VAMPIRINOS GATHER 'ROUND

It's surprising how quickly things return to normal. Edith took her to the exterminator's for fresh-killed roaches. You know how much she loves to use them in her little diaramas? And Annie was quieter than usual. When she had to throw up ice cream, she did it carefully over the sink. 

Sarah was very pleased to see the 'human' side of her very special, little girl. Conrad and Leo went back to their nonsense. Now they're designing video games. Some kid from Drexel University helps them. He don't know they're vampires. He just thinks they're weird. Basically, what's the difference? 

Baylah went back to her snug, cozy jewel box of a place atop the piano bar. She might be at the shore now, for all I know. That's her business. Misses her mortal boyfriend. That's what I'm told.  Tomas bought a puppy. He got it for Annie. So you know Edith's gonna be the one taking care of it. It's a real cute, little Yorkie. Tomas named him after some kid he knew back in Old Al Andaluz (Andalucia). They used to  ride together. Scrappy little boy, just like the big-eyed little puppy. So he named him Avi, which is short for Abraham. Hope the thousand year old spirit of that Andalucian kid likes it.

Oh! before I forget. Mister Old Bones is still with us. He wanders. Sometimes he stays with Doctor Franklin and the technicians at the 'Bureau.' They experiment on him. Pretty hard to 'kill' him, since he's a vampire, so he don't mind. Besides, Neanderthals are in right now, especially since they've determined that every modern human has up to four percent Neanderthal DNA. You see, they never went extinct. We have met the Neanderthals and they are us. Actually, Mister Old Bones would really prefer Neanderthal victims. He'd find one every once in a while running around in the forests of Siberia. Yeah, they were rare, but they popped up from time to time. Doctor Franklin can't get him any, so they feed him big-boned, boxy, coarse faced bastards. Mister Old Bones knows the difference. But he makes do. Tomas is still deciding whether to take the stone age specimen to 'Revels.' It's not clear if they had anything like that back in his day. Who knows? Perhaps his very unusual physicality will guarantee social success. 

Even Blackie and Minnie came by. They rarely show up here. That's just how they are. Not 'lone wolves' exactly, but veering in that direction. Minnie brought her (Annie, I mean) some Bonnie-Bell makeup. Blackie gave her some tabloid magazines. She can't read all the words, but Edith or Sarah read them to her before she goes to sleep. Annie loves hearing stories about the Kardashian girls and their illustrious asses. That makes her laugh.  And she says she misses her little mortal friend, the one whose mother fed her shitty pizza. I forget where they're living now. Maybe still in Chestnut Hill. Who knows?

I haven't mentioned Papa yet. He's here, or 'near,' but we don't see him, not in the flesh. Tomas says he hovers over us. At least for now he's interested. The woman who fed her kid shitty pizza used to really love him. You know he looks like a thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere. And sometimes he plays it up. Used to 'mush up' with the shitty pizza woman all the time. Maybe we ought to find her? Might induce him to materialize.

Edith  got the place looking real nice. Hardwoods shine. Area rugs all freshly vacuumed. Doo-dads all dusted. You know, how a Society Hill, red brick, townhouse residence should look. Little tiny back yard got mum plants. Even got a little Japanese looking tree too.

They ain't due to feed for a few weeks. Sarah still makes her rounds with the little blood vials to like hospitals, street folks and poor people. They love her. Think she's a guardian angel. Tomas does it too, but he don't make a big thing out of it. 

I think tomorrow night most of them are going to King of Prussia. That's a suburban town. You know, where the huge mall is. Gotta buy clothes for 'The Revels.' If you do not know what I am talking about, scroll down two or three posts. You'll see.

Little Avi is sooo cute. Probably gonna buy him some doggy-duds and toys and stuff too.

It's real quiet around here now. Edith is still awake. She's sitting in the kitchen hunched over a copy of WeirdNJ, that's her most favorite magazine. Like a gossip book for her folk, for The Pineys. But if you want to know the truth, they all read it around here. Jersey full of weird stuff. Vampires love that. Go look. Go look on Twitter. Go find @weirdNJ. You'll see. And if you want to know who you've been talking to, it's me, the ghost kid from the cellar. I like all that weird stuff too..... if you want to know the truth.... All right, all right. I know I say that a lot. But I'm dead, OK? So cut me some slack.

Nitey-nite.

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B.E. Scully: Animal Undertaking

B.E. Scully: Animal Undertaking: From the first mysterious beginnings of life on our planet to the timeless repetitions of death and rebirth, the natural cycles of decay hav...psst! come look at this. It's a good one. Just right for chill nights under clear, OCTOBER skies... (and then wander 'round all we got on RSS at http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com ...)

LET THE VAMPIRINO REVELS BEGIN!

Once every twelve years 'El Mundo Vampirido' celebrates. I think the interval has something to do with The Zodiac. Perhaps Tomas will enlighten us, if he feels so inclined. True, the upcoming festivities conflicts with his ancestral faith, as it does with the beliefs of many night-folk. But a good party is a good party. Now, at this time, many Philadelphia life-eaters are freshly made. Sarah, Annie, Conrad, Leo... they're all new. None were vampirino twelve years ago, so attending the upcoming assembly will be very impressive. 

Celebrations are held world wide. Italy's Lake Region positively crackles with merriment and conspicuous consumption. Villas let for unbelievable sums. And I hear a coterie of elferino-vampirino from Los Angeles are bargaining for George Clooney's place, but nothing is definite yet.

Most food comes in from the former Soviet Union. They empty out the prisons. Some say the mental hospitals too. A few chaste night-folk eschew such indulgence, but most crave release. After all, how much harm can it cause? One week (well, ten days, actually) out of six hundred and twenty four? Please.

Tomas looks forward to reconnecting with old friends. There's his old crowd from Charles the Second's time. And assorted fanged, Euro types from all over. Masters of The Dance rehearse ancient routines. The gavote, the tarantella, assorted chardash, stately, Roman promenades, you'll see them all. 

Oh, and the entertainment they bring in! Elvis played there twice. Come on, you did not think he was dead, did you? Noel Coward tickles the ivories. Bessie Smith belts out the blues. And Glen Miller's still got it. Look, there are others I could name, but enough enemies, I got. So you're just gonna have to wait.

Novices come into the fold then too. Attractive wannabes with potential. Maybe they're running from something or someone. Maybe they're sick. Or maybe they're just bored and ready for something new. They pay a lot of money too, sometimes more than a hundred million dollars US. If funds present a problem, well heeled members kick in. Got to keep the party going, if you know what I mean. 

And then another thing.... something strange happens near the end of the revels. The 'Surrendering.' Certain vampires volunteer to go into the light. They even have a prayer ---- Look for me in the knowing eyes of a child. I have been among the dead too long...... Many night-folk believe in reincarnation, you know. Some bring a 'soul bearer,' a young fertile female (human, of course) ceremoniously impregnated at the instant of their immolation and hopefully their future mommy.

Other 'exotics' turn up too. there's always a few witches, disembodied spirits, lucid wanderers (I feel so sorry for them) and the like. Merfolk show up too. some palaces have heated, indoor pools (saltwater, naturally). 

There's supposed to be old films, real grainy stuff from the silent days, showing a Revel from the nineteen twenties. Some of the bastards you'll see here are in it. But I don't know where it is, or who has a copy. A few 'society' vampirina doyennes know, but they like to keep it within their own, little clique. 

We couldn't give you a regular episode tonight. Annie's still settling in. The one they call 'Papa' is hovering around. Edith is washing and cooking. You know she eats. wilkravitz eats. Annie tastes stuff. She throws up later, but she eats it. Baylah's in the den mixing drinks. Alcohol they can tolerate. That they love, actually.

Look, if you know your way around  the internet, see which top drawer, carriage trade hotels fill up in a few weeks. You'll figure out where it is. See who's renting high end properties. It's not hard to discover that. 

But without a connection, don't even think of crashing, unless you want a spot on the buffet table.

Certain pivotal mortals DO show up, however. They have a 'think tank.' Pow-wow with night-folk and everything. Who better to confer with? Vampires know it all, right?

You better say 'right.'

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EMBALMED ALIVE

A few weeks ago, a careless hunter killed a little Piney girl. He shot her with steel tipped arrows. Thought she was possessed, or something, 'cause he saw her levitatin' in the moonlight. Careless hunter don't know much 'bout Piney ways.

Took a little bit, but they ketched him and threw him down a naturally formed rocky tunnel (a little, narrow, dried up ancient lava chute, actually) to a dark, noxious quagmire under where the Talk-To-God Man lives.

Oh, he scream a lot at the beginning. Try to get out, but he can't. Hole open up high in the wall a the chamber where he is. No way he gonna get to it. So he cry and he pray and he scream. 

Ain't no where to lay but the mud. Whole place full a mud. Now most time it warm in there. Think they got a little hot spring runnin' 'round down below. But every so often things change. Earth must shift and the spring jus' run off somewheres else. Mud gettin' clammy now. Hunter guy gettin colder. 

Oh, he not goin' hungry. Mud bugs takes care a that. They little bit like rolly-poly... little bit like shrimp and little bit like somethin' else... bed bug, I think. But he is startin' to shiver some. 

Lays there all balled up just like a unborn baby, 'cept tighter, like a cannon ball. Talk-To-God Man unstuff the hole when he want a hear him... when he wanna know if he still breathin'. He throw incense down. Say some prayer, or jus' listen. Talk-To-God Man like a do that late at night, 'specially when the ghosts is busy... 'specially when he get lonely. He say - You know I can't haul you out. Ain't no way to do it. You know I can't warm it up none. Ain't no way a do that either. Talk-To-God Man can smell the cold clamminess. 

Careless hunter guy listen. He float on the chill, wet crap and he listen. Don't even care if them mud-bugs crawl on him. He just lay there, eyes open and listen. Talk-To-God Man tell stories, mostly 'bout his own life, or shit what happens to other folks he knows. It is strange to think that right dead in the middle of Philadelphia, Atlantic City and New York City they got a place like this..... but they do.

It don't seem like that hunter guy gone live long. Mud too cold now. 'Sides, all that fresh water (not clean, just not briny) doin' stuff to him. It leechin' salts all outta his body. An' mud-bugs ain't to salty.

Ever see dead bastids brung up from them peat bogs? Look like somebody make a pocketbook shaped like dead hobo. All wet leather-like. All brown and shiny? Well, that what happenin' to him.

Maybe in thousand year or so folks gonna find him. They say - Hot damn! Look how good he look..... 'Cept nobody want him for no son-in-law..... They wash him 'round a little and stick him in a case... a glass case. Then they put him a dead shit zoo. I think it called a museum. Folks pays money. Folks gets  to see him. You know what they say? Everybody get famous sometime.

So if you ever poke your nose in the Pines, don't make nobody mad at you, or you might wind up famous a thousand year from now too.

I not tryin' a scare you. I jus' tellin' you how it is.

Gone be frost tonight. Gone be cold. Best wrap youself in a good blanket. Imagine what it like in the mud.....

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FLAYED ALIVE...IF YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS... PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK HAS A LOT OF TRICKS

There was a resonance, a vibration. Edith said the granite counters in the kitchen made a noise. Tomas didn't hear it. Oh, he did feel something, but he did not hear that. Still, it was possible. The huge crystalline discs of Doctor Franklin's Great Armonica made noise... more than noise... They made 'music.' 

Leo and Conrad felt it. It chased them down stairs. Leo's little collection of detailed, metal cars started rolling around on the shelf. He thought it was that ghost kid from the basement. But the ghost kid from the basement swore it wasn't his fault and told him to go to hell. Conrad laughed. He's a real asshole vampire. Likes to see other folks get in arguments. So the ghost kid kicked him in the balls and ran away. He can do that, you know, 'cause he's like a poltergeist. Conrad grabbed his goodie-bag and started moaning. Then everything trembled again. That's when they ran.

Sarah was getting dressed. She liked sleeping downstairs in the 'crypt.' The rose petals made it smell so nice. Black slacks. Black top, usually like a plain, round neck, pull over thing. Long sleeves... You know. It's not that she made a special effort to appear Morticia-like (remember that girl?), but it just seemed so right. It just seemed so practical. Tomas, as you know affected a similar look. She brushed her dark auburn hair, applied a bit of makeup and went upstairs.

Baylah called from her place. She felt it too. Most of the mortals downstairs in the piano bar never felt a thing. The fact that they're drunk might have had something to do with it. But I don't know. 

Mister Never-You-Mind is off tonight. Think he went to the movies. He does that sometimes, especially around the old Celtic New Year. You know, what junky, flea-bitten costume stores call 'Halloween.' He likes the scary  ones...ghosts...zombies..... corps monsters.... He likes them all. So now you got me for a change. Now you got Zebulon. 

Deep down they all know Papa's coming back. He likes making entrances. Remember how he showed up two years ago?... The snow... The quiet... The dark night... The big house in Chestnut Hill. Glengary Road, I think. See? Zebulon remembers. 

They felt it at the derelict furrier's too. You could see little ripples playing out across the blood. Old, plastic, Ronald McDonald, beach bucket was all filled up now. Annie was almost bled dry. But that don't kill a vampire. They got other fluids squishing around inside them... same as people. Blood's just the most favorite.

Bullet holes in her head all healed up. That mafia, pediatrician did a good job. How could he do otherwise? Vampires are fast healers. She wasn't sitting up or talking yet. Only listening. 

Dark, cloudy, 'momma' thing still whispering. Making death seem like a holiday.... Teasing her.... Calling her. Said they'd be together soon. Mafia princlings out in the front room (the old salon, showroom) coming for the bucket. Gonna sell the blood to shot-up gangster fellas. Gonna burn Annie up... One crispy, little vampirina gonna go 'guhk.' (means head gonna flop and she gonna die).

But Papa's coming. All the rats (not too many around here, but some) run up in the trees. Cats run up too, but nobody eating anybody else. They all just sit. They all Just look.

Mafia boys start toting papers into the cold room, old newsprint, boxes anything. Alright, some of it's cardboard, but you know what I mean. Then they dowse it all with acceleratant, like what people squirt on charcoal rocks to make them go BOOM! But before they can pick up the bucket...before they can light the place up, it happens.

A force, a strong concussive wave expands through the space. Combustible material flies all over. Papa makes his entrance. Two spirit hands hoist the mafia princes up off the floor by their necks, as a second wave explodes the clothes from their bodies. Tiny shreds of fabric dance through the air.

The 'momma' thing has prudently vanished. Annie just lays there, but here eyes seem to focus. She sees. She knows.

Then one rather deep cut opens up at the base of the neck on each quivering bad boys. They gasp in pain and agony, as the almost surgical incisions run down their spines before parting to trace twin paths along their ass cheeks and down each leg. Smaller slices up along the scalp and down each arm complete the procedure.  After that, the top portion of the cut, up by their necks, begins to peel apart and open, as their hides roll off from the oozing, bloody, flesh below. The faces come off like masks. Do they scream? Of course. But Papa's power contains all manner of frequencies, so out beyond, on the street silence reigns.

A quickened Annie claps her hands , as she jumps from the table and capers with delight. Three heartbeats later, the happy vampirina gleefully licks up all the blood dripping from her former captives, before biting into the flesh to claim whatever's left.

After she's done, Papa lifts her up and bears her out, just as the flames begin to rise. Someone will collect insurance money after all....

And back at the townhouse, Edith smiles and whispers - Better go wash that little bastid's sheets while I still got time...

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WITH NEBULOUS VAMPIRE SPIRITS, SIZE DOESN'T MATTER

He slumbered in a bed contrived of stardust. And floated through an ocean made from light. Papa enjoyed his nebulous form. He was all things and nothing...a dream about to happen...a person yet to be.

And he heard things. Songs from other worlds... the music of the spheres.... old prayers.... new curses. Life is not rare. Humanity occupies but one isle in an immensity more vast than forever. 

But the Great Tide carried him to Earth. That was his place. That was his home. She who calls herself Madam Shang tells other stories now to other 'friends' in other places. 

Look, he passes through a tenuous shimmering orb. Men call it The Ort Cloud. It gift wraps our celestial allotment, though sometimes bits of sequins rain in to threaten us. 

Next comes The Keiper Belt, a barrier of sorts..... The walls to mankind's nursery. Kansas shines bright. For that is the name of our Star. Such has been known in these parts since The Prophet called Frank L. Baum first penned them nine dozen years ago. And if you are ignorant of him, oh best beloveds, perhaps you recall a gossamer, celluloid shadow dance with songs?..... 'And Kansas, she said, was the name of The Star. And Kansas, she said, was the name of The Star.

Our sister orbs bow to greet him. He whispers secrets to the ray-like souls gliding through the Europan Seas. 

Now Earth (the only sister <though some bear mannish titles> named for an Egyptian godling) begins to call. And he spins ever closer to her surface. Merfolk sing his name. 

The twenty eight thousand year old being, known as 'Papa' is home..... And Annie remembers..... 

The dark 'mamma-thing' cloud wrapped 'round her shudders and the mafia-princes asleep on the old, pink, velvet sofa shudder too. 

Edith feels it, so does Tomas. Papa is back. And even though he may forgo his corporal form for a while, he is here..... And in a sense.....

The Vampire Holidays have arrived...

wilkravitz (he who channels this) stops. He was surfing through a new site, a bright, incansecent, media powerhouse called QueLoQuePasa.com , a 'star maker.' And everybody truly  wants to shine....

Shhhh... Papa's here....

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CLOSING IN ON A SAD, LITTLE, BASTID, VAMPIRE GAL

Sarah and Tomas walked the streets. Sometimes they detected signs. Aromas and auras lingered on her trail. They felt heat...not much, but enough. It rose up from the sidewalk, marking random footfalls. But Annie's solitary jaunts were anything but linear. She wandered. She stared. She tasted. Sometimes the little bitch sat in a bus shelter for hours, watching a street corner and waiting for a perfect victim. Annie tried to be good. She heard what Tomas said, but she just didn't listen. 

One night she told Baylah (our Beyonce-esque, piano bar owner) she had a plan...... Go into a late night, fast food joint. Turn the biggest, dumb, goof they had.... Go to another late night, fast food joint and do the same.... Keep it up til there was like a hundred of them. Of course they'd need a place to sleep. She figured the mole people would help out with that. Lot a room in those deep, dark tunnels. After like a training period, she'd play Rosa Luxemburg and march 'em off to conquer the world, or at least a snug, little chunk of it. Said she got the idea from Freebie and The Brain.... whatever that is.

The two elferino-vampirinos went out looking too. Roland and Albion had a list. The caretaker's wife tore it from a phone book back at the cottage, deep withing the tombstones of Laurel Hill. Every furrier in the city was on it. They'd flit... They'd flit through the inky sky from point to point.... quickly descend to the sidewalk and investigate. Elfin noses are keen. If the vampirina known as Annie was inside they'd smell her. Even among all the dead, dressed mammal skins, they'd smell her.

Unfortunately, none of them knew this furrier's was extent. It was dead. It was but a memory. Yet the cold-room, prison lived on. And that's where she was... semiconscious, sprawled on a table, wrapped in two or three moth-eaten mink stoles and mumbling to some shadowy, 'momma' thing.

A thin, rubber tube fed blood, drawn from her neck, down into a small, plastic, beach pail on the floor. I think it was a Ronald McDonald beach pail. Her two captors, the pumped-up mafia princes, sat in the front room on an old, curving, pink, velvet sofa. That room was the 'salon.' It's where they showed the coats. The curtains were drawn and a little, thirteen inch Daewoo TV hooked up to some CVS converter brought in a few fuzzy channels of disgustingly free programming. Soon the pail would be filled.... And they would not need her anymore. Initially they wanted to keep her and milk her periodically. Shot-up bastids would pay plenty for genuine, miracle vampire blood. Still, that might prove too complicated, 'cause they didn't know what little vampirinas could actually do. Shakin' down restaurants was easier. It's what they knew. It's what they liked. They'd go back to it.

Already had a plan. Gonna burn her up. Fill the old, cold storage room with newspapers, sprinkle liberally with charcoal grill fire-makin' stuff. Light it up. Run out. Lock the door (it was like a big, nineteen fifties refrigerator door. all chrome and fancy). Loose the little bastid and collect some insurance money. Investigator don't look too hard at mafia 'lightning.' He know which way the wind blow. 'Sides, once they get the check.... he gone get half. 

Shadow 'momma' thing like that. She (it?) lickin' Annie's face, pattin' her arm..... tellin' her how great bein' all dead gonna be.... But she cold....And she dark..... Not night dark..... forever dark...... And Annie might not like that.

Hope they find her. Sarah do feel somethin'... but she doan know.

Edith home cryin'.... Ate up all her pumpkin pie. She go in the livin' room an' sit down. Gone watch television. But when she turn it on, she doan see no HGTV. She see a face. She see a gray face. It old. It dead. It talk. Say somethin' Hungarian, I think. I once heard Zsa Zsa Gabor talk that talk in a hotel on Bourbon Street.... so I know.

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