes? Intelligent 'civilizations' pepper the galaxies like cinnamon on hal-vah (that  is if you like the cinnamon/vanilla variety. create your own visual image if you do not.) And our own family of planets, besides housing us and the fishy-people, shelters two colonies of strangers. Yes, yes, yes.....I know the Holy Scriptures teach us that no one is truly a stranger, 'for strangers ye were in Egypt, before I came to save you'..... and we're supposed to have learned from experience. Fences are artificual human constructs. We are all one, since The Lord is One. Look, I did go to Bible School before they stoned me. So I know all that. I know ' if in your stubbornness you find a 'stranger' in your midst, be even more to them than to one of your own, for they expect so very much less.'........... One of my favorite passages. But them that's coming tend to stretch those sentiments a little. 

Papa's seen them. They visit the manta ray people too. Oh, it's not like the fishy-folk love them so much. And yes. they have had their own revelation. But these creatures are different. You hate bed-bugs? You hate Great White Sharks? You hate Europan-Manta Ray People-Eating-Snails?....OK, bad example. Them, you do not know.  But, come on. You must be getting the idea. Does the thought of spending your days imprisoned in a skin farm intrigue you? Do you know what it's like to be flayed alive? Do you know what that means? Or how 'bout slaving away in an organ mine, entombed in the dark with alien gelatinous masses glued down into your innards, feeding on you from the inside out till they mature and can be harvested. And I'm talking 'bout the esecutive possitions here.

Sure, they act different on Europa. The manta rays have the wrong type of cellular structure. But YOU DON'T. What? You're wondering why they'd do things like that? You're asking why, if they can traverse stellar distances, can't they simply synthesize any biological tissues they might need? Well, that's an easy one  to answer. I'll tell you...... It's against their religion.

Papa recognized the crystaline material in that shard. He saw it on Europa. They fashion their armor from it. Or maybe it grows, organically, out of their bodies? I don't know. Some of them must have been buzzing around up there. Guess they're ready now. Maybe the shard found its way out in a big, doughy turd of space shmutz? Maybe they wanted it to?

Vampires should be able to survive. They can always sublimate. Oxygen is only a comfort and not a necessity to them. Even the blood is only a comfort. Taking life is what keeps them going. And they'll learn  to kill something else....

What about you? What about your family? What about the little ones?

It's only gonna get worse before it starts getting better.

And for once, I wish this really was fiction.......

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TOLD YOU THAT MUTTER MUSEUM WAS A SINISTER PLACE...AND IT'S REALLY THERE TOO.... HAPPY MIDNIGHT AFTER HALLOWEEN

So we're all sitting on these old fashioned wood folding chairs. The watchman guy has them set up in the middle of this sort of wide aisle passing by a big, glass display case containing a life cast of the naked bodies of Chang and Eng, the first mass-marketed Siamese Twins. No, for real. They had these Chang and Eng hand puppets. But it was hard for the kiddies  to manipulate them, 'cause like what if little Lucas or Hezikiah had to wipe up a sneeze or something? That's why they're such collectors' items today.

Some vampire kid from the Main Line came too. Blackie, I think his name is. I think he has a thing for Baylah, but she's still stuck on her rich, human boyfriend. Papa's just sitting there with his arms folded staring off into space. He doesn't care what happens. He just goes with the flow.Jonathon and Sarah care. They're like two soccer  parents chairing a PTA meeting. She's even got this little, spiral note pad to write in. The watchman gave each of us a nice aroma candle. Scent's a little harsh though. Think he got 'em at the dollar store. But there ain't no little tables here, so everybody put 'em down on the floor under their chairs. That's why we look like a bunch a fancy, human shaped buffet entrees simmerin' they asses over a mess a wax-lip-smellin' tea lights. Strange looking, but so appropriate for Halloween.

Papa took out the glass shard and passed it around. We all seen it before. Baylah didn't. Blackie didn't. She picked it up and sniffed it. The Elvis-lookin'-kid licked the tip with his tongue. Papa held out his hand. They gave it back to him. He wrapped it up in a fancy pocket cloth and put it away. We  sat in silence for about a dozen heartbeats. The quarter-wit watchman but on an old Weird Al Yankovich cassette. Papa yells - Turn that shit the hell off!! Watchman don't move fast enough, so Papa just scoops it up and drop-kicks it out one a the, hundred and fifty year old, quarter inch thick, panes in the original, iron framed sky-light. Lucky Twenty Second Street's deserted this late at night. Watchman says - I'm sorry. Jus thought you'd like some background music. Blackie gets a fit a laughing. Papa shoots him a look and his chair goes poof and disappears in a puff a smoke. This causes the ambient gravity in the room to yank his ass down, right on top a that little scented candle flame. And he starts bouncin' 'round and yelpin' like one a the Three Stooges. Baylah impatiently snaps her fingers transforming the tiny tushie-flames into miniature, wined monkeys, who fly off his ass and race out through the broken skylight, taking the searing pain along with them. The kid (who now sports a pair a jeans like the ones made famous in that Ryan O'Neal classic, 'So fine.' (google it. he made butt-less jeans. there, now you know) mouths a silent 'thank you' and sits down onn a cold, marble sarcophagus.

Sarah says - Look, if you all have so much power, why are we concerned about that shard of glass? Can't you just 'magic' away any danger? Papa sighs ans says - This isn't Bewitched. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but you see the Green Lantern around here, you dumb bitch?........... Jonathon gets all protective and puts his arm around her. You  know the Spanish accent comes out when he gets all worked up...... Pleez, show some respeck wan you tawg to mai woo-man - he growls............... Papa exhales impatiently (but I guess some little fart of uncontrollable magic popped out, 'cause Jonathon's now dressed in a tight, little Flamenco outfit, complete with a chenille-ball-trimmed, chin-corded Zorro hat, doing his best Jose Greco imitation all over the mezzanine............ You like your little display!? You think this is funny!? - screams the twenty eight thousand year old reluctant patriarch and WHOOSH, Jonathon is back in his chair, just as he was. Except he still got that tight, little cumberbun (or whatever it is) cutting into his waist, but he finally manages to unfasted the back, which sends in flying into the air and over the balustrade to the main floor down below..

I'm sorry - whispers Papa. But you don't understand. You think you want to save humanity? Better worry about saving the world first. He takes out the needle-like shard and levitates it right above his finger tip. It glistens in the dim 'after-hours' illumination, as it vibrates and emitts a barely audible, high pitched tone........This is not glass. This is not crystal. It isn't even diamond. It's something else. And it comes from another world.......... Where? - says Sarah.

Papa doesn't answer, but erupts into a low, sinister chuckle. Every doo-dad and tchotchkie in the place  begins to vibrate. A startled Blackie vaults off his perch, leaping up to a clerestory  window frame far, far above, as he yells - Damn, I hope they got insurance!

Out on the street, a passing bum looks up from his butt hunt (cigarett, I mean) to see the whole building vibrate. It teeters on the brink of disintegration, then sighs and settles down exactly as it was. While from deep inside, he hears the sound of Papa's crazy laughter.

The terrified old bastid breaks into his best arthritic hip run and skip-gallops 'round the corner.

We FOCUS ON a TIGHT SHOT of Edith drinking her morning coffee. She picks up the paper and reads - GAS EXPLOSION CAUSES EXTENSIVE DAMAGE AT CENTER CITY MUSEUM.

INTERIOR - The Mutter Museum............A uniformed crew carefully cleans the debris away. While safe in their glass display case, one of the plaster Siamese Twins turns his head toward the chaos and begins to slowly smile.........

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WEIRD SPECIMENS WHISPERING IN THE NIGHT

I spent the next day walking up and down Germantown Avenue. No more gray, cold rain. A beautiful fall day. Had some coffee, which was actually more like a hot, sweet milk shake. Bought a couple magazines. Sat in this nice litttle, cozy library they have and relaxed. My eye did itch a little, but not much. The trees are finally beginning to blush. Some go red. Some go orange. Some yellow. Some  brown. I like the way the dead ones curl up and crunch under my feet. They love being turned into mulch.

Papa felt sorry for me. Jonathon did too. But it was Sarah who slipped me the twenties. Bought some sneakers. Just a pair of retro Pumas. Don't have to be fancy. Worked on my screenplay while I was in the library. I do that sometimes. Not on the lap-top. I left that at home. Wrote down lots of ideas and a few scenes in a black and white, wide ruled, grade school composition book. Not technologically correct, but it's what I do. You want to know what the screenplay's about? It's about all this. It's about life. I change it all around. Jonathon is a Scot. Sarah's still the same. Baylah don't look like Beyonce in this one. We still got elves and cherubs, only they don't live with us. Papa never showed up. Only we got this cool guy, The Kahn. Ever see Keanu Reeves in that Buddah movie? Well, then you know what I mean.

They're having a meeting  tonight. All the vampires are getting together at the Mutter Museum. Now THAT is one interesting place. Close your eyes and picture an old tick-tock, wood floored, dim and shuttered mid-Victorian curiosity collection. Dust where there should be dust. Long, ebony framed, glass display cases. And some of the weirdest, most sickening specimens you've ever seen. If you want to visit, don't go before lunch. Go after. Look, I'm sure I told you about this place before, but we get a lot of first time readers around here, so we got to do a lot of back-tracking. You want to know which prized exhibit I like best? The 'two-headed, pickled, white baby.' No, really, they got a whole mess of them, each one labeled according to 'race.' But the white ones look like Ray Bradbury made them. One's got a big, sick, twisted ear-to-ear smile. And his connected at the hip brother's got two of his fingers jammed up his ass. Just a pair of bleached out, skinny, little bad boys, bobbing around in a big jar of pickle juice. What a way to spend the first part of eternity.

The night watchman is a friend of theirs. Not actually a familiar. They feel sorry for him. It's not that he's a half-wit. That would not be right. He's more like a quarter wit, but he does try hard. Got a prize winning Pez collection and everything. They give him money and chicken nuggets and all. He lets them duck inside for a pitstop on cold dark nights. It's where they go to talk. They could talk at home, but there's something about the atmosphere. Humans are rarely invited. I'm going because I was almost half blinded. But you know that from last night. The elves and cherubs don't take part in this stuff. Maybe Annie will. I don't know.

I showed that thin, little needle-like shard of glass to Jonathon. He held it up to the light bulb and looked at it real hard. Papa looked at it too. They made a lot of faces, but they didn't say nothing. Then Edith held out her hand. She wanted to see, so they gave it to her. Started sucking in a lot of air, but that's all she did. I asked them what they saw. I wanted to know what they thought. But Papa just told me to go to sleep.

Usually, I try to be all snug in bed by the time they come in. I don't know why. It just feels better that way. Maybe I don't want to see them after they've killed somebody. Yeah, they don't do it every night. But who knows. Only having a crystaline dart fly into your eye makes you see things. Sounds funny, but that's what it does. I've been around them more than a year. You think I know a lot? Bullshit. I don't know crap. Maybe tonight I'll get a few lessons.......

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THANK GOD FOR VAMPIRE CHILDREN

I'm still a little nervous about it. Well, maybe more than a little. Not in a million years did I ever think they'd come after me. I don't have any powers. I can't to anything major. I just organize this blog for them...... But something did come for me....And I don't know why. Maybe I was just a sign or a signal of what could happen. You know, like when the Nazis (when they were first getting noticed) would rip open the belly of a little dog as a preview to what the owner and his kids could expect next.

There's a small balcony opening off one of the upstairs bedrooms. Nobody uses it. Edith still sees that it's clean and dusted and all. A cozy space, actually. I'll go out there sometimes. Could be day. Could be night. I'll sit on one of the old painted, metal chairs (there's two of them) and look at the clouds, or maybe the stars. It's miserable here today, rainy, slushy snow, a bone chilling damp. A sad, little leak weeps its way through the roof and bounces into a rubber pail  out in the hallway. Luck one of the Red Paint guys saw it. We like this place. Hate to have anything happen to the hardwood floors, or to that nice, wool runner even.

Guess we'll need a roofer. The Red Paints aren't too sure of themselves when it commes to that. Any other 'family' would just call somebody. But we have to be careful. All the vampires (and that means Annie and the elves and cherubs too) have to sleep down in the sub-basement. No passing the day upstairs. I don't know. Edith thinks they have a 'familiar' for things like that. But she can't remember.

Sarah and Jonathon were already out when it happened. He's off his praying jag, at least for now. Still, I don't think he's going to kill anyone tonight. Probably just walk around the dark, wet streets. They enjoy that. The vampires, I mean. We got these really good, British made umbrellas. They take one of the big ones, huddle under it and go. No trim, little leather bootkins tonight. This is hiking boot weather. He's got these well made, oiled ones. Sarah's got these black, shiny rubber boots. Look like riding boots, only their rubber. They look so poetic with their scarves and all....like some big city couple in a movie you's see at Sundance.

I was out on the balcony and looked up to watch a plane. It's like a reflex with me. I always watch planes. It was dark. It was drizzling. Couldn't even see the plane, just hear it. Rain started getting in my eyes. But I had this water-proof hoodie thing on. AndI like weather like that. Sit out in the rain all the time. Why? If you wipe the water off the chair and put down a plastic trash bag it's all right. That's what I do. That's what I did.

But one of those silvery, little spears of liquid falling through the void wasn't water. It was glass. Pierced a hole right through my cornea (right through a lot of stuff actually) and into that aloe-vera like gel we got in the middle. The taller Red Paint guy heard me screaming and yelling. He ran out and carried me in. Those Paint People are strong, old dudes. I was kickin my legs and thrashing around trying to pull it out. He sat on me so I'd be still. Then he hollered for his brother to get one of the cherubs ( a couple of them were watching a DVD of  Dumbo in the family room). The old guy comes racing in, carrying one of the chubby, little dumplings. It sees what happened, squirms up out of his arms and flies over. Then it hovers over my face (I could not see. They told me after.) scrapes the inside of its cheek with its tiny, rough-tipped tongue and lets a drop or two of  magic-baby-vampire blood plop right in my eye. How could anybody want to kill the cherubs? I could hear it gurgling in sympathy. And one heartbeat later the pain was all gone. Red Paint guy comes over, leans in and carefully pulls the crystaline needle right out. Cherub gives me another bloody eye-kiss for good measure, backs away and smiles. You know how cute chubby babies look when they smile, especially all wrapped up snug in one of those soft, knit outfits Edith keeps them in. I could see that. He was wearing a green one, with matching booties. I smiles back. We both started laughing.

Got to start paying more attention to the cherubs. Edith and the elves look after them all right. But I want to start paying attention to them too. I did go back down to the family room with him. I did watch the rest of Dumbo with them. We laughed when they made him up like a clown. We clapped when he flew. (the cherubs wish everybody could fly) We cried when his mama got locked up in circus jail. It was nice. Then we played with this little, plastic whack-a-mole game they have. Gave them each a few whiffs of their favorite aroma candle (chocolate) and tucked them in. Not for the day. This is just like a nap time. I like to watch them doze off. Winkin, Blinkin and Nod...plus a fourth one too. Sleep well, little pudgies.

Now I'm sitting in the kitchen tapping this out. Didn't think I'd be able to, but I guess spending time with the little ones calmed me down. Still, I do jump everytime the heater makes a noise, or when Edith shuffles her cards. Saved the glass shard. I want to show it to Jonathon. I want to see what he thinks............

Please escuse any typing or spelling errors. Even though I am OK, deep inside I'm still a little shaken up.

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COME ON --- , DID YOU THINK HE WAS GONNA GIVE UP THE QUEST?-----JONATHON RECONSIDERS HIS PURPOSE

Jonathon retreated into silence, as he often did at these times. He sat in the chapel and prayed. Papa watched from the door. He wanted to comfort him, but he felt guuilty too. Why had he converted the injured, young man? Could he have saved him? Would a small draught of blood have been enough? How many times has he walked this way? When he languished in the rock-lined pit far beneath the Trinitarian Capital and fed on their pathetic captives he cried. How many times had he considered ending it all? A quick 'sublimation' into the sixteen foot thick granite walls. Solidification while still within the living rock. How liberating it would have been to feel each fluid-filled cell in his body crushed and distroyed. But he did not do this thing. Even an old one knows fear. And he laid there, in darkness and suffered. His captives, not a true faction of their creed, but an unofficial band of covert alchemists, sought knowledge. They craved power. And what better place to steal it then from the enchanted blood of the vampire? How misunderstood they were. How exploited and tortured.

Ranking warlords knew the truth. Each vied for his own captive 'life-eater.' Potentates bought and sold them like glittering baubles. Granted, some of the strong ones did manage to break free and exact a terrible revenge. But most were young. Many were weak. And escape but a dream. Yes, Jonathon sometimes did murderous things. So did Sarah. So did Luna, Annie and all the rest. But their sins were as snow compared to the transgressions of their tormentors. Jonathon would have said - A transgression is a transgression. Each one a crack in the in the oak of Jacob's Ladder....... That's why he worked so hard to mend them.

Papa thinks he'll go back to Jerusalem eventually. He'll make some kind of a gesture....a grand pronouncement. Maybe other local life-eaters will join him? They'll have to be brave. Satan creeps through many  windows. Countless ears attend him. What can some vampires do? Yet in his quiet times, when he lays upon his cot, he can see them. His soul flies free and he is there, watching from the shadows of Jerusalem, as Lailah and her mentor Jean-Michel try to do their best. Renate is there. Granted, she does not do much, but her deep abiding strength helps all.

The three musicians sing their songs, heard only by 'the choir.' Those occupying distant seats hear other hymns..... Well, maybe 'hymn' is not the proper word. Yet progress is made. A tentative reconcilliation grows. Perhaps these things need time? Some bulbs can't be forced.

Let him pray. Papa will not disturb him. He'll get dressed, go out into the city and confront the boney ghoul. Sarah means to accompany him. She prepares herself. He hears her. Johnny-Jump-Up....The Bone Cracker....The Flesh Ripper. What brought him back? Who quickened that vile corpse? How can they destroy him? Baylah's tried many times in the past. So did Bob. (remember him?- a simple minded, good hearted vampire, who actually allowed himself to be put on You Tube, the dumb son of a bitch). Johnny-Jump-Up, how will they fight him? He 'POPS" out of existence, traveling to God knows where, whenever they come near.  And will his 'death,' if they should accomplish such a thing, mean that much? ........ The wind is but a symphony of sighs - That's what Jonathon would say. Little things mean a lot. Tiny scales a dragon makes. So they would go and seek him out. Could he kill them? Baylah always survived.

Vampire life is a funny thing. These volitile beings do so much. Some good. Some bad. And they feel it all. Maybe child vampires, like Annie are luckiest. All she wants are toes...................

Shhhhhhh, the young Andalician is still at his devotions.........Hear him?........Listen, he recites the Amidah, the personal conversation between each believing soul and God. .......He whispers - THOU, O LORD ART MIGHTY FOREVER.  THOU CALLEST THE DEAD TO IMMORTAL LIFE, FOR THOU ART MIGHTY IN DELIVERANCE....

What a curiousity he must seem. Jonathon, the believing vampire...... Yet what can I tell you?

Faith never dies.........

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'BLACKIE' DOES A GOOD DEED... AN OLD ZOMBIE-GHOUL WAKES UP

Yeah, I know. It's been a while. Since the middle of the summer to be exact. But to me, that's like maybe fortyfive minutes ago. COME ON! Don't be an ee-jit! It's me, Blackie, the trim, little vampirino of The Main Line. Vampirino...I guess you're used to that word. You spend enough time with that sorta Spanish fellah, don't ya? What? You want me to tell you where I come from? Keep dreamin, sunshine. Sure, I retain a bit o' the East End in me voice, but what's 'at prove? Coulda picked that up any time. That's all. 'Sides, the 'tender cuts' likes it. Gives me a l'il distinction.

Right now we are sittin' on a nice bench on a picture book winding lane snakin' it's merry way through some girls' school. Posh, little college, I think it is. They likes me in these parts. Lets me up in the dormitories  for a friendly 'how-de-do' anytime. Yep, Blackie's a legend 'round here. Oh, they know I'm not a ghost. Nothing like Moaning Mertyl. Though I does show up in the shower room on occassion. Good back scrubber, I am. Gives a spankin' fresh wash-out, I does. Then kisses 'em in all the right nooks and crannies when it's over. Well... just before it's over.

How does an honest, nice to touch and look at, vampire boy like me make his living? Don't  worry. I gets a wee hot dram every once in a while. Little nip on the cheek... all four of 'em. They giggle. They swoon. They pass me on to their friends. It's like a ceremony 'round here. Been goin' on since the fifties. The 'Black Harem, they calls themselves. We light candles, make promises, spank a mess a quivverin', little, naked bums. The spankin' part is my job. I give a good lickin', I does.

Sure I require a proper meal every once in a while. That's what undocumented kitchen help are for. And not just kitchen help, not sinnce the Celtic Tiger lost a few stripes anyway. Oh, don't give me the 'hard eyed' up and down like that. I only takes the nasty sort. Just 'cause folks are grubbin' 'round for a little silver don't make 'em all saints or something. Keeps me firm and fit, it does. Come on, you likes the way I looks. Elvis-haired, blue-eyed, wicked angel-boy. This much I will share. Them that 'made' me did it in the summer. Got me with a tan... all over, burnt caramel smooth. Sure, I likes talkin' 'bout me self. We vampires are a very vain race. Ain't yer 'Jonathon' the same way? And stake her a few score years. Sarah's gonna cook up that way too.

But this ain't why I called you here. Wanna do a good deed, that's why. I know I don't prowl the city. Not my part of the forest. Not my huntin' ground . But I do sneak down to pick up a few things every now and then. Jonathon fancies his sleek, fine trousers and those leather bootkins. I likes me snug, little, white, cotton boxers and Turkish soap, I does. Can't always find it in these parts. So I takes me chances and trespass into foreign territory. Sublimates through the walls of certain worthy establishments and indulges in a bit a midnight shopping. That's when I seen 'im. Johnny-Jump-Up, I mean. The cadaverously thin, bleached white, lank-haired ghoul. No, no, no! He ain't no vampire. Should only be so lucky. That bloke was buried alive. That's what made him that way. 'Spose a spot a magic helped too. But don't mess with that much, so can't say.  But he had his cold, boney hand on the back of some poor girls neck. Saw it through the shop window. Did he know I was there? Who cares? What difference does it make? That don't mean nothing to him......

But the girl looked scared. Don't know why she didn't scream. Runnin' wouldn't do much good. Hell, that shitty demon can jump up to a third or fourth floor window. Bounces 'round like a dead maniac, he does. 'Johnny-Jump-Up,' that's how he got his name. Been wearin' the same, tight, dusty black suit for a hundred and sixty years. Guess the dampness makes it  shrink up like that. God only knows where he hides.

The next day cops found her body...what was left of it. Most was all chewed up. The flesh, I mean. No face left. Little bit a mmeat on her hands and feet, but that was it. Some hair on her skull maybe. Family identified the clothes. That and the dental work. Told 'em to keep quiet. Don't want no panic. City Hall knows about him, they does. Press knows too. But what are they gonna say? So the families get like maybe a quarter million dollars hush money and Center City night spots go on as usual. Looks like he's on a tear, too. So keep an eye peeled.

And remember who told you................ Happy Halloween...........

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