LEO GOES BERSERK ... back in PHILADELPHIA ,, 3/4/13

Conrad lived alone. A man came to see to things. He paid the bills, cleaned up and wound the clocks. Apparently he was some sort of 'familiar.' Tomas had a lot of them. And there was always money in the little brass box  in the desk. The man who wound the clocks did that too.

Annie's 'son' lived a quiet life. He slept in his specially darkened room, read books, watched some TV and wandered the streets. He liked the night. Vampire life agreed with him. Sometimes he'd find a bench, sit down and wait for a companion. Most people out that late were either hospital workers hurrying to sign in, delivery truck drivers servicing accounts, or other night addicts like him. 

He often picked a spot south of Walnut Street.... less people...hardly any at all. Those pedestrians out tried to walk as quietly as possible. Few made any sound at all, moving through the dark like breathing shadows. That's what gave them away... the breath... the vapor. Most avoided any eye contact, acting like he wasn't there at all. He didn't want to hurt them. He just wanted to talk. 

Leo, his ersatz 'brother' ran away. He disappeared right after the others left for The Revels. Didn't say anything. Didn't take anything. Just left. The man who wound the clocks knew. He contacted Doctor Franklin. The old reprobate was always there, watching and studying, but even he didn't know anything.... and that was very surprising. 

Conrad considered going over to his complex under the old Philadelphia Navy Yard (actually the reconstituted Philadelphia Navy Yard, but everybody still called it that), yet he didn't. A few nights people did stop and talk to him. Maybe they were special too? Not night-folks. Not vampires. Just sensitive, I guess. Sometimes if the person was homeless, he'd give them money. One guy got a few thousand dollars. Conrad wanted to give him blood.... just a little.... just a few drops. The guy had T.B. and you know how much doctors charge. But he didn't know how to do it. He didn't know how to go about it. And he didn't want to scare him away.  That's why he gave him all the money. Told the guy he should go 'see somebody.' And the guy did. He took his advice. Found an office. Went in. Of course he cleaned himself up first. Bought new clothes... everything from the inside out. Told the Stepford Girls out front he was paying cash. Doc ran a few tests... routine stuff. Everybody gets the same treatment. You know that. Blood tests... X-rays.... a scan.... Couple more consultations. Guy stayed in a hotel. Not a fancy place, but not a flea bag. Like where salesmen might stay. But the  money didn't last long. Doc gave him the address of a 'good clinic' and Stepford Girls gave him funny looks when he walked out.

Now he's back on the streets. Knows how bad he is. Actually, I think there's a law. When 'they' know how sick he is, T.B. and all, 'they're' supposed to document everything. They're supposed to follow up. But the doc didn't want to get mixed up with a case like that...and they got ways.

Annie's 'son' went lookin' for him. He was gonna tell him. He was gonna give him the blood. He was gonna make him drink it. But some people are good at not being found. 'T.B.' guy was one of them. I think that takes a little bit of magic too, especially when it's a vampire who's doing the looking.

Conrad does 'taste things,' though. That's what some night-folk call it. They say 'taste things.' But not about T.B. guy... about Leo. Didn't know where he was. Just knew he was out there. And he was killing people all the time. None of that 'once a month. we're still believers' crap for him. Leo had this 'thing,'.... this act. He was a panther...a big, strong, black panther. The city was the jungle and the people were like little antelopes. And he liked it. Didn't say a word. Never made a sound. Just came up, grabbed them from behind and did the deed. 

You know how many missing person's cases there are out there? You see them all the time. Xeroxed sign goes up in a super market. People look at it. They go 'tsk tsk tsk.' They talk about it a while... And then it's over. Pick up the soda. Grab the bread and you're out of there. Next time it's a dog missing, or maybe a cat.

Tomas and the rest'd be back soon. Conrad couldn't wait. He saw Johnny Jump Up the other night, standing in a church yard behind one of the tall obelisks.  You know those high, skinny, grave stones  some folks got? Look like portable Washington Monuments. Ghoul didn't do a thing... didn't even look at him. Just stood there, with his head twisted at a funny angle, watching the air. 

Ghouls are funny. Night-folks avoid them. Who knows what they are...part ghost... part zombie...part psycho. Johnny looks like an anorexic undertaker from the eighteen fifties. Tight black suit... bony face... white skin... red lips... greasy hair. If the mouth was open, you'd see the teeth.... little sharp triangles, just like a shark. Too many for a human.

They say he was buried alive. They say 'something' got inside. That's how he got out....

Cops say city heats up in the spring. More robbing. More killing. More everything. And the equinox is still about seventeen nights away.

Look, Conrad is a vampire, but he ain't brave. Besides, he's brand new. You think Johnny Jump Up don't scare him?  You're crazy. So he just walked away from the dark, shadowy church yard and left. But he turned 'round every few steps to make sure 'nothing' was there.

Boy does he wish the rest of them were back.

And now he's getting headache-dreams from 'something' called Matilda.

Seems The Pines are getting a little bit 'antsy' too... 

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: ANOTHER VAMPIRIC SOUL FROM ANOTHER PLACE

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: ANOTHER VAMPIRIC SOUL FROM ANOTHER PLACE: The Pines are in an uproar. Red Paint People, usually stoic, thirst for revenge. Matilda was special, groomed for spiritual duties and dest...We just want to remind you how crazy things can get back here in PHILADELPHIA-SOUTH JERSEY-DOWN THE SHORE #vampire land... vampire WONDERland, that is.... If you got the 'lingo' and you want the story and you know THE PINES, you gotta read this...... May you never know fear. May you never know pain. May you hide from death now and for forever......... prayer from The Vampire Liturgy .....

SO LONG TO LONDON ... THE PHILADELPHIA VAMPIRES TAKE THEIR LEAVE .. 3/3/13

Baylah made one final visit to Selfridge's. She loved the accessories and a cold glass of wine savored in the rarefied atmosphere of the Wonder Bar was so comforting. Edith bought some toffee at Harrods. Tomas took delivery of his 'bespoke' footwear and Annie shoplifted two Paddington Bears.  An assortment of other packages showed up too. In approximately two nights they'd depart, snug in a private jet belonging to the still missing, Russian, oligarch vampire, Grigory Usipov. Back to the fine, old, tick-tock atmosphere of their own town house..... Back home. The REVELS were interesting and perhaps one year they'd go again. Tomas had quite the profile in certain night-folk circles since his besting of Sir Richard. And Sarah enjoyed hob-nobbing with the influential and august beings assembled there. Remember her book shop days. Good conversation is everything to her. Well, almost everything, for she did instruct Tomas to arrange for a pair or two of tall, trim, oxblood riding boots for her from Foster & Son too. Odd to think that some of the measurements on file there belong to vampires, but they do. A nice, little man from Jermyn Street came out to size her up. She gave him a vial of her blood. There was sickness in his family, so it was only right.

They had a final audience with 'the emperor.' Marcus Aurelius was in a personable mood and so sorry to see them go. He truly believes in the work of 'Golden Dawn.' But Tomas and his people like a freer from of magic. The emperor smiled and called it a 'New World' affectation. Edith asked for an autograph. He gave her a thumbprint too. And wilkravitz got an old, bronze stylus, once used to inscribe secret messages upon wax tablets during the Battle of The Teutaberg Forest. You know, wax could be dug out and re-surfaced, the perfect medium for imperial confidences.

After that, they sat in the rear night-garden. One of the elder witch-women was out there too. She enjoyed the chill, quiet atmosphere, the perfect place for mumbling, humming and whispering songs. Tomas took Sarah's hand. She was his and he was hers, occasional infidelities not withstanding. And as time passed, such indiscretions became rarer and rarer. That's how it is with night-folk. You know the song. Bing Crosby sang it to Grace Kelly in a re-make of The Philadelphia Story.... 'You give to me. And I give to you. True love. True love.'.... They've only been entwined two or three years. Give it time. 

Edith fell asleep, wrapped in a soft, new loden green coat. wilkravitz gazed at the moon. And Baylah made a call to her mortal companion at the Jersey Shore.

In another part of the residence, students of the arcane learned to manipulate ping pong balls and dental crowns with brain waves and hard gazes. Others traveled to Xanadu, the pleasure dome of Kublai Khan. While some just watched Graham Norton.

Conrad, Annie's 'forty year old' vampire sonny-boy' wants his mommy. He can't wait for her return. I don't know too much about Leo, the other one. Minnie and Blackie do their own thing. And 'Papa' (the Cro Magnon, thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere look-a-like) is 'Papa,' as always. 

Fairy tales can come true. They can happen to you, 
if you're young at heart. 

See you in Philadelphia. The cherry blossoms 'long the Schuylkill should be blooming soon.

And don't worry who I am.... Some disembodied spirits like their privacy...

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Edith & wilkravitz see a GHOST... Still in LONDON.. 3/2/13

By now they all 'know' that magic is real...like they didn't already. But what they have here is codified enchantment, with rules and exercises and merit badges. No, they don't call then merit badges. They call them 'plateaus.' But what's the difference. Edith says we're different. We play magic by ear. This is me, wilkravitz. I don't know where the disembodied spirits are. Mr. Never-you-Mind disappeared and Zebulon, the thirteen year old Judean kid who was stoned to death is off touring with a rock group. I like that kid. 

We went wandering 'round the city. Edith and I. Some guy back at the Hermetic Order of The Golden Dawn house threw an obfuscation bubble  on us. It didn't make us invisible, just unmemorable. People walk right by. We sit on the bus and talk to each other. We talk about anything, but no one pays any attention.  We throw peanut shells at the back of people's heads, but they don't care. Must think it's like a big bug sliding down their neck.

Stopped at a little fish and chips place. Real nice...narrow, cozy store-front. We got take-out seafood places in Philadelphia, but this is London. This is different. Thick, good sized pieces of batter dipped cod... real 'french fries,' the kind you get at the shore with vinegar on 'em. Saw a lot of Middle Eastern people in there. You know why? Fish is hallal, usually fairly kosher too. And they don't fry it in lard, so that's even better. Kid behind the counter said they use peanut oil. 

I saw a ghost sitting in the corner. A girl in her twenties sat there too, but she didn't see him.  They shared a little, formica topped table. She ate this cold shrimp thing tossed over a salad. He leaned back against the white, subway tile wall, staring up at the ceiling. Every once in a while he'd stick his fingers in his ears and rock back and forth. Edith said his name was Zeke. She waved at him. He mouthed the words 'F. U' to her. She laughed. Then Zeke leaned over and licked one of the big shrimp on Beverly's plate. but I don't know how much spit a ghost has.

We waited til the girl left. I got another piece of fish. It was SO good. Edith went over to him. She addressed a spot maybe ten inches in front of the wall and said - Hello, Bertram. My name is Edith. Ghost guy reached out with one finger and poked her in the stomach. She said - I'm not a spirit. Well, I AM a spirit, but I'm still locked inside this 'fat lady' suit. How 'bout you? What's your story?

The question seemed to agitate him, because he ripped out his tongue and rubbed it all over her face. Rancid ooze dripped down her cheeks. But she knew it was just ghost crap. So she didn't do anything. She didn't react. That makes all kinds of ghost crap disappear real fast. Bertram just looked at her. But I could see he was a little bit surprised. Grabbed the meaty, red, thing off the table and shoved it back in. Edith said - Ewww, no. You got it in backwards, you dumb son-of-a-bitch. Turn it around. I don't want to look at no stump...... So he spit it out into his hand and fixed it.

She said - you can't leave here, can you?..... He shook his head 'no.'.... Then he stared up at the ceiling again. Not at the ceiling, really. He was looking at the light...at the fixture. ..... Edith said - How did you lose your body?...... I left it on the tube, you fat cow - said the spirit.... But she didn't make a big thing out of it. Some dead people are like that, you know.

Turned out he was a 'tree trunk' ghost, a rooted ghost... stuck right where he was forever, or until he wised up a little. Edith says The Pines back home are full of them. Dead racketeers planted in shallow graves. Them what owed money. Some places call 'em 'grave yard ghosts.'   Sad spirits tied to where they died. Maybe too ashamed or too scared to face their lovey-doveys.  Or just too mixed up. There's a theory it's a kind of denial. As long as they stay where it happened, or right by the body, everything's all right. Nobody dead there. They're OK. And God let's them stay that way as long as they want, because He don't worry about time.

Kid behind the counter said - You talkin' to Zeke?.... Edith said - Yeah. What? You know him?.... Kid says - Little bit. Seen him once when the power went out. All by myself, I was. Rainy night. Cold. Y'know what I mean? I look at him. He looks at me. Not so much 'at' me, as through me. Then the lights came back, but he was gone. Knew his name was 'Zeke' though. Wanted me to know that. Think he's buried under the floor. Place ain't got no basement, just a slab...just a cement slab. He's under it. Right there. Right in that corner. Right where he sits. Ran right out the first time. Didn't clean no fryer, or nothing. But one night don't mean much. Only found one dead mouse floatin' in it. You know how hot a fryer gets. Fish out the mouse. Fire it up. Ain't gonna hurt nobody.

I felt sick. Kid just laughed a little. Edith said a prayer. Zeke quietly whispered - Thank you... Edith turns 'round to me and says - Gimme a piece a fish..... I don't want to, but I do it. I break off a nice piece of batter dipped fish and give it to her. I lean over. She takes it. Place is pretty small, maybe twelve, little two-seater tables. She didn't have to reach too far. 

Then she takes a napkin out of the chrome holder, puts it down and lays the fish on it. Slides it over to Zeke. He must smell it, or something, or 'see' it. He's a ghost. Who knows if he just sees with his eyes? Four seconds later, he leans over and starts licking it, like a cat. I can see the cement dust in his hair and in his ears and all. He IS buried under here. That's for sure.

Never found out why, though. Edith says it ain't right to push. 

So we paid our bill and left.

Ghosts are everywhere. But if you read stories like this, you know that.....

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Tomas and Francis Talk,, walking in Wimbeldon 2/28/13

There are little parks and little lanes where no one goes at night. At least not that late. But the vampires walked there. Francis and Miranda and Tomas savored the clean, damp air. It was quiet. They were alone, save for an occasional rabbit, or some other hedgerow creature. And for the longest time no one said anything. But then Francis began to speak.

He whispered - What do you think? Do I still have 'the touch?'... Tomas thought for a moment. He stopped and said - You do... Francis said - What, and that's all?... Tomas looked down. He didn't know what to say. He just wanted to walk. He just wanted to think. He just wanted to see his old friends. But three hundred years is a long time, even by night-folk reckoning and his feelings were very much changed..... Miranda sensed it. Francis probably did too.... She whispered - Why must you be like that? Can't we just walk? Why must you be so particular about things. You had your night. You had your fun. The 'Spaniard' (his name for Tomas) was there. He saw you do it. And I saw how he watched. For a time he fell under your spell. Can't you keep your mouth shut?! Isn't that enough?

Francis looked hurt. But he was so good at aping 'human' emotion. He said - Tomas, are you offended?... And his eyes really did look concerned. Indeed, his theatrical aplomb was one of his charms. Shakespeare knew it and for that reason made him Hamlet's father's ghost, plus Oberon on two or three occasions. How he relished such mummery, for is that not what night-folk do each night, progressing through the lives of men like wolves among the sheep. A dusty fleece thrown 'cross the back can only hide so much. But Francis didn't care. Mortals were as pawns to him and London but the board.

They turned a corner and came out upon a pretty street of shuttered stores. Miranda studied her image in the small panes of a gift shop. Her two friends took seats on a little bench meant for tired shoppers, or old bones watching the passing scene. Francis reached out and playfully jabbed Tomas in the ribs...... Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy-boy - he said. Still pining for sainthood. Let me see those teeth. Come on. Give us a smile. Show us what you can do. Come on. Come on..... And he mussed the long black curls...... For an instant Tomas flinched and pulled back. He thrust his hands down into his coat pockets and feigned indifference. But Francis made 'eyes' at him and went tsk-tsk-tsk. Then he jabbed him and smiled once again...  But nothing. Miranda studied lacquer ware, while Tomas watched the moon.

Francis said - Am I that disgusting? Are my games so disappointing? I thought this night would be but a respite, away from that 'blue nose' who once ruled all Rome. But I was wrong. Go back to that house. Run, run back to Hoxton Street and learn the mysteries that serve no good.

Tomas quietly said - Do you know them?..... Francis shrugged... Miranda snickered. And 'The Spaniard' went on - For me the deed is not a 'play.' I gain the death another way..... Francis rolled his eyes and said - Ooh! A poet! Good night, Ruby Tuesday. Who could lay a name on you?! There! I know one too! .... And he stuck  out his bright red tongue. Then he levitated up into the nighttime air for approximately three or four cubits and pivoted 'round a street lamp, much as Gene Kelly did in 'Singing In The Rain.' I suppose to display his own magical prowess. But Tomas was not impressed. 

Miranda said - Lets go home. So they walked 'round the corner, heading back toward the car. Tomas said - Please forgive me, brother. I do not mean to judge. But the monthly meal is sacred to me. I make not sport, but say the name and name the sin... and then I take the blood.... How else could I do it? I... meant to study Scripture and praise The Name of God........ Francis exhaled and whispered -  And do you still believe it?.......... Tomas nodded and said - I've played this scene before and the end remains the same...

After a bit they approached the car and got in. Miranda drove back to the 'magic' house. And Tomas knew the truth was deep inside him. No outside force could change it. 

Hoxton Street was interesting. The 'Golden Dawn' intriguing.

But soon they'd return to the town house in Philadelphia...

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The Honorable Maude Harcum .. TOMAS & FRANCIS & MIRANDA 2/28/13

Although Wimbeldon is part of Greater London and has been since 1965, it is still very much a de facto independent jewel-box municipality. There's a beautiful, cozy shopping district... a section for stylish flats and a secluded quarter, privately set aside for manor houses. If you're in The States, think Riverdale in New York, or Chestnut Hill in Philadelphia and you'll know what I mean.

Francis and Miranda love to visit the big houses, sometimes as guests... sometimes as something else. They stand there, waiting by the side of a bed in a still, dark sleep chamber. Often taking turns. One hides in the deepest shadows. One stands in a moonbeam. You know, the best draperies almost always let a little bit leak in. 

And night-folk can wait for hours. Vampires are adept at such things. They can drift away into an almost out of body experience and savor the flavors of far off places. Francis dreams of undersea cities ruled by the Mer-King , bathed in cold, blue light emanating from huge, tree-like, crystalline channels, the remains of giant corals, housing immense colonies of phosphorescent, ancient microbes. Boulevards of such things line stately thoroughfares  and smaller 'shrubs'  front all the houses. Such a perfect place for those adverse to light. 

So he stands there, like a dazed statue, while Miranda inventories the shoes. 

Then the victim stirs. perhaps she farts and curls up tight in an attempt to forestall peeing. Ah, the covers feel so good. Even the best houses get chilly at night.  But the tightening of groin muscles can only do so much, so she opens her eyes and peers into the near-black charcoal grey, contemplating the five meter dash to her neo-Edwardian en suite. 

Two heartbeats later, minute fibers deep inside the cranial orbits begin to focus. And then she sees it, a human hand not two feet from her face, pale and white in the gloom. At first it seems disembodied, a gruesome piece of human carnage floating in the night. It's a dream. It's a dream. It must be a dream. And the 'pee pinch' disappears, for just a little. Then the irises dilate, allowing a few more ghostly photons  to dance through the pupil and die upon the retina.

She sees the outline. She sees the body, all in black. The face is smooth and young... relaxed. The eyes are dazed, still swimming with the mer-folk. And she pees a little. The smell instantly wakes him. He looks down and smiles. She screams, but there is no sound. His magic can do that.

This one has hurt people. This one has killed. Mean girls can do that with words.... their own sort of evil magic. It oozes from the pores.... A frenzied sampling of pills gathered from the leavings of public school fledglings eager to test their talons. 

And the Honorable Maude Harcum, great niece of a Viscount, stood there watching as a lesser girl passed away. 

Well, tit for tat, as they say. This time it's her turn. Francis kneels down, takes her hand, kisses it and bites off a finger. She shudders and pees the bed, bathed in the wet , hot stink.. 

All she can do is gasp 'please..please..please.'... as he laps up the blood from her wound. She tries to kick him, aiming for his doggy parts. But he punches her square in the stomach. Francis is not one for games. Then he twists her head, exposing the neck and goes in for the kill.

Miranda creeps out from her hiding place, wearing a new pair of costly shoes. And Tomas is right behind. They take in the scene and wave at the girl as she gives up the ghost and melds with the shadows, reluctant to leave her form. Ectoplasm hangs in the air like smoke, til Francis bats it away with an impatient wave of his hand. 

They watch small, blue flames skip across the body, joining together and burning it up. The sheets remain... the coverlets and the pillows. But the naughty girl is gone. And a tiny Lhasa Apso runs out from 'neath the bed, leaps up onto the embers and laps the grease away.

Miranda whispers - Was she good?

And Francis answers - Very.... as Tomas' appetite begins to grow... 

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THE NIGHT BEFORE A NIGHT IN WIMBLEDON ..TOMAS RUNS WITH OLD FRIENDS ..2/26/13

Tomas remembered the old nights. He remembered the barges, opulent, river platforms, rowed by liveried watermen, progressing down the Thames from just west of The City to the noble enclosure of Wimbeldon.  This was the first 'Main Line'... the first Tuxedo Park and the original Beverly hills. Peers mingled with merchant kings in a fine, country town filled with fresh, new manor houses and a resident Dowager Queen.

Vampirinos came to dance at the splendid balls and assemblies.... and vampirinas too. Such theatricality. Huge sparklers lined the paths from quay to porte cochere, where bewigged courtiers and would-be courtiers sailed into glittering halls, like ships of the line into Cadiz. 

They called him 'the Spaniard,' second son to a royally connected hidalgo, from an old Andalusian dynasty predating The Reconquest.  And Tomas obliged them with sensual couplets of poesia antigua and hot, little kisses.

But these nights were not for dining and his tid-bits all survived. Though he sometimes did some 'shopping' for a rump-roast, or a loin to be devoured later. Corruption flowered just as brightly then as it does now. And he did his best to cull the grossest weeds. 

Francis did the same. Miranda was his 'beard.' For who'd suspect a gentleman allied to such as her of wanting more than all the others did? A seat on The East India Company? He could have it. A reception at Saint James? Why not?

Blood flowed free in those days. Money too.  London was the best of all possible worlds, for the gentlemen of the day ... and the denizens of the night...

Tomas had digs in The West End, a new, classic townhouse. columned doorway, white stucco facade and all that. At least I think he did. He bought and sold them so often. But such was the fashion. Society was in flux. The modern age was born...

And it still has not come of age.....

But how goes it in the fabled township after all these years?....... Even better. Wimbeldon-the-fair... a town and country playground for the stylish and ever-young.

No barge conveyed them out this way on this cold winter night..... A Jaguar raced along the road, a coach devoid of light.

And somewhere in a manor house behind an ivy wall, a 'dead' girl, though still dancing, was the fairest corpse of all....

Tomorrow night 'it' happens.

Tomas relives the old 'days.'

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