Weird NJ Visits Lucy the Elephant and Late One February Night Two Young Night-folk Do too .. 2/18/14

They flew  south to Atlantic City, maybe like eighteen miles away. I don't know how fast elferinos and elferinas go. I'm told, at times they can snake through a crowd of mortals so fast no one sees them. Not on foot though. Their feet have to be off the ground. They have to be flying. That's how they feed. The very young (pre-pubescent) 'elfin' ones zip along taking quick, sharp drinks from a multitude of throats. People go 'OW!" and blame mosquitos, or gnats, or bed bugs or tiny, little blocked arteries, or something like that. Few realize others around them have also been bitten. 



That's what they did. Marianne and 'Peter' landed near the Borgata, a big, plush, mega-Vegas style place by the Marina. What with their stolen, heavyweight sweat shirts and coordinating scarves and wool ski caps they looked pretty good. Flying didn't mess them up none. If anything it just ruddied their cheeks and tousled their hair. A professional photographer's stylist couldn't have done any better. She says - Lets go get some hot tea.... He says - Please, 'sister,' I am so hungry. When can I feed?..... Then he looked around and added - Who lives here, a mighty magician, a wizard, a necromancer? ...... She said - No one lives here. It's a hotel. It's a casino. They gamble here. They drink here. They laugh at people mocking others and telling ribald stories. They lose their money and sell the children to Gypsies. .... 'Peter' stared wide eyed and said - Really?..... But the elferino, Marianne just shrugged and went - I don't know. I don't know what they do with their children. I just guessed that part.... Then she walked him through the immense carpeted lobby. He thought it was some sort of chapel. They entered a coffee shop, which in any other locale would have been a very commodious restaurant, but in casino-hotels merely a place for twelve dollar corned beef sandwiches and four dollar cups of tea. Peter didn't say a word. She told him not to, but he studied every single thing. What must our time look like to a boy from the third quarter of the eighteenth century? He did whisper one thing. He said - The wenches, why are they in their bits and pieces? Are they whores?.... No - she said. They just play like they are..... They don't charge any money? - he asked... No - she said. They do it all for free, or like for thick beef steaks, jewelry and gambling money. Well, a few might be whore..... Who? Which ones? - he asked..... Marianne looked around and said - Well, the old ladies aren't. And with the others I can't tell. (whispered) Don't stare. Those aren't her real breasts. She paid some low sort of chap huge sums of money to cut open her skin and make her that way. They do anything for money these days. You'll see..... How does he do it? The low chap, I mean. - he asked.... With pillows. With magic, little pillows that look like jelly fish. - she said.



An impossibly well groomed, smiling waiter came over, who may or may not have been gay.  Marianne placed the order, an expensive ( $6.50) herbal tea for herself and a green tea and honey ($5.00) for 'Peter.' Also got a basket of biscotti.  'Peter asked - Why?.... She said - Just crumble up one and move it around the plate. It looks like we ate and they're less suspicious that way.... Do they all know about night-folk? - he asked..... No - she said. But we're a twelve and fourteen year old out by ourselves after dark and that, in itself, might draw attention.... So he did. They each got a little, steaming pot of tea. Enough for two cups. Peter said it was good. He even licked a piece of biscotti, but all he did was lick it. Then he said - Is he a castrato?..... What are you talking about? - she said..... The boy. The one who brought the tea. Has he 'had the operation?' Has he been 'fixed?' Tell me............................. 

Marianne whispered - No, they haven't chopped them off. They don't do that anymore, not for singers anyway. He's gay, loves others of his gender. That's all. Or he may just be very, very, very, very fussy. How would I know?..... She took a sip. When she looked up, he was gone. At least to mortal eyes he was gone. But she saw him streak through the booths and tables taking discrete, little bites from perhaps eighteen or twenty people. Some scratched their necks. Some didn't notice. Elfereino puncture wounds are really quite small and no more than a tiny, watery bit of plasma escapes. ....When he sat down and flickered into view, she said - Why did you do that? Couldn't you wait? I went through the same thing and I waited. Took me four nights and I waited. Was so scared. Didn't know where I was. But I waited. I learned...... He just gave her a sly smile. Marianne knew this one was going to be different. So she put down a tip, paid the bill and they left. The cashier thought they were brother and sister, two nice kids. She even said - Why don't you take some of those little, wrapped mints? They're good...... 'Peter' said - Thank you... and palmed a big handful. Then he zipped through a packed house laughing at Kathy Griffin's Kardashian jokes and 'kissed' maybe a dozen more. 



They passed through the large, mall-like arcade of rather carriage trade shops. She said - Have enough?........ He said - For now... as he  deftly snatched a beautifully wrapped box of impossibly expensive chocolates and passed it to a happy toddler in a yuppie-perfect stroller. The parents never saw a blessed thing.



Fifteen minutes later, after another starry flight, they stood atop the howdah of Lucy The Elephant, a beloved, beachfront landmark in a nice, little seashore town to the south. It was cold. No one was about. The shops, open earlier, were shuttered now and few cars passed on the street. Marianne gazed out upon a calm, moonlit, winter sea. The newly freed elferino beside her...



And then he began to speak...



( oh, one more thing. the video up above, courtesy of the great @weirdnj <yes, you can click on it>  tells all about Lucy and her colorful history... a nice taste of summer, seashore whimsy on a cold, dark, winter night)



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A Midsummer Night's Dream - Can Come In The Depths of Winter. ..THE BOY IN THE BOX SPEAKS 2/16/14

That evening, when the sun went down, the strange night-folk boy from the leaden box woke first. He straightened up all the towels, but could not wash them, as the technology of our age confounded him. Faucets and spigots were unknown in his time. Water came from wells. Though he did conjure a bit of magic to fold the cot and stow away any other things the teacher's wife gave them. Then he peeled off the silver duct tape, took down the carefully folded, black ,plastic trash bags and peered through the window. Since it was set high, near the ceiling, he hovered up off the floor, the better to see out. 


When the elferina, Marianne awoke, she saw him up there, illuminated by a few weak rays coming in from the streetlight on the corner. How his eyes glowed and his back was straighter now....... What is this? - he said..... And he flew off to the switch flicking it on and off three or four times in quick succession...... That's the light. - she said..... Her answer puzzled him. He thought for a moment and asked - Where is the fire?..... She laughed. Marianne knew what he meant, for her life too began in another place and another time long before our own...... She said - Parle vous Anglais? ..... The newly freed elferino said - Is that what this is? I found the sounds in your soul and used them...... My, you are a powerful night-boy. - Marianne added.... But he just settled down on top of the matching, front loading washer and dryer and thought.


Where am I? - asked the elferino. Who sits on the throne of France? Why do I not smell horses?..... Marianne told him. She said - You are in a town by the shore of the Atlantic Sea in the Grand Republic of The United States of America. The magic you see all around you is called 'electricity,' based on the alchemy of the American Patriot, Doctor Benjamin Franklin. The retired teacher, the man upstairs, whose house this is, is a Jew. And the woman, his wife, is a Jew too....... Nooo!? - said the young elferino. For in his time The Revolution, the storming of le Bastille had not yet come and Juifs were scared, quiet, silent beings in dark, narrow streets and ghettos..... What year is it? - asked the elferino..... Twenty fourteen. - said the elferina..... Her new companion gasped, made some mental calculations and said - Two hundred and thirty nine years? I was sealed in that horrid cube for two hundred and thirty nine years?..... She nodded and he began to laugh as one insane...... Are you hungry? - said Marianne....What do you think? - asked the more than four hundred year old being. His body was the body of a twelve year old, for that was his age when the 'burden' fell upon him.

The retired teacher hurried down the steps and came up to the other side of the laundry room door and knocked..... Excuse me. Is it alright if I open this? - he asked.... Yes - said the elferina.... He did and said - Can I put on the light?.... Then he held out a pair of sunglasses - These are for the boy.... The light coming in through the window, feeble as it was, allowed them to see a little bit. The boy took the sunglasses and examined them. The man said - Spectacles. A type of spectacle. Smoked glass, or something like glass. They soften the light. Put them on. you'll see....... The elferino did. Then the man switched on the light. The elferino looked over the frames, raised them up, looked over the frames again, raised them up again and laughed. Marianne laughed too.... You look like the boy in Risky Business, but thinner. - she said...... What is 'Risky Business?' - he asked.......... Oh, do you have a lot to learn. - she sighed...... Then they said 'bon nuit' to the retired teacher, opened the back door with the small, high window and ran out into the semi-deserted, dark, winter, shore town night. The man wanted to yell. He wanted to say 'Wait! Wait! Take a scarf. Take a hat, some sweat shirts, some gloves!' But he could not. Some houses had people in them and he did not want to attract any attention.

So the two supernatural beings raced down the two thirds empty street, passed neat coastal houses shuttered for the winter, though some were not so shuttered and had fragrant smoke rising from their chimneys. 

After a quick sublimation through the exterior wall of a closed for the evening sportswear shop, they exited wrapped in warm fleece, wool caps and everything else necessary to beat back the chill. Marianne wrote down the address. Her 'familiar' would send them more than enough cash. 

The boy told her his name, Peter, or Robin, or Pan, or some such thing like that and of his nativity in sixteenth century Brittany. Then they took to the air (elferinos and elferinas can achieve true flight, you know) and headed south, toward the bright lights of Atlantic City just over the horizon.

I'm sure he'll find a nice dinner there...

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French Folk Music..as heard by THE BOY IN THE BOX before they sealed him in ... 2/15/14

The saints have smiled upon us and the planets have aligned! We are able to post what was channeled below the music! You who are of the #vampirewonderland for any length of time know the difficulties we have had which such things. Gadgetry of your age vexes us so. And if it is important for you to know who speaks, know this, it is I Marianne, most vociferous of the elferinos and elferinas. I tell you of the coming of Gustave, also know as Robin, or Robin Goodfellow, or Puck, or Pan. Some call him 'Peter,' but they are Anglais and I hate the Anglais. Odd that I live among their bastard children. 


When were we last together, two, three nights ago? I take you back to that time. Return with me to the laundry room beneath the coastal cottage on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. The first Isle of Jersey was French, you know? But, as with most night-folk, I babble and digress. My face is fourteen. My soul so much more. 


I slept on that little cot by the matching, front loading washer and dryer. Gustave lay curled upon the furry, throw rug, all covered in thick, warm towels. It was snug in there. The furnace radiated warmth. We slept like kittens. But the boy had been sleeping for centuries. Vampire-folk do that when buried 'alive.' I knew he was night-folk, because during a passing wakefulness I looked. I went over an gently pulled back his lip. The fangs were there. I saw them. He blinked a few times, but did not stir, though I could see the dull, black film dissolving from his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't mold. Maybe it was only dust? Then I slept some more.


Sometime later I smelled coffee. The retired school teacher's wife was up. She bustled about the kitchen. I heard an occasional car, or truck in the street. It must have been morning, but the black plastic bags taped over the windows (which were small to begin with) saved us. And my roommate was 'up' too. I couldn't see him. It was too dim for that. Some night-folk see well in the dark, but elferinos and elferinas tend toward the 'human' in that regard. Oh, probably better than most mortals, though not as well as the vampirinos and vamperinas. Our world is extremely complicated. Please don't think what they show you on television is anything but lies.


I could hear him singing. No, more like humming, up in a corner where the ceiling met the wall Though he did repeat a few phrases over and over.... A French song... a country song. I know French and Flemish, some German and of course, living here I know Anglais. We speak English night to night. That's what we use...mostly. But I do recall the country French.. He said - The perfume of the trees... the perfume of the trees... the blossoms and the moonlight and the breeze... And he sang it over and over and over... Droned it actually. I wanted to switch on the light. I remembered where it was from before. But I was afraid. He must have been scared. Relieved, yes, to be out of that horrible chest. But still terrified. Even the very surface of the wall was strange to him. 'Dry wall,' what would he know of that? Or the electric circuitry? Or the washer? All of it. The noise of the furnace going on and off. Your magic rivals much that we do and it grows stranger every day. 


I whispered. I said - Boy, what is your name? He told me, but you already know that. I said - May we have light? ... He said - Yes.... I said - The light of this time will seem harsh to you. Please hold your hands over your eyes and peek through your fingers..... He clambered down from his perch. Don't ask me to explain how elferinas and elferinos climb like that, or how we stay up there. Albion did it, that time in the fine townhouse near our own, when I told my story. People saw and were amazed. If you like, google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz. I hope they make a movie of it. I want others to know me. Am I vain? Of course. I am night-folk. 


Then I felt along the wall and found the switch. But before I turned it on I said - Find one of the towels and put in over your head...... He asked - Were those things, those coverlets towels?... I said - Yes..... He found one and did as I asked. I flicked the switch and he tensed. He gasped. I saw him crouched between the matching, front loading, washer and dryer. He trembled. I said - Are you alright? Why don't you lie back down?..... He said - I can't. I cannot straighten up. I can't move my neck. I can't move my back....... The retired teacher's wife heard us and ran down the steps. He moaned. She gently knocked on the door and said - Excuse me. Would you like some hot tea? I made some hot tea. Can the boy drink some tea? I know you can drink that...... Who is that? - he whispered. What does she say?..... She is a mortal woman. This is her house. Her husband helps us. She made tea. - I said. Do you want some?...... But he just hugged his knees, rocked side to side and moaned some more.


I went to the door and said - Please, madam, not now. Give us more time..... Then I heard the husband say something. The wife said - Okay, okay.... She didn't want to say it, but he made her. She went - He didn't do anything to the washer, dryer, or the cabinets, did he? You know they're brand new...... I said - No, he did not harm those things..... We traded a few more words. The retired teacher told me the limousine driver went out for pancakes and sausage. Breakfast places are big at the shore, even in winter. I thanked her for telling me. They ran back upstairs. A small bit of light from one of the windows in the next room began to leak under the door. But I stopped it with a towel and we were alright. 


He tried to lay back down on the rug, the towel still over his head, but couldn't stretch out. His back still quite immobile. I helped him onto the cot and covered him with my blanket. Then I turned off the light lay down on the furry throw rug and covered myself with his towels.


Two hundred years under the sea in a cold, water tight leaden box. My ordeal was but twenty years. But two hundred years. What must that have been like?


I laid there in the darkness, as he quietly began to sing again...


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The Grand Budapest Hotel Official Trailer (HD) Wes Anderson am suffering much from de tired to channel night-folk tonight, but dip you-self in this instead

If you know it the universe of Wes Anderson, you know it that he like pixilated circumstances very very much.. so tickle it you funny bone with this til after my sleep time ends tomorrow. And, as always, squeeze into more Vampire Wonderland via dis clickable link ~>WE DO SO WANT TO SEE YOU and gossip with us on TWITTER by clicking it you finger on ~>WHERE IT IS BILLY ON TWITTER . Much thanking we are doing to you. Leave it with us the COMMENT?



Now kindly avail you-self of it and watch it the film...

THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL

Who Got Themself Welded In That Old Leaden Chest?... 2/13/14

They sent for Marianne, because she'd know. So Tomas put her in a big black car, like a plain limousine rich people ride in. 'Cause you know they do not roll around in them pimped out stretch things. The 'familiar' on Long Beach Island sent it. We asked if she wanted one of us to go with her. Conrad would have gone. One of the other elferinos, or elferinas could have. But she wanted to go by herself. Figured this might be a 'rising.' That's when a sad, scared vampire waif sees the world after being sealed away for years and years and years. Marianne says regular mortals can't even imagine it. Even most vampires can't imagine it. But she can, because she went through it. 

If you would like to learn about that, google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz and scroll around. We only pretend it's fiction, because we have to. But it really happened to her. Still, that's another thing.

They had to leave after dark. The driver was from a livery that knew how to handle night-folk clientele. Each car had a special trunk fitted out with special padding, in case somebody had to lie in it and a thick, rubber gasket 'round where the trunk lid came down to seal out the light. Marianne dressed warm. Cold would not harm her. What could it do? She's a vampire, or a type of vampire.

(I have to temporarily 'publish' this again, like I did a night or two ago and go back into it via 'edit' to finish... Someone doesn't like when I share these insights into real vampire life. This has been going on since the beginning, more than three years ago. I check. They tell me it's not a virus or malware. But it's there and it's something. ... Let me go 'out' and come right back in... Thanks.)

Tomas made sure she had money. I don't know what she needs it for, but it makes him feel better. He says - In case they stop, she can go in a McDonald's or someplace and get a hot tea, or a bowl of chicken broth. Elferinas and Elferinos can tolerate a little more than other vampires. Plain soup shouldn't bother her. So she sits in the back of a big black car traveling down the dark, slushy roads of South Jersey. The driver likes jazz. Got a cool jazz station on. She doesn't care. Dozes a little. Thinks what it was like when she popped out of the box. Driver goes - There's a nice wool, lap robe in that nylon bag on the floor, if you want it..... Marianne goes - Thank you, but I'm OK.... She's got a long pea coat with deep pockets and a high collar, a scarf, a thick ski cap, gloves. Plus the car is heated, you know. Though night-folk don't like it too warm. Whole ride took three and a half hours, much longer than usual because of the weather. But the jazz was nice, so she didn't care.

Soon as they got there the driver ran into the bathroom. Town was quiet and empty, all wet and shiny. Rain coming down. Tail end of a Nor'easter it was. Some of the little streets leading toward the beach were swamped up to the curb. But that happens all the time at the shore when it rains. Most of the houses were empty. You could tell. One light on a timer downstairs. Smaller light on a timer upstairs. Maybe like one third of the houses had people in 'em, not counting the ghosts. People get attached to them little shore towns. Death don't stop that.

The 'familiar' is a retired school teacher and his wife. She raises long-haired, angora guinea pigs for people who really want like a toy dog, but are allergic or lazy. Has them all in a nice dry, clean space off the laundry room. The old, leaden chest is in the laundry room. Wife gives Marianne a hot, mug of tea. Elferina goes - Thank you..... She's a good kid. Three hundred and seventy years old. Been through a lot {I'm telling you. Google it}, but still basically hopeful and innocent. They go in to see the chest. Driver sits in the cozy living room watching the Olympics. You know those rooms they got at the shore... off white, bead board walls... light blue, sun yellow finely tailored upholstered furniture, light wood tables and all... glossy magazines... tab curtains... What did I forget?... I don't know why I channel so much of the details. Guess it's 'cause I want you to see how real this is. I know I say that a lot too, but so many people think it's not. And you know what I say to them?... Don't be so self-limiting. 

Marianne knelt down and ran her hands over the chest. There were no seams. They'd all been carefully welded shut. Oh, you could see the ridges where they were, but no air, or water, has gone in or out of that thing since it was last shut..... Marianne whispered something in French, or Flemish. I don't know. She tapped on the heavy lid. A few heartbeats later, someone tapped back. It was weak, but they heard it. The retired teacher said - I have tools... a saw... a metal saw, like plumbers use. Lead is fairly soft. It'll cut through. Should I get it?..... Marianne said - Yes, please. Get it. ..... He rummaged in a cupboard and came back with a short, tapering blade attached to what I'd call a pitcher handle, laboriously got down on his knees and began to saw. The wife knew his knees hurt. She got a towel and folded it up so he could kneel on it.  After a minute, maybe two, a little nick opened up in a corner of the chest, up high, where the lid came down. Then a stench came out. They all smelled it.. the retired teacher, his wife, Marianne. And vampires don't really have a scent. They don't give off a smell. But this wasn't from the being inside. This was from the air... old air from the western peninsulas of Europe, more than two hundred years ago, last breathed when Voltaire lived and Napoleon was a boy. Perhaps it was the interaction between the gases and the lead, or some sort of night-folk alchemy, but the teacher's wife retched. Marianne said - Please, no. You don't have to be here. Go, sit down. Please...... The wife said - That's alright. I want to see what's inside......  An hour and twenty minutes later, after rest breaks, cold water and passing off the saw between them, she did.

Lead is soft, but heavy so the lid stayed more or less in place til the final portion was cut. Then he jimmied the saw blade into the thin, straight crack (following the old welded seam) and shifted the lid ever so slightly off to one side. He grabbed one end. Marianne grabbed the other. Night-folk are strong. And together they carefully put it down on the floor.

Inside was a crumpled gray, linen cloth and what was under it trembled violently. The retired teacher looked at Marianne and said - Should I?...... She thought for a few moments and whispered - No, I will.

The cloth fairly disintegrated in her hands. There, beneath it, they saw him... a thin young boy, locked on his side in a fetal position. He wore black suede, knee britches and what was once a white, cotton shirt, his hair plastered to his skull and covered with a fine talc of lead dust. He was breathing. They could see that he was breathing. The wife mumbled - The poor thing..... Imagine, inhaling and exhaling the same stale air over and over again. True, he was night-folk and had no need of oxygen, but still. The retired teacher said - His eyes, they're open, but why are they black?...... Marianne said - It's mold. I don't know. It's not supposed to grow on our bodies, but sometimes it does. Here, help me get him out..... The man considered for a moment and asked - Is it safe? Is it safe for me to touch him? ..... Don't worry - said the Elferina. If it's not, I'll give you some drops of my blood. You'll be alright. She'll be alright (meaning the wife). Now please. Please help.... He hesitated, but the boy in the box was weeping. They could see that he was weeping, so between them, they ever so carefully lifted him out and laid him down on a little throw rug near the laundry room sink. The side of his body resting against the lead was somewhat flattened and discolored but not too much. His vampire blood prevented that. He started to tremble again. The wife got some big, thick, folded beach towels from a cabinet and covered him up. Marianne tenderly put one under his head. The wife said - What do we do? Do we just leave him like that?...... For a while we do - said the Elferina Marianne.... Now there weren't any big windows in the laundry room, maybe one small one, plus another tiny one on the door. The retired teacher got some black, plastic trash bags and duct tape to cover them up.

The wife said - What happens when he wakes up? Will he see? How long will it take for his eyes to get better?..... I don't know - said Marianne. Not long. A day, maybe less. I'm guessing. But please, you two go relax. I'll stay here with him.... The retired teacher (who was also a night-folk 'familiar') set up a little cot with a pillow and all. The wife got a blanket. She said - Here, lie down.....Marianne kicked off her shoes and did. Then the wife noticed all the lead dust on her nice, smooth, shiny, milky-gray painted floor. She dampened a cloth, got down and cleaned it up..... Marianne said - Thank you..... The woman self-consciously nodded. Before they left, her husband said - When he wakes up, please don't let him go crazy. We just had the cabinets and cupboards put in. And the washer and dryer are new too. After 'Sandy,' you know........ Marianne said - I won't.....

They left. I guess then they had to get the limo driver set up?  Think they put him on an old, tweed recliner they had in this little office.

Marianne found a few magazines from last summer in a canvas beach bag near the door. She laid back down and read them for a while. Then she put out the light and went to sleep.

Her roommate moaned a little, but he was alright.

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PEOPLE NOTICE DIFFERENCES IN THE PHILADELPHIA PARANORMAL WORLD .. 2/13/14

Doctor Franklin noticed it. Usipov healed very quickly, considering he was still essentially mortal and had not yet returned to vampire form. He measured and listened and felt, refracting 'the resonance' through small crystal discs, detecting marginal variances with his finger tips. And it's funny. Considering how scientifically adept he was, the old reprobate still preferred recording data on fine, pale green pages in large traditional ledgers. Indeed, he'd done so since the days of his first Junto almost three hundred years ago. Hundreds of those books filled clean, sleek, stainless steel shelves ( retrievable via a system of silent tracks and casters) in climate controlled rooms near 'the residence' (the sumptuous underground 'manor house' where Franklin lived). A small group of curators working under Franklin's protege, Bruce (his family name. not his given one) had access to the tomes and were called 'book men' even though some of them were female. They wore somber business suits (skirts, pants, or kilts depending on preference, gender, or national origin).. Most felt they communicated telepathically. Not all the time, but they did have that capability.

Usipov said - When may I retreat to darkness?..... Those Russians have such a Chekovian streak.  And, as you obviously know, his new body was Russian too, having once been inhabited by that Moscow haberdasher's assistant. God knows what his brutally evicted spirit does now...... Franklin feigned undivided interest in his calligraphy, slowly tracing smooth, artistic strokes on exquisite rice paper, a gift from The Chrysanthemum Throne, otherwise known as the emperor of Japan. In return, Franklin sent him small,polished stone jars of a rare, complexion enhancing unguent made from nutrient-rich mer-folk placentas. Usipov tried to palm a jar. Franklin wouldn't let him, but he had them rig up a phony one filled with Crisco and Noxema, 'cause he knew the Russian (formerly a vampire-oligarch as well) wasn't going to stop.

Usipov asked again - When can I return to vampiric state? Franklin really didn't know. He was in a quandary. Tomas blood, or Elferino-elferina blood? Tomas blood was his first choice. But as far as he knew, the pubescent strain (the 'elf' strain) had never been used to create a vampire before. The scientific part of his nature wanted to see what would happen. But how would he get one of the elferinos or elferinas? That was the problem. Vampire kidnapping was out of favor. A few senators had offspring so burdened and really, really frowned on it. In the last generation or so, what with the popularity of vampire fiction and real vampires as well, novices to the breed can pop up anywhere. Only thing saving professional sports is all the day games. And don't think the coaches, managers and owners aren't happy about that. 

Franklin, ever the instinctive psychologist, said - Well wouldn't you like to be in better shape first? More defined? A 'six pack'? Perhaps a 'V' cut? You know, no alterations possible later....... Usipov goes - I know that. I've been vampire before. And what's wrong with this body? It's thin. It's lithe. Decent muscle tone. Well?...... The old patriot gestured toward the muted flat screen over the big work table and asked - You want to be locked in the body of an ice dancer forever?  The Russian looked at the screen filled with late night Olympic coverage, thought for a few heartbeats and said - Uh, no....... With that, Franklin went over to a cupboard and came back with a soft brick of clay. He plopped it down on an adjacent table (away from his refined calligraphy) and said - Here, create something....... Usipov sighed and proceeded to make yet another ashtray. This time, maybe, he'd decorate it with green polka dots...... But Franklin knew he could only stall so long....

Meanwhile back at the townhouse, Edith started to notice things. Her breasts felt different... large... full... warm. And Boopsie looked at her funny, as if she wanted to nurse. But the pow-wow (simply, self-taught, country witchery) woman laughed. She was well into middle age... Though still... somehow it felt so right.....

Boopsie clapped her fat, little mitts and went - Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme.... My God! The kid was asking for it already. Jeez, when do 'born' witchling kids start to talk?.... And how long do they nurse? Edith didn't know and she really didn't care. She just picked up the baby, sat in the rocker... and let 'nature' (or whatever it was) take it's course.

And upstairs, snug in her sleeping cabinet, Marianne, the comely elferina, switched on a small, efficient L.E.D. light and opened a letter. It was from a 'friend' on the coast, somewhere north of Atlantic City, Long Beach Island, or Tom's River someplace. An old, sealed, leaden chest had washed up. The first in over  three hundred and fifty years.

And something was scratching from inside....

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It's Me... BILLY... I'm Talking Tonight.. 2/12/14.

'First of all we must agree that what comes next is fiction'.... They made me say that. Tomas did actually, three and a half years ago when it all started. He talked about the old days back then. That made it safe. There was a distance. It didn't seem real, even to him. Vampires are like that. The long lived ones, I mean. They'll tell you a story from centuries ago and they know what happened. They have feelings about it. But it's like they're talking about somebody else. It's them, but it isn't them. 

Once they had a shrink, some psychologist. Didn't really treat any of them. Found him at an art show. Some gallery on North Second Street. Think he wanted to buy some painting. Gallery Bitch said thirty seven hundred and fifty dollars. Way too much. Artist painted in Kool Aid, but like the kind without sugar so bugs would not eat it. Guy felt bad. Said the work reminded him of pictures his brother made... Not as an adult. When he was a child. When they were in camp. And not with Kool Aid. Just water colors. Told the Gallery Bitch he liked the picture but could only pay fifteen hundred dollars. He wasn't lying. That was the truth. Bitch goes - Oh, how unfortunate..... Gives him a sick smile and goes off to sniff out more money. ( I have to hit publish and continue via 'edit' because I keep getting an 'error' message at top of the page. The internet's not easy. The internet stinks. We just have to pretend it's easy, 'cause they ain't gonna make it any better. So if you see the post this way...please come back later and read the whole thing. I'm sorry. I have to put up with a lot, And the vampires I blog for can't help. It's horrible. It's disgusting. Give me a few minutes. I'll be back...)Okay, I'm back. So let me finish this part. Tomas overhears this crap, grabs the Gallery Bitch and buys the painting right then and there. Oh, she smiles. She bats her eyes at him. Goes - tee hee hee.... Wanna push her out a window, but we were street level. All she'd do is trip over a bike. Takes the thing right off the wall. Everybody looks, cheese cubes poised in mid air. Bitch has a kid who works there. Real snide thing. Gives it to him. He goes and slips it in a brown paper sleeve, like a big envelope. They had 'em behind a counter just in case. All sizes. Never know how many 'marks' are in the crowd. Some people like to be seen writing out that check. Shrink guy looks. I can see he felt bad. Yeah, I was there too. Hey, I like Colby Jack. And they had these little kiwi things too. And some king of cheese stuffed figs. There were cocktail weenies. But these creeps camped out right by the door where the guy with the tray comes out and WHOOSH they suck 'em all up in a minute.... The art world version of illegal aliens. They got no business being there. Unless they help clean up when it's over. 

Shrink guy comes over to Tomas and goes - You like that picture too? ..... Tomas says - The important thing is you like it..... And he hands it to him. Guy looks like he doesn't know what's happening... like he doesn't know what's going on. But ( we learned this later) his brother's dead and he really wants that painting. Sarah comes over. She smiles and takes Tomas' arm. She says - Please, take it..... She has this way about her. She has this look. So he does. Guy doesn't even ask who they are. Tomas says they know. He says people know they're in the presence of a 'more than mortal' being. They sense it. You know that 'resonance' they talk about?  Maybe that's what they feel. Tomas and Sarah were no threat to him. They weren't going to feed on him. Had two crooked cops before we came. They go like that. For months it'll be crooked cops. Then crooked doctors... Racketeers.... Crooked politicians..... Street toughs..... 'Black Widow' husband poisoners... That's how it goes. The 'visions.' They have the 'visions.' 

Ten minutes later we're in a cab going home and the shrink is with us. I sit up front. He sits in the back. Sarah sits in the middle.  It's quiet. Nobody talks. Cab's got a radio. I guess they all do, but the drivers hardly ever turn 'em on. Yet this one does---- Billy Joel singing 'In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep, through the valley of dreams..... I chuckle. How fitting. Like background music in a movie. I always see things that way. Just how I am. 

Driver goes the long way. Gets lost on Arch Street. Winds up west of Broad. Tomas doesn't say anything. He don't care. I like living in Center City, so it don't bother me either. Shrink guy goes - You mind? I gotta pee...... Tomas says - Ten more minutes. 

Edith lets us in. Gives us hot tea. Vampires can tolerate plain, weak tea. Sits us down in the family room. No fire. Just like a forty watt light from this dark red spice jar, Chinese, porcelain lamp they have. I like a dim room, actually. Feels quiet and peaceful. 

I'm wondering why they brought this shrink home. After some completely transparent and pointless small talk (guy has got to know this ain't 'regular') Tomas (who obviously picked up my thoughts) says - We brought him here for you..... I blinked. I didn't know what to say. Guy looks nervous too. But not too nervous. Maybe Edith put something in his tea? 

Little by little we begin to talk. Tomas says - He's a writer. Tells about us...... Shrink says - And you don't mind?..... Tomas shrugs.... Shrink goes - So what's the problem?..... I say - People, people are the problem. This has got to be a unique story. This is real. You know it's real. It's not 'TrueBlood.' It's not just about the 'kill,' or vampire sex, though we touch on that too when it's ... part of the story. It's about life. It's about their life. It's about what happens when strange things happen to good people..... Tomas looks at me. I say - That's what I see.... He nods. Sarah looks like she's tearing up. But I can't tell. Might just be the reflection of the light..... I ask the guy. I go - Why won't people read it? ..... He says - Nobody reads it?...... I say - No, some do, but not enough....... Tomas smiles and adds - He wants to put us in the movies. Has a script. Most of it's real. Most of it's about us. But some of the details are different. (looks at me) What's it called again?..... Philadelphia After Dark - I go. I tell him how I sent it out to dozens of places. Most never responded, even via the handy enclosed response card. All they had to do was check off a box. I put a lot into those presentations. I researched just how it should be done. Well, maybe half responded. But always the same thing.... Thanks, but no thanks.... Because the only thing I didn't have in that presentation was a name. I didn't have a connection. I didn't have any recommendation. One guy, supposed to be real famous for 'always having his door open, so anybody with any kind of idea can drop in and talk,' a big producer partnered up with a real hot former actor who now just directs, does respond. Sends back a big, heavy stock envelope. I think - This is it..... But it ain't it. Some functionary in the legal department stuffs in all I sent, plus pages of their own saying - Don't contact us. You can never contact us. We will never read your material. We have not examined your material. We are not familiar with PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK. We have not read... and then he outlines all the different story points they 'have not read.' Boy, did that feel weird. Much worse than a simple 'no thanks' on a response card. Agents send those back all the time... the ones who want traditional submissions through the mail anyway. Everybody tells me SOME will accept submissions without a big name 'who sent you'.... That's what they call the recommendations... 'who sent you's'....But I never found any. 

Shrink listened. Then he said - How does that make you feel?... I thought for a few heartbeats (picked that 'heartbeats' thing up from the night-folk) and said - Ignored. Smothered. Like they don't even sanction my right to live..... Shrink said - You have a choice. You can get used to that feeling, or take the power out of their hands.... 

We talked some more after that. Tomas asked a few questions too. He still has issues about surviving his mortal family. Over nine hundred years ago and he thinks about it almost every day.

Then it was over. Everybody shook hands. Tomas said - Don't forget your picture.... Guy goes - Are you sure?.... Tomas nods.... Shrink got issues too.... Takes the picture. Edith calls a cab and he goes. 

Tomas looks at me and says - Did that help you any?.... I said - Maybe, but it's not like I'm a musician. I can't play my instrument outside some big building. I got no guitar case to leave open. People gotta read it. At least look at it.

Well... even vampires don't know everything..... I told you this was real life.

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