The Book of Sarah

We ditched the limo after about three blocks. They would have been looking for it. There was a worn out  woman trudging home after a hard night changing diapers at a dingy nursing home. The Pow Wow Woman picks this stuff up. She is amazing. In my time they would have burned her twice. That is how good she is. Bob was the driver. He called to the bedraggled woman. He said - Excuse me madam, how would you like a free two thousand and ten Cadillac stretch limo? She said without missing a beat - Fully equipped? Bob said - Of course, only the finest. The title was properly signed and prepared for hasty transfers like this. Believe me. We've been here before. After assuring her she wouldn't have to do no 'hootchy stuff' and demonstrating that the trunk was completely free of 'dead folks with caps busted in 'em', we threw her the keys and ran off. The subway entrance was just around the corner. Lucky for us the morning rush hadn't really started yet . We scrambled down the steps and raced through the turnstile. Pow Wow shot a quick hoo-doo at the bitch in the cage, so we had no problem. Handy things, those hoo-doos. I must learn how she does it. We didn't make for the platform, but went straight toward a heavy, metal door in a corner. I had a key, an old key from when they first built this system more than one hundred years ago. Believe me, it still works. I use it a lot. The creaking portal scraped open. We quickly made our way down into the darkness of the subterranean world of the mole people (some call them the earthworms, but they prefer mole). After descending for two or three additional levels, each more crude than the last, we spied their encampment, the usual collection of small, gray, dirty tents and weak, orange sterno fires. None of the moles made a move. They just sat there, staring into the tiny, flickering light and chewing on their usual ration of mushrooms (fungi grow underground). All was qiet until we reached spitting distance. That is when their cheftain spoke. He said - To what do we owe this pleasure? All the while licking his lips in anticipation of a wee, small blood gift. I told him of events up above. He just shook his head and called to an underling - Bring the magic talking box! Someone duck-walked into a tent and came out with a battered television, which they expertly connected to a wire (among a nest of wires) providing us with a weak, flickering cable signal. The news! Get the news! Channel six! Action News! And so we saw  his favorite personality report the latest on a fast-breaking story. Thirteen dead. Dozens injured. Streets cordoned off. Traffic snarled. All due to an unforseen building collapse.......... We knew we were the intended targets and felt bad for the victims. Baylah said that after a few days, when things settled down, we should 'visit' the injured in hospital some night and give them each a drop or two of our secret, red tonic. I nodded. We would do that. The Pow Wow Woman said - But you know, I am kind of glad that Henry (short for Henrietta) and Oscar got it. (the supercilious, co-heads  of our condo board). Those jumped-up pathetic snobs always rubbed me the wrong way. Bob said - How many times could you have encountered  them? We were not there very long. But he forgot that she could see things. She could sense things. And I had to agree. I too was glad that Lord and Lady Douche-bag were no more. Though I did mumble a fast Kaddish prayer  for the dead. We stayed with our below-grade benefactors for what must have been six or seven days. Time loses all meaning without the moon and the stars. Each of us found a snug, little corner to call our own. Sarah and I found the same corner. After what seemed to have been maybe two days, we consumated our relationship deep within a sheltering cocoon of worn, frayed blankets. The mole people are quite civilized when it comes to questions of privacy and matters of the heart. My own brethren-of-the-night pretended not to notice. The Old Woman noticed. She picked up on it right away. God knows what she will do. I will have to deal with her later. The Pow Wow Woman just giggled and rolled her eyes. I gave Sarah a somewhat larger than usual blood gift. No, she was not a vampire. Not yet. While up above, Little Annie continued to kill those unlucky souls on her naughty list. She struck them off one by one. Santa Claus should be so reliable.

The Book of Sarah

It is one of those chill, misty nights. Who am I? I do not know who I am. Consider me a witness. I see things. I feel things. And I tell things. I do not understand the manner of our communication. Am I dead? I do not know. Did I once walk through creation in a quickened, human form? I do not know. But I seem to remember the pungent smells and throbbing rhythms  of ancient Hind. I seem to recall the burning light of a firey, orange orb reflected in the eternal waters of the River Ganges. And I seem to be privy to other things, current things, events unfolding as I speak. Let me share the things I know with you. A young girl, she is called Annie, progresses down a black, deserted alley. It is the last part of the darkness, when even the spirits rest. She sits upon a huge and monstrous hound. The beast lopes along with a silent strenght. Even the rats run away. They turn from the alley, entering a street of the wealthy, a refuge for princes. Lofty towers line this priviledged thoroughfare. They face a large, manicured greensward.  She stops approximately onehundred cubits from an especially high caste structure. The girl and her evil mount sit there for a few moments. Nothing happens. All is silent. The lesser life forms in the bushes of the greensward make low their life signs. The world waits.  The girl known as Annie grabs the scruff of the dog and pulls back. It raises its mighty head. They break the bonds of divine creation and ascend up into  the night. Upon reaching a height equal to The Great Ghats of Baroda, they begin to circle the building, drawing closer and closer with each revolution. She reaches out her hand and scratches the hard, stone facade. A low and vibrant hum passes through the ether. A crack appears on the towering edifice, spreading over the surface like a scar. The masonry begins to rumble. A lofty corner of the buiding crumbles. Walls fall away. Domiciles of the living are exposed and then destroyed. Soul-filled screaming, fleshly vessels tumble down into eternity. Witnesses gasp in horror. A long and narrow motor vehicle bringing tired laborers home careens wildly in a vain attempt to escape this deadly, urban avalanche.  Sirens pierce the vapors. Little Annie and her faithful dog, drift into a billowing cloud of dust and disappear. Strange beings, domesticated, reverent demons in human form (three in number) and their human attendants, speed down a vertical passage in a magical conveyance. They hurry out into a cellar. The enchanted assemblage piles into a shiny, black carriage with darkened window. It springs to life, transporting them away from the carnage and into the waning darkness.  May Shiva have mercy upon us all.

The Book of Sarah

So for approximately twentyeight days we all stayed inside. God bless Scrabble, Monopoly and The Game of Life. Bob missed out on another free weekend in Atlantic City. He had to make do with a bundle of scratch-off lottery tickets from the newsstand in  the lobby. The guy would run them up for him and come up later to pick up any winners. I think one was worth twohundred and fifty dollars. He gave it to the Pow Wow Woman. I felt bad, we all felt bad about  the righteous, needy souls who would have benefited from our little blood gifts. But what could we do? I did manage to keep up with my other distributions, my money distributions. I'd put a few hundred dollar bills (folded in heavy stationery) into plain envelopes and mail them to certain deserving parties throughout the city. Some of them got an envelope almost every day. What do you think they thought? Who do you suppose they thanked? How would they feel about it if they knew the money came from a real live vampire? Oh ye of little faith... I wonder. Bob's bad dreams are still with us. The phantom aroma of vintage dog piss comes and goes. Sarah and I are becoming much more physical with each other. Remember, vampires can have sex. After all, it is just a neurological, muscular reaction. And seeing as every part of our bodies are preserved in working order it is only natural. But the operative word is preserved. Think of divinely embalmed flesh, minus the sickening smell. We can do everything but produce new cells. True, we can heal if injured. I don't know how that comes about. Chalk it up to our magical existence. But we cannot produce reproductive cells. Ain't gonna be nobody's baby daddy, as our contemporary New World Cockneys like to say. That time in the pit when I was created was a one time deal. I still had viable baby-making cells in my body and it was a case of use it or lose it. It was a shameful experience. But... it led to Sarah. I am grateful for that. The Old Woman resents our relationship. In her mind she is still the starving young immigrant girl fresh off a reeking coffin ship and I am her miraculous savior. I saw the potential in this fevered daughter of County Mayo and I rescued her, always expecting that she would move on and create a life for herself. I would have helped. But she did not. She stayed with me, much to her detrement. Ah, the drama in the life of a vampire. Speaking of 'drama', Baylah introduced us to the Entourage reruns on latenight (midmorning to us) television. I like those young men. And yes, it is true what they say. The Vincent Chase character and I do look alike. Although I think mine is the better haircut. And I do possess a much more melodious speaking voice. Some say that is a vampire thing. I think it is a Spanish thing. Do you know that I can play the lute, the oud and the courtly, Iberian guitarra?  I can. I am really quite adept. Perhaps if we ever are so fortunate as to encounter each other I will play for you? The Pow Wow Woman is addicted to the endless variety of Center City, Philadelphia take-out. I have a familiar who brings it over. He is one of those I can contact telepathicly. She (the P.W. Woman) watches the Food Network and gets all juiced up. Then she passes her requests on to me and my man drops it all off downstairs. The doorman brings it  up, in return for a hefty tip. She, Sarah and even the Old Woman gorge themselves on Thai food, Macedonian food, Spanish empanadas (I remember those) gourmet cheese steaks and low fat, breakfast fritadas. Sears delivered a walking machine, I suppose they call it, along with other excercise equipement, so they could burn it all off. Bob likes to use the stuff too. This sends Baylah into fits. She yells and curses at him - What good is all this crap gonna do for you!? You're a vampire, for Christ sake! Your body will never change! Bob says that is not it at all. He likes it because it calms his nerves. The Pow Wow Woman smiles in her own fashion when she hears this. I can read her thoughts. She wants to know what the hell is he so nervous for anyway. She wants to know who he really is... The tedium of the last few weeks has caused us all to wonder the very same thing. Oh, one more thing. I have to tell you how good Sarah looks with those three or four extra new pounds of hers.... And those scampering footsteps on the roof? They've come back.

The Book of Sarah

Greetings. It is me, Tomas, coming to you through my wilkravitz 'familiar' person. Tonight you must permit me to transmit this information as if it were a play. We are sitting in the dining room of the penthouse. The interior illumination is turned down. The draperies are open. The lights of the city sparkle beautifully. We discuss the events of the past twentyfour hours. POW WOW WOMAN - The small one is named Annie. At least that's the name she goes by now. She is what we Pow Wow people would call a lucid wanderer. I can see her in your mind, Tomas, and I know. TOMAS - What is a lucid wanderer? POW WOW WOMAN - It means that she, or it, has never been dead. It has never been divorced from the world of the living. As soon as it dies in one incarnation, it is born into another. BAYLAH - How long has this been going on? POW WOW WOMAN - I don't know. I can't tell. But something happened to it the first time out, something bad. TOMAS - And? POW WOW WOMAN - It's been like a transmitter of the enemy ever since. Yeah, a transmitter. That's what it's like. The people, the bodies are just like the cables or the signal carriers. That's all. SARAH - Is that 'Annie' girl the only one? BAYLAH - No. I can tell you that. I saw a man. I'm sure I saw a man. I think he was the same one who set the dogs on that 'foreign' vampire a while back. What can you tell us about him? POW WOW WOMAN - I don't know. I'm not typing him as a lucid wanderer. I think he's just a regular person who's been soul-jacked by some presence. I don't know. That's all I can tell you. BOB - What are you? Who are you. Just what is a Pow Wow Person? I mean we're supposed to be the weird ones, but she scares me. Tomas, do you think if you asked her, your Old Woman would get me a cup of hot tea? BAYLAH - What the hell are you gonna do with a cup of hot tea, you crazy bastard? You're a vampire! What are you gonna do, throw it up all over the new, antique carpet!? Jeez!! BOB - No, I'm not going to drink it. I'm just gonna hold it, okay? I like it. I like how warm it is. It calms me down. Alright? TOMAS (to Old Woman) Get him the tea. BOB - Thank you. But, no, really, what are you? POW WOW WOMAN - I'm just a plain, old Piney woman. We Pineys are what you call Heinz 57 varieties, a real mixed up conglomeration. We got French blood from the colonial trapper days. We got English blood from the early settlers. Some original, Leni-Lanape Indian and a sprinkle of run-away slave blood to top it all off. Hell, you know that old, ruined Jew church we camped in that first night on the road? Well we even got a few of them thrown in the mix too. That's who I am. We got it all. All that rich folk knowledge flowin' down to us from generation after generation. Village 'wise women', Frenchie Capuchine monks, English Druid-like mystics and rebellious rabbis who've read too much Kabalah, if you know what I mean. Shit, what don't we know. TOMAS - Then tell us. What should we do? POW WOW WOMAN - Well, you could kill that skinny, little Annie girl. That ought to slow things down a little. Won't stop it, but it'll force the Enemy to gnaw into another soul, some newborn and start all over again. That ought to give you a few good years. BAYLAH - But what about the voices? We heard voices. POW WOW WOMAN - Yeah, I know. I figure that means it can leave her body for a teensy bit if it wants to. Can't really do nothing to you. Can't hurt you, 'cause it's only a sound in your head. But it can play with you a little. It can scare you... if you're the type. Look at Bob. We all hear him hollerin' in his sleep every day. He's scared shitless already. BAYLAH - Oh, he's always scared shitless. How he ever worked in that god-damned museum is beyond me. BOB - Shut up! You never appreciated all that stuff, so shut up! I hate letting them down. God knows what they think happened to me. TOMAS - You can all relax. My familiars know what to do. They will take care of everything. Sarah's shop is safe. Your reputation is safe. BAYLAH - Yeah, and we should all be safe, for a few weeks anyway, seeing how we just fed. We can just stay up here. It can't get us up here. Right?  Well, can it? BOB - Phew! What's that urine smell?.......... Tomas trades glances with The Old Woman, as she delivers the cup of hot tea. Bob takes it, reveling in the steamy warmth. The vapors rise up to the ceiling, as they all sit in silence, bathed in the twinkling lights dancing into the darkness from the surrounding buildings.

The Book of Sarah

The Book of Sarah

The Pow Wow Woman spoke first. She said - The small one's name is Annie. At least that's the name she has now. She is what Pow Wow people would call a lucid wanderer. I can see her in your mind and I know. Please permit me to relate the rest of our discussion as if it were a play. That will make things easier. TOMAS - What is a lucid wanderer? POW WOW WOMAN - It means she has never been dead. She, or that which inhabits her, has never been divorced from the world of the living. As soon as it dies in one incarnation it is born into another. BAYLAH - How long has this been going on? POW WOW WOMAN - I don't know. I can't tell. But something happened to it the first time out. TOMAS - And? POW WOW WOMAN - She's been a vessel for the Enemy ever since. SARAH - Is she the only one? BAYLAH - No. I can tell you that. I saw a man. I'm sure I saw a man. I think he was the same one who set the dogs on that 'foreign' vampire a few weeks ago. What can you tell us about him? P:OW WOW WOMAN - I don't know. I'm not typing him as a lucid wsanderer. I think he's just a regular person who's been commandeered by some presence. I don't know. That's all I can tell you. BOB - What are you? Who are you? Just what is a POW WOW  person?

the Book of Sarah

I saw the Enemy take a victim. I witnessed the whole thing. It happened while I was making my way across the rooftops of an especially old district of the city. The streets are very narrow there. They were laid out threehundred years ago, when even coaches were a rarity. I stopped. I heard a noise. I looked down into a small, brick courtyard four stories below. It was not a well kept, gentrified space, like most of the others, but was neglected and trash strewn. I suppose the yuppies, or whatever they call themselves these days had not discovered it yet. There was a man. He was on his knees and he was pleading for his life. A person stepped out of the shadows to confront him. It was a girl. It was a little girl. She was dressed in  a plaid jumper, a grade school uniform. And she just stood there looking down at him. This went on for perhaps two or three minutes. He stopped to choke back some tears and catch his breath. The words he said are not important. What does anyone say when begging for existence? The peculiar child was having none of it. She waited for him to stop. He sniffed. He trembled. He even peed himself a bit. I could see the puddle spreading out around his knees. But his diminuative tormentor was quite unmoved. She snapped her fingers. It seemed odd to see a small child do that. Most of them are incapable of such a move. But she had no trouble and in an instant six menacing hounds silently came out of the shadows and arranged themselves around the still, silent victim. He whispered one more word - Please. But the young one ignored him. She snapped her fingers again and the dogs were on him. It all happened in a strange, dark silence. I could hear him whimper. I could hear the dogs expertly tearing off bits of his flesh. They were delft and neat, like canine surgeons. Their tiny mistress just stood there, never so much as moving a muscle. I could see the blood. I could smell the blood. I could taste the blood. But he was not my intended victim. No, he apparently belonged to other captors. But I stayed there. And I watched until it was done. Now this was late, very late. Most of the district was fast asleep. But the odd traffic noise still came through. I heard a jet, as it etched a line into the blackness high above. The victim must have heard these noises as well. To be so isolated and helpless, while all around the city still goes on. And then he was dead, a heap of bones and gore on a red stained patch of concrete in a not-yet-gentrified yard. The little girl picked up the remains and put them in a large, plastic trash bag. Then she turned on a hose and washed the rest away. Her hounds watched soundlessly, as they contimued to lick their chops. I am sure she saw or sensed that I was up there. One or two of the dogs seemed to sense me as well. But nothing happened. It just was not my turn. They left me alone. The little girl stepped back into the shadows and I went home. We all made it home safely . That night was all right. But there was a large, viscous puddle of dog piss spreading out on the sidewalk at the entrance to our building. And I seemed to recognise the scent......... Now please know that time does not unfold for me as it does for you. I view the passing of the 'great parade' rather differently. Perhaps it is because of my age. Sometimes I think that when I sublimate I stumble through to other realities, what learned individuals of your generation call a 'parallel universe'.  Thus I am not always sure if events are unfolding now, or on some other point in space and time. But it could be that this explanation  is just an attempt to lessen our fear. Things happen. They just happen. It could be that we will never know why.