Annie came in and slammed the door. She threw a little paper bag of Scrunchies and other hair ornaments on the hall table. Then she stomped into the little, book-lined den and clicked on the television. Edith (who'd been quietly crocheting in a corner) looked up and said - What the hell happened to you?..... Nuthin' - said the stringy haired, little vampirina, as she punched in the numbers for the History Channel. Something about the Union-Pacific Railroad came on. She didn't like that and yelled - F*CK! F*UK! F*CK! F*CK! F*CK!..... Edith went - Will you shut the front door, you foul-mouthed little thing you?!.... Annie didn't answer, but just burrowed deeper into the throw pillows, scowling at the screen..... Where the hell's Hitler!? Ain't this the ALL-HITLER station? - she yelled. Annie likes to watch killing, perversion and satanic mayhem and this choo-choo train crap wasn't doin' it for her.
Edith went over to the desk, got a little green apple candle out of a drawer, put it in like a big shot glass (from the same drawer), lit it and gave it to her...... Here - she said, calm your little psycho self down, you weird, little bastid. Where'd you go tonight. Before the CVS for all the hair crap, I mean....
But Annie didn't answer... And Edith already knew. She just wanted her to talk about it. Witchy, Piney-Wimmen know everything. They just don't wanna look stuck up is all..... Equinox comin'. Big doings. Red Paint People in the Pines (other more or less human varieties too) got this big 'Matilda' thing comin', 'bout some girl what got herself all killed up 'fore she supposed to. She like meant to be a Talk-To-God women. That their medicine woman. That their shaman...... Horsey Skeezix, the little Jersey Debbil kid (that what you call a baby Jersey Devil) say he see her smoky ghost wafting 'round like a hula dancer. He real surprised. He say -Who you!?..... She say - Don't look at me, you little son-of-a-bitch..... So he spit his saltwater taffy right through her and she go away, flyin' back into them pine trees.
Tomas all juiced up too. He get that way 'round Passover Time. Sit in his talk-to-God room lookin' at candles. Not aroma candles. These religious candles. You can tell, 'cause they ain't got no fancy colors in 'em Look like what old time folks used a burn on top a skulls....... And Johannon, he the disembodied spirit of the guy what saved Tomas from the fire, when them Crusader goomers try an' burn his still mortal self up in some French, Jew-church all them years ago (lemme take a breath)... wanna come back and tell it all. He wanna be the narrator.
But them what knows us understand how territorial Mister Never You Mind can be..... That me. That who doin' the story tellin' now.
Philadelphia after dark really startin' a perk-a-late. But 'least Johnny Jump Up ain't gonna trouble nobody. Not for little while anyway.
Little Bastid Annie see to that...
An' you best remember... We just pretend this is fiction...
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The monster touched her cheek. Annie stood there, motionless and 'dead.' She heard him whisper something in an unknown language. And the darkness was palpable and absolute, as if the air itself was made from dense, black velvet. Then she hissed and lashed out raking his hand with her needle sharp incisors. The ghoul recoiled. And in that instant she sublimated through the air, coming to rest far, far down the track, but she could hear him lapping up the blood.
Though the ghoul knew where she was and in a series of carefully constrained leaps (so as not to crack his head upon the ceiling) streaked down to join her, desperate to have his meal. Vampire flesh has a certain, gamy tang, you know. And even young ones, such as she, possess exotic flavor.
Annie heard the labored breathing. She heard the gravely dirt crunch beneath his shoes. But she knew these tunnels too. They were her labyrinth, her playground, her escape. A skinny, little, white girl hand flashed down, locking around an old, dry femur with a jagged, dangerous end. Come on. She knows every bone pile in the place... and most of the former owners, as well.
The cadaverous flesh eater crashed down before her. She felt his tomb-like stink on her cold, soft skin, as he exhaled and said - 'dirty, dirty, little girl, my dirty little girl.'... But the ghoul hesitated for a moment and chuckled, contemplating pleasures to come. And in that singular instant she lunged up with her ancient spear, slicing through the fabric of his pants and plunging into the soft meat of his groin.
Then she heard a squishing sound and that stopped him, but two heartbeats later she did a quick, little staccato dance on his greasy head for good measure, before vaulting off to safety down the tracks.
But ghouls heal too, you know... and there'll be hell to pay...
The night world has such contrasts. Tomas at his prayers.... Baylah singing 'standards' from the great American songbook in her jewel-like little lounge far down the way. Sarah fills crystalline vials with droplets of her restorative blood for darktime distribution to those worthy of salvation. And Leo kills, just like a cat, for that makes him so glad.
When you go out on the streets tonight, you're in for a big surprise...
Ah... Philadelphia After Dark, awash in the glow of a chill, March moon.
An old town full of tales... and teeth and claws, as well...
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Attend, oh best beloveds. The 'burden bearer' (life eater) known to God as Jonathon ben Macabi and to most of the children of Adam as Tomas de Macabea , feels The Faith at this season for the Month of Miracles is upon us..... a time of redemption and new birth...a season of the year called Nissan, which means 'miracle' and nothing else.
He sits in his chamber, lost in prayer and contemplation. but those of you who know him recognize the pattern. For he has always been like that. Most close to him believe he will one day expand his place in the world and trade this burden for something else.
Is Jonathon called Tomas unique? Hardly. Those known as 'vampires' have always done such things, occupying that place where the spirit meets the mundane. People saw them as help mates and guides, sent from beyond to bring order to the community of men and usher disruptive, unschooled souls from this world to the next.
'Life-eater'..... a noble thing it was. And people remembered their many sacrifices. They sang psalms and healed the sick, advised kings and tutored holy men.
Such was the world til Inquisitional times, when books were re-written, or at least reinterpreted and vampires used for fuel. Witness the trials of the elferina known as Marianne. Search them in these endless records. Do as the moderns do and 'Google' Marianne In Britches by Billy Kravitz. See what can be seen. Read what is preserved.
The month of miracles..... Go and do good things... Bake the Bread of Haste and eat it, for life is short.... at least when viewed through mortal eyes...
You are REDEEMED for a reason...
Know that and go forth.....
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Wow! We really tapped into a good disembodied spirit tonight, didn't we?
Bienvenido al Mundo Vampirismo... And if you TRULY want to breathe in EL MUNDO VAMPIRISMO, click on this ~> BEHOLD!!! ...... Muchas gracias. Your COMMENTS and LINKS are always very welcome...
You've heard us talk about the 'tunnels,' a realm far beneath the deepest subway lines. The thing is, they're really there... and they have been for one hundred years. No one knew how big this 'car' thing would be. Maybe rich gentlemen would have them. They always buy such indulgences. But what business did the rougher classes have with such things? They can't even speak correctly. How are they to be expected to operate such intricate machinery? Look how they treat their horse-flesh...(Do they still keep horse-flesh?)
Philadelphia has many such places, originally intended for trains, yet now used for other things, like hiding dead bodies, or housing shambling tribes of poor, homeless demented. Imagine being born into the darkness, as some of them are. Scurrying through passageways meant for trains. They live on mushrooms, oozing up through wet dirt and layers of pigeon droppings. Some have become quite adept at rat catching. I love to hear them squeal.
Now they come in two castes, the tunnel dwellers, the mole people, I mean. And the demarcation is very simple. There are the 'cleans' and the 'dirties.'
The 'cleans' congregate near old, never used restrooms, collecting water from leaky, rusty pipes. Their mushrooms come from carefully tended gardens. And the leaky pipes furnish enough rusty fluid for washing and laundry, giving both skin and fabric a certain orangy glow. An elite, comprised of the more presentable specimens, squeeze up toward the surface, for begging, procuring certain supplies and light pick-pocketing.
Their nails aren't as long as the dirties, nor are their eyes as large, since they do see sunlight on occasion. Aura and Sylvia, Tomas' former sex friends were definitely of the cleaner sort, though they do enjoy a char-grilled, rat-on-a-stick from time to time.
I tell you this because the ghoul hunts down there. Not always, but tonight he does, picking off young ones of the filthier sort. He produces a certain, forlorn, lingering whistle. It pierces the darkness and the children hear it. Clever ones pull back. But the idiots among them move in closer, the better to explore. And he devours them. Do they scream? Not much, 'cause he cracks open the voice box right away.
Imagine being a child. You hear a ghostly trill and don't want to approach, but you do. Childish voices implore you to reconsider. But you know better, so you inch forward along the rusted remains of virgin subway tracks. Finally your friends depart, leaving you all alone in the velvety, inky darkness.
Then a finger, long, cold and thin, reaches out to touch your neck with a scabby, waxy claw. To late to run back to the never-used platform. You're in the 'narrows' now. And the ghostly tube swallows you, as sure as a giant's esophagus. But first you feel the teeth. And then you feel the pain, as the expert torturer quickly strips the flesh from off your trembling bones.
Annie was there. She 'saw' it. The little vampirina often takes risks.
But the ghoul felt her presence too...
And then she heard the laughter.... thick and low and foul...
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Vampires get sad this time of year. Maybe not sad the way mortals do, but a certain depressive ennui sets in. Long winter nights are over. Cold walks through dark, city streets change into something else. Night can be a very comfortable time. You know how it is. All curled up in bed with the covers up around your ears, or better yet, up over your head with just a carefully constructed peep hole for your eyes. Maybe you still have an old, small screen TV right by your nest. And you lay there all warm and snug, watching Fred and Ginger execute a stellar pasa double across the impossibly glossy deck of a Depression Era ocean liner. Ah... lost in a black and white universe where everybody's rich and the sun won't rise for hours.
But this night signals the end to all that. Skies stay bright til nine o'clock and the fire returns at five. True, they (vampires and other night-folk) can retreat to the depths. They can shack up with the mole people, deep down in their dark, maze-like warren of never used subway tunnels. And they do sometimes. But, at best, it's just an illusion.
So they said their prayers. Tomas insists on that. Then they dress in fine black clothes and walk out to taste the night, each one going their own separate way. Even Annie skips off alone. No one 'culls' anyone. Nobody kills. They walk. They look. They savor. And in an effort to make up for past sins, they distribute things.
Sarah took a five carat emerald. Baylah has the title to a Porsche 911. Conrad has twenty thousand dollars. Leo, a tiny, talking tree shrew. And Annie, a little jinn trapped in an old Kikkomon soy sauce bottle. You know, the ones with the red plastic tops. I'm sure any other vampires out there, if they're reverent, picked up something nice as well.
Vampires tend to accumulate treasures, especially if they feast on rich folk. This is the night they give some back.
It takes time to make a proper choice. Vampires can be so impulsive. You remember Tomas' battle with Sir Richard? I'm sure everybody at The Revels loved it. But what... they couldn't settle things over an old fashioned game of 'knuckles?'.... So that's why they go alone... And that's why they walk.
Who will benefit?..... A bum on a steam vent?.... A fandango dancer swirling to the staccato beat of a gypsy guitar?.... An old woman eating stale french fries (she gets them for free 'fore they close) ? ...Or a meticulously made up circus clown wearing ripped, damp sneakers?
The 'Giving of the Gift' is a private thing. No one tells. Doesn't make a difference. First time or thousandths time. Nobody says a thing.
What would you rather get... the emerald, or the tiny, talking tree shrew. A jinn would be nice.... even the Porsche.
Tomas never tells what he gives. But you know it's something special... and usually one of a kind. The choice lies with the receiver. Sell it for cash, or keep it and guard it for someone else.
Every little treasure has a story all it's own....
And this isn't even the actual equinox. But it signals the beginning... of the end.
Starlight, star bright... first star to pierce the night... I wish I may... I pray I might... make the proper choice tonight...
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Oh, and about that secret way to repel ghoul attacks... I could name hundreds... but none of them work...
And if you'd like to know which disembodied spirit speaks to you tonight.....
Call me Ishmael...
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It's me, the old patriot reprobate. I'm relaxing in my rather posh quarters deep within the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. Right now I'm watching a late night re-broadcast of Hoda and Kathy-Lee. Not watching so much as .... oh, I don't know. Do you know a Sugar Glider is a little marsupial? Looks like a squirrel, but it isn't..... (yawn) What did I just say? I'm still rather agitated. I mean the molecules in my body are.
Just gave myself an harmonics treatment. Google the Great Armonica, or the Grand Armonica, or whatever that wilkravitz calls it. Big piece of equipment. Fills a room. Contacts alternate universes. Jazzes up old folks. Does everything. I don't look like I'm over three hundred years old, now, do I? But he's not channeling this tonight wilkravitz, I mean. Got a real big pimple on the side of his head, just where his glasses go over his ear. And you know how head-pimples mess around with brain waves? He's in bed listening to some radio talk show about ghosts and moon-men (excuse me my eighteenth century terminology) and red pelted gorilla-men from out in the sylvan vastness.
I'm going to tell you about the city. I'm going to tell you what we have here. We call the force 'magic.' That's what gets inside them. And it sees things. And it knows things. Not like a demi-god. Not even like a person. But it's aware. Let me tell you that. Think of it as another version of 'my' electricity. But it requires no conductive medium, at least none that we can identify. Who knows? Perhaps Tesla is right.... Did I say 'is?' Pretend you did not hear that. Me, I'm not worried. But some of those artificially preserved scientists are funny that way.
So, it effects them all differently. Cherubs get the lightest dose. Then, in order of concentration, come elferinos and elferinas, the night-folk (vampires, I mean), ghouls, feral ghouls (zombies), and I don't know what comes after them. But there are a few other levels too. And that's only one line. We still don't know if mer-folk are a naturally occuring 'human' variation or something else. And Jersey Devil type creatures have yet to be explained. The MothMan, I think is just a myth. But I'm still afraid of him. Met him once on the streets of Boston before I even came to Philadelphia..... He could be a moon-man... excuse me, an alien. That's what I think he is..
Most 'magical' races hate the spring and summer...shorter nights and all that. Luna gets quite depressed. She's the vampirina-physician who works here with me. Sits by herself in a dim, freezing air conditioned chamber.
Not many people know we're here, the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, I mean. Actually, we're pro enchantment and have been since Thomas Jefferson first sponsored us. Oh, we existed before then. They called us The Junto. I started that group. Now we occupy a huge conglomeration of labs, study rooms and specimen chambers buried deep under the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. That 'Philadelphia Experiment,' the one from the movie... it was real. We did that.
What was I planning to do? Oh, yes... the ghouls. I was going to tell you about them. Maybe give you some tips on how to avoid attack. But it's too late for that now.
I have to go oversee the feeding of the sea-hag (an old mermaid). Listen, she's keening already.
And don't go into the woods in Fairmount Park.... especially 'round the Japanese Bridge... At night, I mean.
You might see things you'd never understand....
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Vampires all doing splendid wonderful. Tomas and the lady one he love wash each other in big tub. Human friends eat hot pizza. Annie throws hard, metal Hot Wheels toy motor coaches at 'Papa's' head. But he don't even notice. Big, heavy magic make him that way. They all right. Let them go to hell. Now you talk to me.
This Johnny Jump Up. Mind move very fast this dark time. Me not think straight. Words come out funny-funny. Last one I eat filled with rancid, sour turds. I hate when that happen.... (room spins)... You look like a Ninja Turtle. But I not know which one. This how I live. Hide clean clothes in dark hidey-holes. Clean, little, white. cotton crotch pants. What you call t-shirts. Stockings. Whole bunch a shit. Everybody say 'shit' these days. They go - 'shit shit shit.' That a new thing. Long time ago, nobody say 'shit.' They just dump it in a alley. All over lady dress. All over man suit. All over kid face. Kid not know. He look up too much.
Tight, black suits, I got plenty. Know how? I make them. Steal sewing machine. Steal fabric. Some fabric I get from clothes I take off meat-people. Buttons too. Not zippers. Not like zippers. Zipper bite my 'pee-pee.' First suits look like shit. (see? I say it again.) Next suit better. Work in old abandoned subway store of long ago big emporium. Snellenberg's??? I not know what it called. I forget.
Some days never sleep. Hide. Scared. Squeeze in wall like mousy thing. Old tunnels deep down where mole people live good for sleep-sleep. Never eat one. They friends. Tomas-vampire-boy sneak down there too. But he not sleep. He play 'gih-jee' with mole girl, sometime two. I go far from him. That what ghoul do. They got leaky water pipe in some a them tunnel. That how I wash. That how I live. I like tunnels. I like the dark.... Not all dark. Not dark-dark. Mole people got Sterno. Mole people got light...little light. Little, bitty, orange light. Like cabin light in old days.
One time I bite into fat man high up on big roof. Ghoul strong. Me drag him up-up-up. Climb old building.... hotel. He peep - 'Please, no drop me.'.... Hold neck (my neck) real tight. Find him pissin' up alley. Alley is good. If you ever ghoul, you find lot a people pissin' up alley. Sneak up in back. Grab 'em. That how you do it. That how it go. Heh heh. People funny. They scream. They cry. But you pinch tittie hard...REAL hard. That make 'em shut up.
So I rip off fat crap he got under chin. He shudder. He tremble. Shake real bad like he freezin'. And this still summer time. Start kickin' and cryin' when I go to peel him up. Can't eat no sweaty pants, you know. An' he look like a real pig. Like one a them Three-Little-Pig in old funny picture. But he not got no sailor hat. He got like a baseball cap. All the rest is ripped off. I say - 'You shut up, you pig-boy. I gonna chomp you up.'..... He shit himself. Look, there, I said it again.
So I lock me teeth onto big wad a belly fat. He go -'Ow! Ow! Ow!'..... Bile come out a his mouth. He shakin'. He dancin'. He doin' the Saint Vitus Dance, except he layin' down. ..... I laugh..... But when I go in for next bite...'it' happen. All a him start shreddin' up... like tuna fish, or something. Fat, little, wet oily chunks a him slide off, hit that tar paper and run away. No, they really run away. Grow little legs and little arms and little face (no head. just face). Look all scared and surprised. Even fat from his face run off, til he jus' a red, greasy skeleton with ears.
I don't eat them ears though. I jus' leave 'em there. First time that happen. Lot a place for fat wads to hide on a roof. But I don't look. Just climb down and kill somebody else.
Skeleton still up there. They ain't found it yet. I sit there. Sometime I watch it in the still, gray moonlight. Sometime I feel like it watchin' me.
I got lot a stories.... I really do...
God damn vampires can go to hell....
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