Tiny, jewel-box 'lawns' begin to turn green. Daffodils live and die. Spidery tendrils of damp mold slowly reclaim dark corners and north facing walls. Spring comes to the Jersey Shore. The air is chill and moist. Streets are almost empty. Traffic lights blink, some red and some yellow. Seasons change. Small, white sand crabs re-claim the wet world close to the surf. And the occasional corpse stuffed under a boardwalk or pressed against the seawall begins to rot.
The ghosts are still in evidence. Summer heat and seasonal crowds weakens the 'resonance.' Spirits become thin and dilute. They freeze in place and fade away, til long, fall nights and a yellow, waxy moon calls them back. But there's still time. You might see some people at the local sundry store, or pizza place, or food market. A few restaurants draw crowds on Saturday night. But most streets are barren. A car door slams two blocks away and you hear it. Free hanging shop signs creak in the wind.
If you're 'down.' If you've stolen a weekend to ready the house for later guests, step out at night. Unlock the door and go forth. Walk passed the houses with their empty driveways and timer-controlled lights snug behind closed draperies..The bacon and egg spot on the corner hibernates. And the mannikins in store windows two blocks down are ashamed of last year's swimsuits. But the suit-changing-lady is still in Florida, so they stare blankly and endure.
Some shadows, some fleeting bits of animation are quite natural... a tree branch... a night bird... a rabbit... two local kids mushing up on a twice-dark porch. But others are not. A face in an attic window... The 'man' walking toward you who suddenly disappears... Did he enter a house?.... Perhaps, but not through an opened door. A child's beach ball soundlessly bounces down the sidewalk, all blue and yellow and red. Then it fades, sinking through the concrete, replaced by a dark, ocher stain.
Go back before it's too late. Put the key in the lock. Shhh, who whispered? Who walked 'round toward the back of the house?... A cat?.. It might have been a cat.... maybe. Step inside. Turn the dead bolt. Lock the door. Click on the television. Get the Cheese Nips from the kitchen. Snuggle on the sofa under throw pillows and an afghan . HGTV is good... Real people... Live people... Buying condos in New York City and villas by The Sea of Cortez. Relax. Breathe. Doze. You can go upstairs later. But the sand man comes and you drift off.
Dawn comes, or almost dawn. You get up, peek through the drapes and look. The sky is still black, but it's five thirty... almost dawn, or at least false dawn. Infomercials shine from the screen. You click on the upstairs hall light... turn everything off and hurry up out of the blackness. You run into the hall bathroom, hit the switch and lock the door. Mercifully, the shower curtain is open. You pee and rinse your hands under a trickle. No loud noises when you're alone. Let the pee sit til daylight. Then you race into your room, lock the door (like a bedroom door lock's gonna save you) do a quick closet -and-under-the-bed check and jump under the covers
Silence... Pure silence... nothing, but an ever so slight, subliminal hissing in your ears. Maybe thirty minutes til daylight... Drift off...drift off... please, drift off .....
Then a noise... a loud noise.... It's the phone... the land-line ringing downstairs. You jump, run out, skitter down the steps in the dark and click on the nearest lamp. You focus. You see it. The phone's not there. It's not on the table... and hasn't been since they took it out eighteen months ago. But a little clown figurine,sitting in its place, slowly pivots 'round and smiles... You feel breath on your neck just as the last ring fades......
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Sarah hardly spoke. She sat there with his book, his ancient, handwritten manuscript in her lap. Edith had the cleaning people come and set things straight. Not the place was in such bad shape. It wasn't. But she just wanted it to be nice. The elferinos and elferinas didn't say much either. Marianne felt guilty, because she was the one who 'found' Peter. And now, Tomas is dead.
Baylah comes over all the time. She still sleeps at her place, but spends her nights here. Edith lights these little green apple aroma candles and puts them all over. Sarah likes them. Green apple is her favorite. And the television's on in the background, but no one watches. Bunch a Toronto people looking at houses. That's all they ever watch. Vampires love HGTV.... safe nooks... refuges and all that.
Leo went out. Said he needed fresh air. Sarah said - Go. Who's stopping you?.... So he put on his coat (you know those vaguely 'army' looking, green down coats with the wolf trimmed hoods?) and left. Vampires like fresh air, even if the oxygen doesn't nourish them much. Some of them can walk for hours. Leo mostly talks to folks or finds girls... not to bite. He basically sticks to 'the vows.' Got a few 'bed friends' around town. He gives them things. They love him. One got title to a Jeep SUV, a thirty two thousand dollar diamond ring. Vampires got all kinds a stuff. Look, Tomas had a thousand year old stash. ... Not stolen... Stuff he took from real bastards... The ones he 'culled.' 'Familiars' help him sell some, invest the cash. Believe me, after centuries and centuries it's a lot. I don't know for sure, but once a guy from some brokerage firm said 'three hundred and sixty five million dollars.' I wasn't supposed to hear, but I did. Tomas liked to keep it all private. Not because he was selfish. Just didn't want anybody to ever worry about money. Didn't want us to go overboard either. Can't attract too much attention. Once we had a big house, a real old, traditional, gray stone, colonial manor in Chestnut Hill. Nice grounds. Rich neighbors. Annie was with us then. Not Pig Blood Annie. The little one. She got friendly with the mortal kid next door. You know, the one whose mother fed her shitty pizza. "Papa' (the one who rescued Tomas from that fire centuries ago) had a thing for the mother. God, I wonder where he is.
I had a dream. Tomas had a mortal line too, you know. He's got descendants all over. Well, not 'all over,' but they're around. Sarah comes from them.... So does Peter... Killed him for 'the power.' God knows where he is, or what he's doing with it now.. Well, in my dream, Tomas has another descendant and we find him. Somehow he's here, or he comes here to Philadelphia and we meet him, out on the street one night, just walking along... Warm... spring...like South Street with all the college kids... Turns out he looks just like Tomas too.. trim... Spanish... long wavy hair. Young. Eighteen, just like his distant progenitor. And after a whole lot of basically unimportant stuff he assumes 'the burden' too. He becomes a vampire. And it's like we have Jonathon back. Look, I think I'm going to call him Jonathon. When I talk about him, I mean. I know he had two names. But to me, he's Jonathon. Well, that's my dream.
Some Kabbalah guy came over. One of the 'familiars' sent him. Not a real Kabbalah guy, like a Kabbalah-Lite guy from one of those centers they have all over... like Scientology with more Bible stuff and less aliens. I know they talk about altruism and self-sacrifice and 'fixing' the universe and working toward harmony and all. Look, I watch Access Hollywood. I know. But Sarah asked him if she could talk to Jonathon. He said - No, those left behind should not interfere in the soul journey of the departed. She should just pray (not to Jonathon. to God) and he'll sense her prayers on his behalf and be uplifted.... She said - But I want to talk to him.... The guy said - How could you know it's really him? Some beings are devious. They could trick you. Do you want that?...... She said - Won't God help me? Won't He look out for me? He won't stop that? I'm not asking for a color TV, or a Mercedes Benz, nothing physical, just a little spiritual protection. I want to talk to him..... The guy didn't know what to say. Edith gave him tea and pound cake. Then he left.
I wanted to ask the Kabbalah guy what I should do to get an agent (it's me, Billy, the one who blogs all this). Jonathon always wanted his story to get out. I try. I try every night almost...but I don't know. Put my shirt on inside-out tonight. They say that means a surprise is coming... a good surprise. You know... synchronicity. Maybe it'll happen
Edith can tell what I'm thinkin' about. Look at her looking. Look at her smiling.
I'm gonna go get a piece of that pound cake.
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Can't post any Vampire Wonderland material tonight. They're all understandably depressed around here. Everyone loved Jonathon ( aka Tomas). The funeral was real hard. Doctor Franklin is here. A few 'familiars' are too. Condolence calls officially suspend for the Biblical Sabbath (Friday night to Saturday night), but people come anyway, so I don't know what that means. Sarah plans to 'receive' callers for a few more evenings. She's a little bit numb. It's all on her now.
But I was thinking...on Twitter I talk about London author, Andrew Harding and his popular THE HYBRID SERIES all the time, so here's a link to Chapter 18 of his blog version... (real books are racier).. take a look. Scroll down if you want to read more. Click this ~~ AHardingBooks.co.uk .. if you want to interact with him on twitter, hit~~Twitter.com/andrewharding4 ... And if you want to peek into one of my long forgotten arcs, Google BINGO BOY by Billy Kravitz and scroll around over there. No vampires in that one, just a hardscrabble romance under the 'el' tracks in a crooked walk-in bingo hall. thanks to all--- Billy
Also, the new (well really just inked) psycho-sexual-thriller 'Knock Knock' written and directed by Eli Roth and starring Keanu Reeves looks real good. Cannes already waiting for the 'sizzle' reel. If you like, please share this with your friends.
It was dark. there was a soft drizzle. One of the caretakers at Laurel Hill, a 'familiar' met the mourners at an entrance and guided them to the place, a plain, classic building for above ground burial. Some fear the worms and chose this, only to face the flies. For they get in through the tiniest crack and their hatchlings can be tiny too... worms of the air... maggots.
I am ashes... bits of bone and grease. Few will feed on me.... Indeed, few worms feed on those put in the ground. They are buried too deep. Worms prefer top soil, not the clay that lies beneath. And those so entombed are feasts for microbes.
They walk down dark paths. a functionary discretely shines a flashlight upon the ground, through districts of the dead, or at least the parts they left behind. Ornate tombstones and columns mark individual graves and the nighttime earth is moist with the promise of spring. Sarah hugs the urn... my urn. Leo and Baylah walk with her. Edith walks behind with the two elferinos and two elferinas. Baylah's mortal gentleman friend and some other mortals, 'familiars' and such come next. They found a Spanish Rite (Sephardic) rabbi. Not from Philadelphia. From someplace else. Sarah didn't want local clergy involved in the death of a vampire, because word would get out and misguided people might desecrate my resting place.
We approached the old, gray stone building. The heavy, bronze door was opened. We went in. Small, votive candles flickered from wrought iron holders, spaced six feet apart at roughly eye level. My niche was a few yards in. The thick, marble covering had been removed and rested on the floor. Exposed surfaces were plain, gray slabs.
The rabbi, a rather neat, young man with a carefully clipped dark red beard (if he was, in fact, Spanish, or of Iberian decent, he might have been Aragonese or Catalan. I don't know. there were auburn haired and red haired people in Al Andalus too, I suppose.) began the festivities.
He said - For The Lord shows mercy to all His children, to their bodies, their spirits and their souls, including the soul of Jonathon (he said 'Yo-na-tahn') ben Macabi, beloved son of Rachel and Michael, who left this world with a good name. May The Spirit of The Lord grant him Heavenly rest among all the holy and forgiven. So may it be. And let us say 'amen.'......
After that, I did not listen. Funerals are for the earthly. Though I did make my presence known to Sarah and all who mourned.
When the service was over, two functionaries from the cemetery lifted the marble covering and sealed it back in place. Sarah, as surviving spouse 'assisted.' The rabbi lead them in the first Kaddish Prayer, for the peaceful repose of my soul. Some of the familiars said polite things to Sarah. She put an arrangement of cherry blossoms (Jonathon liked them) in a little holder under his niche. Then the man with the flashlight lead them back to the cars and they left. The rabbi had his own car. It had to be an unnerving experience for him. And I said some prayers on his behalf as well.
Sarah, Edith and Baylah rode with Baylah's gentleman friend. I think Leo went with them too. He had a limousine, not a big one, just a regular limousine. The 'familiars' and other mortals had their own cars.
Back at the townhouse, they all symbolically washed their hands with water from a little pitcher left on the front steps (an affirmation of life) and went inside. A woman in from the Jersey Pines to help Edith, had tea and vodka, even beef bullion, for the night-folk and sandwiches, cake and other things for the mortals. The elferinos and elferinas came just a bit later with flowers. I think they bought them at an all night supermarket. Edith put them in vases and placed them around the house.
That's it. Not so different. Faith doesn't die. Night-folk (vampires), and please know I speak of 'noble' vampires, not the rarer 'noxious' types, tend to maintain the beliefs of their mortal life.
So long as we kill not indiscriminately and 'cull' only the wicked, God understands.
We've always been here. And I mean always. Perhaps we are angels of death, or maybe we pick up the slack?
Some Piney people came for Little Joe. They recovered Pig Blood Annie's body and took her home for rites of their own. Our 'familiars' helped with that. And the interior of The Academy of Music is as it was.
But Peter's still out there and he still has the baby...
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Don't say 'Rest in peace.' That is not how it its. That is not what we do. The World To Come is not another place. It is not a break from where you are, but an elaboration, an out growth, a wider view. I see that now. I know it. We rest here. We learn here and we work, bearing truth to all. We are muse. We bring clarity. All hear, though few listen.
And I am not Tomas. I am Jonathon. I am home. All are home here, even atheists... For by their deeds ye shall know them. Am I absolved? No. Those I've harmed will get their day. And I will know their pain. But that will pass and I shall be released. That is my absolution and it is yet to come, or at least I must explain it that way. Time is another thing here. For I will also confront they who have harmed me. And I shall forgive them all.
Oh, but the view is beautiful. Golden Cordoba, awash in the late day sun. I see with such precision. I hear a million prayers.... in Hebrew, Aramaic, Latin and Old Arabic... All creeds, but one faith. For the purpose of revealed religion is to make us better people. Those that do less are false.
And The World To Come has many 'chapels.' There are equally splendid places for every other 'ism' in Creation. Please note that I said 'Creation' and not Earth. For the righteous of all groups shall share in The World To Come.
Why did I 'die' that other night? Some souls ask that. I feel it. I hear it. But even I don't know... not for sure anyway. Perhaps such things are just ordained? Perhaps I secretly wanted to?
They say there are unicorn here. Other things too. I know not all the names. Maybe I'll see them.
And in the City of Philadelphia, on the narrow, cobbled street, the red brick townhouse is quiet. Sarah sits in the little morning room off the kitchen with my old, leather-bound copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo in her lap. She knows some Spanish. But it is in Old Spanish and Old Vahmperigo too. Perhaps a scholar at the Penn Museum will help her? They knew me there. Someone will assist her.
Doctor Franklin is there. He sits in the kitchen with Baylah and Leo. Edith serves tea. The two conservatively dressed gentlemen in the family room are 'familiars.' One is a financial adviser. The other a lawyer. Their wives, strictly speaking, are not 'familiars.' I don't know how they feel about night-folk. But they're polite and respectful. The taller woman gave Sarah a book, 'The Half Left Behind,' a guide to grief for the surviving spouse. The little one brought 'schnechen,' small, cookie-like pastries wrapped up in a pretty box. Probably stopped on the way and ran into a gourmet bakery. I think I know the one. Little Joe's still there. He went to see a show this afternoon. Some musical. I don't know which one. Then he had shepherd's pie at The Irish Pub. Says he did it in honor of Pig Blood Annie, his late wife and my co-victim. He wants to go to the zoo, in honor of her too... and maybe have drinks in honor of her at that new place on top of The Hotel Monaco.
They're going to have a service. Some 'familiar' arranged for a niche at Laurel Hill. Not a small, architecturally distinct (up to a point) private mausoleum, like Billy blogged about a few weeks ago. This is a nice, classically simple, long, marble hall. My urn will go in seven slots from the south entrance, right hand side and fourth up from the floor. They say that's a good spot. Right above a dead gentleman who once owned a trucking company and right below the wife of a circus clown. The clown's still alive, or 'in the flesh,' as we say over here.
Edith scraped up my remains. Most of you know what happens. Dead vampires spontaneously ignite into what we call a 'cold' blue flame. Still warm. Hot actually, just not burning. We just call it that. Big, pale, flake-like ashes rise up from the fire and waft into space, sublimating through floors, ceilings and roofs til they do. I 'died' on the roof, so that sublimating part wasn't necessary. She took a little hand spade from the tiny kitchen garden out back, gathered up what was left... some grease... a few bits and pieces... and reverently put it all into a decorative, little can that once held sachet. Lavender, I think. Fitting when you consider how 'life-eaters' (vampires) like aroma candles. And the lid does snap on tight, but Laurel Hill has rules, so they'll transfer me into a goblet, or chalice-like bronze vessel with a professionally sealed top.... a genii in a bottle that no one will ever rub, except maybe an archaeologist when they excavate the place sometime in the future.
They're going to have the service tomorrow night. It has to be after dark. You know, vampires and all. I'm sure the elferinos and elferinas will be there. Odd to think that my assassin is one of them. A flawed specimen, but elferino nonetheless. Though he is not important.... I suppose dogwoods and other early blooms will be out. That will be nice. Baylah said the male singer from her piano bar will sing. I heard her say it. I Shall Be Released, I think it is.
I like that.
Now please let me go. I want to hover around Sarah. I think she knows I'm here.
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I will channel this. It's only fitting. We were together when it all started, so I should be here now. Jonathon knows me. He trusts me. I am Johannon, his servant and companion. At least I was during his mortal days.
That which you call 'magic' is not constant. It rises and falls like the tides. Sometimes it vanishes altogether. I suppose last night was one of those times.
The thing, the elferino known as 'Peter' caught him. Sarah tried. She did. She dug her nails in under the skeletal claws and attempted to pull them off. But every time she touched the bones her hands burst into flames. And the thing pinched off chunks of flesh and devoured them. Tomas trembled. He tried to sublimate... through the floor... up to the boxes... anywhere. But at this time and in that place he could not do it.
When he tried to speak the thing grabbed his tongue. Skeletal finger tips are very sharp, you know. (Primitive fisher-folk used them as spear points. They worked very well). And he tore it out by the root. Tomas groaned. ... It was odd watching the thing eat. He slurped it all up and chewed. But where did it go? But for the eyes, the skeleton had no parts. Though as he ate 'tissue' materialized on the ivory frame . Pink,wet, elastic membranes stretched across the ribs. And ghost-like, gristly tubes, perhaps two, ran down from the neck to a roiling knot of guts.
Through it all the four or five faint, silvery ghosts did nothing. They just sat... And I can't be sure they were even aware of it all. Maybe their minds saw something else?.... But the thing called 'Peter' is essentially an elferino. And an elferino is nothing but a slight, pubescent vampire, so then he went for the neck... a partially flesh covered corpse, like a living representation of a plastic, 'Invisible Man' toy from your nineteen sixties, though much more ambulatory and hungry. Tomas' eyelids fluttered. Sarah whimpered. She crawled over and cradled his head. The thing let her do that. A strange Pieta, composed of not just a victim and mourner, but the Grim Reaper as well..... While a few yards up the aisle a multitude of blue-black, metallic horse flies covered the body of the 'born' witch, Pig Blood Annie, and worked a little blood 'sucking' magic of their own. Actually, in the darkness, the electric hum was more apparent than the sight, but their rigid, insect bodies did reflect a bit of light... thousands of swarming demons in the dark.
Although 'young,' Tomas was still a full vampire. Elferinos, even monstrous evil ones, can't hold all that blood, so the thing just stopped. And Tomas might have fared better had it ended there. But Peter took the heart as well. Just pulled it out from under the rib-cage. How the connective tissues and blood vessels SNAPPED. Then he stuffed it up under his own sternum. After that, Tomas didn't move at all. Sarah didn't either.
The elferino, Peter, more or less fully reconstituted, got up, straightened his clothes (an outfit was part of the magic too), turned around and left, walking up the aisle, toward the lobby. When he neared the exit, the nine or ten months old 'born' witch, Pig Blood Annie's 'grandbaby,' Boopsie, flew out of the darkness and into his arms. He cradled her. She gurgled. They left.
Sarah was afraid to move. She sat there in the shadows, on the dense patterned rug, between the first row and the orchestra pit, holding the upper portion of Jonathon's tortured body (that's the name I know) on on her lap. The 'man in the box' quietly mumbled in the dark, while one by one the ghosts in the seats slowly vanished.
Then just before dawn the doors opened again. Sarah jumped (apparently she'd fallen asleep or lost consciousness), as Baylah and her mortal boyfriend hurried down the aisle. They had a few 'familiars' with them. No one said a word. Someone wrapped Tomas (also known as Jonathon) in a blanket. Baylah helped Sarah get up and made her drink a tiny vial of blood. It fortified her. But after that she began to cry. Then they hurried up toward the door, went into the dim, gas-lit lobby and out an inconspicuous side entrance. A small paneled van waited. They entered and left.
Edith cried when they brought him in. Doctor Franklin was there too. Leo and Billy just sat in the family room and didn't say a word. Sarah broke down. She scratched at her neck til the blood ran like sweat and cried - Here! Here! I'll save him! I'll save him!.... Doctor Franklin,( the old scientist) just shook his head. Baylah looked up. Edith looked up. They all hoped. But the wispy haired gentleman explained - He has no heart. It won't grow back. The blood has to move. Even vampire blood has to move. And I can't tell you why. It carries no oxygen. That's just how it is. It can't just pool in his legs. When he dries out. When there's no moisture left. When the last bloody residue is gone he'll die...... (silence) Now, do you want that to happen down here in the dark, or upstairs on the roof? Please, let him at least have the light...... Will he be able to see it? - whispered Edith..... A bit - said Doctor Franklin
So they gently carried him up to the flat portion of the roof toward the back of the house, where none could see and laid him down on quilts. Sarah managed to keep it together. She covered him with the thick, down comforter from their sleeping chamber and tucked it in around his body. Then she kissed him. His eyelids fluttered. ..... They all said prayers. But the vampires left with the first blush of dawn, though Edith and Billy stayed with him. They said he seemed to sigh and smile, as the sunlight kissed his face and God took back his soul.
If my recounting of this sad event seemed dry and clinical, please know I just want to be accurate. An almost thousand year old presence died tonight.... an abiding decent light is gone........ at least from this plain of existence....
But know that he sits in the warm yellow sun of Al Andalus even now.
The red brick townhouse, on the narrow cobbled street will endure. The long clock in the hall will chime. The hardwoods will still gleam. Sarah and the others will take care of this house.
And the almost angelic, night-folk of Philadelphia will go on.
If you didn't listen to the music before... please listen to it now.
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Pig Blood Annie cried too. She said - Don't worry, baby girl. I'm here. I'm Here. I'M HERE!..... But there was a sharp pulse through the air, like an ethereal shock wave. When it passed, the elferino known as Peter was there at the back of the house, still as a statue. Yet they heard his voice. And he said - SO AM I!!... With that the seemingly pubescent figure slowly made his way down the aisle. As he did the flesh bubbled and frothed all over his body like a pink, bloody spume, hard to see in the darkness, but visible nonetheless. The watery slop ran down his skull, over his shoulders and onto the carpet, where it boiled for a heartbeat or two before disappearing into the neat, dense pile. Only the eyes remained, two, cold, wet 'things' staring straight ahead. He passed by a ghost, or two, but the shadowy figures did nothing.
Then the 'born' witch (that's Pig Blood Annie in case you're new) just groaned.... Tomas and Sarah followed her gaze and looked up. The 'man in the box' was gone. So was the child in his arms, though the huge chandelier swung ever so slightly. The crystals jingling like laughter.
The vampires retreated to that space between the first row of seats and the orchestra. Sarah wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move. So Tomas stood by her, watching as the witch lunged at the skeletal form, her fists clenched over her head, a virago she-bear, footsteps pounding desperate to save her grandbaby. Just before contact the bony 'marionette' that was Peter raised his left arm and pointed, cracking through her breast-bone, piercing the heart and shattering the spine before casting her off, a quivering mound of ruined flesh, wedged in the narrow space between two rows of seats. And then he came for the vampires. The magicians and alchemists of Old Istanbul taught him well.
The elferino craved the blood. He wanted its power and strength. And Tomas was the blood. Now it might have happened differently. He might have willingly joined in communion with this far removed off-spring..... But this 'twig' was 'blighted' and unfit for the gift...
Tomas held his ground (Sarah cowered behind him) and waited for what would come.......
And the gilt figures adorning the walls and arches of this place looked down.
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