MEMORIAL DAY ~~~~~ the vampires remember

They met in Philadelphia. Tomas was back from his 'Cavalcade of Souls.' I dislike that 'parade' designation. One expects bass drums,  brass bands and glockenspiels. ..... Baylah hadn't gone to the seashore yet. Papa, always observing from a distance, turned up too. I don't know about the 'lesser vampires,' such as Blackie and Minnie. And I call them 'lesser,' only because they frequent other haunts. Though I'm sure their trials and tribulations are just as compelling.


Baylah poured drinks 'round the little dining room table. What a cozy nest she has. I believe one of her familiars is a decorator and the place is done up like a dog's dinner, but a pedigreed dog, to be sure. By now you know most of them can tolerate alcohol. That could be because it really isn't a 'food.' .....'And the fluid that quickens all life shall be to you as sustenance'..... that's what it says in LA CIENCIA VAMPIRISMO...... 'While all other forms of mortal fare shall be unto you as filth and caustic poison.'....... it says that too.


Baylah says it also talks about 'the preservation of the vampirina breast,' and that's why vampire women don't need no God damn brassieres. But Tomas says it means something else. Sarah buys herself nice bras, even though she don't need a wear them. She buys fancy silver wear too. What do you expect? She was raised by school teachers. Rules are rules and respectable middle class people are expected to do certain things. You should see how she tidies up her sleeping cabinet every sundown. Tomas tells her these things shall pass. But she don't believe it. And who is he to talk? He still says prayers for his dead parents. According to The Canon, surviving children are called to do that. Guess they never expected no kids to live so long..... Maybe they did? Who knows?


This night the tiny glasses held wee drams a good, Scots whiskey. Baylah brought it up from the piano bar downstairs. They savored the sweet, woody undertone and the rich, nut-like flavor. Such welcome sensations brought back memories of lost humanity. Though among 'noble vampires'  true 'humanity' is never really lost.


Tomas recalled the thick, creamy porridge served on cool winter mornings. It was never truly cold in his Andalucian homeland, but such things are relative. 


Sarah pictured Christmas Dinner...the savory turkey.....the spicy, pumpkin pie. Baylah recounted the coarse, grainy flat breads of Old Timbuctu, dipped in luscious pots of chick pea paste, flavored with peppercorns and honey.


Papa told of huge, carved, wooden bowls of mead and bemoaned the lack of good product available through the Pennsylvania State Liquor Store System. But Edith, the human witchy-woman watching from the corner, said state stores weren't the problem. Because even in her home state of New Jersey (just across the river), mead was still hard to come by. A few of the Red Paint types still brewed some, but even they were switching to hot Dr. Pepper, Sue-Bee-honey and beer. .....Eh, modern life.....What are you gonna do?


So they huddled 'round the table. They drank their little toasts. The Advent of Summer has always been a momentous occasion among enchanted folk.... a sensual time of warm, sultry skin and hot, salty blood.


In fact the 'elves' were out enjoying some, as they spoke.


Trouble is..... so was the 'enemy.' ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: Here's a peek at the beginning ------ My, how Tomas/Jonathon has grown!------First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. Y...

Noche de los Muertes..... Death isn't Easy

And then they came, fast and furious. A torrent of babbling, incoherent souls. But he could understand them. Tomas could feel them all. Most vociferous were the damned, deliriously cursing from the fetid, sulfurous pits of Gehenna. They screamed and raked the flesh from off their cheeks. They poked at neighbors and gouged out eyes, shoving fistfuls of oozing, steaming shit down the pie-holes of manically cackling, carbuncle ridden moral savages.


These were the souls deserved of death. And Tomas felt his purpose. But occasionally one of the others came through. For he  did sometimes ravish the innocent. A quiet entity, cool and serene, safe in the company of the blessed, passed close to his heart and forgave him. And then it was his turn to moan and scream like the souls in perdition. 


Sarah hugged him. She rocked him and whispered in his ear ---Shhh, shhhh, I am here. I am here. This will pass. This will end. I love you. I love you....... He trembled. And I suppose vampires do have some sort of physical metabolism, for he was sweat-soaked and shivering. And so the night passed until it was done. The last to depart merely kissed him. 


They could hear birds practicing arias in the cool, dawn sky, but the root cellar remained dark and safe. Sarah took off his clothes and dried him with a soft, worn, woolen  blanket. Then he snuggled close to her and they slept, just like the rabbits in the ruined great-room, up above.


You see, my best beloveds..... death is not easy.......And the 'death that is not death' is the hardest one of all....


Zebulon must leave you now. Life is so, so short..... Be good to each other.... Somebody's keeping records....


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O. G. Tomes: HERE! HERE!

O. G. Tomes: HERE! HERE!: Cheers!    ..........to the characters who live in the worlds of our imaginations!     I had never considered their life after I move on ...

AN ETERNAL SOLITARY CONFINEMENT

Tomas just sits there, staring off into ....nothing. He trembles. Sometimes he mumbles. I can't make out the words. But if I let myself, I can see what he sees. And although I cannot feel what he feels, I can still comprehend it. 


This is Sarah talking to you now. I believe wilkravitz inscribes it. Maybe it's Edith. I don't know. But I'm pretty sure it's the other one.... the one we buy shoes for.


Now how can I convey this to you? How can I represent the totality of it all? Let me do it this way.......


They say the universe is finite. It will not live forever. The stars are not eternal. A time far, far beyond reasoning will come. And it will be a time of darkness. The last pin points of light issuing forth from the few, remaining, feeble stars will disappear. Perhaps the cultures existing at that time will devise toy stars, artificial stars? Yet even they need fuel. So even they will die. 


Life will end. Consciousness will wither and ultimately the last sentient soul will die. Atoms will decompose. Protons will crumble. Nothing detectable will remain. 


The void will be all. 


Tomas floats in such a place. He travels in the mind of Lucretia, his first innocent human victim, taken all those centuries ago. 


She was the girl in the pit. She was his first 'meal.' And although he had no choice, her death still haunts him. True, she is not part of this SOUL PARADE. She's lived among the dead far too long for that. But she leads them, just the same, like a macabre baton twirling majorette. However, she has no baton. She has nothing. That one drifts through a wakeful demise, though even the sense of movement eludes her, since there's nothing left to move. Lucretia 'is,' and she thinks. 


Her mind remembers songs, simple songs, children's songs. She 'sings' them to herself, alone in an empty universe. No 'up.' No 'down.'  Does she warrant such punishment? I don't know. I am just Sarah. I am still so new.


This song, the one she sings now, has been going on for what we would call three hundred years. The darkness never changes (for there are varieties of darkness) and temperature does not exist. 


She conjures images. Flickering snipets of her truncated life burn brightly for an instant, then disappear like flash paper. 


And Tomas sees it all. I hug him, but he doesn't know. 


And she is only the first....


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TOMAS SETTLES IN TO FACE HIS DEMONS...the vampire's nightmare begins...

We sat on the cold, flagstone floor of the ruined domicile. At one time, it must have been an isolated farmstead, or possibly the hunting lodge of some Philadelphia gentleman. Almost a manor house in it's own right, though now just a shelter for wildlife.... If they only knew how wild. 


Sarah huddled against me. Sublimating isn't always easy. It can be painful and draining, especially to someone 'new' like her. And the damp, spring rain only made things worse. Coppery stains played out across what remained of the plaster ceiling. Fat drops jumped down to die upon the floor.


We retreated to an inglenook. It was drier there. And the snug, little, hearth-side corner gave us a bit of security against any lurking foe. I waited for the SOUL PARADE to begin. But such things follow quite independent schedules and rarely appear on cue.


A fire would have been nice, but we had no stores and the bracken and twigs upon the forest floor were soaked through. There was a cedar chest in a storage room off the kitchen. It held a fine collection of thick, warm blankets, Bay Company trade goods from the look of them. Probably found their way down here via the Great Lakes. I'd discovered them long ago and now they gave us comfort. A plump, little rabbit silently hopped in from the wet.  At first she didn't notice us, but then Sarah sighed and the sweet, warm receptacle of life froze, stiff as death, afraid to even breathe. I sent her a message. Not words, just emotion. Then I got up and 'nested' a particularly worn and soft blanket in a cozy, little spot under the stairs. After a few encouraging clucks, she understood and hopped in to rest. A few dozen heartbeats later, a friend came to join her. Could be she also had talents like mine?


I went back to Sarah and kissed her. She said - Is it starting? Are they coming? Can you feel them?......... No - I said. Soon, but not now....... So we gathered up the blankets and crawled down into the root cellar. It was safer there. Daylight would not find us. And except for the moldering bones of that long forgotten murder victim sleeping in the corner, we were quite alone. Even the spiders had left. Perhaps in anticipation of  tortures yet to come?


And then I heard the sing-song voice of a child.......


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VAMPIRES DON'T FEAR MUCH, BUT THEY DO FEAR CERTAIN THINGS

Zebulon flits through the old, stiff, vellum pages of Tomas' copy of LA CIENCIA VAMPIRISMO and since the book's possessor prepares for a SOUL PARADE, I will share some things. Creatures of the night have few worthy enemies. True, they cannot sublimate through lead. Those of you familiar with Marianne's transformation know that. But they can sublimate through just about anything else, rendering said substance into a shredded, pulpy mass. Human adversaries quickly resemble bloody, lumpy, viscous, steaming puddles. Sometimes an eyeball remains intact. Occasionally a tooth floats around in the mess. Feral cats seem to like it. Rats and pigeons too, so I'm told.


Some fall prey to beheadings. Yet should the vampire have but a moment to compose herself, she can easily sublimate through the blade and survive unscathed...provided the neck-slicer isn't made with lead. Certain headsmen in polities rife with life-eaters, commission blades made from a lead containing alloy, called demonbane. It is brittle, but reliable in such instances.


Dogs and by extension wolves play a role in their eradication as well. Attack by a feral pack sends the vampiric victim into a petit mal type trance. They fall to the ground trembling, while the sharp, gnashing teeth tear them to bits. Wise men versed in such things claim it's naught but an exaggerated superstition. A belief prevalent in the nighttime world, however based on no actual fact. Others say such animal attacks are God's way to call the offending creature 'home.'


I had planned on sharing more, but a few spirits close to me are fond of the life-eaters and loathe to share their secrets. Please note that I  have vampire friends, yet that doesn't make me a fool. I've seen incorporal beings, such as myself, transported to the surface of the sun....and they're never the same after that...


Imagine the hellish monstrosities writhing across  that monstrous orb. It's as if Dante's Inferno grows the crops.


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