O. G. Tomes: Demons and Devils

O. G. Tomes: Demons and Devils:        What do you really know about their existence? Do you believe in Angels?  Just as you can't have one without the other... there i...

ANNIE CONFRONTS A HELLISH ENEMY DEEP WITHIN THE CONCOURSE AFTER DARK

There's a maze-like warren of shops beneath the surface of Center City Philadelphia. I believe Kevin Bacon's father helped create it. The venerable Sir Edmund was our City Planner for many years. It facilitates lunch hour jaunts on rainy days, or sweltering summer broilers. A plethora of jumped up fast food vendors hawks savory, but greasy, wares to  ambitious young strivers and their not quite so hopeful stenographers (is that term still in vogue?). Umbrella and breath mint kiosks do very well too, I am told.


But the five thirty exodus brings mystery to this labyrinth. Metal gratings rattle down to bite into the floor. Lights blink out. The people leave and shadows come to play. Though all is not quiet. And eyes still glitter deep within the gloom. Some belong to rodents and some to vermin far more sinister than that.


Annie knows these midnight passageways. The homeless know them too. Not the breed found down below forgotten subway tunnels. This tribe is far more confrontational. And shattered glass is the weapon of choice. An army of janitorial super heroes swarms in before dawn to wash away the blood. All manner of flotsam and jetsam collide in this place. The enemy knows it too. It's where he hones his skill. It's where the dogs are trained. It's Annie's favorite playground. 


Imagine you're a drunken, street pirate stumbling down a long,narrow, white tiled 'worm hole'. Tiny, caged bulbs shed a weak gray wash over the sour surroundings. Not every passage has shops. Some are merely ant trails, meant to facilitate the comings and goings of entry level ants. And they echo. Oh, how they echo. Each footfall resonates with a hoof-like beat, as fear drips down through the cracks.


Sometimes Annie flies here. She floats along with a demon's grace, perhaps three or four feet above the floor. Her body tilts forward. Her eyes stare out and she grins..... how she grins....... A figurehead straight from hell. Many an unwary soul fall victim to that grin. They stop. They freeze. They turn. They run. But she gets them. She gets them every time. And how odd that her little body can drain an adult of so much blood. But what did you expect? This is The Vampire Wonderland. 


Though in this instance you are not a drunken street pirate. This time you're the enemy. And this time you have dogs.


He sees her, as she rounds the corner, a tiny figure, hovering unnaturally perhaps three hundred feet up ahead. Two of the beasts (large mastiffs) begin to growl, but he gestures and they stop. Then the enemy bows. He smiles. But the six or seven year old night thing never stops. She draws closer and closer and closer...... until the hounds begin to cry.....


Ah.... Philadelphia after dark..... what stories the cobbles tell.....


Come join us next time and listen......


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Lahongrais: Andrew Harding Pink Diamond Interview

Lahongrais: Andrew Harding Pink Diamond Interview: Hello everybody!! ‘Tis I, Sinner Reems and I am back with our latest Pink Diamond Interview! This month we are featuring Mr. Andrew Hardin...

Lahongrais: Andrew Harding Pink Diamond Interview

Lahongrais: Andrew Harding Pink Diamond Interview: Hello everybody!! ‘Tis I, Sinner Reems and I am back with our latest Pink Diamond Interview! This month we are featuring Mr. Andrew Hardin...

ANNIE RAN AWAY FROM PAPA...and you know what a rumpus that little vampirina can make

Tonight you have Zebulon once again. I have just returned from The Sea of Harps, known to you as The Sea of Galilee. But the ancient Hebrews preferred the more poetic name, for the coastline does form a giant harp and was home to many Biblical bards, virtuosos on an instrument identical to that portrayed on countless bottles of Guiness.


I'd been hob-knobbing with a certain ghostly personage once powerful at the court of King Jeroboam. We'd float above the verdant hills tasting fragrant breezes from off the storied lake. How the moonbeams tickled me. Some disembodied spirits are sensitive that way, but I view it as a blessing and an exquisite pleasure known only to those of my kind.


But then I heard 'Papa' and so I hurried right back. Annie is off on a tear. Once, during a similar episode, she sublimated into the Academy of Natural Sciences and did obscene things to the stuffed monstrosities in all the dioramas . Eskimo matrons frolicked naked with drunken zebras and Neanderthal hunters forswore their prey for a rather bawdy game of buck-buck. Even the beavers got high on grass. And Mrs. Simons' forth grade class (arriving first thing in the morning) genuinely appreciated the altered presentations, though most parents in attendance did not.


Needless to say, vampires (known to certain officers of the venerable museum) were persona non grata there for quite a while.


Still, it's only natural for the former six year old to get that way. She's only been a life-eater for a year and her mortal existence was none too pleasant, but I don't want to get into that. Besides, there are conflicting stories.


Philadelphia vampire life is unsettled now. The 'enemy' storms the gates. Tomas grapples with depression. He'd never admit to that, but it's true. Safe berths are hard to find. Albion, Marianne, Roland and Celeste, our elferino-vampirinos, flit amongst the moldering monuments of Laurel Hill Cemetery. And the caretaker's wife knits light, wool outfits for the sweet-cheeked, little cherubs. She giggles at each tiny kiss, begrudging not the blood, for how else can they get it?


And while it is true that cherubs rarely drain a victim to the point of death, they do have that ability. Teeth or no teeth, the nubile, little, sharp tipped tongue does it all.


Perhaps they'll form a nimbus and confront the 'enemy'?


Now, let me go attend to Annie, before she bites off any more toes...... Oh, and make sure you tuck that blanket in real tight around your feet. No telling where she'll pop up next.


<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3


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THE 'DEATH BY NATURAL BEAST' ORDEAL was only the beginning

Two hundred spectators looked down into the circular pit, but the light was too dim. It was hard to see. Those in attendance began to stamp their feet and 'boo.' The pit-master, ever wary of a dissatisfied clientele, had circular, highly polished mirrors fitted behind the rough, iron sconces to reflect and focus the light. Some closest to the balustrade (no more than crude, wooden fencing) complained that the heat was melting their face paint. A few even removed their heavy wigs, slinging them over their shoulders like saddle bags in an effort to stay cool, while revealing the nearly shorn pates underneath.


Two buxom doxie-girls, naked from the waist up, snaked through the crowd selling small bowls of shaved, honeyed ice for the exorbitant price of one whole shilling. And overheated gentlemen called for their 'doxie-cups,' as the canine assassins entered the ring. Were they large? Not very. And please know I speak of the hounds, though the naked breasts in question were most certainly of the first rank.


Most pit-masters preferred to use bull-baiters, compact beasts weighing maybe three or four stone. This venue was no different. And six of the most fearsome, solid knots of feral muscle silently cantered into the ring. They made not a sound, but went straight to work inspecting every inch of the death chamber with their cold, wet sensitive noses. And the crowd watch breathlessly, as the leader went to the more-than-human victim, subjecting him to a thorough crotch inspection. Desirous of a closer look and frustrated by the fine, linen drawers, the doggie chieftain took hold of the flimsy fabric and tore the garment to bits. The doomed vampire just stood there, determined to maintain his footing, as the two doxie-girls erupted into cheap, shrill, low-life cackles. He quietly recited prayers. The vampire, I mean. But they were in a Vahmpeerigo dialect unknown to me, save for a phrase here or there. Oh, I knew they were prayers, however the specifics were lost.


Then the pit-master, or one of his minions, ceremoniously struck a rather sizable  'Cathay' gong, signaling others to come forth with large, blood-filled watering pots, which they tilted over the barrier sending a light, crimson drizzle down to bathe the participants waiting below.


Upon tasting the rich, salty shower, the dogs became quickened and the horrific mauling proceeded with a vengeance. No demon depicted on the most accurately ornate altar piece could have done better. The stoic alabaster figure convulsed and fell, as his 'plum sack' was torn away. For a moment or two he was left to his 'ease,' while the frenzied executioners fought over this toothsome prize. I believe it was a pie-bald bitch what finally choked them down.


The entrails came next, followed by his hands. They played with his guts like sausages, spraying those close by with the blood from the vampire's last meal.


Some gobbled buttocks. One savored face-flesh, each morsel disappearing in its turn. But the eyes remained, fixed and staring into worlds far removed from our own.


No one cheered. Even the doxies fell silent, as two hundred dumb-struck humans bore witness to the death of an immortal.


It took the hounds more than one hour to properly clean the bones. And the heart beat on til the very end.


When it was over... when the blue flame had passed...and the last glowing ashes rose up and disappeared, those in attendance soundlessly filed out into the inky darkness, where footmen, bearing lanterns, safely ushered them back to their various houses.


And a lone soul, who'd tarried 'mongst the nearly dead too long, passed on to something new....


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TOMAS KNOWS ABOUT THE KILLINGS and also tells some old tales

Tomas here~~~ I feel each senseless killing. We all do. It offends our nature. Whether the obscene death comes at the hand of an 'enemy' or a lapsed noble vampire makes no difference. The disorienting pain is just the same. But know this...There are ways to bring down these villains. Subtle tricks and life-eater chicanery. You can figure it out. Go on. give it a try. I will tell you in a night or two. If you like, post your guess as a COMMENT. But I am referring to human assassins, like the beast responsible for last nights tragedy. Renegade vampires of the noxious sort are treated differently. To each his own, as they say.


But I have been witness to night crimes and foul misdeeds. I have seen our 'enemy' at play. It happened in London, just before my crossing, just before I came to Philadelphia. The City was a merry place. Assemblies, balls, brothels and bear pits were everywhere. And I sampled everything. Some bloods (I always loved that term) sported long, shoulder wigs, made from the finest Persian lamb. Others, possessed of more luxuriant locks, fashioned their own wavy tresses into something akin to the Cretan style. I , quite naturally fell in with the later group. Ah, those times were good, discounting the plague and fire, I mean. The town was in a constant state of flux, determined to throw off every last vestige of pre-Stewart methodologies (although the plays of Mister Shakespeare were naturally much in vogue.) Domiciles took on a less 'storybook' appearance, adopting a form you might  almost call Georgian. And the Trinitarian prayer houses, led by Sir Christopher Wren, sported grand, neo-Roman finery. Domes were all the thing. And every gentleman of a military bent fancied himself another Scipio Africanus. Heroic busts, commissioned to prove that point,  found refuge within a myriad of niches in the newly plastered walls (Tudor paneling being decidedly declasse.) of  aristocratic, West End establishments. 


Yet the bear pits still remained, a potent reminder of ancient barbarity. All the best clubs had them... raw excavations in damp, Thames-side mud, surrounded with rude fencing separating one or two tiers of boisterous young bucks  from the wild, bloody carnage below.


The usual thing involved a flea-bitten, addle-brained bear, often quite bloated on ale, or lager of some sort, forced into the enclosure at spear point, where it was summarily torn to shreds by huge, coarse-coated hounds. The spray was horrible. The stench, even worse. 


Wagering went on in a fast and furious manner. How many minutes til dispatch? How many dogs would die? Would the bruin be blinded, castrated or  worse? Many a noble, or near noble house lost plenty. Let me tell you that.


But one night, the sport was quite different. Oh, the dogs were still there, though the ursus was not. In it's place was a finely formed, clean limbed young man. And he entered the pit willingly. That was the thing. He was calm of manner and mild of face. The eyes had a certain all-knowing sorrow. At first the stands went silent, waiting for some sort of explanation. Was this some type of re-born gladatorial contest? Could it be a novel form of public execution? Puzzled faces flickered in and out of the dim, orange glow cast by crude, iron sconces along gray stone walls. Minutes passed, in order to give them time to contemplate the uniqueness of it all. And then he spoke. The master of ceremonies stepped out onto a pulpit, placed high on the wall and began - M'lords, knights and gentlemen, tonight we offer an exceedingly rare diversion, one unseen in these parts since The Lion Heart. Behold the creature standing before you, human in every detail save one... the wretched bewitchment of his immortal soul. For this is no man, but the fruit of a succubus ........ Then he yelled down to the unusual young man. He said - Show us your teeth, lad.......And the attraction complied, opening his mouth to reveal the fangs. Some spectators gasped, a few made the sign of the Cross, not so dangerous under the present governance. There were calls of - How'd you get 'im? Why's he here? And the master replied- We didn't get him. He offered himself up free of charge. What we have here tonight is an act of atonement. For this pitiable being seeks absolution. He's tired a sinnin'..... (looks down) Ain't ya, boy?......... The vampire, stripped down to linen drawers and a tear stained face, simply nodded.


There was no wagering..... not that time. Though it was recommended that all in attendance turn over a gold ducat, or two for the opportunity to see such a thing....... A few, a very few, departed. But most stayed and the offering baskets filled to the brim (half promised to charity) as the barriers slid open and the dogs poured in......


The 'death by natural beast' had begun........


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