The Book of When Sarah Was Still Mortal. Tomas/Jonathon Relates A Tale From Before.....

Here is a look at how things were two years ago. Sarah is still a mortal... a 'death eater', since mortals eat dead things. Edith is not with them, but the mysterious 'old woman' still is... And yes, Sarah does descend from Tomas/Jonathon's mortal line..... And remember....  first of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction~~~~~~~~~~~~~~It is getting close to my monthly feeding time.I cannot leave the house. They are watching me. The Old Woman does not leave either. She cannot attend to certain daily business duties, such as going to the bank and other places. Fortunately, I have other 'familiars' who can help me. Some of the best ones, some of the most astute, I can reach via telepathy. They know it is I. They were trained well. Things will get done. If it becomes impossible for me to get to my intended victim (the one I see in visions) , my intended victim will be brought to me. I do not like to do things this way. It usually makes for quite a scene and I am by nature a very discreet person. They cry. They piss themselves all over my expensive carpets. You should see it. Luckily the Old Woman set up an account with Stanley Steamer. But the way things are going I don't know when they would be able to get here. I just hope this victim isn't much for peeing or shitting himself. Offering cash is all right, because we take the cash and kill him anyway. You do not approve? Well, what can I do? Believe me, it takes money to operate a household in this city. I have 'friends' on the police force too. They help me when I have to bring a 'guest' to my home. Not a true guest. Not someone like my 'granddaughter' Sarah. I'm talking about one of those accursed souls whose time has come. Believe me, the police approve of my work. 'Support your local sheriff' they say. Well I most certainly do. Bob and  Baylah are no longer in Atlantic City. They got word through a certain orange-yellow haired real estate tycoon that the enemy was sweeping the area. I do not know how this mortal individual knew this. I suppose he has his own network of familiars too. Well, good for him. I'm told that my two friends are hiding with a backwoods clan of Jersey country folk deep in the vast pine forest covering much of that state. I would wager that in the next week or so some one is going to report a sighting of the Jersey Devil and a very bad local character will coinsidentally go missing, for it is Bob and Baylay's feeding time too. I like having Sarah here. I wish it was under better circumstances, but I like it just the same. Sometimes we spend our evenings sitting in front of the television watching rerun after rerun of The Andy Griffith Show on TVland. I enjoy that program. It comforts me. Would that all of humanity were like the good people of Mayberry. If they were, I would never have lost my family. I would never have become a vampire and Al Andaluz would be a place of peace and brotherhood for my people and for all people. I do so want to see that land again. They tell me there are regions in California quite like it. But I was warned not to go there. California vampires are of the Noxious variety (not Nobel, such as I and my companions) and they do not take kindly to outsiders. I must stop now. Sarah wants me to sit with her while she eats her tuna fish sandwich. Luckily for us, the local grocery store delivers.

The Book of Sarah

I am afraid to leave this house. It's me. It's Sarah. I know he talks about me, so you must know who I am. He's sleeping now, at the bottom of his flower-filled pit. The Old Woman is down there in the cellar with him. No, she's not in the pit. She'd like to be, but she's not. She's burning the trash in the furnace. They never put out any type of trash or garbage. Everything gets burned. Large items, like worn pieces of furniture, are chopped up and then burned. The outside world must not find anything. Who knows what they could learn with the scientific tools they have today? I am writing this, not that wilkravitz 'familiar' character he has. Tomas told me about this site and I logged on. I have to do something to calm my nerves. He did let me have a beautiful, old, miner's cut, diamond ring though. They have treasure stashed all over this place. I don't know where it is, but the Old Woman knows. I can tell. She gave me a fried egg sandwich a little while ago. I think the toast was made with moldy bread. She must have known. She had to. I don't think anyone can get in here. The front door is solid steel. You know the kind, with the chipped, green industrial paint and all. The windows are relatively small and covered with bars. He tried to get the decorative kind, but they're still bars. It doesn't even look like a house from the outside. You would think it was a small wharehouse or something like that. It is as if we are at the end of an urban, brick, box canyon. All the other windows and doors on this little alley were sealed up long ago. Two rough looking guys (more familiars, I am told) patrol the opening where the alley meets the street. I can see them if I peek through the heavy, velvet drapes and twist my neck just so. There might even be more than two of them, but I can only see two. I should really try to sleep a little. You know how it is. I'm used to working the graveyard shift in my shop and my benefactor keeps the same hours too. I think he loves me. I do. I really do. Yet what does that mean? And if his stories are true, he's the only family I have. I'm a twentynine year old emotional basket case, living with a 'grandfather' who appears to be younger than me. Oh yes, and he's a vampire too. He's also somewhat of a writer. I found an old handwritten journal in the library. I read some of it. I'm paraphrasing, but this is what it said - 'If the Caliphate of Cordoba in Old Spain had not fallen and if the land had not fragmented into countless, waring principalities, I would have been content to remain there. But the Muslims, our fellow proclaimers of The Unity, turned on us, killing many innocent souls in the streets and in the souks. They blamed us for certain Trinitarian advances in the north. As a result, in the year of Divine Creation 4852, what Trinitarians call 1091, fundamentalists from across the Straight in Morroco, streamed into our beloved Al Andaluz, in an effort to bolster the faltering Muslims and turn back the Trinitarians. They forced their hard, austere ways upon us all. Jews and the resident Trinitarian minority, used to generations of relaxed brotherhood and acceptance, were now persecuted, tortured and forced to leave. It was too much for even a vampire to bear. It was the Crusaders in France all over again. My mortal family had already left. The villa in Seville was empty. The Free State of Granada (we had holdings there as well) held on by a hair, but it was not the same. And so I left to ply my trade upon another shore...'. That's all I could read. The Old Woman was breathing down my back. She doesn't like me to touch things. So I carefuuly closed the worn, leather volume and put it back.

The Book of Sarah

Sarah is being targeted. She received something in the mail. It was a big, formal, rather old fashioned envelope, the kind used during the belle epoch. Inside was a  piece of  heavy, creamy obviously expensive stock bearing a seventeenth century ornate etching of a nubile, young woman embracing a leering incubus. Someone had written  'Renounce your ally or join him in Hell' on the back. There were other things as well, little things. The headless body of a pathetic, little starling was left at her back door. A man in priest's garb, but in full clown make-up stood staring at her through the glass one night as she tidied up the shop. He was there for ten minutes. She was about to call the police when he left. I brought her into my townhouse. We talked. We always talk, but this time I told her everything. Granted, she always knew a bit, but now she knows it all. We had coffee in the sitting room. Well, she had coffee. The Old Woman served her and she was not too happy about it. She does not like Sarah. She's jealous of the time we spend together. You see, when I first found her, she was not the Old Woman. She was the Young Woman. But short of transforming her into a true vampire there was nothing I could do to stop her from aging. I was merely able to retard it for a while. But that time is rapidly coming to an end. The tissues of her body are breaking down. The inevitable can only be postponed so long. I can still provide her with a few more months, maybe a year, but the tiny infusions of my blood can only do so much. She claims she wants me to stop. She claims she wants to die. That's a lie. What she really wants is for me to bring her over. What she really wants is the 'night kiss', But I never saw her that way. Before we create a companion, we see them in visions the same as we do our victims. For they  are victims too. I think she truly hates Sarah. She suspects that Sarah can achieve what she could never do. But what grandfather can do that to his beloved offspring? Not I. Not even if I had the visions. But who knows if I have the strength. The visions can be very powerful. Bob is laying low for a while. He's in Atlantic City using his two monthly comp nights. Baylah went with him. I stayed here to watch Sarah, for she is mine and I am responsible for her. I do not feel that our Enemy will attack us, not soon anyway. He has other fish to fry. Vampires are not his only prey. My guess is that he'll go for the planned parenthood center. How do I feel  about that place? Well, you know my history. I was raised to believe that abortion is a sin. It is an attempt to change the will of God. But I was raised to believe that many things are  sins. Just like our Enemy. In that way we are very much alike. So Sarah and I sit  with the draperies closed. The lights are dim. The fire warm. We play scrabble. We play gin. Let each soul choose their favorite sin.

The Book of Sarah

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The Book of Sarah

Let me tell you a bit about The Enemy. At least I can tell you the things that I know. They have been in existence since the beginning, whenever that was. They have taken many names, always aping some spiritual or religious establishment. But I do not think they have very much to do with the divine. I think they serve another lord. At times they labored for the 'dignitas' of the Roman State.  Some worked for the various medieval Inquisitions, or the Pact of Omar in unitarian Muslim lands. Indeed, just twenty two centuries or so ago, some beings who claimed to be high born Judeans , threw their weight behind certain segments of the Sadduces. Always claiming to work for the good, but many die in their wake. Countless lives are ruined and the evolution of human spirituality ultimately suffers. Now they, or some of their number are in Philadelphia. I know they've already taken a few victims. There was that 'foreign' vampire and I think  they're responsible for a mass shooting in the offices of an up and coming congresional candidate. I hear the dogs howling every night. The Old Woman who keeps house for me claims she hears footsteps scampering across the roof. and Bob (poor guilless Bob) thought he was being tailed by a turncoat vampire the other night. Turncoats, of all varieties, often help them. But then he claims to have heard the turncoat let loose a barrage of loud, oily farts and everyone knows a true vampire would never (could never) do that. It must have been an Enemy of the merely human variety. Needless to say, Bob has become especially vigilant, always on the lookout for a particular individual who appears to suffer from irritable bowel syndrome.Baylah has this thing she does with a whoopee cushion, but I do not think that it is very funny. She is more of a fatalist. What can I tell you. Me? I think we are in real danger. A few nights back,as I made my midnight rounds in an unnamed hospital, dispensing drops of my blood to deserving souls as they dozed, I heard a voice, a whisper actually, from somewhere in the shadowy hallway. It said 'Jonathon' my true name. I froze. The nurses at their station heard nothing. But I did. For an instant I almost lost my power to sublimate. One of the LPN's almost saw me. I could tell. I could see it in her eyes. I could see her mouth a prayer. I could see her cross herself. Look, if anyone reading this knows something, if anyone is willing to help, please get in touch with me via my 'wilkravitz' email site. Go to wilkravitz@gmail.com.. Upon my honor, I promise to respond to every one of you. When it comes to confronting evil, we are all in this together. May He who made the universe surround us with his Holy Presence. Stay safe. Be vigilant.

The Book of Sarah

I have many haunts throughout the city, but I do have a home. It is a small, brick townhouse on a tiny forgotten street. Most of the other shelters along this byway were turned into commercial establishments long ago. But they open onto the next street which is wider. All I can see are bricked up entrances, or the occasional metal door leading to some storage chamber. I like it like that. It is quieter. No one really knows that I am here. Usually I have to change houses every fifteen years or so to prevent the neighbors from noticing that I do not age. But I have been here for just over seventyfive years. I like it. It suits me. One of my familiars serves as housekeeper. She appears to be a weathered seventy year old woman. True, she is still technically mortal, but tiny infusions of my miraculous blood have enabled her to achieve onehundred and forty human years. She says that she wants to die soon. And I promised her I'd stop the infusions as soon as I got someone else. But you know how hard it is to find good help these days. For I do so like a clean house. I draw comfort from the gleaming hardwood floors and freshly vacuumed fine orientals. Everything is kept just so and it is not like she has much to do in the kitchen. True, she does buy food for herself and she does have to clean the bathroom  that she uses. Aside from my numerour hot baths, my washroom stays mostly spotless. It's not like I use the toilet or anything. And she watches the place during the day, while I 'sleep' in the cool, moist pit in the windowless cellar. There's a thick bed of dried rose petals (other flowers too) at the bottom. It is actually quite pleasant  when I jockey the heavy, stone slab over the opening. The perfect nest for the not so perfect vampire. I often dream about my mortal family while curled in that nest. I never saw them again after my transformation. The Trinitarians were beginning to threaten our region of Al Andaluz and I learned that my people had emigrated to the East. Some said Syria, others claimed they'd joined a remnant of Khazar fellow believers somewhere on the plains of Kievan-Rus (you know it as Ukraine). I spent time in many places. Sometimes I tried to find my family. From time to time I'd run into a descendant in some European marketplace. I would know them. I would just know who they were. But I kept my distance, not wanting to upset them or put them in danger. After all people were burned for consorting with creatures like me. Oh, look! They have the soft, black, leather boots that I like in that shop. Please excuse me while I release the mind of my wilkravitz familiar (who types this out for me) and go in to make my purchase. Who knows? Perhaps later I will stroll over to a few of my favorite galleries and look at the pictures. I enjoy this urbane environment. My sensabilities are quite cinematic. I view my life as one grand art film. I even imagine a love theme. It is the Seal song that goes...'Look at me... I'm one of your secrets... You belong to me... And I belong to you.' I am sorry. I cannot sing very well. Some individuals think that I can, but I do not agree with them. Adios.

The Book of Sarah

I make myself known to her now. She does not fully understand just what I am. But she is open to new things. I suppose that comes from being the child of teachers. One of my helpers (I have them too, just like Santa) showed her how to put all of her new assets into a business account. So what with all the rolls of bills and assorted precious stones, she should be all right for the foreseeable future. I sit with her in the bookshop. We discuss the classics. The Age of Innocence is a particular favorite of ours. Sometimes I even help her straighten up the shelves. She takes her 'lunch' break at one or two o'clock in the morning. Such is the schedule in an 'all night' bookshop. I bring her takeout from a little twentyfour hour coffee shop. She likes a grilled chicken breast sandwich with lettuce and tomato, a small order of fried sweet potato crisps and a diet iced tea. I of course am never hungry. But it is good for people around the neighborhood to see me buying food. It makes me seem more normal. She asks me how I came to be and how I got here. I tell  her that I came on the wind. She says - Oh, like Mary Poppins? But that is really the truth, for it was the good ship Welcome, a seventeenth century sailing craft that brought me here. And so we sit, a vampire named Tomas and his many, many, many times (mortal) great granddaughter named Sarah. I gave her a tiny vial of my blood. I did not tell her it was blood and it does not taste like blood, at least not like mortal blood. She did not want to drink it at first . I told her it was a type of absinth. We had been discussing the works of Proust so she was open to such things. It will preserve her well-being. It is better than the strongest flu shot. It is better than the most over priced vitamin capsules. She mixed it into her coffee and drank. Instantly the cancer which I knew to be inside her disappeared. You cannot know how much that meant to me. I pressed a few more vials into her hand. She asked me if I would not like some of the 'absinth' for myself. I think she was feeling a bit unnerved and wanted to see me ingest something. I took one of the vials, opened it and shot it back neat. It was my own blood, so I could do that. It satisfied her and she relaxed. But she feels a bit telepathic to me. I am sure she knows more than she lets on. I do not know if it is my imagination or not, but she seems to favor my mother. There is something about the cast of her features. Yet how could that be? There are so many generations between us. Geneticly we are not much more than total strangers. But a creature such as I knows there's more to life than genetics. Where am I now? I am standing over the body of my monthly victim, watching  as it ignites into a cold, blue flame. This one was a bad one, a very bad one. And the dancing, windblown ashes cannot disappear fast enough. When it is over, I step out from behind the bushes of a favorite vest pocket park, examining my new, gold Rolex and whistling The Teddy Bears' Picnic. When you go out on the streets tonight you're in for a big surprize. But the Enemy has not left us. He is till here. I can feel him.