Please excuse this diversion from the adventures of Romulus and the Cajun Wolf-Folk. But we suffered much at the hands of Russian spammers today and I (Billy) have been charged by some of our venerable enchanted souls with their dispersal.
A telepathic epistle was sent to representatives of the ancient Chinese entity known as Madam Shang, for we believe she possesses a Muscovite vampire-oligarch known as Grigory Usipov and (if he still exists in the corporeal realm) he may be our best chance. I know he's a fiercely proud son of Mother Russia, but he's also still a vampire (as far as we know) and quite naturally dedicated to their cause. No other site shares true insights into the paranormal realm like we do and the night-folk value this two-way conversation.
Attempts will be made to triangulate the location of referrer spammers. 'Adepts' such as Edith and others (Jersey Pines witchie-woman) will throw off a hoo-doo, an emanation (energy aura) able to flush out hidden parties. Those who resist will be rendered sterile or worse.
The 'family' always gathers for The Holidays. Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi is already in the vicinity. Disembodied spirits from New York State's Adirondacks reported his presence three nights ago. God bless the disembodied spirits, in many ways the true eyes and ears of the night. Some of them narrate this very blog.
For the uninitiated, Tomas-known-as-Jonathon is the facilitator of our group and the founder of the feast. He was, as far as we know, the first Old World vampire to enter Philadelphia. Most records indicate a crossing on The Welcome with William Penn, but we're not sure of the circumstances or if The Lord Protector completely comprehended the unusual character of his shipmate. Jonathon is frozen in the body of an eighteen year old Spaniard, a Sephardic youth from the Moorish city of Sevilla, however the family had holdings in Granada too. For those who don't know, Sephardic indicates believers in Spanish Rite Judaism, a faith he was born into just prior to The First Crusade. In fact he was on pilgrimage to study with learned clergy at a noted Hebrew Scriptorium near Narbone at the time of his translation and has been a vampire for approximately one thousand years... maybe a little less.
You'll like him. Quite vain, you know, with his long black wavy hair, clean jawed face and trim, lithe form. How he dotes on those black, leather bootkins and specially tailored blue jeans. Quite a decent soul, actually, not counting that vampire thing.
Sarah, his American born enamorada will most likely be here too. And she has her own charms. I'll talk about her next time. Picture a twenty eight year old Susan Sarandon. You'll see.
For now we have to vanquish the dastardly Russian spammers. And I do hope the Muscovite vampire oligarch known as Grigory Usipov will help.
FADE TO the exterior of a red brick, Society Hill town house. All the windows are dark, save for one, just under the roof, on the third floor. A small bit of light peeks through the draperies. We FOCUS ON it a moment, til it slowly disappears.
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If only reality, as we know it, were a little bit more like this. The weird and wonderful personages I blog for 'WHOLLY' agree. TERRY GILLIAM made it. That says it all.
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There were birds on the place, mostly crows and ravens. Big, shiny, ebony, ones. Almost metallic. And I used to feed them small animals killed for sport. Werewolves regularly go after squirrels and rabbits to maintain speed and agility and I'd always throw the bodies to the birds. I liked them. Each mob had a leader. I think the term for the leader is 'wizard.' Maybe that's where the K.K.K. got 'imperial wizard' from? I don't know.
But as soon as Remus and his 'hell hound' lieutenants attacked, my avian friends appeared out of the darkness to help me, diving down from above like avenging demons. They go for the eyes, you know. I'm told the jelly-filled orbs are quite savory. Aw, hell, I'm not 'told.' I know. Werewolves sample everything. But I just didn't want to talk about it, because I'm still occasionally troubled by judgmental, narrow minded humans. Don't criticize me. Don't talk about us. Look to your own satanic perversions. Count the crimes your kind commits. Just because you sign a contract and have somebody else do it doesn't absolve you of the blood. You force sobbing, little toddlers into dank, sealed, chambers and kill them with caustic fumes. OK, maybe not 'you.' But what the hell difference does that make?! I'm sorry. I don't enjoy telling this part. Remus was my twin. He was my brother. He was my adversary and I destroyed him.
The 'wizard' made the first slash 'cross his face, ripping open the muzzle and tearing a lower lid. It flapped against his cheek when he ran. Hell hound number two, on his left got the same. Oh, a few of the ravens suffered too. Wolf-folk can jump high, you know, smashing birds in the air, crushing avian skulls and ripping off flapping wings. The first hell hound instinctively began to feed. That's when I got him, tearing open a gash in his soft underbelly. When he collapsed down onto the grass, they got the eyes. Two fast, deep thrusts... Pop! Pop!... Yelped like a miniature Poodle. Three heartbeats later he was dead, or at least passed the point of no return, 'cause he did twitch a little, but recuperation was out of the question, if you know what I mean. Quite beyond even our enhanced healing powers.
Look, how am I supposed to map this out for you? It all happened so fast. Maybe forty five seconds and it was over. I almost lost a foot...left hind leg. Don't ask me who did it. I don't know. You've seen dogs fight. You know what it's like... Like buzz-saws gone at each other. It's a frenzy... And Remus lived. I destroyed him, but he lived.... a neutered animal, bleeding like a pig. Ain't no pack gone want him now. Not as a leader. Not like that. Maybe I should have killed him? I don't know.
Then, WHAM BAM CHEESE AND HAM, it was over. The dead lay where they fell. I limped away. The servants would take care of me. Remus crawled behind some bushes. I sent some out to help him too. He drifted back into human form by then, but he's still in a daze.... mumblin' and whimpering.... saying 'I want to die. I want to die.'.... Birds all gone. Oh, they still here, but not like where you can see 'em. ... Ghosts what stuck to the place still agitated. Don't see each and every one, but I can feel it. Like a smell, or a sound, or a 'lectrical charge. Like a sneeze what never happen. Sun rise soon. That make 'em quiet. guess all the energy in the air drown 'em out. But they still there lookin' an' touchin' everything.... like narrators what don't never shut up.
I the one, leader deluxe now. But 'one leader deluxin'' gone be lot a work. I can tell you that.
Gone go people killin' soon... 'cause I got hunger for a lot a meat.
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And the thing is... many Earth sciences feel the possibilities of encountering life there are excellent. They're not talking about microscopic life. They expect something a lot more complex and capable.
Bodies in space are just widely separated islands and the surf touches every shore.
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This is how it happened. Wolf-folk accept confrontations. They expect them. Hierarchy is very important in the canine world. But the human part of the mix complicates things. Real wolves rarely die. They surrender, roll over and 'present.' Winners, possessed of a certain wild noblesse oblige sniff the vulnerable parts, look away and do whatever it is they do after dust-ups like this. You've seen that Caesar dog-whisperer guy. So you know the human 'take' on this. But the human part prevents such outcomes. Everything is 'shah mat'... The 'king' must die. And Romulus is the king.
So he stood there on the cool dewy grass of the well tended lawn and faced his attacker. Brothers... twins.... At this point still essentially human, though beginning to display some lupine attributes... The ears change. The gaze intensifies. Musculature sharpens. The stance grows ever more wolf-like.
And the younger twin spoke first. Remus ran his fingers through his hair, exhaled and said - What's that I smell? ... Romulus stared him down and didn't answer. The challenger grinned. He said - She's buried over there, by the balustrade, isn't she? The Victoria's Secret girl, I mean? What did you do with her wings?.... But Romulus was quiet that way and ignored him, at least verbally, though he carefully studied every twitch and nuance. Body language means a lot to wolf-folk. The battle, when it started would be fast and brutal, like dogs in a schoolyard.
But then Remus did something. Just the slightest quiver. His lower eyelid. He looked somewhere... Broke his gaze. And Romulus caught it. There were others. He had friends. Two 'hell hounds,' werewolves forever in the lupine form, but with obvious human intelligence, silently crept from the shadows, bathed in gall and wormwood to hide their natural scent. And Remus sneered as his body continued to change.
But the master of this place had allies too, smaller in size, though greater in number and they began to bleed out from the dark.... Ravens, they were, glossy and black, with bills like knives and strong, sharp talons.
Remus shuddered when he saw them, but it was too late to turn back... and up in the house, overlooking it all, an old servant woman, braver than the rest, peeked through a dormer and cackled like a banshee.
Two heartbeats later it was on... and the flesh began to fly...
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I am an alien spirit. But what does the word 'spirit' mean to me? What does time mean to me? I have been like this for twelve percent of a stars age. And I speak of a star such as you have. None of those bloated, giant, red bastards, or blue-hot diamonds that burn out in fivehundred million 'years.' Feh, who needs them? I speak of the corn-rich, yellow long lived orbs. I speak of your sun. But what is it called? What is its name? Prior kingdoms labeled it many things..... Helios... Apollo.... Everlasting Light... Sunny Jim. Such aliases it has. Yet these days it's been named but once. And they called it 'Kansas.' 'Kansas,' she said is the name of the star..... 'Kansas.' That orb is over four billion of your years old. That makes me a half billion. But don't be too impressed. For we've all been here since the beginning...since 'the big bang.' Only you've been dead til you were born. I was too. But I drew breath so long ago, while your lungs are quite new. 'Lungs,'... I barely remember them. I really don't remember physicality at all. But I like my toys and you... all of you... are one of them. Tonight I will play 'soldiers.' I made them, you know. I fashioned them. Did I make the animals on your world? No, I did not do that. I came later. But I popped them apart and reconfigured a few. Pity all the centaurs died. I think there're a few in Siberia. But I'm not sure. Werewolves are my favorite. Doggie-people. I like doggies. Wonder what they're gonna evolve into say sevenhundred and fifty thousand years from now? I don't mess with them. Well, for the most part I don't. They're too cute.
Now it's time for me to disappear into the narrative... Ok, here we go...
Remus was still human. But he was ready for the change. His clothes were all discarded. And he did resemble his brother. Twins, after all. And the first one, Romulus, whispered - Will you kill me here, among all these sleeping humans? ..... for the houses of The Garden District were all about. And Remus, though much devoted to books, was impulsive. His henchman stepped out of the shadows. They were from other packs and not descended from Shimmy Kate. Wolf-folk are like that. Alliances form and shift all the time. I think he found them from an ad in the back of a comic book. Not a super hero comic book. This happened during your nineteen thirties. Well, according to one Earth calender it was. And the coming of Superman was yet to occur. So they all just stood there looking at each other. Romulus, in that confident way of his, said - Come, let us go to my place up the river. The servants know what I am. Your presence won't surprise them. Let us settle our differences there..... In his heart Romulus never thought anyone would die. Perhaps those 'foreign' werewolves might, but none of Shimmy Kate's children would. So they passed into the lupine form and ran off through the leafy shadows. How swift and silent they were.
And in the time it takes a human belly to break down figgie pudding (about ninety minutes) they were there,on the broad lawn of an old antebellum estate. I suppose one or two of the staff peeked through the curtains, but no one came out.
They just pressed their hands over their ears, hid under the covers and waited for the shrieks and howls to stop til the grass was slick with blood.
But no one saw the battle save the crows, who even managed to steal a shred or two...
Wolf meat is so sweet.
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Romulus Lupine likes to swim. He ends many nights with a dip, often in the municipal reservoir. The guards know and respect him. That's just the way it is. He has a presence. That and the fact that he only shows up after feeding gives them (the guards) a sense of security. He passes. They nod. No one says a word. Sometimes he's still in a natural state, having just morphed back from the canine form. But you can see it in him. The wolf comes out. It's in the salt and pepper hair... the deep green eyes and the easy grace. Imagine, wild canines eat it all... the skin... the bones... the pelt... the meat... and the eyes. Bones and fur are like vegetables to them. They do this not out of any gruesome practice, but because they need certain enzymes and minerals found nowhere else. But I digress.
He stands on the edge and dives in, slicing through the cool water for perhaps ten yards before surfacing to breathe, a solitary figure on the reflective surface of a huge, aqueous mirror.... and then he slowly treads water and pees.... How relaxing it must be. Some nights steam rises from the surface. Then, when he's finished, he swims some more, swirling the pungent fluid through the water. In that way he spreads his essence, marks his territory and drugs the people. Now the amount of urine any one person might actually ingest is very small. Still, in a homeopathic manner, he rules them all.
And the alien personages responsible for his existence celebrate his strength and power. Granted, maybe they didn't make him, but they set the gears in motion.
He climbs out of the artificial lake, shakes off and leaves. Sometimes he sleeps in his place up the river. Sometimes somewhere else. Werewolves aren't vampires. They can be diurnal or nocturnal. Certain lines are telepathic. Others are not.
He's wary as he passes through the city, invisible as a shadow and quiet ... oh so very quiet. Wolf-folk can do that. Stealth comes natural. His ability to detect scent is quite keen too, on par with bloodhounds.
But Remus is very well read. He knows everything, even scent masking. That's how he gets so close.... And he's not alone.
Sibling rivalry among canids can be intense. Most submissives leave. Some try other things.
And Remus is very resourceful...
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