THE BAD SEED

I could hear the elves and cherubs bouncing off the walls downstairs. They knew what was happening. They remembered their own transformations a universally painfull experience for each and every one of them. At the time, while it was unfolding, they were transfixed. But after it was over and there was no turning back things were different. That's when the cold sets in. That's when the hunger starts. Some of them tried to stay with their human families. They tried to sit in their old place. They tried to sleep in their old bed. But the vessel containing their old life was broken. Loved ones shrieked and ran away. Priests came bearing heavy, ornate, silver magician's tools. Prayers were screamed. Spells were cast. Doors were slammed. And they were dead.....at least to that world. Yet if they had the good fortune to avoid the vampire catchers, especially the vile breed specializing in children, a new existence opened up to them. They'd make common cause with others of their breed, infesting the dark, forgotten crannies of the world. A ruined charnel house, a damp, stone, oozing crypt. What did it  matter? Just so it was dark. And their eyes grew wide, adapting to the  absence of the light. True, most refrained from killing their victims outright. A drink tonight. A drink tomorrow. And some next week. And then the sorrow. For a slow draining ultimately leads to death. But the small ones have their needs and cannot avoid it. The Old Woman clapped her hands. She cackled like a banshee. The rest of the us sat there, afraid to make a move. Papa progressed to the next step. He raked his strong and carefully manicured nails into the skin of his throat. The blood immediately began to flow. Then he lifted up his little demi-corpse, tenderly supporting her fractured neck, so that her mouth was level to the wound, as he nursed her with the crimson milk of death. A tiny tongue peeked out from between her blue and icy lips. She stole a taste. Look, she likes it. Watch her lap in up. See her drink and drink. Hear his low and throaty laughter, as he lures her ever farther from the sun. She shuddered. She burped. She actually did. And it was over. Her bones were healed. She sighed and leaned back, as he craddled and rocked her. Sarah cried softly. Edith whispered a prayer. The one or two Red Paint People present just stared into the middle distance, revealing nothing. wilkravitz silently witnessed it all, waiting for an opportunity to type it up and add it to our story. That's when Papa spoke. He said - See? No harm done. She is as good as new........  He rose to his feet, holding her close to him and said - Please forgive my sudden outburst. I have a temper and cannot help it........ Then he looked at me and added - Jonathon...Tomas...or how ever you style yourself, just don't lie to me again.........  We watched as he walked toward the heavy, metal front door, which opened before him, and carried her out into the cold, winter night......

TOUGH LOVE AMONG THE UNDEAD

So we sat there, listening to the humans munch their food and watching little Annie squeal as her new best pseudo human friend dribbled the elixir of life into her already ruby stained lips. Boy, are we in  for it. Sarah drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. She still had that classic, mortal impatience. How appealing. Papa pretended not to notice. The smile never left his face. He said - Why did you never try to free me?...... I stammered. I coughed. And then I said - What could I have done? I was just an 'orphan'. Do you think I actually understood what had happened to me? I didn't know where they were taking you. I found out about that later, much later........He added - What was 'much later' to you is only 'after a bit' to me. I saved you. You would have been killed. The Crusaders would have come back. They were still in the area. They would have burned you or hacked you to death or used you for target practice. But I prevented that. Was it so easy to put me out of your mind?........... I said - Please, I am sorry........That broke the spell. He burned. His face turned hard. He crossed his arms, crushing Annie close to him. She looked frightened. She turned to the Old Woman. But that dried up crone just froze and did nothing. .....He whispered - Don't lie to me. I tasted thousands during my imprisonment. They forced me too. They....addicted me. And through those souls I saw the world. Most of us can sense things. But I know things. And you are a liar........ I didn't know what to say. No, I was afraid to talk. I was afraid to say anything. He started to stroke Annie's hair, brushing it back from her face. His diamond pinkie ring sparkled in the ersatz firelight. He chuckled. He kissed her. The humans did not move so much as an eyelash. Everything stopped. I was afraid to shift my gaze..........He looked at me and said - Well?......But I said nothing.........He said - And?........ But I remained silent........He said - Now I'm getting angry.......His hands resting 'round the little girl's throat.......My eyes met his, silently pleading  for him to leave that damaged child alone......He sighed. No, more than sighed. He exhaled. I think we all did. Everyone  in the room did. But then it happened. We heard the clear, small , sharp crack. And it was done. Her neck was snapped. Edith screamed. He glared at her. She stopped.. Hearts pounded, both human and inhuman. But the tiny dribbles of blood gifts he had given her did their work. Her thin, small legs contorted. Her hands grasped out spasmodically. Stunted pathetic groans rose from her throat.......Papa said - See  what you did? I told you. Don't provoke me. Sarah broke into tears. He started to stroke Annie's hair once more. Then he simply bit through her child sized throat and drank up all the blood. He never spilled a drop...

TWILIGHT CONVERSATIONS

The monstrous, gaseous fire blazed its way across the heavens, then left us all in shadows. Dusk was upon us and we started to awaken.  Each vampire is different. Some stretch and yawn like mortals.Others immediately move about like tightly wound automatons. I am of the former sort. Baylah was still out. She apparently had spent the day holed up with her paramour. Nothing new there. Sarah was at her ablutions. She enjoyed her baths. I went in to help her wash her back. True, we do not attrack dirt, nor do our bodies excreet much, but a hot bath is a hot bath, especially to sometimes clammy creatures like ourselves. I could hear the Old Woman clattering about up in the kitchen, as she prepaired some sort of protien starch mixture for the humans. I do not think I can even recall what food tastes like. Sometimes in a dream I might. But not often. Sarah smelled good. Not necessarily from her expensive bath salts. She always smelled good. And since the old tub was of the huge, ornate, claw-footed variety,I eagerly slipped in to join her. And she agreed that I smelled quite nice too. We tarried in the steaming brew until we both were satisfied, then dried ourselves in turkish luxury. I was in a Jim Morrison mood, and so chose a leather and denim look. It so suited my new, handmade bootkins. Sarah carefully assembled her costume ....black cashmere and fine, wool pants. She put on her new, black bootkins too. Were we always so particular? No, but the presence of our 'visitor' made us so. He seemed to exude an aura, an intoxicating vapor and we could not resist. Up above, the humans were already assembled around the table consuming yellow mounds of cooked, sterile uterine chicken juices. Eggs...eggs...I know what they call them. They eat them a lot. Mortals so enjoy tearing off a bit of a 'tasty' usually dead animal. Not like us. We could never feast upon the dead. It's living fare for us...and always human too. Rat eaters? Deer munchers? Hardly, that is just in fiction. And 'Papa' was there waiting for us. He sat off to the side in one of the large club chairs bouncing Annie on his knee. His clothing was fresh. Where did he get it? From the luggage in his car, naturally. Another fine suit. A trim, starched shirt, worn open at the collar. Everything straight out of G.Q.. No, not G.Q., The Robb Report. He looked like a Wall Street prince and had an appetite to match.. Edith and wilkravitz ate silently. I watched as 'papa' offered Annie sweet, little hot, bloody drops from his finger tips. She quickly clapped her hands and slurped it up. Then he neatly bit into another digit and gave her more. The Old Woman chomped on a thick crust of bread and smiled. Sarah looked at me. I looked at her. Then he spoke. He said - Come, sit down. It is time for us to talk..........How smoothly he takes over. How easy it all seems for him.......Creator and created united at last. Yet this was a conversation I did not want to have.........

HOMECOMING

The humans were all asleep. Well, the Old Woman was as asleep as she ever gets. But Edith, the questionable little girl Annie and the few Pineys and Red Paints staying with them were contentedly snoring in the dark. Baylah still trysted with her extremely well heeled boyfiend. The parkland refuge was quiet, wrapped in its sheltering, evergreen vale. And a silent powdering of snow drifted down from the heavens. The sumptuous, ebony sedan turned off a nearby service road and drifted to a soundless stop behind the low, brick building. True, it was once a Fairmount Park equipment depot, but our creative immortals did their best, working their magic and transforming the structure into a cozy, snug redout. A scattering of colorful, children's toys (used by the 'cherubs') decorated the great-room floor. And the electric fireplace (with its Amish crafted, walnut mantlepiece) shed a low, orange, comforting glow. Where were the elves and cherubs? Who could know. They flit about the city like wide-eyed, pixilated moths, returning when they chose, staying elsewhere when they do not. But don't worry. They have other places to hide. The heavy, metal door drifted open. 'Papa' stood off to the side, gesturing for Jonathon and wilkravitz to enter. And they did, each finding a commodious seat in one of the club chairs arranged about the room.. No one spoke. Jonathon studied his creator. Modern dress suited him. Whom  did he favor, a somewhat trimmer Alec Baldwin or  maybe a John Gotti? Sarah was not home yet. But she would be there soon, for the daylight  cannot wait. Two cherubs dashed in through one of the small, high windows, sublimating through the glass. But they instinctively felt the gravity of the situation and immediately retreated to one of their closet, hidey-holes. 'Papa' chuckled. He said - I have not seen their like in centuries. It will be good to have them around. So, Tomas... I mean Jonathon, where can I take my ease?...... That was when the gnarled Old Woman stepped out of the shadows and said  - I have prepared a sleeping space, sir. It is in one of the small, side rooms downstairs. You will know iit for the door is opened and a candle shining forth from a glass cylinder, flickers within..... Then she nodded and stepped back....... Jonathon whispered - Well, that takes care of that .I suppose you have a lot of questions? God knows, so do I...... The smartly dressed 'gentleman'  said - That, I do. But the orb turns and soon we shall face the sun. Until the dusk, offspring!..... He rose and went down to his chamber, not like a newcomer, but as if he'd lived there for years..... wilkravitz said not a word, but sat there in silence. Jonathon stared at the artificial attempt at a fire.......Then came the small sound of a key in the back door. Sarah walked into the room. She asked - What's that car doing out back?........Jonathon simply looked at her and smiled........

FAMILY REUNIONS

I turned and there he was, sitting in a small, corner booth. He smiled, raised his glass and nodded. I went over and stood there looking down at him. He gestured for me to join him. I did. He spoke first, lapsing into a more or less current jargon. He said - Sonny Boy!.......He offered his hand. I grasped it. We maintained physical contact for a heartbeat or two and then let go. He sipped his drink. I do not know how he did that. But he has many tricks. I glanced down at the table and saw an opened copy of Gentleman's Quarterly magazine. He had obviously been reading it. Yet another trick, considering the tiny pool of warm, gold light, issuing forth from the small, shadded lamp.......Planning a shopping trip? - I said.......For many things - he added........Perhaps you will help me? ........... I hesitated, but he continued uninterrupted, talking of our long seperation. And if I still went by Tomas, or had adopted another name. I told him it was not so much  an adoption, as a reassertion of what had  gone before. He said - So, you are Jonathon then. I remember. How could I forget? .......And you? - I asked. What should I call you? How are you addressed?...... He shrugged and said - I don't know. Call me papa........ and so 'papa' he became.  We spoke of many things, about the others in our band, about our refuge, about our 'spiritual' tricks. He said that he especially wanted to meet my granddaughter/consort, my offspring in the spirit and the flesh. He wanted to know Sarah. Then he looked at his watch (something heavy, expensive and brutally metallic) and said that we should be going, since the night would be dying soon. So we went out to the street and walked on about three dozen cubits when he stopped and pointed toward an impressive, black sedan parked by the curb....... Yours? - I said.......He merely smiled and nodded. Then the doors clicked open with quick, modern precision. Was it his magic or simply some other sort of technological enchantment? I could not tell. But I walked around to the passenger side and got in. He lowered himself into the driver's seat and we were off. Soft music, jazz, I think they would call it, warmed the rich, leather lined interior. I studied him. How does he achieve all this? He could not have been here more than a day or two. I would have felt something. Edith would have felt something. Well, maybe we did. Denial can be very strong. Look at him, with his carefully styled salt and pepper hair, his suit, the soft, gray, suede overcoat, like a fit and dapper mafia don. We rode on in silence. Then he said - wilkravitz, your familiar, he is still gaming? Come, we shall pick him up......... So we went to the casino. He valet parked the car like he was born to it and we entered. 'Papa' led the way through the crowds, aiming right for a bank of video poker machines. We stopped short right behind my familiar, who looked up in silent, shocked surprise. I didn't know what to say. I had never intruded on him like this, but 'papa' spoke first. He said - Grab your things we've come to take you home..........wilkravitz cooperated. He gathered together his belongings. It was obvious that he had lost the fivehundred dollars. But at the last instant, 'papa' spoke and said - Look, five credits. One more shot,........He leaned over and pressed the button. The images flickered and three seconds later, wilkravitz was onethousand dollars the richer.  Four Jacks and an Ace. Five of a kind. He looked at me. He did not know what to do. Papa spoke and said - Take it. Take the voucher. It's yours....... So we waited while he went to the bank-like counter and traded the paper coupon for ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. Then we walked out, retrieved the car and rode home in silence.........

God's Gift (that's what Jonathon Means) Sets Us All Straight

After he left skinny, Miss Pissy Pants on the floor of that multi-leveled vehicle stable, Jonathon condensed back out on the street. It was quiet in the way only late night city streets can be. Steam issued forth from underground caldrons, rising into the night like silent, faceless ghosts. The thoroughfare was narrow, even by the standards of an old municipality like Philadelphia. Sansom Street, that is what it is called, a place lined with quirky restaurants, somewhat theatrical clothing establishments and other unusual venues. Some are at street level, others down a flight of steps in cellars. Back doors belonging to greater emporiums fronting onto Chestnut Street or Walnut Street also commandeer niches in the aging brickwork. The 'Morticia' crowd likes the place (when they tire of South Street's varied delights), but it tends to shutter early and our contemplative prince of darkness had the pavement all to himself. He walked on, the heels of his stylish bootkins tapping out a rhythm on the natural slate below. Every so often a discreet, little feral cat would peek out of the shadows to take his measure, before humbly bowing and retreating in his wake. He liked them. He smiled at them. But his mind was crackling, as the sparks of a billion neurons warmed his brain. Visions danced before his eyes of other lands and other times. Of perfumed gardens in the sun and moonlight on the sea. And he wanted those realities. For if he was planted here on the great eastern seaboard of a vast, new land, he was never-the-less not of this place. Oh, it had its charms. It had its attractions. But he would no longer allow it to control his psyche. Jonathon/Tomas was born under another star and he felt its pull upon his being once more. What does it mean, this vampire existance?  Is he truly one of the demi-angelic host? Who makes them? Which one was the first? And how could that first one come to be if there was not yet another, even earlier one there to pass on the gift? Someone was whispering in his ear. Who was it? He could not tell. There were fewer homeless people out on the streets. The spiritual rebirth (stemming from The Jonathon and Baylah Magic Show) took care of that. True, he was confronted by two sinister cut-throats sauntering down the opposite side of the street. He stopped. They stopped. He stared. They stared. But his gaze cut hard and hot and deep. The cut-throats coughed and blinked and looked away. Crisis averted. Did they deserve to be culled? Not tonight. Not tonight. Not now. He entered a fashionable, little, warm and cosseted cocktail lounge, slid into a welcoming, upholstered booth and ordered a double scotch, the good stuff. He did not drink it, but he enjoyed savoring the aroma. The boite was almost empty. A few well heeled couples sipped nightcaps before climbing up to their bastions in the sky. None looked particularly appetizing. No, he would not kill them. But he might steal a little blood kiss or two. Come morning it would be naught but a troubling, half remembered dream. He wan't supposed to do it. There were no 'visions.' But sometimes he did. So did the other two, though they swore up and down that they did not......The whispering came back. What was it saying? Who was talking? He could not tell. Perhaps Edith or one of the Red Paint Folks would help. Still, when he glanced into the smoky mirror hung behind the bar, he thought he saw the face of his creator.........

TMZ...........and the Vampires

wilkravitz doesn't want to type this out tonight. He wants to go to the casino. They have, I think, three of them. One is in the city. Two are in  the outskirts. The vampires don't want to give him any money. They're afraid he might get drunk on the free drinks and say something he should not say. But then Jonathon has a change of heart. He gives him a few presidential etching certificates from his own leather certificate folder. Wait, wait, wait, I know. I remember. He gives him five Benjamin Franklins. That's five hundred dollars. But he tells him to steer clear of strangers. wilkravitz says that he will. Then he goes down to get washed and dressed. It's cvold, real cold. So he bundles up in one of the shearling coats they got down there. Now he's ready, but he has to walk about a mile to get to the nearest street where he could maybe get a taxi cab. See? Taxi cab. Taxi cab. Taxi cab. Zeb remembers.. Sarah feels sorry for him. She yells - Want me to sublimate you over?...... He says - No, you don't have to go to any trouble........But she knows what that means, so she gets up to take him. Jonathon says - No, that's all right. You stay here. I will take hiim.......She asks - Are you sure?......He sighs, gets up and nods. She settles back and clicks on TMZ. She likes that show. Not for the gossip,because to be truthful, who really cares about those people. And do you really believe that stuff? But she likes to watch the way the kids they got working on that program treat the host. They have absolutely no respect or consideration for him and it shows. He's just a strange 'cultural' joke to them. They're so biased they don't even know it. I don't know why he takes it. Jonathon says what does he care; he's  laughing all the way to the treasure house. So wilkravitz meets Jonathon outside in the quiet, empty, woodlands of the park. He grabs him under the arms, clasps his hands accross his chest, shudders a little bit and they are off. wilkravitz knows the drill. They've done this before. To the occasional squirrel or dirty old pigeon, it looks as if they disappeared. But Jonathon uses some sort of vampiric ability to expand their molecules just a little, so they can rapidly pass through all forms of matter (air included) until they reach their destination. Then they slow down, hopefully in some secluded space where they can re-condense and they're done. That's it. So he let wilkravitz go behind a giant trash recepticle on the vehicle storage plain. wilkravitz most likely would not show up at the refuge till way after sunrise. That meant getting home was his own problem........... And Jonathon did not go directly back, for he's been vexed by a certain vision, a certain evil character just begging to get culled. So he hailed a cab, and rode into midtown, where he got out and went into a certain cozy, little men's shop he likes to frequent. The girls there like him and are always making eyes at him. They like to whip out that skinny, numbered, ribbon thing they got and measure him all up He likes that part too, especially when they're tying to figure out how long his new blue jeans should be. You know they are real careful about the fit. And he is one vain life-eater. I think I once told you. He tends toward a young Antonio Banderas, or maybe a slightly more angular faced  filled out version of that Vincent Chase kid the got on Entourage..........After he leaves that place he strolls over to the entrance of some multi-level, condominium for motor vehicles they got around there. He quietly goes in and winds his way up the ramps till he's on level four. That's where the bad man parks his shiny vehicle. Look, I don't have to tell you what he does. He's bad. He's evil. By his very presence he saps the Godliness out of the world. Jonathon saw him in a dream. He saw him in a vision. That's it. The 'guy's' done. He has to go. So our Zorro look-alike grabs him as he exits the little mechanical up and down room. He pulls him, all kicking and sputtering, behind a concrete pillar and he does it right then and there. The guy moans. His eyes roll back. He slumps down onto the asphalt surface. He coughs. He chokes. He wheezes. Loss of blood ultimately results in loss of oxygen, so they all suffocate. And then he dies. Yet just a second or two before he bursts into the cold, blue flames, just as Jonathon rifles his pockets for valuables and other assets, the door to the other up and down room opens and this skinny, little, pale faced, over dressed chicken girl tip taps her way out (high heels) and sees it all. She starts screaming and screaming. But the neighborhood is pretty empty at this hour so nobody hears her. And that sloppy, lazy kid they got working down in the glass pay-the-money booth ain't never gonna take his eyes off his little hand-held magic push botton space war game. So Miss Boney-Moroney is on her own. Jonathon catches her. He hugs her. He puts his hand over her mouth. Sure she fights him. But then she quiets down. Her heart is still pounding, but she does not move around too much. He says something. He whispers in her ear. He says - You tell me. You tell me. Was he a good mman? Was your boss (and also her sex partner) really a good man? She shakes her head 'no,' and stares wide eyed at the body. Only by this time the blue flame has done its work and there ain't  really too much body left there. So Jonathon pulls off his two carat diamond pinkie ring and stuffs it into her hand. He says - Here, here, take it. Keep it. This is for you. She softly caresses it in her fingers, but she does not say a word. Then he just disappears (sublimated actually) and is gone. The skinny girl just sat there and peed herself right where she was............