A TWENTY EIGHT THOUSAND YEAR OLD VAMPIRE REMEMBERS SOME STUFF,

Sarah and Edith got him into his cubicle. Looked like a plush, little walk in closet. You know, with those dark wood polished built-ins? They got 'em on HGTV and Million Dollar Listing, L.A. all the time. His has a lounge, or a couch, but it's really like a bed. Got fitted sheets and everything. Some guy they're friends with, a 'familiar' I guess, gave 'em all these real special buckwheat pillows. Annie says they smell like horse feed. But I notice she still snores real good every day.

Papa likes to sleep the way he did back in them neolithic times, which is to say sans loin cloth. Edith don't care. Think she used  to be a professional diaper lady at an old folks' jail. That's what she calls it. Makes jokes about it. But it was just a regular, pissed-up, nursing home. 'Cept they gave 'em meatball sandwiches and extra clean diapers on Saturday afternoon. That's when the company came.

Only thing is, Sarah seed all this fancy, Chinese, calligraphy writing scratched into the skin he got south a his belly button and north a the briar patch. Edith say it means something. She got out a menu-flier from some Chinese restaurant to see if any a the writin' matched. But whoever scratched him up wasn't talkin' 'bout no moo-goo-gai-pan, or General Sau's Chicken. And if he the general, why he not eatin' beef?

They 'bout to walk out and lock the door. It a real special lock. You would never even see it. But he start mumblin'. Sarah don't know what he say. She can read his mind a little bit, but mostly (at this stage) like if they playin' cards and she wanna know if he got Gin and all. Edith can do better than that 'cause she a witch. So she go back in and put her hand down on his belly. 'cause that where she feel it from. Then she start talkin' like Froggy from The Our Gang comedies. Eyes roll back. Whites flip up. Starts sweatin' under her titties and everything. Soaks right through her apricot lady-tee-shirt.

She say - Love me up good, you troglodite bitches. And gimme that pot a bear grease....... But apparently, they don't wanna give him no pot, 'cause like bear grease must a been la-dee-dah carriage trade stuff back then. So he jus' grab the pot and smear it 'round where it do the most good. Then he (Edith?) say something else. But it don't come out in English no more. And Edith startin' to get embarrassed. So they fasten the door and walk out. 

Sarah say - Why it smell like rosewood and ambergris in here?..... She been wit' the whales, so she knows.

Edith ain't got no idea. She just sit down at the little desk they got in the kitchen and start snoopin' through wilkravitz' Twitter stuff. You can never trust an ole, Piney, witchy-woman, you know. 

Starts readin' 'bout some .@LillithKain who live in Las Vegas and helps save animals, like baby seals and polar bears and all.... a real dedicated person, with a real good site. but that ain't what she want. She wanna find the nasty stuff, 'cause Papa got her all juiced up. But he don't got too much a that. So she say - Son of a bitch!... and slam it shut. Then she open the refrigerator and get herself a nice, big ice cream sandwich. Sarah in wit' Tomas by then, learnin' him to forget all about them mole-girls.

But it do smell all rosewood and musky in there. And if you listen real quiet, sound like a Chinese lady tellin' jokes and laughin'...

I Mister Never you Mind and I met a whole lot a Chinese ladies in my time...but never one like this...

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MADAM SHANG IS GREATLY ENAMORED WITH THE POWERFUL VAMPIRINO KNOWN AS 'PAPA'

The other vampires went out for air. Johnny Jump Up had that effect. They had to get clean. Tomas almost picked up the scent. There was a distinctive smell. The ghoul had it. Like rancid bacon and pissed up sheets. But it was only a homeless guy passed out in a bus shelter. Sarah took off her ring and slipped it on his pinkie. A flawless emerald.... Eight carats. If you know your way around gemstones, you know it costs more than diamonds. So now the guy was rich.

They went into a little jewel box of a place on Sansom Street. The Happy Rooster, I think it is. Bartender says they're getting ready to close. But he knows Tomas. He recognizes him, so he pours a round of vodka 'on the house.' And they sit there, gathered 'round the tiny bar, listening to Tony Bennett sing about 'The Good Times.' 

Nothing really happened in there. They just sat and decompressed. A foursome from one of the booths comes up to settle a check. Tomas says - Forget it. It's on me....... Guy don't want to let him. He don't like this. Starts making a big thing out of it. So Tomas just snaps his fingers (not that it's necessary, but it helps him focus). Four human heads instantly flop down to their chests, eyes closed and snoring. Then their well shod feet rise up four inches off the ground, as they silently file out the opened door and into a waiting taxi. Actually, they're just laying on top of each other in the back, but the driver don't care, 'cause he's sleeping too. Yet ten minutes later they all wake up and scramble out right outside some boutique hotel on Second Street. I guess that's where they were staying. I don't know. 

Sarah knows Tomas is thinking about his little mole-girl sweeties. He's thinking about Sylvia and Aura. These are the second two to use those names, but it's a tradition with him. Wander down to the subterranean tunnels. Find the wide-eyed, long haired beauties and spend the night (plus all of the following day) cosseted in the dark recesses of some never used, century old subway toilet giving each other long, soft, languid sponge baths. The mole people are so accommodating. Vampires bring them supplies in return for occasional sanctuary and other quite welcome favors.

But Sarah knows it's just because he's nervous. She knows it's really about the ghoul on the roof. So she takes his hand and leads him back to the townhouse. Conrad trots back like a puppy. He wants to duck into some bodega for a few scratch-offs. Mortal habits survive transformation, you know. But she won't let him. He pouts, til she promises to take him to gay-bingo some night.

They soundlessly move on, stopping only to look at their reflections in windows. Vampire vanity has no bounds. 

Then they climb the white, marble steps and disappear back into the townhouse. Edith is already sleeping. Annie is too. 

But Papa still sits there, bathed in silvery shadows, giggling into the dark. Invisible hands snake down his pants. Look, you can see the fabric move. And then he stops giggling. 

Madam Shang has found a new 'friend.'

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GHOSTS ARE NOTMONSTERS

When the last of her ashes rose up to the sky, the vampires came back inside. Sarah was quiet. She felt bad. Tomas repeated the prayer for the dead. Annie went back to coloring. Conrad had questions. He'd never seen the elusive ghoul known as Johnny Jump Up before. But none of the other night-folk wanted to talk. I really can't tell you where Mister Old Bones was. Neanderthals don't look that different. And Neanderthal vampires, apparently, are very self-reliant. He likes wandering around. Cities aren't his favorite, but he's still intrigued. Edith says he goes to the casino down by the river. I guess it's the lights and all the people. One night he won two hundred and sixty five bucks. Didn't know what to do when the machine spit out that voucher. He did bring it back though. They gave it to wilkravitz. And the next day he lost it. Not out on the street. In the casino, I mean.

He's typing this, but the words are mine. You know me. I'm the ghost from the cellar. And it's not that I go inside him, but I can work him like a puppet. You know, one of those marionettes.  The vampires are sleeping all snug in their beds. Boy, do they crank up the air conditioning. Edith don't mind, 'cause she's the hot flash queen of the Delaware Valley. And wilkravitz gives off more steam than a calliope. So he appreciates it too. Some ghosts gain strength from the cold. They're like electrical field ghosts. That's what I am. Winter time's my favorite. Hot, sluggish weather weakens me. Am I tied to this house? No. I can  go wherever I want. I ain't one a those crazy ghosts. Oh, yeah, right, I'm soon gonna moan. Still, they do know I'm here. Edith sees me. That little bastid, vampire girl does to. She hates when I touch her. Edith don't mind, though. Yesterday I made streaks in the flour. She was baking some kind a Piney crap... like flap-jacks, but different. The big, granite island in the kitchen was dusted with it. So when she looks up at the TV to see whether some goof from Michigan is gonna win the fifteen thousand dollars on that Meredith what's her name show, I write the answer on the counter. I write 'Mohenjo-Daro' (name of largest Harapan site in ancient India). Goof from Michigan said 'I don't know and I don't care.' Then she jumped up and clicked her heels, 'cause like she was 'walkin'.' That's what they do on that show. Lousy bitch. I would a won. Edith saw my answer and whispered - You got it...... I like Edith. She watches good shows. Some ghosts can change the stations. I can't. That's why I like her. It ain't the only reason, but it's one of 'em.

Papa's got a ghost too. But it don't come with the house. This one only sticks to him. Not that I know so much about it. I don't. I can't even see it. Think it talks Chinese. No, really. I ain't being funny. It really does sound like Chinese. I know from a short wave radio we had when I was a kid. I know what Armenian and Gaelic sound like too. They used to translate Burns & Allen (old radio show) into Armenian. But the guy who played Harry Von Zell sounded crazy. My dad said - Sounds like they're shovin' hot peppers up his ass...... My mother said - So, what do you know? Maybe it's a custom over there...... I miss them, but they ain't ghosts. So we don't run into each other that much. 

Look, I am not a monster. I am not a horrific 'shade.' I'm just some kid from the tenth grade, who died of polio. You might say I lost my body while I was still ,technically, alive. They put me in an 'iron lung.' It was horrible. Google it. You'll see. 

I'm gonna drift out to the backyard. It's real little. City houses don't have much. But we still got enough room for two or three chairs, some planters, an alcanthus tree, I think it is. You know, the ones they got growin' 'round train tracks. The birds, mostly pigeons, know who I am. I like to sit there and just look up at the sky. People don't think about ghosts being out in the daytime, but we are. 

I wish they had a dog in this house. Dog's like ghosts. There used to be a dog here, but they 'put him to sleep.' That means the doctor wanted too much money to keep him alive. So they shot him up with a whole lot a poison instead...... just like the Nazis.

It's been real nice talking to you. Oh, you wanna know what Annie's doing now? She's dreamin' she's killin' the kids on Glee. She dreams that all the time. She's nuts. 

But I'm not a monster. And I just wanted you to know.

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A GHOUL UP ON THE ROOF

Annie whispered that she wanted to go see. She wanted to sublimate her head up through the skylight and watch the gruesome feast. But Tomas wouldn't let her. So she sat on the edge of the large claw-foot tub muttering curses.

They could hear the ripping flesh. He smacked his lips (thin as they were). This night-ghoul had no manners. But he was smart. He knew the territory. Shadows bathed the black, pitch rooftops..... a small oasis of understated, Georgian splendor, set down amidst  the tiny mews  just to the east of Washington Square. 

Edith, who had crawled up  to be with them by this time, whispered - I can see him. I can see him in my mind.... a tight black suit..... a narrow jacket buttoned high, topped with old, yellowed linen. And ,oh, how thin he is.... like a scarecrow, or a marionette, or a skeleton bathed with skin...... Then she shuddered. His eyes were dark as coal. His nose like Michael Jackson's..... And no, I'm not trying to be funny. That's just the way it is. But the teeth were tiny, darkened points, like old ivory, or fossils from a long dead shark.

And the body just lay there. Edith could see the ribs gnawed clean and bright. The cheeks were gone, revealing a naked, pelvic girdle. She looked young, the arms so smooth and white. One wrist bore a bracelet.  Sarah cried for she could see it too. They all could to a point. 

Tomas began to quietly intone the Kaddish prayer for the dead. and even Annie grew still. Conrad mumbled - Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

Now I cannot tell for sure who did it. Magic is a funny thing. No soul truly controls it. They just tap in and say 'may I?' But someone called the birds. Sleek, black crows, more like ravens, actually. And they silently condensed out of the darkness, flapping down to dine upon the scraps. 

The ghoul made a rasping sound as he tried to bat them away, but they went for the eyes. They always do. And even animated corpses shun pain. So he mumbled dry, dead curses, as he scurried away to watch from a distance. Shhh, listen. I think he's crying. But a sharp, hard cut from the obsidian beak of the raven king made him stop. And he lifted a knobby hand, attempting to smooth the tattered, piece of greasy  scalp back in place. Then he soundlessly arced up toward the stars, coming down to rest by a large, stone planter near the corner. They don't call him Johnny Jump Up for nothing. 

Tomas immediately sublimated through the skylight, just in time to see the creature vault to the fourth floor balcony of a condominium fronting the square. Then he scrambled up to the penthouse and vanished. 

The others soon joined him, sprinkling the tragic victim with drops of their own blood, to bring on the cold, blue flame. It helped her disappear. 

And the ravens rose up with the ashes.

While down in the sitting room, just off the kitchen, Papa shared jokes with a ghost.

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A NIGHT BEST SPENT AT HOME... the vampires hear things

No one left the house. They gathered in the kitchen, filling the late nineteenth century, reproduction windsor chairs, which were genuine antiques in and of themselves. Edith lit a few more aroma candles. Light lemon ones, I think. Something was wrong with the air conditioning, so she figured the fresh scent would be better. 

They could still hear the howling. Conrad thought someone was guiding the dogs, just as he used to do. They looked to Papa, but he just sat there staring at the mysterious painting. I told  you...you wanna see it? Go to @Twit__Trending on TWITTER. It's her background. 

wilkravitz filled his regular place at the little desk. That's where the computer was. It's a laptop, but they keep it there. He was browsing through the incandescent sites. Discount trips to the Cayman Islands..... talking dogs (raspy whispers, actually) from Saskatchewan. Edith thumbed through the book...the one Tomas and Sarah found at the cafe. She said - See if he's on there......... Who? - said wil...... The guy who writes this, Andrew Harding his name is....... Why? - said wil........ 'Cause I like it. It's sexy....... Edith blushed a little bit, but nobody paid attention. Annie claimed she smelled Johnny Jump Up..... Papa looked up. Maybe he was going to say something, but he didn't. 

wilkravitz said - Here he is. @AndrewHarding4 at http://AHardingBooks.com...... Wow, he's got a whole lot of them. Books, I mean. What are you gonna do, order 'em?............ So what if I do!? - barked the Piney woman. I'm done with that Fifty Grey shit. This is better. They got cops and vampires. Well, like almost vampires....sexy vampires. I ain't never heared stuff like this before....... What? - said Annie..... But nobody answered her...... Sarah mouthed - Get them for her. So wilkravitz tapped a few keys and did. 

Tomas softly played his guitar, an old, Spanish, handmade heirloom from Granada. Sarah took out her crocheting. Conrad read his Bible. You know, most vampires remain steadfast in their beliefs. It's easy to reconcile this. 'Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog'.... You've heard them say that..... 'Cull the wicked. Preserve the worthy'.... You've heard them say that too. Anything can be justified. 

A vampire family at home. Papa sipped a bit of Scotch. He roused himself to do that. Tomas stuck to a light grappa. Did they give any to Annie? A little bit. Some weak homemade wine stuff Edith brings in from The Pines. She drinks it from a special, retro Flintstone's jelly glass. You know how she likes the Flintstones.

Then they heard the running on the roof..... sharp, hard steps, like from Cuban heels, or old fashioned Gillette boots from long ago. Annie whispered - Shhhh... smell him?

Johnny Jump Up, the mid-Victorian, cadaverous, hungry ghoul dragged his half dead dinner over the tar paper roof tops. They heard the muffled moans, as he scrapped her over the low, tiled barriers between the houses.

Tomas put down the guitar. Sarah switched off the lights, as they silently crept up through the venerable domicile to listen by the skylight. Annie whispered - I wonder what he does with the toes?...... You know how she dotes on the toes.

And the life-eaters stayed in that night, listening to a phantom crack through bones. 

Occasionally there'd be a howl, but mostly it was quiet. So they froze there in the bathroom, faces bathed in moonbeams streaming in through the milky, skylight glass.

But Papa remained downstairs, whispering to something in the dark. Perhaps it was a person in that painting?

And the only light came from the laptop, a bright and cheerful blogazine, http://twinaslatinas1.blogspot.com , featuring all the latest on Spanish culture the world over. The gazpacho sure looked nice. So did the trip to Baja, though no one living looked upon  the page.....

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AUSTRALIAN 'DREAM TIME' COMES TO THE VAMPIRINOS AND VAMPIRINAS OF PHILADELPHIA

All that you see is but impulse, sparks and illusion.What we perceive as matter is an accommodation wrought by the Hand of God, or the Higgs Boson particle, as contemporary alchemists (presently known as scientists) call it. Dreams made manifest..... that's what we have. Someone has apparently 'wished' upon that star... and we are the result. 

But the dream continues. And a group of rather unusual 'night-folk' comes to recognize that. 

Edith stared at the painting. She picked the spot. Sarah didn't care, so it hung over the cunning, little Louis XV buffet in the dining room. How nice it looked up against the watered silk walls... so  vivid next to the coppery, bronze glow. The vampirinos and vampirinas never used dining rooms to feed. Occasionally they'd sit around the table (wherever they lived) sharing precious drams of liquor and trading tales of the old days. 

Tomas studied the colorful creation... a night garden, in a city park, shimmering after a sudden rain. He could almost smell the blossoms. Edith, their telepathic and somewhat witchified  mortal friend and housekeeper said it just showed up. Annie asked - Did it go BOOM and just pop out a the air?...... The juvenile, vampirina demon had been reading 'bout Father Devine, the ostensibly human, legendary, early twentieth century, Philadelphia preacher, hotelier and miracle worker who according to his own recollections, did go BOOM and 'combusted' fully formed upon a crowded, midtown sidewalk. (in her heart, the little life-eater was sure he must have been a vampire. yet he was known to be unquestionably diurnal, so she wasn't exactly sure.)

Edith said it did not go BOOM, but was delivered by a rather personable U.P.S. man. She offered him a piece of cake, banana nut, her specialty. But he only wanted an iced tea, 'cause he was training for a half marathon or something. Conrad thought he heard a little bit of this while he was sleeping. Tomas just smiled. Most newborn vampires fall into a death-like stupor when the sun shines (or even when it's cloudy, for that matter.) Conrad wouldn't have laid so much as a fart, even if a fully naked, ax wielding  Abraham Lincoln himself was standing over him..... Conrad feared vampire killers, 'cause he used to be one. 

Now the painting came from Australia. Brisbane, to be exact. The artist, a young, transplanted Englishster, named Debby made it. Sarah looked her up on TWITTER. She doesn't need wilkravitz. She's new too. The web ain't no big thing to her. And  she found Debby at @Twit__Trending, even followed her. You want to see the painting? Go there. You'll see it, or a reasonable facsimile there of. They say the artist has other ones. Sells them too. I hear a bunch of collectors out in Malibu got some. But theirs ain't 'magic' like ours.

Tomas stares and he stares. Sarah says - Can you see it?..... He nods. Two individuals with an uncanny resemblance to himself and his consort (Sarah, that is) hold hands and retreat from the camera, which in this case is the eye of the artist. And it's not just the physical similarity. The funny thing is they actually move. The male pulls her close. The female leans into him. Tiny ripples play across a nearby puddle, perhaps from a soft, warm breeze. 

I do not know if the artist is adept at such things, or if a subtle enchantment descended upon the painting after the fact. But how like a dream it is. Baylah's coming in from Margate just to see it. And you know how much she likes her time at the shore.

Edith had a brain buzz. That means she 'felt something.' Saw a bunch of white haired, brown folks sitting 'round a fire, all alone, out under The Milky Way, on the vast Nullarbor Plain. Funny how that name stuck in her head, especially since she ain't never heard it before. Sarah said she saw an article 'bout the place once in a National Geographic. Edith said - Well, where the hell is it?...... Sarah said - Australia........ And Annie started to laugh. 

Night-folk soak up magic like a sponge. It sticks to them like semi-dried-up sweat. Tomas knows that. He's seen a lot. Papa knows more, a whole lot more. But he's still quiet. He just sits and looks and sits and looks..... Annie says she's gonna bite his leg real hard, or like maybe throw hot water all over his balls. Edith says no seven or eight year old girl should talk like that, even if she is a vampire. Annie tells her to go to hell. Sarah says she better shut up, or they gonna throw her best, antique Barbies down the garbage disposal. So Annie sets down by the island in the kitchen. Flips open a coloring book and starts scribbling all over one a the pages. But you know she gonna do something, 'cause that page got Wilma Flintstone and she never scribbles all over her.

Now I am just a ghost what lives down the cellar, but that picture, beautiful as it is, give me the shimmy-shams too.... Can't take my dead, nebulous eyes off it.

Somebody workin' a hoo-doo. Edith knows that word. She from the Jersey Pines. She knows.

And now they got two dogs howlin' somewheres outside. Conrad say he know 'em from before. 

Tomas say maybe nobody ought a go out. They just look at each other. Edith lights a new aroma candle. Then they all sit down to watch a movie..... How The West Was Won, I think it is....

Tomas like Debbie Reynolds. He say she real good.....

Howlin' gettin' louder...

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VAMPIRE LIFE IS QUITE LIKE YOURS

Those of you familiar with our milieu know vampires do not effect a kill very often. Most of the 'noble' breed feed but once every lunar cycle. Tiny supplemental drinks do occur....discreet, little kisses taken on the run. Crowded subway trains work best. You know how they sway? you know how the lights flicker? Well, that's all it takes. And most times the wounds go unnoticed. 

But they weren't riding subway trains tonight. Tomas and Sarah were out for a stroll. The air was warm and heavy, a typical summer in Philadelphia, just south of the fortieth parallel. How refreshing it was to sit down at a sidewalk cafe, order a tumbler filled with some sort of iced, carriage trade vodka and indulge. Alcohol seems to agree with them, you know. 

Sarah still had human taste. She'd only been on the night side for two years, so her attire was just what you'd expect.... a short cotton skirt, a pressed, white camisole, strappy, little sandals and cool, silver earrings. So right for a twenty eight year old young woman in Center City. Even her auburn hair was swept up in a neat, clean, high off the neck, pony tail. Her mother would have been proud. 

Tomas wore a blindingly white tee shirt. You know the kind...just thick enough to absorb the thin sheen of vampirino sweat thrown off from his torso, but trim around the neck, chest and biceps. You see it coming and going on South Street. Below the waist he had black jeans and rough, leather flip-flops. His signature bootkins could wait for cooler climes. 

Sarah wanted a spray on tan. She said pasty, white feet look bad in sandals. Tomas said he'd have a 'familiar' look into it. But I don't think he will. 

Such a striking twosome.... the beautiful, young aunt and her well put together, wavy haired nephew. She offered him a rubber band. A pony tail would be cooler. Though he demurred, preferring the look of his long, dark tresses. Tomas de Macabea is so vain, you know. I think he wants to sneak away for a sponge bath down in the deepest tunnels with his wide-eyed, mole-girl sex friends. But I am always suspicious of him. Sarah too, although he claims those randy nights are over.

The vodka arrives. I do not know the brand. They charge twelve dollars for it, so it must be good, or at least highly promoted. He takes a sip, savoring the crisp, icy drops as they run down his throat. Then he goes - ahhh.  Sarah does not like when he does that. He tells her it's an Andalician thing. And then he smiles. She likes when he smiles. He softy  flicks a tiny moth off from the lace atop her camisole. But being a vampirina, she is so sensitive to touch. And she likes when he does that too.

They study a sweet girl, perhaps twenty to twenty five years old at a nearby table. She sits reading a book and toying with the remnants of her salad. Tomas whispers - Tis pity she is alone........ Sarah gives him a look. He kisses her. She leans back, drawing in some vodka through a long, thin blood red straw........ A car pulls up to the curb. The girl sees it. She beams, puts a twenty under the plate and jumps inside. The vehicle (an Audi. I am almost sure) snakes out into traffic and speeds off.

Sarah sees the book...... What was she reading? - she says........ Tomas executes a barely noticeable gesture and the volume snaps through the air to his hand. He can do that, sometimes....... CRITICAL MOMENTS, book II of THE HYBRID SERIES - he says. Then he passes it to her. She studies the back..... Hummm, vampire tinged detectives solve gruesome crimes in dark, little British corners..... Quite erotic too..... Such talented 'vampires,' or almost vampires - she remarks. I'm gonna give this to Edith............... Let me see it- he says. She turns it over. He thumbs through a page or two..... apparently finding just the right spot...... O, Jala!- he exclaims. Edith can wait. Care for a little role playing, enamorada? 

She shrugs and chuckles. They pay and leave. But three hundred heartbeats later, he sublimates into a shuttered bookshop for 'book one.'  Vampires are very open to new things you know. And soon they'll play some games. 

So goes the nightly paseo. No one died, at least not by their hands. And all they had to drink was vodka.

Maybe tomorrow they'd draw blood? Or maybe they'd tantalize some willing mortal with games learned from the book?

Such a handsome couple. The air seems to kiss them as they pass.

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