Fear The Crypt ... is the new big site and you gotta follow it and join it ...1/23/14

I type this in the little bitty letters so you gotta get close and put you nose right up into it.

No able to blog it the vampirici of my regular stuff because they ran out into the icy streets with them

God damned elferinos and elferinas and I gotta stay back here in the red brick townhouse 'cause

..... No,.... I don't wanna tell you because. But lot a you know we just pretend this is the fiction.

And here where you get injected with horrific truth. Watch it the video. Join it the site. Click on JOIN IT THE SITE ... and trade communicative impulses with them at fearthecrypt.com ... too. Click on that too. I just forget to type it. ...Morphing into a creature I am...and it is hard  to shape it the 'brain visions' in the english.

Why did I tell you this?...... If you want to make me (when I am in the 'Billy' mode) very happy, click it on this ~>MAKE HIM IN THE BILLY MODE HAPPY  ... or join me on ~>THE TWITTER ...

Now I gotta do not do this no more tonight...'cause I about a crash through the window and race through the streets



where the hell them God damned elferinos?...



Oh, the BIG MOVIE MAKIN' make you scream and pee guy ELI ROTH make it #TheCrypt too.

Now you know. So do it and join............



(vaults through the glass, leaving a crimson trail of blood drops in the snow...)



FADE TO BLACK

SOMETIMES THE SCIENCE OF HARMONICS FAILS.. A DISAPPOINTED VAMPIRE-OLIGARCH .. 1/22/14

The essence of the vampire-oligarch, imprisoned in the body of the Moscow haberdasher's assistant thrashed and cried. They tried to comfort him. Doctor Franklin whispered reassurance in his ear. But he couldn't hear it. Then he tried something. The three hundred and seven year old reprobate went back to the console of his pet device and fiddled a bit. Four heartbeats later a faint, almost bagpipe-like thrum emanated from the baroque contraption, bathing the space in a deep, warm, almost subsonic peace. The pin-heads actually dozed. So did the strange, bullet-headed thing. Even the newly blind and deaf, apparently former vampire laying on the cold, marble slab relaxed. 

Doctor Franklin climbed down, went back and gently rested his hand on Usipov's new body. He spoke again and the deaf-blind man seemed to know. He whispered - This is but temporary. This can be fixed. I know you don't hear the words, but you know it. You feel it.

An assistant standing near by said - Excuse me, Doctor, but how do you know?....... I know. After almost two hundred and seventy years, I know. The frequency, the harmonic 'tickles' that part of the brain. The auditory part, I mean. Yours too. All of them. Everyone here. But you CAN hear, so you're unaware of it. He doesn't actually 'hear' it. But his brain felt it. His brain detected it and he knows that. Now if we were back in our own complex, in Philadelphia, I could hook him up to something and transmit rudimentary visual data too. But we're not. - said the Doctor. Yet look at his face. He knows that too....... Doctor Franklin patted the blind man's belly, turned and walked toward the door. Before exiting he turned and said - Get him ready. The cars are back. We're going home. But keep that playing. You, Rockwell... (Rockwell turned around)... Add an 'orphean' element. I want them all to sleep.......... Rockwell nodded, ran up and played around with the controls. Five heartbeats later the surviving, abandoned offspring of sad, Stalinist victims, still infesting the isolated complex, all went beddy-bye, just like the servants and courtiers in Sleeping Beauty's castle. Even the ghosts went dormant. And peace reigned over the desolate, crumbling Soviet era installation.  A bit later, a small cadre of Philadelphians, plus the hopefully temporarily blind and deaf vampire-oligarch, quietly exited an unassuming portal and hurried across the dry, cold, empty steppes to the waiting line of Land Rovers.

No sooner had they left when the ghost hunters from L.A., led by ZAK BAGANS himself (yes, you can click on that) pulled in with their caravan to do their thing.

Strange place, that complex. Another Eastern State Penitentiary.

But now the tale goes back to Philadelphia, with Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi, his consort, Sarah and the rest of the folks on 'the night shift.'

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AIN'T THAT AN AX IN THE HEAD?....... 1/21/14

It was cold. The streets were almost empty. Tomas liked it that way. He walked. He relaxed. Kevin was with him. You know, the first kid from that group he formed. El Junto Vampirido, I think he calls it. What was it, New Years Eve, or the night before New Years Eve when they started it. Think Skull and Bones, but for basically good kids. Tomas is the mentor. Patterns it on Doctor Franklin's Junto from seventeen twenty seven. God, you ever think about how many things we owe to him? Franklin, I mean. Even Penn. Even the school where Kevin and his friends go. He started that... And the libraries... And the fire department... And insurance companies... Them little reading glasses old folks buy at CVS.... Victoria's Secret... I think he did that. Didn't he?

Kevin wants pancakes. Edith couldn't make 'em. She's got like a stomach virus. Why do they call it a 'stomach' virus, when it's more of a lower intestine thing?. Lucky they got a lot a magazines back at the townhouse. She likes the home decor ones and @weirdnj too, 'cause they cover the Jersey Pine Barrens (really dense woods), her weird stomping grounds. Imagine, they got a Piney-Witchie-Woman for a housekeeper. Oh, them vampires are something.  I like when I get to narrate. In case you don't know, it's me, Zebulon, the thirteen year old kid what got stoned to death in ancient Jerusalem. Right near where they got Zippy's Falafel  today. We had good falafel back then too. For a shekel you got four real, nice, big, hot falafel balls and this real good pita bread and sauce and all. Not one kind a sauce... three kinds. Pomegranate juice. That was like soda back then. The 'Kitim' (pagan Romans) liked it too. Hard to get a seat at some a the good places because a them. I got one into The Temple once. Told me his mother was a Jew. Yeah, right. Like I believed him. We were like Mormons in those days. Had to be a member of the faith in good standing to witness the rights.. Oh, but they had a big show outside, in what they called 'The Court of the Gentiles'... blessing of the waters and all that. Blew trumpets... the choir sang. You know that big square they got in front of the trinitarian Vatican? Like that. Only The First Priest To Zion (I hate when they call him The High Priest) didn't have no Pope-mobile. Did have The Etruscan Guard though. But that was really just a way for the Romans to keep tabs on him. Funny how I still think about that time so much, even though I was (technically) a heretic. Mixed with Assyrian witches. I don't know if they were actually Assyrians. I don't know if there were any Assyrians left in those days. Could a been Scythians or Parthians. What did I know? I was thirteen for God's sake. But now I'm a disembodied spirit narrator. So let me get on with it. 

Tomas took Kevin to this waffle shop. Waffle shops are good. If I still had genuine, physical teeth, or some other way to chew it all up, I'd go too. Wanna see what them little sugar powdered crepes are like. That's what Kevin got, with like this apple-compote stuff on top of it. Smelled sooo good. 

Tomas says - You know we got our first, real meeting coming up..... He means from El Junto Vampirido Society. They're gonna come together the second to the last night of every month. 'Cept if it falls on a Friday or Saturday, 'cause college kids ain't givin' that up. Tomas wouldn't go on Fridays anyway, 'cause it's The Sabbath. He is what you'd call a real unusual vampire. This group got a lot a issues. Supposed to talk 'bout what good deeds they done. At that 'Junto' meeting, I mean. So far Kevin bought some old bag lady three orders a french fries and a new brassiere. Max, one a the other ones, unstuffed a neighbor's toilet and put six dollars in the mouth of a snorin' bum on Thirty Second Street. Guy almost choked. Max thinks he's funny. I think the other two, Rob and Liam taught little kids to read. They're the good ones. 

Kevin likes when Tomas tells stories. Vampires are the best. They got HUNDREDS a years a stories. Didn't hear all of it. Was smellin' that apple compote. But Tomas goes - You know how in movies and TV shows they guy gettin' shaked down by racketeers never fights back? He never goes berserk. Just sits there and takes it. Lets them slap him and punch him. Writers do that. Makes it easier. More linear. Less complicated. What, nobody EVER thought 'Yo, Tony Soprano, you fat, fat, fatty you, I gonna mess YOU up?  You know, Lot a people crazy. Not just racketeers. I seen a guy in France once, think it was in Chartes,  gettin' strong armed by some shit assed warlord. It's so unbelievable how their great-great (I don't know how many 'greats') grandkids morphed into 'high society' when the first wave was such low-life, pervert thieves. Anyway, the bum with the knife goes - Fork over the silver cache. That, or your bitch-brat's left breast. ...And the girl, held by some man-at-arms, goes- Papa! Papa!.. Papa makes like he just wants a get up, turn around and get the coins out a the bench. But this 'daddy' no push over. One move. One move. Real smooth. Just like that and BAM! One ax in each hand. Crunch! SPLAT! Crack! Like a nut cracker. Like a big nutcracker. And top a that bastid's head flies off, just like a lid. Just like a cookie jar. .... Brain look fake. Just like in a movie. But it can't be fake, 'cause this like the year twelve - o - five and fake brain not invented yet.... Man-at-arms goes - Uh oh... 'Cause baker lookin' at him (that's what he was, a baker). So he drop that gal an' go WHOOSH! right out the door...... I seen it all, 'cause I think I gonna have to step up an' do something. They let me sleep days in this deep 'cold cellar' where they store stuff. I peek up through little hatch. See the whole thing. Help him hide the body and clean up and all. Vampire got lot a energy. Do that in no time... Did have to kill that man-at-arm a little bit, plus two guys he told.  But that was it. Thing was over.

Sometime YOU gotta be the crazy one... 
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THE FRINGES OF THE VAMPIRE WORLD ARE STILL OUT THERE ... 1/20/13

They are still out there. We speak of Tomas and his dear ones in their snug, red brick town house in Philadelphia and even Doctor Franklin and his mad, Russian holiday. But other species of night-folk are still out there too. Some never speak. Nor do they ever walk the streets of men, preferring the cold, abysmal plain. 'Lucid Wanderers' we call them. They see (after a fashion). They feel and they abide. 

Names are lost. Identities forgotten. They exist as legends... seamen's stories... travelers' tales. The princes of the sea know who they are and greet them as they pass. And lest you imagine 'princes of the sea' to be merfolk, let me tell you, they are not. Think 'leviathan' and you will know them. 

Aquanauts in special, spherical craft able to withstand great pressure know who they are. Photographs exist.... even videos. Picture blackness through a small, thick, solid quartz window. Then a light goes on. A harsh, yellow beam cuts the darkness. Tiny scraps of once living organisms dance through the current... Bleached, white, colorless fleshy things, nudibranch, I think they are in your language, undulate through the brightness and disappear. A white crab, carrying the torn off finger of a drowned man, gleefully scuttles away. Welcome to the deepest dungeon of King Triton's realm. I would have said Poseidon, or possibly Neptune, his true royal names, but so few know the classics these days. Disney does that. Everything is simplified, homogenized and bowdlerized. The noble Atuhualpa, Emperor of Tihuantisuyu (All Directions), who ruled from Cuzco (Navel of the Universe), Earth's largest city in its day, who built what became known as 'el camino real' (the royal road), creator of hummingbirds, receiver of the sweat of the sun (gold), great shepherd of the celestial llamas. confidant of deities is whittled down to a petulant youth in a baggy tunic without a name. No, I am wrong. 'Cuzco' they remembered. He's named for the city. 

Oh, how I go on. Am I a vampire? You, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid... what do you think?  Who else speaks so contemporaneously of these things? Yes, I am a vampire. I am a New World vampire who saw the fall of the Olmec, the Toltec, the Zapotec, the Aztec, the Mixtec and all them other 'Tecs.'  Mayans too, but they always had to be different. I saw the rustic, northern, polity of Cahokia, a vast, 'Indian' city near what you call Saint Louis. Did you even know it was there? 

And now I walk among the remnants of creation, a frigid place of endless night. I like it. It suits me. When hungry I rise to the surface (always by moonlight) and snatch souls from ships. The floating ziggurat, the island-like pleasure barges that ply the sea are nothing to me. You've heard tales of people disappearing... young husbands gone missing....baccarat dealers up in smoke?... Well, that smoke is me. Like a spider I climb. They never hear. They rarely know. I care not for reactions. Mortal fear does not entertain me. My ego is secure. 

So gaze out through the thick, quartz window. Squint into the darkness. There I am... off in the distance... a tiny figure walking up a hill.... all color gone, washed out by the salty sea.

All parts of Earth are known to us. Night-folk are everywhere.... We watch you as you sleep. Some, like your Tomas and his allies, interact with humanity while others, such as I, do not.

How I love the pressure... It caresses me.

Oh, look... a krakkon (huge, giant squid). Perhaps she'll let me ride?

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DOCTOR FRANKLIN STOPS A GENII IN ANOTHER 'BOTTLE'... 1/18/13

THE RUSSIAN PRISONER'S SMALL DARK CELL-LIKE ROOM
Two monstrous beings... tall, bullet-headed, naked, beefy things wearing tiny miners' lights on elastic bands 'round their foreheads throw open the door (BAM!) and enter. 

The PRISONER (the haberdasher's assistant), wearing dirty underwear, cowers in a corner. He looks up to behold the faces... smooth, devoid of mouths and noses. Intravenous tubes carry a colorless bubbling fluid from clear, plastic bottles worn on belts 'round the waist up and into tiny round orifices roughly where the mouths would be. Narrow, focused beams from the miners' lights dance about the darkness. 

PRISONER - No! No! No! 

He squirms, kicks and struggles as the Golem-like pair jams an unpeeled orange into his jaws and  drags him to his feet. They bear him out and slam the door.

LARGE CRUMBLING CINDER-BLOCK CHAMBER

DOCTOR FRANKLIN watches as the two monsters manhandle the gagged, terrified prisoner into the room. The pin-heads and other miraculously surviving experimental rejects squeal with delight, in the dim, blue, fluorescent gloom.

The ghost-like spirit of the vampire, Russian, oligarch GRIGORI USIPOV stands off to the side. He's agitated and anxious.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN  - (gestures toward the tight, confining cage) Lock him in!

The bullet-headed monsters drag the PRISONER up the ladder-like metal stairs and wedge him into the torturous contraption. He sweats and shakes. The orange jammed into his mouth blocks all but the weakest moans. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Mister Usipov, prepare yourself.

Two assistants swab the inner surface of the body-sized glass tube just used in the first experiment with Lysol handi-wipes (product placement). Then they lay it down and stand aside. Usipov is apprehensive. He looks to DOCTOR FRANKLIN. The DOCTOR smiles and gestures toward the tube. The ghostly Usipov gingerly straddles it and lays down on his stomach. Then he sublimates through the clear, clean surface. The assistants seal it shut and snap it into place at the other end of the Grand Armonica [scroll back two nights for a description of that huge device]. The pin-heads and their playmates clap, cheer and sing Happy Birthday again.

One of the assistants shoots them an angry look. They shrink back, stop and stare wide-eyed.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN and another assistant ready the room sized, harmonic crystalline  apparatus. 

The thick, transparent discs begin to rotate. Atonal chords fill the air..... The DOCTOR fine tunes things... The sounds blend into a coherent pattern.. We hear a rather calliope sounding rendition of  that seventh inning favorite, Hava Nagillah.

The poor Russian PRISONER thrashes about in the tight, confining space. He starts to bleed.... The harmonic tune morphs into the theme from I Dream of Jeannie. But then it gets faster and FASTER and FASTER.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN can't stop it. The prisoner strains against the bands and bars. He's scraped. He's cut. He bleeds some more. 

USIPOV moans and moans. 

Then, suddenly the head of one of those mouthless, noseless, bullet headed monster things goes BOOM! and explodes, just like a gray, lumpy, jello-filled pinata. The pin-heads clap and cheer. One of them scrambles and lunges for the miners' light as it skitters across the floor. Some other members of the strange audience dip their fingers into bits of brain and taste it. 

The few surviving, weakly flickering fluorescent tubes crackle and go dark. But arcs from the large electro-magnets mounted 'round the room momentarily shock the air with a hard, yellow-white light, providing static glimpses of events as they unfold. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - (yells) GET HIM OUT!

The surviving bullet-headed thing lumbers up to the cage and rips it apart, hoists the PRISONER over his shoulder, climbs down the ladder and lays him out on a marble slabbed platform.

The arcing stops. One lone fluorescent tube hums and weakly flickers back to life.

Assistants wipe the condensation from the glass tube. There's no spirit inside. USIPOV isn't there, so something happened.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN pulls back the lids and examines the eyes..... Nothing.... 

He pounds on the sternum... Nothing...

He gestures toward a weird audience member sitting on the floor sucking brain juice off its finger.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - You... Here!

The audience member hurries up. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - You know how to breathe?

Audience member nods.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Then breathe, breathe, breathe down his throat. Go ahead. Do it. Come on. Do it.

The audience member does. The DOCTOR stands over and inhales and exhales with him.  At first nothing, but after a bit the PRISONER'S body begins to cough and draw in air. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN examines the eyes again, but they appear dilated and fixed. He shews the 'breather' away, claps his hands before the PRISONER'S face.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Usipov! Usipov! (shakes him) Usipov!

No real reaction. But then the PRISONER gasps, suddenly sits up, tentatively reaches out and grabs the DOCTOR by his sweat shirt.

PRISONER - (in a somewhat different voice) I can't see! I can't hear! I can't see! I can't hear!.... Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

But DOCTOR FRANKLIN doesn't seem that concerned...

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JUST ME (BILLY) TALKING. THE PARANORMAL STUFF COMES BACK TOMORROW... 1/18/13

I got these 'doldrums' and can't write so late at night anymore. Probably a winter thing...dark skies.. desiccated (due to heat) interiors... too many chocolate chip cookies in the house. But we had over 110 hits in the last few hours and for me (sigh) that's 'good,' so I figure all the paranormal people can go frolic amongst themselves for a while.

But I still wanna speechify and pontificate (maybe just pre ZZZzzz delirium. That means I got no breaks, so here goes). 

Ever put some really good stuff out there?... You know what I mean. Two hours later after a whole big crab cake dinner it's STILL funny. And nobody notices or remarks at all. But then you see some real plugged-in, connected bastid, who's sold to the masses like Campbell's Soup tweet bout the zit on his back and the world goes crazy... They laugh... They pee... They roll around on the grass... kick their feet in the air like Stepford fans and hit that retweet like it's Morse code..... Not the (what the hell good does THIS do me?) 'favorite' key. I mean the RETWEET key. They ain't hiding nothing. They want all the whole universe to see this sucker.

And you think --- Well, OK, all I have to do is interact (and I mean sincerely) with some well known people and they'll communicate back and that'll do it.. Waa-Laa... semi-fame.... But the sad truth is well known people, for the most part, only see the humanity in other well known people.  Rest of us just big dumb schmucks wit' money in our fists who MIGHT buy a ticket... maybe even like a t-shirt too. 

Oh, there are exceptions and they shine like beacons on a storm-tossed sea. Lights along the way... warm hearths in the night. And I love them like I love all-you-can-eat Chinese style buffets. Can't tell you their names (here) 'cause you'd all jump on 'em and then they'd turn mean like all the others and dump me and I'd get even more neurotic. But if you hang around my  TWITTER thing, you'll find them.

OK, that's it. That's what I want to say...... Oh, but 'fore I collapse, let me spit this little piece out too. What also gets me are all the daytime TV people who never met an impoverished photogenic weepy-eyed soul they didn't want to give a washer-dryer too ( or maybe a van..or maybe a big check <to poor people> or maybe a little Disney... not Mustique, where they go, but Disney good enough for them... they won't know no difference) BUT let one a them cryin' bastids go - Oh, wait, My huzzbin got a scrip' I want you to see... Man, they get gently pushed aside and that smile beam on next one so fast, it'll give you cramps...... They let you have crumbs off the tin, but nobody wanna share the pie... Least most is like that.

OK, I ventilated my spleen a little. Now I can have some iced tea, take my Zantac and go to sleep.

Much thanks to you all. Please comment 'bout your 'pet peas,' or whatever they  call 'em.

'Night... That's it.

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BACK TO THE RESURRECTION OF THE VAMPIRE-OLIGARCH, GRIGORI USIPOV 1/17/13

SCENE: Vast underground chipped cinder-block chamber housing old Stalinist version of Doctor Franklin's Grand Armonica. (harmonic science apparatus). A few miraculously still working, ancient flickering fluorescent tubes bathe all in a weak, blue glow. Strange hybridized creatures gleefully watch from the shadows, as Doctor Benjamin Franklin (indefinitely preserved by his own arcane discoveries & sporting his signature, deep green Eagles sweatsuit) runs about like a crazed alchemist, controlling and fine tuning his huge device. [see previous posting for description]. Watch him race from pillar to post, white hair streaming behind, as he hums and whispers to himself.

A few other 'mortal' humans assist on the periphery. Two or three ape-human mixes (descendants of cruel, Stalinist experiments) shuffle through a door, but some of the assistants (with the aid of cattle prods) shew them away. 

The temporarily 'ghostly' vampire, Russian oligarch known as Grigori Usipov sublimates up through the old, worn, linoleum tiled floor, walks toward Doctor Franklin and stops.

GRIGORI USIPOV - How much longer?

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Be patient. Be patient, my good man.
(he adjusts a toggle causing a heavy, resonant thrum to fill the room)

Two 'pin-heads' among the outlandish mixes toward the corners cackle maniacally and caper about, as hellish moans seep through the walls from other places within the complex.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - TEST!!!

Assistants lead a chained human-ape thing (wearing a ridiculous pair of Speedos) into the chamber. It's obvious the creature is drugged and scared. They approach the apparatus. Doctor Franklin strokes it reassuringly.

Others carry in a long, glass-like sealed cylinder, containing an ethereal, imprisoned ghost. The ghost seems panicked. He's losing it. But the ape-man thing is beyond caring. And one hundred and forty heartbeats later the apfen -mensch is secured within a confining cage at one end of the apparatus, while the clear cylinder holding the terrified spirit gets locked into its own slot.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - BEGIN!!

Assistants go into their dance, flipping switches, pushing toggles, donning goggles and snug, black, rubber aprons. They offer one to Doctor Franklin. He waves them away.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - No, no, no, I like it. It tickles. 

Then it starts. The immense, heavy, crystal discs begin to rotate 'round the huge, brass-toned axle. Little by little the vast, deep tones start to coalesce into a song... 'The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down' ... and it plays and repeats and grows stronger and deeper and faster.

Off 'round the edges the strange altered humans grow wide eyed and silent, as the ape-man begins to scream and the ghost begins to moan.

Blinding arcs buzz and crackle from large electro-magnets mounted about the room. The tones shift and change. Now it's well known Aida aria Nessun Dorma with a sound that approaches angel-song.

Then we reach the crescendo and it stops...... The very air grows still.... Everyone waits....

Doctor Franklin hauls himself up some ladder-like, metal stairs, the better to examine the ape-thing. He pokes it. It's still. He waits a heartbeat or two and pokes it again. The ape-man stirs. It shudders and trembles. 

The DOCTOR gestures toward the large, glass-like cylinder and snaps his fingers, all the time keeping his eyes on the creature. Two assistants turn to inspect it. Condensation on the inner surface begins to clear. No ghost. It's empty!... They look toward the DOCTOR. He looks toward them, They nod.... He nods. The ape-man opens his eyes.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - It's alive! He's alive!!

And he laughs in triumph, as the newly imprisoned spirit starts to babble (in Russian) and rant and scream.

The pin-heads clap and sing 'Happy Birthday.'

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - (in a loud voice) Bring in the haberdasher's assistant!..... (that means the Russian prisoner)

The temporarily homeless ghost-like spirit of Grigori Usipov seems pleased.....

One of the few remaining fluorescent lights crackles and goes dark.

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