The Book of All Things New

So maybe The Shaky Hand Man does not need Annie now. But it is clear that he did something to her. He smeared some vestige of his presence all over her. She is bad. But was she always like that? And how long will it last? The Old Woman has an agenda of her own. Come on, you all know that. She hated Sarah. And she still hates Sarah. She got the vampire jones real bad. Not just to be around them. She wants to be one. She wants to live as one. And she wants her sweetie. She wants Tomas. I know. I know. I know. He wants to be called Jonathon now. OK, OK, OK, I will call him Jonathon..... Jonathon. Jonathon. Jonathon. There, I remember. But what do they (if they are a 'they') have against that wilkravitz? Edith tried to help him. She wants him to see a doctor. Jonathon does have a familiar, a lawyer, with a brother in the exploitation of misery business, so that part would be easy. They could set something up. Maybe he would (dare I say it?) actually benifit from the ministrations. I feel so sorry for him. Christ, what does that Annie girl have in that saliva of hers? He doesn't even play that video game anymore. Just stares at The View, blows kisses to Barbra Walters and eats cold, dried-up p'skettees (did I say it right? I pay so little attention to the vernacular of  any given time). And that Old Woman bitch just looks at him. She doesn't care. I cannot stand her. A real creep. And you want to know what else? Her brassiers (spelled it right) are all dirty. I mean like you could make soup out of 'em......Let's see, what else? Well, people are still dying in shall we say exotic manners. Actually, some of the scariest ones were not so exotic. He likes to push people down onto the subway tracks. He likes to hear the wheels screech. He likes to hear the screams. He likes to taste the slick, salty bodily fluids pressed out along the glistening rails. And being an invisible force, he tends to get away with it. The victims? Good guys. Always good guys. But something interesting did happen the other night.
Three of the Red Paint people, a fat one, a skinny one and a woman, went into a Christmastime dinner buffet in some Center City hotel. They liked the overloaded troughs of food. And they ate a lot. But on the way in they stopped to talk to one of those salvation warriors who ring the big bells and stuff money in little red pots. One of the Red Paint men says - How's business? The Red Pot Woman says - Eh, not so good. Only about half what I usually get. So there's gonna be a lot more hungry drunks and toyless, little snot-noses this year. Shame...... The Red Paint Guy stuffs a King Abraham commemorative etching into her pot. Then he goes in and tanks up. But during their feeding they begin to talk. You know, they do have a certain facile magic. And you know they do like their rituals. So they did this thing. They held hands over their second servings of strawberry cheese cake. They said a prayer. Not one that I'd ever heard, but reverent and Godly in its own way never-the-less. Then they pricked their fingers on a sharp, piece of shell left over from the king crab legs and squeezed out the blood into a greasy, little empty butter ramikin. The lady Red Paint person casually takes it up to the buffet and without even a how do you do, she dribbles it into the soup. Manhattan clam chowder, I think it was. Then she goes back and joins the other 'Reddies.' They have coffee. They have some miniature danish. And they leave. When they get out on the street, one of the Red Paint guys winks at the Red Pot woman. He slips her another King Abraham comemorative etching. She rings the bell and gives him a big thank you. The next day he happens to see her doing her thing on another corner and he asks her what the take was like last night. She brightens up, flashes a semi-toothless smile and says - Better than I expected. Things kinda picked up later on...... Who knows? Maybe it was the blood? Maybe it was the magic? But something happened. I gotta remember that.... Zebulon, signing off.

The Book of All Things New

Look, I don't have to identify myself everytime. You know it's me, Zeb. Now, where do I start? Well, Annie moved her bed. She sleeps with the little cherubs now. They huddle together in warm, cozy nests. Really just mounds of blankets and faux fur throws from Marshalls, piled in dark, tiny storerooms opening onto the dim cellar. But they are snug, like dog dens for the ever so slightly more than canine set. And they accept her. They like Annie. She tickles them and hums little songs. She tells them stories. I don't know if they understand or comprehend. But they listen. And they gurgle. And they smile their baby smiles. Some of the toddlers respond in piping little one word sentences. They chortle - Yes! Yes! Yes! or No! No! No! or Mine! Mine! Mine! You get the idea. And they burrow in all around her. If Sarah fills the role of mother, Annie plays the part of the envied, older cousin. They adore her. And it's odd, since she isn't really even a vampire. But she does have her own form of intoxicating magic. I am not even sure she is aware of it. Maybe it's all just natural to her. Maybe she can't help it. Look at them sleeping, like a litter of soft, little, chubby, furry puppies, quietly breathing and dreaming dreams. Sometimes they take little tastes of Annie in their sleep. Sharp, tiny, pointed tongues dart out, pierce her skin and snap back into plump, little, pouty mouths. It is how they become accustomed to her. It is how they know her. And she likes it. See, she giggles in her sleep. At least I think she's sleeping..... Let me tell you something about magic, real magic. It does not require trinkets, no tiny, human bones, no gold what-nots. No pseudo Shakespearean, slightly biblical pronouncements. None of that pre-teen, girls-at-a-slumber-party-with-flashlights crap. Yes, I know the Red Paint folks are partial to their mumbo jumbo. But they don't really need it. The magic, the knowledge, the power is already there. It is all just a question of mind over matter..... of dreams made manifest. It's a force. And it waxes and wanes like a flame in the wind. It does not know from good or evil, if it even knows anything at all. But we can tap into it. We can harness it. We can bend it to our will. Like a sister to electricity, though much more primal. When good people band together and dip into it, good things happen. When bad people do the same, bad things happen. The choice is yours, oh living humans. But you always knew that...... Tomas/Jonathon and Sarah are growing stronger. I can see them in their bed. I can see them in that French wardrobe they have. They share secrets and intimacies. How quiet they can be. Must not wake the children. It is rare for vampires to bond in that way. It happens, but only occassionally. Angels crave only the warm, loving light of The Lord. Except when they crave other things. And this does not make them bad, or even naughty. No, it tends to make them strong. And Baylah? She is off to the zoo, sleeping with the hibernating polar bears, deep within their authentic, fiberglass caves. The keepers have been taken care of. They can't even see her. Not with their eyes. Not with the monitors. Look at the pale, red stains upon their snowy, white fleece. But do not worry. She will not kill them. She is only nursing..... And The Shaky Hand Man? He does what he does. He continues to knock the good guys off the chessboard of life. No more big theatrical stunts. He does not need them. Just kill the good and preserve the bad. It's obvious he does not need that little, skinny female child anymore.

The Book of All Things New

Now you may have noticed that this is not coming to you channeled through that wilkravitz person like it often did. True, he is now usually tied up minding the elves and cherubs. But Annie spit in his food a few days ago. Since then he has not been able to focus. And he spends most of his time sitting in a chair playing with a cheap, little, battery powered, hand held video game. What's worse, he rarely wins. So that's why it is I, Zeb, bringing you this episode. By now you're probably used to my 'voice,' but I like to announce myself just the same. What did I want to tell you? Oh, yes. Since all the 'magic' started, since all that stuff at the basketball game and the T.J. Maxx store, the government's Anti Bewitchment Agency has been activated. Bet you never knew you had one, but you do. Ben Franklin started it right at the time of The Revolution. The agents are kind of like the men in black, but a little less so far to the right. And they've put up screens around the president, the cabinet, the legislators and a whole bunch of other stuff too. Some disgruntled types claim they're trying to influence the Golden Globe Awards and the Oscars. Not true. They have other guys in the press secretary's office who do that. Getting back to Annie, she now sleeps when the 'blood folk' sleep. Her schedule is tied to theirs. She beds down with them too. Not with Albion and Marianne or the older ones. No, she takes her rest (if she does rest) with the younger elves. The cherubs mostly keep to themselves. I'm on the look out for the Shaky Hand Man, but he does not seem to be frequenting our environs. But that does not mean that he is not still out there. Edith and the Red Paint People can pick him up. They form a grid with their minds, like a net. And it covers the city plus most of the close-in suburbs. So they know he's still playing around. He pulled out a few really important plugs in an assortment of area hospitals. Not only  will this mischief result in the deathes of  some good, undeserving souls (his favorite prey), but also in the filing of unfounded, though profitable law suits. He likes a certain type of sticky lawyer, so the suits should make him  happy. At least the families of the innocent victims should benefit.  Our guys, namely Baylah, Tomas/Jonathon and Sarah have been out hunting too. They've gone out culling victims every night. Not once a month, like they used to do when they relied on those visions. Now they rely on themselves like the Red Paints told them to. True, they have been discreet. A mercenary doctor here and there. A politician on the take. The usual array of  shyster attorneys. Gangsters. Evil step parents. Bad Santas. Bad bosses. Take your pick. And the chosen individuals always go poof in a flash of cold, blue flame, leaving little, if any evidence. Yes, they still grab all the wallets and jewelry, so their treasure cache has grown quite a bit. In fact, Sarah and Baylah make it a point to redistribute some of the loot. Look around the next time you ride the Frankford El, or any of the other working class lines. A few of the people holding on to those silvery poles have been seen sporting diamond stud earrings, not to mention the occasional premiun wristwatch. Hope they don't get robbed. But seeing as our immortal threesome has been culling the criminal element as well, maybe that won't happen.

The Book of All Things New

Zebulon reporting... Now morbid acts continued to occur. And since Annie was now secure within our sheltering busom (did I spell it right? I know how funny mortals are about words pertaining to the female breast) we could not rightly blame them on her, or on the use of her physical body. That meant the Shaky Hand Man was doing it alone. He had achieved physicality. He could move things and influence matter on his own. Quite the trick actually. Want to see how special it is? Take something light, like a ping-pong ball. Put it down upon the center of a level table in a spot free of drafts. Pull up a chair and sit down. Turn off the television. You can watch The Price is Right some other time. Besides, they ain't playing Plinko today. There, you heard it.... a peek into the future. And I don't lie. Now try to make that ping-pong ball move. And don't breathe on it. That's cheating! You're doing it! You're doing it! And a certain kid in Chicago better stop it before I give him a greasy nose zit like he'll never forget!! Well, now do you know how hard it is? Two college girls in Pennsylvania seem to have it. I'll have to keep an eye on them. But the Shaky Hand Man is really good at it. He can like move a piano, or send electricity juicin' up into all the asses planted in all the seats of The Radio City Music Hall. Thats not what he did though. Two guys were out shopping in T.J. Maxx. They were looking for bargains. I guess they blew their loads buying gifts for everybody else. And it is not often you find ski boots hiding out in the shoe department of T.J. Maxx. So they each grabbed a pair of some shiny, black plastic, James Bond looking numbers and jammed their feet right into them. Stomped around a little to see if they fit. You know how it is. And everything was copasetic. Everything was good. Case closed. Sale made. But when they tried to take those suckers off, everything was not so good. Those bastids would not budge. And what was worse, they were getting tighter and tighter and tighter. Folks were gathering around. Everybody had  a plan. Stick their feet in a freezer, which turned out to be extremely difficult, since there ain't no freezers in a T.J. Maxx store and it would be pretty hard to jamm that mother shut what with their legs being attached and all. One old fart wanted the manager to rub butter all over their feet. And they did find some butter, or actually a candy with a lot of butter fat in it over in the gourmet food department. But that only made a mess, not to mention it poisoned some bitch's little chihuahua which she had stashed in the bottom of her satchell. And all the time those boots are getting tighter. The two guys are screaming! Blood is dripping out from the top. A kid who was tryin' to boost a couple video games claimed he could hear bones cracking. The manager finally calls 911. And by the time they get there, the guys are passed out. People are screaming. Folks are running out into the street. And them boots just keep shrinking and shrinking and shrinking. Like little kiddie boots they were. No, like doll boots. Like something Ken would wear when he takes Barbie to their cozy, little, three-sided, cardboard and pink plastic ski lodge. And then the two guys were dead. Everybody got real quiet. Turned out they was workers for a group dedicated to supplying warm winter shoes for poor kids. Some shrill, blond haired girl from the TV news wanted to splash this interesting event all over everything. But a guy from the government, sort of like them men in black, took her aside and told her to shut her bleached teeth, lipstick smeared, fast-talking mouth if she didn't want to end up accidentally on purpose mostly dead or something. So she packed up her crew real fast and they executed a smart turkey trot over to cover the folks waiting in line to see Santa Claus (who himself was suffering from a near terminal attack of flatulence) in The Gallery. And T.J. Maxx got rid of all them wide-eyed, Lookie-Lou's by giving them each a hundred dollar gift card. The guys from the government told them Obama'd pay for it, so that made it all right. Only it wasn't all right, for I could hear the spirit laugh of that Shaky Hand Son of a Bitch for a long, long, long, long time......

The Boob of All things New

Tomas/Jonathon prepares to sleep. Sarah joins him. They share a big, oak, Louis XV, free standing wardrobe. It is at least as large as a double overnight berth on a train. The bottom is covered with a nest of thick, down comforters. They disrobe, get in, close the double doors and snuggle into the welcome darkness. The windowless basement provides respite for the others as well. Each has their own refuge. Each keeps their own counsel. Their 'familiars' via the two park employees have furnished the place well. But Tomas/Jonathon cannot relax. Sarah lays still, her mind racing to decipher the enigma that is Annie. Tomas/Jonathon speaks - I look in the mirror and see myself. I see the way I look. I am eighteen years old. I could front for the Jonas Brothers for God's sake. And I take it all for granted. Then I look at the Old Woman. It's crazy, but that is what I call her now. And for me, 'now' means the last fifty years. But she was young once. She had dreams. She wanted more. She got on that floating death trap and went down into the reeking, mildew hold with the rats, so she could come to America, so she could come to Philadelphia and find a better life. But then I found her. True, she would have died of consumption. What do they call it now? Sarah responds - Tuberculousis, T.B.. Tomas/Jonathon - Yes, T.B.. And I 'helped' her. I preserved her life. But at what cost? Granted, I did not make her into a vampire. She does not bear that burden. She does not fight our fight, worthy though it may be. But I did make her into 'something else.' She is over one hundred and sixty years old. And I think she has been aging quicker since she's been on her own, because she has not had any little blood gifts. I know it's not my fault. I know how she can be. I know it was her decision to leave, but I still feel guilty about it..... Sarah - Well, you know, she still hates me. I know you can see that.... Tomas/Jonathon - I think it's just a defense. I think she seems that way because she is scared. She felt rejected when you came. She knew of our connection..... Sarah - I know. And she loved you. She probably still loves you. I don't trust her. And how can we let that 'Annie' thing stay? She's not just a pathetic, little girl anymore, sad as that might be. She's more than that. She's something else. It scares me. We're all down here sleeping and she's up there with wilkravitz and Edith and your Old Woman and God knows what she's thinking. Is she still possessed? Is it a constant thing with her? Is the Shaky Hand Man still there? Is he always there? How strong is he? What is he? And what is she?..... Tomas/Jonathon - She's a six year old girl...... Sarah - Yes, and you're just an eighteen year old boy......... Meanwhile, upstairs, the mortals share a morning meal. The Old Woman has cooked up a big pot of oatmeal. She spoons it out into heavy, ceramic bowls. She tops it with cream and honey. One for Annie. One for wilkravitz. One for Edith. And one for her. Ah, such a nice, bright homey scene. But when wilkravitz turns his head to focus on a segment of the Today Show,  Annie spits into his bowl. Edith didn't see it. She was in the toilet.

The Book of All Things New

Tomas' former housekeeper, the Old Woman has returned to us. And she has brought us the girl called Annie. Our juvenile, immortal chorus gathers 'round her. They sniff her and taste her warily, much as snakes examine anything organic. She laughs a little girl's laugh. It tickles. The Old Woman speaks. She says - I know you probably don't want much to do with me, but this one might be of interest. Tomas speaks - How did you get her? The Old Woman - Well, I wander the streets. I shelter where I can. So does she. So does this one. It was only a matter of time, maybe two million heart beats at the most till we laid eyes on each other. She needed a 'granny' and I was sorry, so sorry for any harm I caused when I turned my back on you and your... concubine. Tomas responds - She is not my concubine, you ruined, old hag. Leave the girl. Leave her. We will decipher her truth on our own. We will determine if she is an innocent blessing or a plaugue among us.... He beckons to the girl and she goes to him... Tomas - Now go. Just go. Give her some food and send her out. The 'children' have been cooking. I hope you like steamed chicken nuggets and toasted marshmallow shish kebabs?...An adorable, tiny, elf girl steps forward and hopefully offers her one. The Old Woman takes it, nods and eagerly begins to eat it.... Tomas - Now go.... But she looks up at him and he remembers her from former days. He remembers when he rescued her from the bowels of an Irish 'coffin' ship. She sees his reaction and says - Please, I come bearing gifts, or more rightly, restoring them... She takes a cloth bag out from under her woolen cloak and offers it to him. He passes Annie off to Sarah and takes it. He opens it, carefully examining the contents. It's his old, worn prayer book and his hand written vellum journal. He tenderly holds them close and breaks down into tears. I cry too. Zebulon is always a softy for scenes like this. But you must have sensed that by now. The Old Woman whispers - It's all right. I've done what I set out to do. I will go now.... She turns to depart. But Tomas clears his throat and says - You can stay..... The Old Woman silently mouths her thanks. Marianne (the eldest elf girl) reaches out for her cloak. The Old Woman gives it to her. They find her a seat by the heater and offer her a hot drink. She gratefully accepts. Sarah and Edith usher Annie into another room, where they help her clean up and change into some warm, dry clothes.. They brush her fine, though beautiful hair. Sarah whispers to Edith - I can't help it. I want to know who she really is inside.... Annie sneezes. Edith says - God bless you. Soon the vampires begin to settle down. Dawn approaches. Annie silently sits watching television with Edith, the Old Woman, and wilkravitz. She laughs at a cartoon.

The Book of All Things New

Zeb speaking. Now I know they've done some shall we say, unsaintly things in the past. Sarah took delight in the pain of her victims once or twice. Maybe Baylah did that too. though I am not sure about Tomas. I do know that in his heart he wants to hear his birth name, his true name, his 'faith' name. He wants to be called Jonathon, or at least Jon. I know it is pronounced more like Yahn. I still know my Hebrew, for we spoke it, or a dialect like it, when I was in the flesh. Jonathon... It means 'Gift of God,' in the Holy Tongue. And I think he attempts to live up to that. In his own way and reguardless of the various burdens he has had to carry over the centuries, he has always struggled to make the world a better place.... At least from his vantage point. Domestic vampires? Who would ever imagine such a thing. Morticia, Sarah's goth-girl friend calls once in a while. The vamps are big on those no contract-throw-away cell phones. Edith rarely uses them. She says they dull her telepathic capabilities. Morticia says that a lot more of the magic-goth-fantasy-face pierced-I hate my stepmother types have descended on the city. They saw that You Tube posting of the sports arena melt down. And it was quite clear that there were a few nearly naked little babies zipping around  up among the rafters. The big web debate is photo shopped or not photo shopped? Right now the 'not photo shopped' party is winning. Morticia says that if some sort of open spiritual warfare breaks out, the pseudo-enchanted will most likely fall into our camp. But the operative words are 'most likely.' Albion brought back some type of video game system for the little ones. He claims he bought it. But considering his grasp on reality, he probably paid with Monopoly money and Cracker Jack gem stones. I don't care. This season is too commercialized anyway. It reminds me of the Passovers we used to have in Babylon. All the dining rooms were done up in these huge, colorful silk pillows. Everyone sported tunics and over-wraps fashioned from the same fabrics. And if you ask me, the proscribed bill of fare was a bit too heavy on the shell fish for what was supposed to be a reverent, kosher repast. But the wine was good. We used to get these wonderful vintages from the Medes up by the Caspian Sea. Oh, how I still remember them. And it was a rare Cup of Elijah that made it to the end of the dinner/service without some sneaky, little cousin downing the contents for himself. Ah, but where am I? Oh yes, in the middle of the vast Fairmount Park woodlands in The City of Brotherly Love. How nice things look, what with the light dusting of snow and all. Our snug, brick compound is quite cozy. I think I can see Sarah's hand in things. Marianne's  too. Albion 'bought' lots of decorations for the junior vampire set. wilkravitz plays games with them. And Edith makes her predictions. She feels there will not be any great spiritual war. For the Shaky Hand Man does not have to do that. He merely has to snuff out a few pivotal individuals or groups and the balance will  tilt. The veneer of humanity tends to run thin. And he knows just the right way to sand it off.......Now someone trudges through the hard packed snow. Someone progresses through the woodlands. It is a woman, an old woman. I seem to remember her from some time or place. I cannot recall her name, so I will refer to her as the Old Woman (familiar in some way). And she leads a child, a little child, a girl. I think she is crying. Look, Edith senses their approach. I can see it in her face.....