OH BLAH DEE OH BLAH DAH DEATH GOES ON

Jonathon sat in a small ice cream parlor. It was a cozy, traditional space on a little street in Center City. It was easy to fake eating ice cream. It melted so fast people could hardly tell. But he went in there to look at the humans and to think. The death rate in certain hospitals had gone up lately. Blood gifts were hard to come by. The elves no longer made their nighttime, bedside deliveries. No more happy endings. No more 'cured' grannies. No more 'healed' children. Funerals, funerals, funerals.  The magic had left the world, the 'good' magic anyway, at least in his part of it. He did manage to provide  the occasional vial or two. But he was scared. Unknown forces (or at best, slightly known) were abroad in the city. The people from Rome were determined to recover their 'possession' and the U.S. government agents, the Anti Enchantment Bureau, knew how to make their own kind of trouble too. So Jonathon spent most of his time underground with the mole folk. He had his harem. That wasn't hard to do. Yet every once in a while he rose to the surface and culled a 'baddie.'  Sure, he could just rely on the mole men to catch him a worthy meal or two. But the chase was the thing. He enjoyed the tightening of the noose. And it is not as if those so condemned did not deserve it. So he got up, threw his cup into the trash, straightened his seat (most vampires are neat freaks), zipped up that sleek, new, black leather jacket and walked out into the night. The scent was already upon him. He knew exactly where he was going. And he knew exactly who was going to die.......Now approximately thirty or forty miles to the east, the Piney folk and the Red Paint folk had another problem. They could not decide whether to come back out into the world, or to fashion a more permanent retreat from it. So they stayed snug, deep in the evergreen forest, securely hidden in their unexpected, mysterious woodland. They and the Jersey Devil. Evenings were spent sitting by the wood stove, listening to banjos (yes, banjos) and arguing over the efficacy of such obtuse rites as a 'throwing of the bones' or some old Pow-Wow spell.  It  was not a case of one group against the other. There were 'inclusionists' and 'isolationists' in both camps. Still, it was difficult to read the Red Paint folks, what with their supposedly collective mind and all. Who was talking, the individual, or the clan as a whole? I'm telling you, it drove the Pineys crazy. But they were good to the vampire 'familiars' hiding with them. The humans, I mean. And wilkravitz started keeping a journal. He wrote it all down, even learned a little banjo pickin' too......Now if you go a little bit more to the east, say twenty, twenty five miles or so, you come to the sea shore. That's where Baylah is. She's still there, shacked up with her financier 'husband' in his showplace, beach front home. And she passes for human. Does a good job of it too. Those neighbors wintering over don't suspect a thing. So she stays out of the sun. Well, that's just because of a severe drug interaction. She doesn't want to. She has to. And she's become quite adept at miming the act of human dining. Cut, cut, cut. Push, push, push. Smear, smear, smear. And when absolutely necessary, she manages  to swallow a morsel or two. It makes her sick. Could you take a bite out of a moldering human corpse and enjoy it?  Well, you know what I mean...most of you. But with frequent trips to the restroom (always solitary. believe me, the other wives picked up on that) for much needed barf-breaks, she gets by........And what's up with Annie? Just the usual. She manages to entertain herself. Likes to sublimate into bedrooms, stand by the side of the bed and listen to the snores (I guess she learned all this from Papa). Single parent households are her favorite. She gently pokes the mommy or daddy in the belly. Then she whines - I wanna drink a water..... The victim grumbles, but sleepily shuffles off to get it. Then, when they come back, fully awake from the bathroom light and see her clearly for the first time they freeze and say - Hey, who the hell are you? You ain't my kid.......That's when she innocently shrugs and smiles. Only the smile isn't so innocent. And they can see the fangs. That glass of water usually drops to the floor and she's on them in a heartbeat. They go fast. You know the drill. She waits for the blue fire. She watches them burn......Then, from somewhere down the hall, she'll hear - Mommy?.....or....Daddy?......So she wipes her lips, smooths her dress and happily skips off to finish the job............

WITNESS TO A KILL

This is what it is like to face a nightmare. This is what it is like to confront a 'demon.' I automatically relate these events from the vampire's viewpoint. But not tonight. This is what it is like to die at the hands of a fantasy.He had a nice home. It was one of those trim, stylish 'trinity' houses they have in the old quarters of Philadelphia, three relatively small floors (hence 'trinity'), each done up to polished hardwood, stone fireplace and premium granite perfection. The atmosphere was rather contemporary, yet with a veneer of 'georgian' charm. He paid a lot for it. Genuine, federalist, red brick properties don't come cheap. Granted, it didn't have parking, but you don't get that in the city, so the Porsche had a snug, little condominium of its own. Heated too. Twenty ten was a good year. Lots of forclosure proceedings. Just the thing for a real estate lawyer. Desperate people, willing to pay plenty (and up front too) to save their homes. Too bad it didn't always work. Too bad for the dumb assholes. Too bad for their innocent children. But real nice for him. You could pick up quite a few bargains in a market like this. And he did. So what was he worth? I do not know exactly. Modern money seems so abstract to me. Wait a heartbeat or two. I will sublimate through his computer and find out.....There, there...I have it. According to his 'personal' records, he had a total net worth (cash and properties) of thirteen point four million (I assume dollars).  Is that a lot? I would guess so. In my day, when my feet last touched the earth, we spoke of shekels and talents. They were tangible. You could hold it in your hand...a certain weight of silver and that was it. But now? Who knows? I hear some measure wealth by 'kilos' of cocaine. I wonder how much cocaine a child must bring to school to pay for his midday meal? .....The man, the 'victim' had dined alone on a dinner of 'take out' shell fish (some sort of unclean crustacean I suppose) a starchy, baked root vegetable smothered in butter and a plate of fresh, cold greens drowned in some sort of milky, eggy sauce. In my day, that sauce would have been used for a poultice. But who am I to judge the diet of these 'contemporaries'? They torture their chickens into growing massive, voluptuous breasts via all manner of dangerous potions. And then they wonder why the dangerous potions (passed on by the sacrificial birds) cause the same voluptuous growths in their own bodies. Yeech!! If I ate like they do, I'd be running to the mikveh (community baptism pool) everytime I took a crap. Ah, but Zebulon digresses. The man got up from his seat at the granite 'breakfast bar'  rinsed his plate and utensils in the polished, stainless steel sink and put them into a matching, stainless steel sanitation device. Then he belched, scratched his belly and collapsed onto a leather couch positioned before a magic mirror where he was going to watch some 'game'. I have seen this game before, but I do not know too much about it. It must have started in Nubia, for all the players (or most of them anyway) appear to be from that venerated country. But the athletics in the mirror failed to hold his attention. He pulled a cunning, little hand-held magic mirror out of his pocket and proceeded to tell it about all the 'shit, nobodies' he was going to destroy tomorrow. Then he got up, poured himself a tall, frosty mug of some fermented grain beverage, went back to his seat, gulped it down and fell asleep. Oh, yes, there was a communication from his former wife (who I suppose is the caretaker of his 'former' children), but he told her to go to hell and drop dead. Now, I would think it imperative for her to do the later first, but customs here still baffle me, so who knows. A few thousand heart beats later, some magic jinn turned out all the lights. The magic mirror went dark too. The man slept on. That is when it happened. A vampire, in this case it was Papa, sublimated through the kitchen wall. He chose that spot , because it was unseen from the street. And he walked through the residence fingering and examining all the fine, glossy, decorative possessions. Funny, but he was almost a mirror image of his intended dinner. Then he pulled up a matching, leather ottoman and sat down, studying the victim in the dark. Oh, I suppose I must repeat this information yet again, but what is darkness  to a vampire? It is nothing. They can see! They can see! All right? In truth, he sat like that for quite a while. Then he reached out a finger and ran it along the sleeper's nose. A slight snort, but nothing. The victim slumbered on. Papa tapped the belly. He pulled off a shoe. He tickled the foot. But nothing. Papa exhaled. How long must a life-eater wait? And it's no fun to eat them in their sleep, especially for a person like Papa. No, he liked to see the terror in their eyes. He liked to smell the sweat and in a majority of cases, the feces too. So that's why he did it. That's why he reached out, delicately pinched one of the man's eye lashes and quickly yanked it out....The sleeper yelped and instantly sprang to life, clutching his red, watering eye........Shit! Shit! Who the fuck are you! Who sent you?- he yelled.... Papa smiled, but did not answer....The 'toy' went on - I don't have to take this crap!You know Fat Sal!? You know Fat Sal!? .....Still no response......Well, the hell with you, you shmuck!.....The 'toy' started to tremble. He went for his little, hand held magic mirror. But Papa just took it from him and crushed it into a splintery plastic, metallic mess. The 'toy' desperately pressed back into the couch. He started to scream. No! No!  No! No!....Papa calmly extended his arm, taking hold of the victim's wind pipe, which he proceeded to destroy as delftly as he had the little mirror thingie. The toy choked. He gagged. He coughed up blood. His hands flew to what was left of his throat. Papa grabbed each wrist in its turn and broke it. Then he did  the same with the ankles too. The toy slid down onto the floor in a sobbing heap. Papa got down  and craddled him in his arms. Then he rocked him as he began to softly whisper in his ear..... Shhh...shhhh...Soon it will be over. Soon the pain will end.....The toy just whimpered. Papa brushed back its hair. Then in one,last violent move, he smiled, leaned closer and bit off the victim's nose. A little portion of the cheek came away too, but really, what did that matter now? The toy shuddered in agony. At first, Papa contemplated tearing off the eye lids too. That was a trademark of his. But he wanted to kill a few more people before the night was over, so he had to hurry. How fortunate for this victim. So he contorted the neck and moved in for the kill. The man hardly noticed when it happened. Papa waited till the body disappeared into the usual cold, blue flame. Then he quickly grabbed the toy's fine watch from the greasy residue and left. Ah, the fresh, cold air felt good. He checked the hour on his new time piece and smiled. Plenty of time for more....Plenty of time for more.....

DETAILS OF THE DEAD

Do statues and carvings have souls? They can. When they are the suspended image of a life-eater. So Sarah endured and she thought and she felt. Her eyes did not see, not in the physical sense. But she did see, because her mind could see. And she felt, because her soul could feel. Time had no meaning anymore. All creation, all existence was experienced as a singularity. She knew that the elves and cherubs had crossed over to this state with her. But their reality was their reality. To each his own. So she hovered there, lost among the stars in a limitless dream. She saw her parents. She went to them. And in an instant she knew all they had to tell her . They knew her truths as well. It was comforting to meld with them. She felt and saw places that were dear to her, old homes, streets, rooms, beaches, luncheonettes, garages and automobiles. People came to her as well. They greeted her. They loved her. The 'smoke' of their existence spiraled together until they were almost one. She asked - Am I dead? Have I passed over?....And they answered her and told her she had not. She was only pressed up against the window of The World to Come. She could feel the warmth of it. She could hear it and feel its vibrations. It was possible to mingle a bit with the people there through the occasional 'crack' in the limitless window. But she could not pass through. For what she had experienced was only a pale copy of the real thing, a foretaste of the genuine article. If she concentrated, she could make out the sound of angels' wings, although she could not see them. Her parents told her to have faith and be patient. Nothing lasts forever. Not even the universe. And then they faded away, leaving her all alone, adrift in a creamy, gray eternity and searching for other dreams.....Jonathon thought of her often. He knew she was near. He knew she was not truly dead. But Sarah was removed from him, imprisoned in a forttress far stronger than Papa's Roman dungeon. A Rapunzel trapped inside a magic tower. And Papa had the key. That's why he had to be careful. It would not do to anger his strange adversary. Let the 'being'  run out of steam. Let him satisfy all urges, till they were urges no more. Then, maybe then, they could talk. Jonathon would continue taking his ease among the mole folk. And life spent in the glow of the tiny, orange sterno fires had its pluses. He enjoyed playing with the two sisters. Aura and Sylvia they were called. And they never tired of being with him. Their father knew of this three part alliance and even approved of it. Let them mush up with Jonathon. What harm could it do? He could not make them pregnant. It was hard to feed newcomers and this was a union incapable of producing any. A veritable pleasure for all parties concerned. So the princeling  and his harem scampered through the countless tunnels of their 'neverland', rediscovering forgotten Lenapi graveyards and skinny dipping in mineral-rich, subterranean pools, where they encountered the occasional rejected alligator, now grown to its full estate. His blood gifts kept them strong. His kisses made them beautiful. Ah, his two splendid sirens in the dark. At times, when the moon was full, he'd sneak away from them, going up into its silvery light,  where he'd corner a deserving evil doer, whisper in its ear , nibble at its flesh and drink away its life, a naked sprite (for he often forgot about clothing) sent to redress all wrongs......The time would come. He would confront Papa. Sarah would return. The others would come back. And all would be made right. Some night it would happen.....Some night.....

UNFORSEEN PROBLEMS

wilkravitz cannot type this. He does not have a computer, at least not one hooked up to the magic ether. Things are a bit rusric deep in the pines. So I (Zebulon) do not know how this is coming to you. Someone else is obviously dancing their fingers across some other communication device. Can you trust it? Is it the truth? As far as I can tell it is. If I sense anything I will tell you, provided our current scribe allows me to maintain my voice. But Johnny Jump Up is beginning to gain a larger share of the audience. No, he is not a vampoire. Yet there are those who claim he's been around for more than two hundred years. That's two hundred years in Philadelphia. I know little of his life before then. Just stay alert. Listen for the scratching at the upstairs window. Wait for the discreet tapping sound. Close your eyes when the glass cracks and breaks. And then, don't even bother opening them. It's best that way. His thin, boney fingers are strong. You won't last long. And he will be gone, vaulting away toward another designation. Johnny Jump Up...
The cadaverous, gentleman corpse. The stick figure in the tight, black suit. The hungry undertaker. He has been called by many names. And his hands are cold as ice. But you won't have time to worry about that. Papa knows about him. So does Jonathon. Just be happy that you don't.....not yet anyway.......Hopefully, there will be a longer post when next the stars come out again. Maybe by then, we will know who taps this out.....

BITS AND PIECES, SOME OF THEM NASTY

Now the mole people have tatters and scraps of most everything those up on the surface have. Some of the children tinker with 'found' laptops and intricately rigged signal hookups enabling them to slither onto the internet, I think they call it. So they have the ability to converse with other internet addicts all over the world. Let me tell you, those magic talking machines are hardly ever turned off. I think they have maybe two or three of them. And they crowd into some cozy, brick alcove and tap away. That's how it started. When the second mole sister in Jonathon's little harem received her blood gift, it did not work exactly as expected. Oh, it's not as if Jonathon was unhappy with the outcome, only he thought she's get 'healthier' that's all. But no, she had to be particular. She would not lick up the blood just as it was, fresh from his body. No, she had to mix it in some contemporary, luxury food. Spaghetti-O's, I think it is called. And she did eat it quick, but she ate it that way. So something in the 'love apple' (excuse me for using an old name for tomatoes) sauce changed things and she did not just get healthier. She got a pair of fancy, new breastesses as well. The other sister, the one that used to be a bit wall-eyed felt a little jealous, but what could she do? When you mix with magic, you have to be prepared to accept what shakes out. And vampires, a lot of them at least, possess forms of magic they don't even know about. So some of the mole children, not children actually, more like twelve and thirteen year old boys, find out about it. They jam in all around one of the magic talking, picute machines and start sending messages to never-seen best friends all over the globe. The next thing you know, folks all around the world learn that if you mix Spaghetti-O's with a tiny bit of 'human' blood and chew it up and swallow real fast, you will be the proud receipient of a brand new pair of tah-tah's (I think that is the contemporary medical term for the body part in question. Sometimes it is so hard for Zebulon, a disembodied spirit, to keep up.). Then, a little while later, we find out there's been a rush on food stores all over and it is now vertually impossible to get cans of that crimson delicacy anywhere. If you ask me, those magic, talking, picturing boxes are one of the most powerful forms of magic I know. They are almost right up there with the Akoshic Record itself and that is saying something. So Jonathon gives the other sister, the previously crazy-eyed one, a few more drops of his blood. and seeing as she is not as fancy as the other one, she gleefully slurps it right down. And they wait there, in their little quilt and blanket stuffed alcove for something to happen. But she doesn't really look any different. Oh, her skin was a little nicer. And seeing as it was only a 'casual' Saturday afternoon, she was bare all over, so there was plenty of skin to see. Even in the dim, warm, orange sterno light they could appreciate how nice it was. Only that's not what she wanted. So she continued to sulk and managed to wring the neck of one of the domesticated, food pigeons unlucky enough to get in her way. Jonathon told her he'd bring down some more of those Reeses Peanutbutter Cups she was so found of the next time he went 'up' and that helped to smooth things over. Later, when he gave her a real nice shower bath in the ruined restroom, he made a big fuss over her pretty skin. That tended to sweeten her up a bit too........ And what was going on 'up above'? Those 'finders', those human blood hounds, those detectives sent out by that secret group pretending to represent the Trinitarians in Rome were swarming all over like a company of ants. The Americans sent out by the Anti-Enchantment Bureau, I think they call it now, weren't doing too bad either. But the only things to happen so far were the aprehension of some sad old, fortune tellers, plus a particularly unusual , morbidly thin and somewhat manic gentleman in a tight, black, old fashioned business suit, with the astonishing ability to vault up to rooftops and terraces three stories high. Johnny Jump Up, I think he called himself. And he was rumored to be responsible for some mysterious crimes of his own......Ah, such is the word from Philadelphia after dark......Come back when next the Earth spins again and I will have some new secrets for you......

CITY LIFE

Papa and his little girl made the rounds of their favorite shops. He took her to the CVS, a plain old CVS store. She liked the fragrance aisle. They bought various scents in all forms, liguid, oils and candles. Annie said 'thank you' to the woman and took the bag. The woman even smiled at her. What a nice twosome they made, the  handsome executive and his little girl. Then it was over to The Limited for Girls for some stylish, colorful outfits. The sales lady helped her in the fitting room. Annie liked the way the tops and bottoms looked. She posed in front of the mirror and as children are wont to do, she was not too careful. The sales lady saw one of her tiny fangs and said - Uh oh, somebody's got a new big permanent tooth! You gotta start takin' care now!...Annie looked up at her assuring the woman that she would. After, it was a quick trip to the supermarket. What did they need there? Nothing. Maybe a few dust clothes to tidy up their quarters at the museum, a bit of this, a bit of that. But they liked to watch mortals buying food,especially the plump, plastic wrapped chunks of red, moist meat. Papa said it was like an appetizer. Annie licked her chops and agreed that it was. So when they found the fat, sloppy pretzel vendor packing his wares into a little vehicle parked in a dark alley they were ready. The guy said - Sorry, folks. Done for the day.....It was about six thirty in the evening and he liked to stay open till just after the rush hour. Annie made a sad face and said - Awwww.... The pretzel man felt sorry for the little girl and gave her one of the three lonely pretzels left. The other two were 'no good', meaning he'd probably handled them with his contaminated fingers after pissing up that alley. She took the semi-stale, starchy treat and licked a bit at the salt (vampires can do that. there's lots of salt in blood after all). The man smiled. Papa said - Thank you my good man......He looked down at his 'daughter ' and whispered - What do you say?......She bashfully responded - Thaaank yooou..... The pretzel guy told her she was welcome. Then he went back to packing up his vehicle. That was his mistake. But in truth, there was nothing he could have done to prevent things. Papa was on him in an instant, pinning his arms behind  his back. There was not even time to scream, as the alpha-vampire's  fangs tore into his flesh. The blood rushed out. Papa took a little for himself, then motioned to Annie, who quickly 'jumped to' and took possession of the meal. Papa wiped his lips (there was never much. real vampires are not sloppy) and he smiled and smoothed back her hair as she greedily finished her dinner. There would be opportunities galore for him to  dine later. Perhaps after two in the morning when the clubs let out. The streets were a vertual smorgasbord then. And who knows? If he got hungry in the interim, well then maybe he'd bite into a succulent drug pusher or two. He knew just where to find them.  Annie retrieved a small keychain from the vendor's greasy residue. She liked the shiny plastic and the colors advertising some casino or another and she carefully stowed it in her new, little pocketbook (also bought at The Limited for Girls.)  Then they picked up their packages and were off. She'd go back to the museum, where the night crew (all safely 'made' into 'familiars') played with her and entertained her among the almost dark, deserted galleries featuring possessions of the dead. Papa would continue his nightly patrol slurping up the flavors of the city. But he was beginning to appreciate the wisdom of the others. It was just more convenient to snap up an evil-doer, for they wouldn't really be missed. Less questions. No fuss. Quick and easy. Oh, he was still quite crazy and drunk on this new liberation (centuries in a Vatican uber-dungeon can grow quite tedious). He was still prone to make mistakes, but considering his great powers (sublimation, the instantaneous transportation of enemies to torturous climes) what did he care. Yet we live in a technological age. Eyes are everywhere. And detailed records are meticulously kept. Top people in Catholic hierarchies the world over were pressed into service looking for the exotic escapee. And if they were innocent concerning the escapee's true nature, they still cooperated. The noose was beginning to tighten. And American, Anti-Enchantment Agents, were starting to pick up on things as well....

NEW FRIENDS PART II

She ran her fingers all up and down her torso like it was a new toy. Then she started to toss her hair around and hiccup. The other sister got scared. She hugged Jonathon real hard. But she did that every chance she got, so this was nothing new. She second sister began to shiver. She got goose bumps all over her body. Then she jumped to her feet and started to do a dance. I think it was the hot-cha-cha, or something like that. Zebulon saw it once at an old burslesque show. Only this girl had no need for the strip part, since that objective was already accomplished. So she collapsed back down onto the packed dirt floor, hugged her knees and started to rock back and forth. Her sister got a little worried. She said - What did you do!? What did you do!? ....Jonathon said - I did not do anything. I told her. I told her. It's the other crap in that can. It messed things up. We can't just mix our blood with anything else. It doesn't work that way..... Then it happened. First on her left side, but after a few heartbeats the other side caught up. She relaxed and smiled. I think there were a few soft, parting toots as well. But she had them. She had them, a brand new set of fancy chestesses. And she capered about like a crazy baboon. The first mole maid sister got up and started running around yelling - Come see! Come see! You gotta see this!.....But Jonathon just exhaled. He knew this was going to lead to trouble.