THE RISING OF THE SHRIMP SIZED HUMANS... 11/4/14

They found her in the morning. A thin trickle of blood ran down from her ruined left eye and there was also a dark, sticky puddle under the right ear. By that point any of them might have done it. Sublimation training went well. The 'father' person, the 'mother' person, the girl from the glass tank in the kitchen... they all could do it. Vampire projectiles able to slice through, almost, anything.... an exquisite dollhouse filled with tiny, lethal monsters. But Tomas did it. As the most experienced and adept, it was only right that he go first. So he crept from the scaled down mansion as she slept, sublimated to the floor, scurried across the four acres of area rug in the moonlight, climbed up onto the sleigh bed and went straight to it. The two hundred and ten foot tall, blond, more or less Afghan looking canine woman slept.... and she never woke up.

He found his footing on the cool sheet. The thick, down, mattress pad made that difficult... like walking on a cloud. Then he gazed up at her immense head, lying cheek down (if canine giants actually had cheeks) upon the huge pillow. How peaceful she looked, like a slumbering, mammalian dragon. No, bigger than a dragon...like a sleeping, fine-muzzled, Gorgo (look that one up).

Did she deserve it? That was complicated. In her world she did not. Or even if during times of quiet contemplation she did... even if they recognized the satanic nature of things, she didn't have to worry about any sort of punishment. That's just how it was. Even fascists kiss their children.

So he thought the thoughts he had to think... felt his body energize and rose up. Once his bare feet left the cotton it all happened very fast. And the infinitely experienced vampire pierced through the skin of her eyelid like a laser. The rest was largely instinct, as the optic nerve and cauliflower protuberances of  her brain liquefied under his attack. She never moved. He effervesced by the right ear, solidified and climbed down, then he walked, naked (clothing rarely survives a good sublimation) back to the table, scratched his way up the cloth and went inside. The 'maid' person was gone, pinned up in a frame by the cloakroom three nights ago, as a work of folk art, but the 'mother' person ran a bath. The minute, intricate plumbing worked, so long as one of the giant domestics filled the glass reservoir bottle. Tomas laid back in the tepid water and washed the sticky, bloody bits away.  After that he dressed. Then he and his three companions, plus the 'sister' child and the 'brother' child, climbed down from their wondrous, dollhouse, palace and tip-toed toward the cellars, there to infect the others, not all of them, but enough......

The 'rising' had begun.....

A few hours later two giant canines entered the room.... a 'lady's' maid accompanied by some other type of domestic, to help the young miss prepare for the day. More outings in the bright, wintry sun.... Perhaps another sleigh ride... holly gathering... something like that. How they keened at the sight. Dried blood sealed the ruined eye. And being simple country 'girls' they sank to their knees mumbling prayers. After a bit, one left to get the family.

No one thought about the tiny, living toys in the dollhouse. Indeed, had they remained and still been mortal they would have starved...

Little lives don't mean much...

<more next time>

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MUSINGS ON ISOLATED SNIPPETS OF HORROR ... 11/2/14

The leaves are desiccated and brown. Flies are dying. Tired people trudge home from the bus in the dark. Old coats from last year (or last decade) are dragged out. Skin looks pale, or ashy and dead. The cold time is upon us. Humanity hides indoors, breathing in an atmosphere as dry as the Namibian Desert. 

This is when we read actual bound books and watch old movies. There's nothing like a 1930's classic on a cold, dark, almost winter night. All curled up. Wrapped in a snuggie. Surrounded by accent cushions. Doors locked. Shades down. Nesting time. As long as the phone doesn't ring, nothing could be better.

So let's talk about ancient and not so ancient types of torture.
Let's talk about solitary victims stripped bare and given over to essentially diabolical souls.

They say there was a client kingdom, far off along a distant shore of The Black Sea. Roman tax gatherers came by maybe twice a year, but their garrison just to the north kept the barbarians away. So the king paid and he seethed  at the indignity of it. And the population suffered. Some went into the sea. Dropped overboard, down into the midnight depths, freezing cold and bound in chains. Imagine those moments... conscious but doomed. Cold beyond all bearing. Heart pounding. Twisting and writhing in the crushing grip of a giant, unseen hand. Eardrums gone. Sea water rushing in, exploding delicate tubing and flooding down toward the gut. Don't gasp! Don't gasp! Don't gasp! LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! One heart beat more. One heart beat more. And still you plummet. Ribs crack. Sternum buckles. And then you gasp. And then you breathe. 

Do you know what it feels like when a mouthful of ocean water winds up in the wrong place? You know, that day at the seashore, jumping waves with your friends? Too much laughter. Too many hot dogs. Too much sand. Not enough sun block. And here comes THE BIG ONE, that moving wall of water, that mini tsunami, unbelievably huge... Then it's here, towering above you, maybe four feet over your head. You gasp, scrunch your eyes and try to live, while you and all the other little one tumble about like towels in a washer. Then you're on the sand and it's over... almost. But you wheeze and cough, trying to expel a tiny bit of water from the delicate tissues of your lungs. It hurts. It itches. You feel the pressure, but then it's gone, replaced with a red, raw, heat.

Drowning is something like that, but infinitely worse. Both lungs fill with water, like two sacks filled with cement. There's no way to force it out. If you even try more just rushes in. Air sacs begin to leak and rupture. Lungs explode. Can you imagine what that's like? I don't think you can. Crushed from the outside. Crushed from the inside... Broken and ruined... All from water. And then you're dead. Sometimes it takes five minutes. If it's really icy even longer.

And that's the most benign form of torture.

Polynesian kings staked victims down, spreadeagled, in advance of flowing lava, feet toward a searing heat, more  than twice the temperature required to melt lead. And some lava flows very slow... inch after inch after inch. Death, when it comes, is a precious gift. 

In some traditions today is All Souls Day. Pray for the dead.

And stay warm..... 

<back to our regular Vampire Wonderland tale next time>


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thank you for your support. and I would have posted a regular episode tonight, but saturday is my #realSNLtalk night, LIVE and ongoing during every #SNL broadcast. (Saturday Night Live for those outside the North American market) And it's not just me. Tonight we had six or seven or eight people posting, plus others tweeting, fav'ing and retweeting. Industry types, everybody. 

Lot a stores are decorated already, so if you want to escape the cold wind tomorrow, go to a mall. Drink a pumpkin latte (when it gets closer to Christmas they'll have venison lattes) buy a toy or two and take it all in.

Peace...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The House on Hoxton Street.. 2/21/13 after THE REV...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The House on Hoxton Street.. 2/21/13 after THE REV...: Many of the properties along the way have been modernized and are essentially the same as similar residences in say Chicago or Washington. ...I think of this as pixilated paranormal 'fiction' for adults of all ages. It's drenched in real world references, richly detailed and magically told. Please click on 'The House on Hoxton Street' line up above to see the actual episode. That house is a very real place and quite well known in certain rarefied circles. Somewhat like a nonfiction Hogwarts for post grads. It's still there and it still functions.



This episode is the perfect place to slip into that ongoing tale.



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LET YOUR VERY BODY BE A HOLY SPEAR... vampire revenge... 10/31/14

They had to practice in secret. But by that time the 'father' person and the 'mother' person were vampires too. It gave them a certain sense of security, though even vampires can be crushed. The children they left alone. And the other human female, the one who stayed up in her room all the time, remained mortal too. She's a dope. She wouldn't know the difference anyway. The maid was gone. Well, not completely. Her dried, mounted body ( re-dressed in maid's habit) was displayed behind glass, in a little, golden frame at the door to the cloakroom just off the baronial entrance hall. The blond giant-dog-woman took her one night after dinner. Came upstairs, carefully lifted up the roof (altered to be removable), reached in and delicately snatched her, just as the reverent servant was preparing for bed. Went back to get the uniform too, carefully smoothed out over the back of a miniature chair.The female canines were 'crafting' that night and they needed a maid (for some reason maids symbolized cloakrooms, powder rooms and all that), so the afghan looking blond thing thought it'd be clever to use a 'real' one. The others laughed as she smothered her in the wet, chloroform soaked cotton wool. Whether or not the incredulous, terrified maid laughed is unknown. Fortunately, during the time when the roof was off, none of the other dollhouse residents were molested, for the adults were downstairs playing whist at the time and the children were dreaming over picture books in the library. But Tomas knew how real the danger was. That's when he started to teach them.

Now instructing a new life-eater (politically correct term for vampire) in sublimation is a lot like showing a baby bird how to fly. The flesh is willing, but the spirit is weak. Have you ever seen a wet, skinny, little human child shivering at the end of a diving board? Mom-mom and Pop-pop chirp encouragingly. Pa-pa waits in the pool. Ma-ma sits nervously on a chaise pretending to read about J-Lo or whatever 'Lo' they're selling that year. The hesitant baby bird inches forward... inches back... looks... grins... groans... cries... fidgets... bends over, straightens up... bends over, straightens up... sucks in a lung full... breathes it out.. does it again... runs out and takes a leap. Arms flail. Legs pump and SPLASH! They did it. Pa-pa hugs them,  but they break away, eager to do it again... and again... and again.... That's what sublimation lessons are like, only the stakes are so very much higher.

They went down into the dollhouse cellar. No trays and towers (see previous post) there. Tomas found some thin sheets of oak paneling, spares for the library, the smoking room and other places. He took one and gave it to girl from the glass kitchen tank, since she'd been 'vampire' longest and instinctively knew what to expect. So she held it like a giant playing card. Then he turned toward the others, squared his shoulders and passed right through it. THAT'S sublimation. Every atom of his body vibrated at a slightly higher frequency. Each repelled the others. Did Tomas fly apart? No, but the space between particles was ever so slightly greater than normal, enabling him to move through solid mater like smoke. The girl from the glass tank in the kitchen went next. Took her about two hundred and thirty one heartbeats to get up the courage, but she did it. Third was the 'father' person. He was scared, but managed to do it too. Last came the 'mother.' She cried and shook her head. Tomas encouraged her, mostly with gestures since they spoke different languages. The kitchen tank girl, by now quite proficient, passed her hand through from the opposite side and waved. The 'mother' person laughed. She was scared, but she did it. 

Tomas sighed. Lesson over. Night one. They did it. Now it was just a question of raising the bar... thicker barriers... harder surfaces... denser materials... Inanimate matter isn't effected. Glass is still glass. Bricks are still bricks. But living matter isn't like that. Organic tissue is destroyed. Flesh shreds. Bone shatters. Organs liquefy. Creatures die. Tomas could most likely pass through the skull of a giant civilized dog creature quite easily. Stone, brains, air... it was all the same to him. The others would need a bit more training. But one night they'd do it. Entry through an eye was best. Like a 'living' spear they'd be, melting the brain and ending the life.... Supernatural wasps with long, sharp stingers. Quite a force. Then they'd liberate the masses in the Great House cellars and the others in the glass kitchen tank. Did the culture deserve to end? Had it not accomplished much in the way of architecture, literature, domestic arts and God knows what else? Perhaps they had a religion? The giant canines were devoted to their children. That much was obvious. But the small and helpless humans were living creatures too. And God knows what they might do.

A new Spartacus would go out across the land. Or considering his relative size, a new Mighty Mouse. 

Did Tomas want the job? No, but the job wanted him.

So much for his nights as an amoral, vampire wastrel .

Solo Deus sabe que sera --- they said in Old Vahmperigo. Tomas' original vampire tongue.... Only God knows what will be.....In our dimension and every other...

<more later>

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LIFE IN THE STACKS..how the human food lives ... 10/30/14

Every great house had them. They were like mushroom farms. Special facilities for the propagation of foodstuffs. And in this world the caviar was people. Only few thought of them as 'people.' They didn't talk. None had names. Young ones among the civilized, giant canine things might occasionally keep a few as pets. But they were only 'sea monkeys.' If they died (and they did) there were always new ones waiting in the cellars. 

The trays were stacked fairly high, maybe fifteen to a 'tower.' Each tray required five or six inches. That meant one inch for the soil mixture, two and a half inches of 'air space' so the mushrooms and fungi could grow and the people could stand up and walk around, plus two more inches taken up by the thick, wooden base and sides of each tray. 

Remember, these are 'inches' on this world. On ours that two and a half inches of 'air space' would be equal to ceiling height in an average room. Individual towers, to the civilized canine giants, might be roughly six and a half to seven and a half 'feet' tall, equal to a fifteen story building on Earth. And many cellars had four to six towers.... Cities of the doomed.

There was only the tiniest bit of light. Most believed 'the crop' grew better and matured faster in the dark. Imagine living out your life on one of those trays. Grazing on mushrooms and other varieties of fungi. There might have been a few, straight, metal lined troughs serving as streams. Some for drinking. Some for bathing, when they thought of it. One for a latrine.  Humans were animals, after all.

Junior kitchen help,  perhaps a stable 'boy' or two took care of it all. Sprayed water in with hand pumps... Picture old bicycle pumps, or bug spray pumps. That's what they were. Humans dove for cover during 'wet downs.' They shoved them metal tubes in all the way. Some got hit hard. People died... got torn apart. No need for burials. Just fall down and lay there. Dirt and what grew in it ate them up real quick. Some life.

Matured in about seven years. Reproduced a few times. Slide out a tray. That was a chore. Each tray was about six 'feet' by ten 'feet.' Pluck out the 'bigguns.' Carry them up to the kitchen. Dump them in the glass tank and serve 'em up. Some houses drowned 'em first. Some houses served 'em up alive. Some pinched the heads off. Other places let 'em keep the heads buy chopped off all the limbs. Guess their recipe called for that.

Juveniles left behind had it rough... Little ones... Toddlers. ... Just sat there, all huddled together. You know how lobsters do in lobster tanks? Same thing.

No words... No language... No nothing.

That's who Tomas wants to galvanize. That's who he wants to save. Them and the 'pampered' dollhouse humans upstairs.

Only Tomas. Only a vampire... Lemme tell ya...

<more later>

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ONE AMONG THE TINY HUMAN VICTIMS PUTS TOGETHER A PLAN... 10/29/14

He hid her from the light. The new vampire, the girl Tomas created last night, writhed when the sun came it. He saw the welts and smelled the oxidation, so he scooped her up and threw her into one of the tiny, dollhouse closets. She shivered and cried.   

Tomas told them when he went down for breakfast. The Australian man understood. Being from Earth, he at least knew something of vampire lore, if not the nuts and bolts reality of the thing. And strange as it was, no one let on about the missing 'uncle'... Not the maid, nor the 'mother,' or the children. The other one they never saw, an 'aunt,' or a 'grandmother,' continued to stay in her room. But they knew. Tomas could tell. Maybe it was due to all the sublimation, but his 'sixth sense' was coming back. The thing is, they saw him as a champion. Who else did they have. 

The Aussie spoke first - So you think she means to kill us, that giant afghan thing over there?..... Yes, I do - said Tomas - Maybe not right away. You're not that important, but she mentioned it and the others laughed..... You knew the words? You understood her? - asked the Aussie... No, but I felt them. I could tell - whispered the vampire.... The stranger from Down Under sighed.... If you stay as you are, you'll die. But I can offer you something - said Tomas... A vampire? you want to make me a vampire? You want to make us all into vampires, even the children? -asked the skeptic.... Tomas nodded. Then he said - Would you like me to show you the cellars? Do you want to see the kitchen? The glass tank on the counter?... The other man didn't answer. 

Six acres away, across an expanse of patterned 'wool' carpet and polished 'oak' floor, the giant dog-woman stretched and yawned. The dollhouse humans froze. But she rolled over and went back to sleep. snuggling under the coverlets on her four poster bed.

The boy and girl resumed eating.... tiny sweetened rice cakes, broken up into droplets of milk.. at least it tasted like milk... They had some kind of juice too, plus minute shavings of bacon. Tomas had hot, weak tea. He could manage that.

Across the table, the 'mother' woman watched. She appeared to comprehend the basics. People are like that. They understand before they speak. Maybe she knew something about vampires. Maybe they had such beings on her world. Who knows? She looked at the children. The little girl waved playfully. The 'mother' woman smiled and waved back.. The boy stuck out his tongue, but he didn't mean it.

From her place, by the sideboard, the maid heard it all and she picked up a few words too. The Aussie mumbled to himself  in English all the time. Although she didn't know what 'vampire' meant, she instinctively knew what Tomas was. Maybe not exactly, though she knew he was more than mortal... and that scared her.

Vampires have a talent... a certain ability that might give them the upper hand. Could they drink dog blood?... No. But they could do something else.

And that, in itself was lethal...

<more next time>

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NAMELESS FUGITIVE FROM THE KITCHEN OF THE GIANT DOGS... 10/28/14

She had no name and no real family. Just stable mates. She was raised up on a vast underground tray... a giant, dirt filled platform.. all stacked up, one atop the other.  Two thousand head on each. Fed 'em on mushrooms and bean sprouts. They laid in it... naked, little (to the dogs, anyway) dazed, mindless humans. 

Kept the place warm. A cellar it was, dark and buried deep beneath the kitchen of a great canine manor house. In the language of the giant civilized dogs they were called 'pinkies' for the color of their flesh and they were a great delicacy, usually eaten live, or just south of life, like clams.

None dared escape. Indeed, they never thought of it. Hungry, red 'snappers' (crabs) roamed the 'depths' ( earthen floor), eager to shred little fugitives in their hellish oral openings. But the girl with no name was different now. She knew things. She knew it was possible to get out. She's seen it that night, when Tomas crept into the kitchen. She saw his eyes through the thick, green glass of the tank. He watched from a hidden niche, squeezed in behind the terrarium, pressed up against the cold tile wall of the 'back splash,' as canine cooks and kitchen girls scooped up handfuls of 'little pinkies' from the excelsior bedding. But one terrified human was over looked... a grape, so to speak, left on the vine. And now she shivered there under the soft, straw-like covering, pressed into an icy corner. Her thoughts were images... some fleeting... some not so fleeting.  Could she scale the glass? How could she, without even the words for it. But the scared, young female laid there and she endured.

Sometime later the canine kitchen girls came in to do their chores. One scraped and washed down the baking counter. One swept and mopped the floor. Another emptied the 'pinkie tank' ... Big, strong thing, she was, like a Boxer. The dog kind, I mean. Shook everything out in a dustbin. Girl fell in too, a bit bruised, but she was alright. Shredded paper and banana peels took care of that. One of the others, a dumb, clumsy thing, kicked it over. Leader yelled - Lord God in heaven (civilized dogs got religion too) you clean that up, you dumb bitch!... And she did... But the little 'pinkie' girl had a chance. She dashed into the covered place where the lower cabinets hung out over the kick board.  That's how she got away. Almost broke her spine on a mouse trap. But almost don't count.  Almost got all squashed and cut up by the rough, sharp broom. Night chores are serious business. Can't leave no dirty kitchen. Gotta be clean in preparation for the next day's breakfast. Big House jobs are scarce. Nobody wants to be sent home.

So she ran, naked through the shadows.. and that's how she saw him again. That's how she met Tomas on his way back up to warm the others. He sees how scared she is, puts his arm around her and pulls her under a chair... Big old thing... a club chair... got a skirt and everything... Real private, like an Arabian tent. He scared off some bug, laid her down on the rug and did it right there. Drank up all her blood and gave it back. Not having much in the way of smarts, she don't fight much. Follows his lead. Drinks from his wrist. What's she know 'bout night-folk and all? She don't know nothin.' Little while later she's almost there. Still got the skin-shedding and all, but she can do that upstairs. Tomas got plans for her. He got plans for the whole mess a them. Don't know if he's gettin' home, but they all gettin' out.

That's when he stands her up, crushes her against his chest and sublimates right through the chair... right through the springs (his energy shoots out and sublimates her real good too. looks like she likes it. must tickle or something), up through the air and one or two ceilings, back to the boudoir of the giant, blond, afghan looking canine woman. Pitch dark in there... No light. Stink from that toilet water she likes. Doll house dark too. Takes her in through the door. It ain't got no lock. How they gone keep anybody out?

She smells the greasy stain left from the killed-up 'uncle' guy. He know she hungry... 'vampire' hungry, but he don't let her kill nobody... not yet anyway.

Beds her down in the room with him. Don't know if the sun they got here gone effect her. Don't know if it gone burn her up. So he cover her like a baby, all wrapped in a bunting and lays down tight, right next to her. She cry a little, 'cause she wanna eat some bastid. But he rock her and whisper in her ear. She like that too. Goes right to sleep.

But he thinkin.' He figurin.' He rememberin.' 

Vampire got weapons and soon he an' that gal not gone be the only ones...

This your favorite disembodied spirit, Old Mister Never-You-Mind, narratin' these festivities. Long time no see.

Ghost get homesick too you know...

<more next time>

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