ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK

The noxious vampire beasts made short work of the torn and battered humans, draining every remaining drop of blood from their ruined bodies. Death came as a balm to the pathetic victims. Their flesh ignited, consumed by the familiar, cool, blue flames, as their souls moved toward The World To Come. Kadeema, the brutal woman, did a clumsy dance. Her male companion hugged his knees and rocked from side to side in laughter. They enjoyed the fire and capered around  like trolls in hell. When the grisly fuel was spend and the ghostly flames were gone, they sighed in disappointment and shuffled off.

Sarah spoke first. She whispered -  Those poor people. Why didn't we do anything? How could we just lie here?.......What could we have done? - said Jonathon. They were beyond hope when we got here.......But they must have sensed us. The vampires, I mean. They had to know we were here - she asked........Who knows? Maybe they didn't care - said Jonathon. But he went over to the small, twin piles of greasy ashes, reverently scooped some up and quietly chanted the prayer for the dead. Sarah just cried.

Yet another voice joined in with the prayer, intoning the ancient Hebrew verses right along with him. Should that have scared them? Well, it did not. For they felt the worth of the singer and knew him to be no threat.  Jonathon turned to face the man and saw a middleaged inndividual with a thin, fine face, dressed in the homespun robe of a monk. The noble vampire said - How is it you were able to approach us? I never felt a thing.....The man in the cassock responded - I am no threat. You felt that in your soul and you knew. The woman can come out, for I am certainly no threat to her as well........Sarah got up and went to Jonathon. She took his hand....Who are you? - he asked.......I am Brother Elias. There's a hermitage, not far from here. Come. The dawn breaks early this time of year. I will give you shelter and protection from the daylight. .......You know what we are? - whispered Jonathon...........The monk nodded and embraced them both in turn. Then they followed him down a narrow, barely visible footpath and disappeared into the pitch black shadows 'neath the trees.

You could cross these woods for a lifetime and not find the place. There were two snug stone shelters. We might call them cabins if made from logs. Each had two small, high glassless windows. The doors were thick and stout. One served as chapel and study, a 'day room,' if you will. A tiny fireplace did duty as the kitchen.  A thin cot pushed up against the bare, stone wall was the bedroom. The other structure held carefully preserved foodstuffs, neatly arranged on rough, simple shelves. A heavy trapdoor lead down to the root cellar. Brother Elias opened it and said - You can sleep here, in the dark. He gave them a short, thick candle, mouthed a prayer and sent them down. Jonathon said - Thank you..... The holy man nodded and shut the door..

The room was clean and dry. Bundles of sweet and pungent herbs hung from the rafters. Our two life-eaters snuggled together in a corner, their bodies pressed against the smooth, raw, swept, earth floor.. Sarah smelled cat, not the urine of a litter box, but the warm, sleek smell of a huntress. This realm was well patrolled. No vermin scurried here. So they comforted each other and they slept. Sarah dreamt of cruel, tormenting demons, armed with hot, sharp, flesh-piercing sticks. Jonathon dreamt of other things.............

RINGSIDE SEATS

The 'noxious' breed tends to be territorial. More so than the 'nobles.' They very rarely develope any support system. No willing 'familiars' for them. No warm, snug beddy-bye spots. They haunt the dark. They sleep in caves and holes. They wear a bunch a crap, when they wear anything at all. Some say the Biblical Lilith was one. But as I ain't never knowed her face to face, there is no way for me to comment on that.

These wild, children of the night usually travel in pairs. Gennder don't make no difference. You are liable to encounter some big, threehundred pound vaguely woman looking thing  hooked up with a little, pencil-necked vampire geek. You know what I mean? So Lorenzo and Kadeema are close to normal looking, if y'all happen to be a little bit hopped up or totin' a heavy load a wine in your belly. They keep to theyself. Most a their kind do. but a certain amount a 'driftin'' does take place, 'cause they don't sleep in the same dirty nest every night. So battles occasionally do occur. Wild stuff. Blood flyin'. Assorted, mismatched limbs twirlin' through the air. Old lady witnesses drivin' by in old lady cars goin' berserk and crashin' into trees and all. Cops blowin' whistles and runnin' the other way. Yeah it happens in America! They say it don't. but we all know what big liars 'they' are.

Now here's what's goin' down right now. Kadeema havin' fum with some tourist  couple. I don't know where they ftom. Poland or Germany or Hungary or someplace like that. I been a dead spirit hangin' 'round the I-95 (major east coast, north-south super highway) corridor in America so long, I don't know why they got me channeling this. Guess they get crossed signals in the Dead Zone too or something. Don't ask me where the hell that Johannan bitch is. By rights, he should be the one doin'' all the talkin.' Wait I see him. I am gonna pinch him real hard.  And I got these long strong finger nails too. Like the shells from Brazil nuts they are. Hey, we might be disembodied spirits (most a the time) but certain habits die hard, like a good  diggin' and scratchin'finger nail fight. And I sure as hell know you understand what I mean.

So Kadeema got the woman cornered up against this big rock. That's what she gets  for bein' so cheap. Coulda peeled off a few a them whacked new Euros and been wigglin' her tushie into a mostly bedbug free mattress in one a the official camp sites. Her husband shoulda smack her. Yeah, I know that is no longer politically smiled upon. But I don't mean 'smack her' smack her. I mean just raise his hand like he gonna do it. You know, scare her a little. Sure woulda saved a lot a trouble, 'cause she is certainly shittin' herself right now.

That noxious bitch just bit off the sick, little end a one a her taa-taas. Ooooh, she screamin'! The husband got his eyes rollin' up into the top a that bald, greasy head .. (that's cause Lorennzo is chokin' him real good) I do not think the male noxious intends to kill him. Not that way. He just wanna shut him up a little. Now the tourist woman sittin' on her squishy bootie  cryin' and cryin.' The man tourist just got part a his neck bit open. Look at Lorenzo chewin' on that gummy gristle. I never realized it was so white. Don't worry. The vampires ain't swallowin' none a those bit-off, or chewed-up parts . They just do it to be mean and because it's so damn much fun. Soon as it stops bein' fun, them humans gonna go 'gook' (means breathe they last...rhymes with cook) in the usual vampire inspired manner. Lucky the woods is thick 'round here, real Hansel and Gretel like. Only I ain't seen no house made outta stale, sickening tasting European cookies yet. Not even in the little gift kiosk they got squattin' over in the middle of the tourist section. . But just lemme wait till all this photogenic killin' gets done. Then I'll have me some time to look around.

And even though our gruesome twosome ain't gotta deal with no human eyes watchin' all this, that don't mean nobody else ain't takin' it all in. There go a pretty hazel pair right over there. See? Just behind that bush. Ain't she a sweet little life-eater thing? Look just like that sorta red haired one from Thelma and Louise, only a few years younger. And  that Spanish-lookin' vamparino with her does tend to favor a juvenile Antonio what's-his-name if you ask me. Bet we'll be seein' some more a them real soon.

Oh, you wanna know why I talk like all this? Well, my daddy was the voice for Foghorn Leghorn, ya know. And let's just say the role came natural to him. It a family thing. So shet up...I  got me some violence to watch here....

SARAH FILLS US IN ON THINGS

Right off, I want you to know this is me talking. It's Sarah. They tell me I have a role to play in all this, but everyone else pushes in front of me. You should see Jonathon. He's going more 'meditterano' by the minute, mixing the Italian with the Provencal with the Catalan. But that's how they do it. That's 'Vahmpeerigo,' la lungua de los Vampiros, the tongue of the vampires. Oh, he strikes poses and waxes poetic. You know how some Europeans get. He's not 'Jonathon' anymore....Now he's Jonathon-Tomas, his Spanish name. And he says it this way. He says 'Yo-na-tahn--Toe-mas, real fast. You know Mandy Patinkin, in The Princess Bride? Well then you know what I'm dealing with. Next it'll be flamenco. Watch, you'll see. He liked that 'cull' the other night. He liked how he handled that ratty, little gangster guy. Not one false move. New-Age vampire central casting all the way. And the alpine breezes blow his hair just so. Mine to actually. It's hard to be plain in an environment like this. We went into a nice, cozy, Euro-contemporaty rest stop along one of the main roads (still narrow) in Il Parco Nazionale del Gran Paradiso (Romantic scenery to die for). Sure, we didn't want the coffee. You know that. We just wanted to look at the humans and smell the sumptuous Piedmontese aromas.  But the humans also apparently wanted to examine us. One woman told me I was 'motto bella,' I think she said. The husband compared me to a  young Susan Sarandon. He was making eyes at me the whole time. Said he thought Jonathon, no, Yo-na-tahn--Toe-mas, was my younger brother. Whew! You know he didn't like that. But always the courtly Spaniard, he just flashed him his best Andalucian sonrisa (smile) and gave him a curt, little nod.

I could exist here for ever. We carry very little with us, maybe a backpack. Sometimes we lose that. It's easy to sublimate through the wall of some cute, tiny souvenir kiosk and make off with a new ensemble, if you like tee-shirts, hoodies and sandals. Jonathon leaves some of the cash he takes from his 'culls.' We're vampires, but we're not thieves. It's important to me that you know that, OK?

The air here is incredible. The moonlight, like magic. I was two feet from a family of chamois yesterday. You know, those white, long-haired mountain goats with the short, black horns? Beautiful. The mother led her two kids right into our cave. Oh, she stopped short when she sensed us. I know she couldn't see us that far back, not with all the twists and turns. But I could see her. I guess it's those cat's eyes we've got. And the little ones were just adorable. One came up and sniffed my hand. Oh, I almost cried. How can humans possibly eat lamb chops? You tell me that. You'd have to be a real animal.

I slip into nearby towns every now and then, to visit the hopelessly ill. I can smell them. It's a talent of mine. I'll sublimate into some isolated niche in a hospital, or a modest, little sick-room in a house and quietly perform a minor miracle or two. This is my routine. This is how I do it. If they wake up, I say - Fear not. I am come to heal your pain......Remember this is a Catholic area, at least culturally. They're used to such things. According to the local newspaper, saints swing through here all the time. Must be on the annual tour or something? So then, when I have their attention, I bite into my lip, just enough to draw a drop or two, go over to the bedside, kneel down and administer 'the kiss of life.' Next morning, when I'm long gone, Nonna's asking for her biscotti and latte and cursing the grandkids for losing her false teeth again. I don't know. It just makes me feel good. Sure, Jonathon does it too. He taught me how to give that 'Fear not...' speech in the local dialect. But with me, it's different. In my case, I think it's why I was MADE a vampire.

Only thing wrong with all this is the smell. It's real weak. Just a slight, little whiff. I pick it up sometimes late at night, right before the dawn. It's a vampire smell. I'm almost sure of it. Yet it's a bit different. Jonathon smells it too. I can read his mind a little better than he realizes. This is 'noxious' territory. There's no way to avoid it. We have to go through it. Who knows? Maybe it's part of our pilgrimage? Maybe it's like a test? And maybe...we're both starting to get a little scared. Well, at least the world didn't end a few hours ago...Right? Thank God for that.........

PAPA'S DINNER DATE

Papa caught his reflection in the eightteenth century gilt mirror. Thick steel colored waves, soulfully handsome face, he still had it. But he's a vampire. He's had it for thousands of years. If you think he's gonna lose it, you're nuts. Still, that don't mean our Richard Gere look-alike never worries. Emotions play a part too. Mood can enter into it. And life with the uber-vampire-bitch, Luna, plus their (what would you call her?) 'problem child' affectionately known as Little Bastard Annie does take a certain toll. Still, things had been quiet lately. Nosey Evelyn, from across the lawn responded wonderfully  to her under-the-table, vampire blood droplet regimine. Her face looked a little less monkey-fied, less upper lip hair, smoother skin, didn't fart so much. Sure, it made her love Papa even more. Now she was completely devoted to him. And that butt-insky didn't even know the reason why. God bless that pizza kid. No, really. God BLESS the pizza kid. No more shitty pizza for that house. Whiney  big mouth kids spread stories fast. So she got shamed into it. Now Friday nights are a lot happier at her place. That slob kid a hers puts away more than half a pie. But (and here's the important part) the kid won't eat no anchovies. Evelyn loves anchovies. She smells like one too. But that might just be early menopause. So, Dougie, I think his name is, comes  'round the back of our place first, sneaks into the kitchen and opens the boxes. Papa comes in, bites into his finger and dribbles a little bit of red 'Papa juice' onto the fishy part. The salty anchovies  hide it real good. You'd never know it was there. But it does it's job. Evelyn is a bit more copasetic. And the cops ain't called as often. OK, so she makes these nauseating cow eyes at Papa now whenever she sees him. But she been doing that all alonng anyway. Edith, our Piney 'seer' woman, says we oughta feed vampire juice (just from the good ones) to all them hard to handle political leaders they got dancin' around  in them 'goofy countries over there.'  Might make 'em more friendly-like. Papa laughs. He says that would only work if the president was a vampire, or maybe the secretary of state. And, according to him, they tried it centuries ago back in Italy. What do you think Lucretia Borgia had in that ring a hers? She didn't go around killing everybody. Some of 'em just got 'juiced up' a little. We asked Papa if he knew the vampire responsible for those dosages, but he just smiled and looked away.

Oh, yeah, what was I talking about? Wait, I know. That gilt mirror. Papa lookin' in that old French object d'art. You see, he was havin' 'dinner' with Doctor Franklin in the former patriot's palatial quarters over at the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. The threehundred year old plus, jowly human tucked into them premium, all-lump-broiled-crabmeat cakes with extreme relish. A little sickening, if you ask me. Papa tried to ignore the greasy spittle runnin' down the stringy haired bastid's chin. Thank God he had a nice green apple aroma candle (his favorite) in front a him. They was talkin' bout Jonathon's progress over in the Old World. Papa could pick up such things. The old man wanted to know his views on their Pilgrimage and the spiritual efficatiousness of it all. But our twentyeight thousand year old patriarch (in a thirty two or three year old body) said he did not know. Franklin just chuckled. He didn't believe him. But he WAS SURE the world wouldn't end at six pee-em tomorrow, because the old almanac writer had his friends UP ABOVE too. And they ain't never told  him  no such thing.................

THIS IS HOW WE DO IT

Sarah and Jonathon toyed with the idea of goinng into Torino. He wanted to visit the museums. She wanted to look in at the silk vendors. But they decided not to. The museums there are not the same as those in Rome or Florence, or even Milan. And this was Italy, after all. She could see fine fabrics anywhere. So they stuck  to the cozy, alpine valleys, sleeping in deep, narrow caves, or deserted, crumbling ruins. It was all very relaxing.  Once, during his  time of the month, he culled some heartless bastard in a stolen Ferarri. Grabbed the guy when he stepped out to take a piss in the mouldering courtyard of Il Palazzo Riggatore. A would-be mafioso was all he was. And here in a part of Italy that really didn't have much of that. Boy, was he pathetic. Still, the ratty, little , fuck-face had a reputaion as an acid-splasher. And three people suffered from his disfiguring souvenirs.

So Jonathon came up behind him as he was enjoying the urination break. Man, the sticky weasel had a bladder like a beachball, though minus all the bright, colored longitudinal sections, I would guess.But...you never know. The guy's standing there, waiting for that thin stream of 'after piss' to come dribble out and serve as an epilogue to all this, when he hears a whisper.......'God knows your sins.'......That did it. Show's over. Piss stops. Beachball bladder is closed for the night. He zips up and spins around. But nobody's there. Silvery moonbeams drip into the shadows, rinsing the well-worn pavinng with a ghostly luster. Some of the remaining statues appeared almost alive. Still, the stolen Ferarri was close. The rusting, old gate was only ten meters away.  Night can play tricks. And the Italian starlight has magic to spare.The would-be mafioso began a tense turket trot back to his purloined chariot. After two tight, little steps he saw a flicker in the darkness. And he heard the voice again......OK, Punchinello, time to leave the stage........Who's there!? - said the main course..........I am - answered our Spanish vampirino, as he stepped out from behind some not-quite-national gallery-worthy Neptune or another.  The sneak thief smiled. Sure the adversary, whoever he was, looked trim and fit. But Mister Stolen Ferarri had a pistola in his pocket. And he chuckled, as he slowly went for it. Jonathon indulged him, maybe a bit too much. For the bush league Sonny Corleone (no, not Sonny. definitely not Sonny...more like Frodo...Frodo Corleone) leveled the gun at his chest and squeezed off a shot.....The small calibre projectile pierced right through Jonathon's aristocratic, Andalician sternum, coming to rest in the left ventricle of his still beating heart.. Did it hurt? Nooo, cheese cake for brains, it tickled. Sure it hurt. But pain is only pain and a minor distraction to a noble vampire. The man looked on in amazement. Jonathon held his ground. He calmly unbuttoned the shirt. Blood pulsed from the neat wound. He dipped his index finger into the unnatural opening, pulled it out and licked off the red-black, viscous coating. The pistol clattered down onto the fourhundred year old  granite as the skinny bastard collapsed onto his knees. Jonathon smiled. The moonlight knew the script. It knew just what to do, highlighting each sharp, canine with  a vivid dot of cruel, white brilliance. And the man began to cry. Jonathon got  down next to him. He cradled him. He comforted him.....Then he bit into the clammy skin and drank the life away........Oh, he is moral. Yes, he is quite moral...But not altogether helpless...even when confronted by a 'noxious' sort of beast.......He scootched over a bit, as the empty corpse ignited and disappeared, burnt up by the cold, blue flames.....Sarah stepped out from the shadows. And they both watched, as a Mediterranean breeze picked up the glowing embers and carried them, dancing up into the sky.........Lorenzo and that she-bitch will have their hands full.............................................

FOOTSTEPS IN THE DARK

Kadeema and Lorenzo lived like animals, nocturnal beasts preying on victims and shattering lives. Did she call him by name? No, he was simply her mate. Verbal communication was not necessary. Vampires, even the least talented, have enough telepathic ability to cover the simple stuff.  Hunger? Lust? Fatigue? Danger? Shelter? Warmth? No need to verbalize that. Do wolves? Well, all right. You have me there. Wolves do howl and whimper and growl, yet so do 'noxious' vampires.. You know what they're really like? They're like werewolves, just minus that thick, glossy coat and dog show good looks. And they hunt like werewolves too.Sometimes just for fun. Not every unfortunate human gets drained dry. Occasionally they just play, flaying skin and flesh from off  the rib cage,  sucking out particularly enticing eyeballs, commiting sundry and varied sexual violations, or maybe just lighting fires. In some parts of the Old World, they ARE vampires, since rarified NOBLE types usually affect a discreet lifestyle and eschew such declasse theatrics.

Now, if we consider our own position in the space-time continuim, that means Lorenzo has been a feral being for about one hundred annd thirty years. Pretty good run for a 'noxious.' They're the ones townspeople usually come after with  pitchforks and torches. True, they are strong and difficult to eradicate.. Still, gobble up a few too many Red Riding Hoods in the woods and people start avoiding those woods. If the pickin's get too thin, the uncouth bastards move on. I don't know too much about Kadeema. She's old, real old. I know that. But she throws up a good veil and it's mighty hard to penetrate. Some say she was brought back to Genoa by a fourteenth century sea captain, a 'wild woman' curiosity locked in an iron cage. Don't know how or what they fed her though. I heard she was from Cyprus, or some such place as that. One truth is as good as the next.

Edith, the New Jersey, Piney Woman 'seer,' lodgin' with the state-side vampires picks up stuff. She worries about Jonathon and Sarah. She wants them to succeed. So she sends 'em stuff. Stuff from her head, from her brain, from her mind. Somethin's out there. She knows it. But can she focus? Can she see them? Lorenzo and Kadeema, I mean?  Who the hell knows? I am just another disembodied spirits they got floatin' 'round this joint.

But our two noble travellers are beginning to notice a certain 'thin'n' out' of the wild life. Empty caves are gettin' easier to find. Golden eyes stare back less frequently in the dark. And even the spiders have gone away. There be monsters here. I know it...........

So wrap that cloak tight around your shoulders. Say your prayers (yes, the nobles pray...boy, DO they). And step carefully through the world. But most of all, listen...listen...listen.........Nighty-nite.....

KADEEMA SETS HER VAMPIRINO FREE

The noxious vampire woman known as Kadeema continued to dig. The light from a yellow moon lighting the way. Her grunts heard only by the moths and night birds. Few humans from the village vemtured out this way. They heard the stories. They knew the history. Strange cargo rests in that ground, bodies unshriven by the church. Souls in thrall to unnamed powers. Children of the dead. And so she toiled unmolested, a night-fiend at her work. Lorennzo heard her voice. He felt her call. It calmed him,  for salvation (of a sort) was at hand. So he fought to compose his mind and lie still. Now a human carbinerro (the local dialect for 'miner.') would have taken three or four days to uncover the crypt. But this somewhat more than human made it in six hours. Cuts and scraps spangled her body. She ignored them. The red hot pain would soon subside. A vampirina heals in heartbeats.

 And as  to Lorenzo? He felt the soft thud of her strong, peasant feet upon the lid. She knelt down. She spoke to him, cooing softly. But each valley has its own tongue, so her words were lost, yet the music of her voice told it all. She found him. She rescued him. And a lonely vampirina had her vampirino now. Oh, but would he stay with her? How could he do otherwise? She could not even imagine it. There are secrets. There is knowledge. He would need her. She could help him. Such is natural. For in the wild world creatures often band together. Look to the wolves. Observe the sharp-beaked crow hordes, as they tear across the sky.

First she clasped her hands before her, as humans do in prayer. Then rearing up on her knees, she steeled herself  and brought them crashing down against the fire-hardened wood with a force and a passion known only to her kind. Ten times. Twenty times. Brittle cracks appeared. Shards of wood flew all about, as the screams from he still trapped below rose up to join her own. Then she found a stone, a hand axe lost when ice lay all about. She hefted it and used it like a true Cro-Magnon woman, making quick work of the almost shattered lid.

Lorenzo gasped, sucking the crisp night air down into the very core of his body. Did he still need it? No. But human comforts die hard. Some vampires never let them go. With a mighty heave she grabbed his arms  and pulled him to his feet. But where were the chains? How had he slipped them?  What magic made it so? Later, he'd  come to understand the talents vampires possess and would become quick and adept at using them. But in these first hours sublimation was a mystery. His body did so reflexively, passing through the chains in a mad, panicked rush. There! See? Look into the crypt. The thousand links still lie there, tangled like a nest. And he kicked free of them, along with the gory, slippery tissue that was once his human skin.

They clambered up to the surface, two feral, naked creatures , running wild through the night. And a new terror was set loose upon the land, a terror our more domesticated twosome would one day soon encounter.