DANGEROUS ALLIANCES AFTER MIDNIGHT...... A CAFE WITH MAGGOTS

Potentates have known about other islands of life in the sky for centuries. Hammurabi knew. Ezekiel knew. Julius Ceasar traded Saturnalia baskets with them. Your president, sitting in the midst of the Imperial American Capital knows too. So did the Bush ones before him and the Clinton Super Friends as well. They all knew.... They all KNOW.  Look, if we can all accept the fact that they knew about and exploited vampires. we can swallow this one too.

But most of the 'funny-folk' we had truck with were  sorta friendly. They might play a prank every now and then, steal a baby, sprinkle us with zitz (I think they did that to generate human pus. It has industrial applications on some worlds.). Only this crew happens  to be different...... extremely different. They don't want to rule us. They don't want to convert us. They don't want to eat us........ All they want to do is make us disappear. Look, I'm trying to be nice. 'Disappear' is just a cozier way to say 'kill us.' Ever 'put down' a dog? Well, then you know what I mean.

Actually, here's where I'm a little bit lucky. They can't do shit to me, 'cause I am already dead. Zebulon burnt up like twenty five centuries ago. But I know what the fire feels like. And I can imagine what they have planned for all a you.

Most a they vampires are out at the desert facility. Look back a few weeks. We blogged about it before Jonathon left Jerusalem the first time. Are you familiar with the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau installation buried under the old navy yard in Philadelphia? Well, it's a lot like that. They ain't formulated no plans yet. The vampires, I mean. But it just may be that the space cadets we got comin' (not countin' the ones already here) can't do nuttin' to them, at least not to the ones who can sublimate. Right now they're havin' an aroma candle social. The humans are eatin' cherry-cheese kugel (sort a like a bread pudding that thinks it's a cheese cake) topped with ice cold sour cream.. Claim it's very satisfying and refreshing. But I don't know. They didn't have nuttin' like that in my time. Our big treat was like baklavah. You know what baklavah is? It's got honey and filo dough pastry. My mama and my aunts used to make it. One a the kitchen slaves used to make it too

Right now you're probably sayin' - What the hell is this God damn, son-of-a-bitch, disembodied spirit talkin' about!? Who the hell cares about cakes!? We want creatures and vampires!!

Well, OK..... Gimme a heartbeat to collect myself.......

CUT TO - A  tiny outdoor cafe deep within the Old City souk (marketplace).

Lailah and Jean-Michel (two vampires) are seated at a small table far back from the artificial illumination. They have a 'guest'.... a third being. Any passerby caring to give him a look sees a perfectly nondiscript human. He wears tourist clothes. He appears to sip tourist-blend coffee. Could be some guy in a food court at your favorite mall.

But the two vampires see something else. They see a sticky, eight foot long, cyst covered, giant maggot struggling to keep its seat on the small, white, plastic chair. And he drinks not the aromatic, tourist blend kava brew from far off Sheba (Zebulon meanders through his mortal life), but munches on a generous portion of smoked human ass he's brought from home. Granted, they don't want to eat us all, yet an occassional exotic delicacy is quite understandable.

The aliens seek raproachment with the vampires. We don't step on their 'toes' and they won't step on ours. Maybe a few of the 'noxious' ones might bite, but the 'nobles' won't. Somehow they don't get that. I mean what are vampires? They're different. But they ain't shapped like pressure cookers, or French Poodles, or nothin'. They're humans, just essentially a  group of jazzed up, zhuzzed up humans.

Jean-Michel wants to throw up. He can't stand the way that space freak's mandibles operate. And the eyes look like two yellow-green mangos sruck onto a wad a sweatin' spoiled coconut-custard Jimmy Dean sausage links.

Lailah eyes don't say nothin'. She just sits. They want her to go back to one a the out posts. Maybe she's gonna be like an ambassador or something? Or maybe they're just playing games. But she knows what 'it' wants to do. They say she won't die. She's a vampire. How could she do that? But it's the way all non-native travelers are transported back with them. So she lets him do it. She gets up, hugs the Chevalier Jean-Michel and walks back into the dark alley. The maggot goes in after her. And the thousand year old French knight stands guard, as it arcs up over her trembling body, opens its oozing mandibles and swallows her down, inching along like a fat, disgusting, mostly decomposed boa contrictor.

And her tiny, bare feet kick and tremble a little, as the creature throws back its 'head' and 'gulps.'

The small table is empty. The plastic chairs rest askew. But a waiter comes over and rights things for a friendly, smiling couple from Vermont.......

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SHHHHH....THEY GOT MOTH-MEN AND CREEPY SPACE MEN OUT THERE

I didn't traverse the sea with the vampires. They asked me to stay back with Edith and the juveniles. They like me. I play with them. So I don't mind. We have some treasure stashed around here. Money won't be a problem. In fact, Edith and her husband (I wish I could remember his name...she calls him 'hey you!' or 'tell that skinny son of a bitch') are over at the Hammonton Lowe's right now buying some new laminate wood flooring for the cabin. She calls it a bungalow. But to me it looks like a cabin.

The elves love the freedom they have around here. They don't have to worry about people seeing them and all. One of the Red Paint guys says some mafia guys seen 'em. But who they gonna tell? Shit, they were plantin' somebody. So what if a couple of curious flying Justin Biebers and their equally exotic etherial Olson Twin girlfriends were flitting about through the treetops? Everybody knows how strange the weather's been lately. Fuhged aboudit.

I met a few other Pineys. They are some interesting individuals. One guy speaks in tongues. But all he knows is real juicy languages, so you gotta stand back a few feet. I don't know how people ever got 'intimate' in the land where they talk that language, 'cause everytime you go to speak soft in somebody's ear, they wind up gettin' all wet. Jus wanna push  you the hell out the car and say - Leave me the f**k alone, you sloppy bastid! But the others showed me how to hypnotise earthworms and levitate 'em up outta the dirt a little and that part was all right.

Edith says she feels the enemy. Keeps havin' those dreams. Keeps seein' what she calls Moth-Men standin' in the dark. They got a lot a dark 'round here...in the Pines, I mean. Sometimes one a the cherubs will all of a sudden laugh and point off into the shadows. They'll start kickin' their chubby legs and clappin'. But nobody's there. Once some strange guy...a human guy, I mean, came stumblin' outta the brush, moanin' and all. Holdin' his hannds out in front a him, like Frankenstein. But he had to do that. He couldn't help it, 'cause his eye-balls was all sucked out. We couldn't tell untill he got in closer. When he collapsed one a the elves tried fixin' him up. Think it was the Alpha Elf. Think it was Albion. He bit into his finger tip and when it started to bleed he wiped it around in the socket hoping to grow some new eye-balls or somethin'. But that only made the human guy thrash around and scream. I don't know. Maybe it'll take a few nights. Edith's husband poured about two cups a Piney Punch down his tater chute. That shut him up real good. He saw Moth-Men too, before they sucked out his eye-balls, I mean.

Sometimes I forget I'm human. That is an easy thing to do considering the kind a company I keep. Saw a shriveled up old merman swimmin' down the river the other night. We got lots a little rivers in the Pines. Guess he came in from the ocean. They hardly ever do that, but the aliens, or the enemies, or whatever you want to call 'em got them all spooked too. Jus' think what it would be like if Edith's dream comes true. Whole mess a merfolk fish-floppin' around on the cold, hard seabed, staring up at the roiling sea floatin' on high where the sky should be. I don't even like to picture it.

Yeah, them space devils is havin' their way with us. But Papa will think a somethin'. He's got lots a powers. He is the Swiss Army Knife a powers. Reanate's the same way. And there must be other old one out there. Damn, I wish I was over in Jerusalem. Could go for a good felafel right now.................

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THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH BEGIN TO TREMBLE

It was decided. The vampires would leave. Papa, Jonathon and Sarah would  go  first. Baylah will join them as soon as she is able. The juveniles, the elves and cherubs, will remain in the Pines with Edith annd the others. Luna..... what will Luna do? Who knows. If you want my opinion, she's more a bitch than a vampire anyway.

Doctor Franklin rarely leaves his Great Armonica. The huge crystal discs turn day and night. Senior members of The Anti-Enchantment-Bureau assist him. The Lost Chord... They search for The Lost Chord, that legendary harmonic convergence able to pierce the celestial veil between our world and the next. No, I speak not of Heaven, but rather parallel realms. Other places quite like our own, yet with tiny, though significant differences.

Are you there? Of course. Your loved ones? Why not? In the nearest time-lines (for that is what they truly are) the divergences are quite subtle. Perhaps you ate at six instead of seven? And a dust mote riding sunbeams lit not upon the piano, but on the wall. Others dance to  foreign tunes. Constantine never lived and The First Priest of Zion presides over The Great Sanhedrin, while Aristobolus XXXVII rules as Prince of Judea and Great Steward of God's Throne ( he is, after all, non-Davidic). In more distant rivers, Earth is dead, victim to a mountain hurdling silently through space. Or dinosaurs never died, continuing to evolve and change into forms much like the shleestacks. Oh, nature does make jokes. Zebulon has seen and heard so many.

Edith had a dream. In it, she awoke one morning to find the world transformed. The seas had left their deep, dark beds, prefering loftier climes. And a thick wet storm tossed briny blanket encircled the orb where clouds should be. Weak green light drifted down to the ground and trees died in the gloom. Sunlight dancing off monstrous whitecaps leaped back into space, as the people froze and died. through it all, she heard a song...... people chanting the 'Scottosh Beedosh.....' Is it too late, or is there time? And the life-eaters continue to alight upon the golden cobbles of Jerusalem. Some fly in borne on the wings of eagles (poetic Hebrew license for aircraft). Others walked. A few came in on the princes of the sea (google vampires 'riding' whales). Our ambassadors from the Pines (and Philadelphia too) got a lift from their Hollywood mogul connection. They departed Atlantic City International , soon to be renamed for Nucky Johnson, and saw strange lights in the sky as they came 'cross...........

Disaster continued to plague the world. Earthquakes tore the Hittite Lands. Wind storms raked the plains. Fires burned the Golden West. Bengalis died in rains.

While hidden 'round the curve of a meandering Old City byway, Lailah and the Chevalier Jean-Michel 'took' midnight tea with a certain unearthly stranger.......

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A WATERY 'EVENT HORIZON' DROWNS MULTITUDES, AS ALIENS ATTEMPT TO LAUGH

Exotic folk the world over recognised the cruise ship disaster for what it was. Witches knew. Vampires and prophets too. The aliens were getting 'playful.' I wonder if they have the ability to laugh? But eleven hundred people saw their vacation dreams end, as the eighthundred foot craft went headfirst into a monstrous, salty, wormhole. Think about it. The average tornado blends in with the clouds at approximately a thousand feet.  Most cities got semi-occupied office towers that tall. It's high, but our minds can deal with that. But think what it was like for some lovingly dressed little four-year-old. His mommy made sure he was all buttered up with the best sunblock she could find. His daddy got him the baseball cap he wanted in the shipboard emporium. He ate up all his pancakes and bacon at breakfast. And now he was waiting for his new friends, Max and Isabella so they could go play goofy-golf.

But then the wind picked up and the clouds began to swirl. Sea birds streaked away toward land. A chill wind mussed his hair. People whispered nervously. Stewards called in for assistance. Passengers struggled to maintain their footing. His daddy picked him up and held him tight. His mommy hugged them both. And no one said a word as the starboard side of the great vessel tilted down into the lip of the immense 'event horizon.'

The ship inscribed huge circles in the sea, till the waves grew bored and sucked them down. And then the screaming started, drowned out by the roar of a thousand Niagras. People fell out into the void, plummeting through a hellish tunnel of spinning death. Some were 'fortunate' enough to hit the perimeter and the pressure there took care of them. Others saw the sea bed, dry and tan in the flickering sun.. Six minutes later it was over. The waves grew calm and the birds came back.

The authorities investigated. But they didn't find much, just the typical stuff...a few deck chairs....some cushions.....a little red baseball cap......

And some how all the other problems of the world seemed to melt away. And a quiet, desperate peace came even to the Middle East, as the Three Musicians sang.

A call went out from Jerusalem. Jonathon heard it. So did the others. A vampire howl went round the world. .......'Not The Shepherd, but the sheepdog......Not The Shepherd, but the sheepdog........

It was time now.... Time to do The Shepherd's bidding. And the night time streets of The Holy City were white with vampire faces.

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BUT WHAT HAPPENED TO THE QUIVVERING SLAVE GIRLS DOWN IN THE PIT!?

Now when the vampires and their retainers escaped out into the Jersey Forests, they did so in haste. Time was short. Fear was rampant. Some things were neglected. Jonathon's much venerated tomes were left behind, his own writings and a beloved eleven hundred year old copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo.

But shortly after their departure, other souls ventured into their home. Functionaries of The Anti-Enchantment-Bureau tip-toed in. They carefully examined this and that. Packed up what looked to be important and locked up all the rest. A few people were assigned to the place as caretakers. They played the part of domestics. The neighbors wouldn't suspect a thing. It's that time of year when Florida-bound sunbirds take flight and leave. Even the neighbor who feeds her kid shitty pizza bought it.

And the 'slave girls' from the pit down in the sub-basement? Doctor Franklin took personal responsibility for them. Indeed, they are guests in his own palatial below-ground quarters. He dotes on them, overseeing careful massages, detailed physical examinations, minute bodily measurements and fertility readings. such good girls they are. No trouble at all. One of them has an interesting admixture of vampiric serum in her blood. Not enough to render her a life-eater, but significant, none the less. You should see what she does with small, household objects....... I suppose it's a type of levitation. Baylah can do it, but then again, she is a vampirina to her core.

Now to other weird and 'wondrous' news ---- Johnny Jump Up has killed again. Two students, one male, one female, were discovered lying dead on a Fairmount Park jogging trail. Their bodies appeared entirely normal, however all  flesh was carefully flensed away from their head and necks, right down to the collar bone. Internal structures, such as trachea, eusophogus and tongue were left intact,as were the eyeballs, blood vessels and lymph nodes. Bite marks were detected upon the hands, feet and genitals, yet the skin covering those areas remained essentially unbroken. No one saw the attacks, but a homeless man squatting under a wood and cement picnic table told tales of a cadaverous 'old fashioned gentleman' bounding through the darkness (although he did stop momentarily to peek under the table and wave)before disappearing over a tall, black iron fence bordering the macabre, crumbling necropolis of Laurel Hill Cemetery. Imagine, the very place where the elves and cherubs go to play.......

Oh yes, one more thing. A cruise ship off the coast of Greece was sucked into a gigantic whirlpool estimated to be over three thousand feet deep. Needless to say... no survivors were found. Yet in another sea, far away on the Jovian moon called Europa, some unwelcome guests locked arms and danced.........

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GHOSTLY VIBRATIONS IN THE NIGHT

Papa has a theory about the Enemy, the alien enemy, I mean. He thinks they've always been there watching and waiting. How can we, both humans and vampiric, know how long other races have existed? Is it not possible for some to be millions of years old and perhaps even far older than that. Look at the Neanderthal vampires inhabiting the unexplored vastness of Siberia. What would happen to them in a modern city? How would they function? What role could they play? The evolutionary line known as human has moved on. They no longer appear to be one of us. Might we not seem just as primitive to other beings? What regard would they have for us? Do farmers in Africa turn away to avoid disinheriting troops of chimpanzees?

It could be that we were merely curiosities up to now. They must have occupied other worlds. They must have exploited other resources. Maybe they need more? Maybe we have them? But isn't it reasonable to assume they'd possess the ability to artificially fabricate the necessities of life? Could they not be World Builders instead of destroyers? Yet things change when faith enters into it.

I think Papa knows more than he lets on. It could be that he has had dealings with these beings in the past. What do they call them, the Aninaki, the Nefalim, the boogey man? Please understand that Zebulon (your ever obedient disembodied spirit) has never encountered such entities, neither in the flesh, or in the spirit. Perhaps their dead pass on to another part of Heaven. Perhaps they do not die?

The mysterious Red Paint People know something too. I've seen them, the two Captain Jean-Luc Picard clones and their Picabo Street women. They sit together under the trees. Look, they're doing it right now, all wrapped up in their plaids and mackinaws. Do you suppose they order from L.L. Bean? (even disembodied spirits know things like that). One of the women holds a raccoon. See how she strokes it. No fear at all. Her mate (I assume) warms a little snake in his hands. How bright and colorful it is. Do not serpents sleep through this time of year? But this one seems so lively.

And a subtle frequency passes between them, an electronic vibration. How do they generate such a thing? Papa feels it. He senses it. Look at him, sitting up there on the porch. See? He's not rocking anymore. He's just 'listening.' The others are off exploring, Sarah and Jonathon, I mean. Annie 'flew' off with the elves and cherubs. I don't think she can actually float up into the air by herself. She needs them. Look, maybe she's managed it once or twice, but it's not something she can rely on. Not yet.

Jonathon likes to silently pick his way through the old ghost towns. They have them here in the Pines. Tiny, isolated settlements dating back to the Revolution, or to the dawn of the industrial age. He finds things, old discarded cups holding snips and snaps of shredded ghosties, wandering memories, the moaning echos of ancient songs. Sometimes someone greets them. Perhaps a long forgotten granny woman left shivering under thin, worn blankets? Look at her bones shining in the moonlight. I wonder if she sees the stars? They leave the tumble down shack and sublimate down into a deep, dark mine. Men are buried here. Let your fingers feel what your eyes cannot see. How contorted they are. What was it like to be buried alive? Did the soil scrape their corneas? Did the pressure crack their ribs? Sarah passes through the body of a young boy. She tastes the words of his final prayer. Jonathon adds benedictions of his own.  They rise up into the dappled moonlight, playing through the crispy lace of brown and crumbling leaves. A bobcat studies them. So does the still twitching rat in its jaws. Even the fleas take notice, kindred spirits. Blood suckers all.

Yet someone with out eyes sees them too. No ghost eyes, or jelly filled ones. It feels them. It savors them. It measures them. And then it moves on. Papa 'sees' it. He freezes, as if listening to the wind. But then it passes. And Edith puts down her knitting. She steps off the porch, moves out into a moonbeam, spreads her arms wide, looks up toward eternity and smiles. The night birds provide haunting accompaniment.

And when night comes to Jerusalem, the night birds sing there too. The aliens are everywhere......Shhhhh... don't move......Can you hear them?

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HUMAN CHILDREN TURNED TO SLUGS UPON WHITE HOT SAHARA SANDS

Meanwhile, back at the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, Baylah is making a good recovery. She remembers little of the searing pain, but recalls a troubling dream. Hordes of tiny piranha surround her in a hot, steamy shower. They spurt out of the shiny, wet tiles and wriggle up from the drain. hundreds of them slap their cold, clammy bodies against each other as they swin toward her naked flesh. You know those little metal and plastic jaw-clamps they use to pull staples out a papers? Well that's what their teeth are like. Each and every razor sharp bite scoops out a neat, little appetizer sized dollop of flesh, till she looks like a screaming slab a bloody swiss cheese with a  soaking wet lady head and  oh-so-vulnerable bouncing lady breasts. OUCH! that must hurt! And as the red fluid washes down from her once shapely body, squadrons of miniature, strong-armed lunchroom matrons squeeze their asses up out of a bottle of Herbal Essence shampoo to manically stir the borscht-like concoction into a heady brew. Then, approximately half a hearbeat later, she's lying naked on a freezing ice flow pitching and rolling through cold Antarctic seas, as Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons (circa 1963) play buck-buck for the right to do all kinds a nasty things to her under a vivid, star-kist, clear, black sky.

Then she wakes up, suspended in the throbbing chords of the GreatArmonica and it's all over. The tickling vibrations feel good. Each magnetic resonance stimulates her body in a new and delicious way. The burns begin to pucker up and close, till her skin seems covered with thousands of pouting kissy-lips.

And she hears the muffled sound of rasping sea ditties, as the mermaid hag serenades her through the walls. While somewhere, in a hidden place come the raw and oozing screams of an imprisoned Jersey Devil.......Shhhhh, he's rattling the bars. Someone yells - Throw him the fat, little human girl. That'll shut him up......... But another voice says - No, she goes to that vampire bitch they got twitchin' in the G.A. (Great Armonica) Room. Can't you SEE the number on her ass!?........ Thus Baylah knew her next meal was in the offing.

Doctor Franklin poured over data spewed through the many fontlets of his new liguid matrix computer (the first of its kind). I could provide a more detailed description of this miraculous device, but then our agents would be forched to pluck you out of your warm, cozy beds the better to de-spine-a-tate you (the bones make such good soup and after all, the Jersey Devil DOES have to be fed.)

Don't be shocked. We prepare for war, kiddies. Desperate times breed desperate measures. The aliens don't hold back. Look down from the heavens ( if you have that ability). There, behind those towering dunes. Right there, just a little to the left of the navel of the Sahara. See them? No! Not the fleeing, human skeletons! I mean the children, those boys with the shaven heads. The ones turned to caterpillars from the neck down. How plump and funny they are. Oh, the sun must burn. See them? But how can you not see them!? The vultures do! And the little black things.... what are they, scorpions? Well they appear to see them quite well too.

And our friends in the New Jersey Pine Barrens? What news have we of them? Well they stomp their feet to old Scots-Irish bawdy songs, played through a chill, November night, while Little Annie hugs her knees and rocks deleriously in the corner..... Oh, look at Pin-Head-Mel clapping. He likes it. He really likes it....... Faster, Annie! Rock faster. Rock faster!

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