They had a school for the training of children, mostly boys from subject areas, located deep withing the palace. And when I (Peter) say 'palace' I mean more an amalgam of palacial buildings than one discreet residence. The name of this school was Enderun, which in the language of the Turks meant 'inner most.' Jannasaries were made there, youths from the Balkans groomed to become renowned warriors, commanders and even generals. Others entered governmental, or diplomatic service.Some became pashas, or beys.
But deep beneath the dungeons, for young lads also transgress, was another place, a dim world, lit by fragrant candles and furnished with cast-offs from the royal apartments. After perhaps three or four nights in rougher accommodations, I was taken there and placed in tutilage to a vampire-eunuch stolen from the manor of a provincial governor in the far off Empire of Abyssinia. Initially he was just a boy. Then they made him a eunuch, via a fast, quick procedure accomplished by the application of a specially crafted curved blade... a razor sharp scimitar, made for 'the close shave,' as it was called. For in one fell swoop all external gender-flesh was removed. The carp ate well on those nights. Slim, golden catheters, or perhaps ones made of jade, insured preservation of the urinary tract during healing. Fevers and delirium came next, as the tender wound, salved by fresh, hot dung, dried and healed. And the operation was quite successful for the time. Just under half survived. But the odds improved to just over half if done before the advent of puberty... mortal elferinos, if you will. Apparently they let this Abyssinian remain mortal for a while, as he had the form of a grown. but altered male. Menelik he was called, after an esteemed, ancient prince of his people. He wore long loose robes made from the finest silk, but bearing many interwoven threads of burnished lead to make the garment 'vampire proof.' His turban was fashioned in the same manner. And I never knew the purpose of those 'vampire proof' garments, as he was clearly a superior night-fiend (I know not who made him) and could have dispatched us at any moment.
Please know that I say 'us' for I was obviously not the only student in that place. There were others.... a boy already 'elferino' (juvenile vampire) and another still quite mortal. The teacher brought him over, but not right away. Now it seemed strange that Paul, the other elferino captured with me, was not there. Maybe they had other facilities like this? Maybe they sold him, or traded him, or gave him to more distant courts in Persia, or Mogul India? I don't know. Basia, being elferina was trained in the seraglio (harem) for other things. I never saw her either. Male and female rarely mixed in that realm. Every aspect of life proceeded according to a pattern, as if proscribed by the gongs, lutes and whistles of the imperial musicians dispatched around here.
The first night (I assumed it was night. Natural light never reached us. And our kind does see the deep, gray wash of early dawn, or the blue-gray sigh of deepest dusk) we just sat there, arranged on large, firm damask pillows, as an old pedagogue read to us from an over-sized, hand tooled, leather book, bathed in the burnished glow of three or four small, brass lamps scattered round the room. Later I learned he did this to familiarize us with the sound of the formal court dialect spoken in the palace. In the land where I was from, which I discovered was called Croatia, we did know a simple form of this language, but nothing like the tongue I learned now. Turks of the capital valued fine words, a practice picked up from the Persians, farther to the east. Indeed, Persian poetry and artistry was known throughout the cultured world.
A few weeks later, after learning a bit of vocabulary, they brought prisoners down from the dungeons and said that we should feed. I got an Ossetian girl from the Caucus. She cried. She knew. The other elferino, who was called Alexander, was given an addle-brained dolt of unknown origin. They made us drain them til they died, showing us a large, leaden 'iron maiden' off in a small, dark room. There was a slit where the mouth would be and tiny holes for 'eyes.' Inside we heard the muffled babbling of a tortured soul, an elferino who would not kill, for draining unto death is rare among our kind... and for this he was sorely punished.
The next night they brought in others and made us do it again. Living blood is addictive. Those with strength maintain their honor and avoid falling under. But that was not their plan.... and we were made into slaves...
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Even media outlets who NEVER admit the existence of entities in the dark cover manifestations here on a regular basis. Eastern State Penitentiary spans the era (200 years ago) when dungeons became prisons. Few cities in Europe have any surviving places like this, except perhaps the old municipal dungeons in Venice. The Halloween Ghost Tour is not to be missed.. Not just theater majors in make-up. Some of the people in THIS show have already shed the mortal coil. Go with friends. Bring religious talismans of your choice. Prepare to face the truth...
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cue the tape. and when you're done, search it on You Tube. They tell me the guy (STEVE) who put this up has more.
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Now if you didn't already do it, PLEASE, watch the tape. And PLEASE #2... Go search it on You Tube to see the rest of the collection.
He will never tell you these things on his own. Perhaps he doesn't believe them? Or maybe he feels they are no longer important? But I can say and I will. Peter, I mean. I am telling you about Peter, the evil elferino. Evil elferinos are exceedingly rare. They say an Ottoman Emperor attempted to collect them. He sent riders to comb the realm looking for signs and stories. Black swathed wraiths they were, attired in Scythian raiment to keep out the dust and hold back the wind. High black boots they wore and long lengths of equally dark, polished cloth wrapped 'round their heads and over their hard, silent mouths. It's said the mounts were somewhat carnivorous, fed on boiled frogs and fat, plump grubs scattered amongst the grain and peas. Some stable masters honed the teeth to knife edged keenness, the better to bite off toes, or fingers, or cheeks. What's that? You say horses won't do that? No, not left to their own devices. But psyches can be changed. Dietary staples can be withheld. Hot blades applied to certain tender body parts help too. Such things can be done. Horses are intelligent. They learn.
And as with horses, the same with little boys, or beings which were once little boys. The emperor's men were experts at their task. Old women were taken hostage. Not any old women... witchy women.... wise women.... Held and tortured they were.... thrown in the crab pits, deep beneath the kitchens... fetid holes of damp, hungry swarming chitinous monsters. Most victims were quickly fished out trembling and babbling. Crabs work fast, don't you know. They begged for assistance... for special salves and unguents to soothe their many pinches tears and bites. But the eunuchs held back til the Royal Interlocutors got what they wanted. Although witchy women fancied animals to be their 'familiars,' they themselves did 'familiars'' chores for other beings, namely night-folk. Some served ordinary vampirinos and vamperinas. Others toiled for more exotic sorts... elferinos, elferinas, lucid wanderers and other things. They told what they knew, betraying supernatural friends and clients. Huntsmen were dispatched bearing huge, strong, leaden nets. And when the innocent elferinos in question exited their lairs, the trap was sprung. Night-folk cannot pass through lead, you know. The enchanted quarry were quickly wrapped and bound, much as Marianne was during her capture. Or perhaps it was 'Papa?' Lead is their kryptonite.
Peter was one such quarry, a trophy snatched from a mountain cave in the wilds of Croatia, not to distant from Austria, in case you don't know. Ottoman territory stretched that far. And he rode in a cage with leaden shutters, open by night, but sealed by day. It rested on a caisson maybe five cubits (1 cubit = 18 inches = 45 cm) tall, ten cubits wide and twelve cubits long. Peter was not its only occupant. Two other juvenile vampires rode with him, a female called Basia and a male called Paul. But their stories are not his.
The huge conveyance, pulled by ten brown bears, oversized specimens ransomed from a Muscovite prince, were meticulously trained for the task. I don't know what they fed them, but I'm told the diet consisted of thick slabs of fine, smoked salmon and countless alabaster jars of costly beluga caviar.
On the thirtieth night they reached Istanbul, making their way through the Roman city, capital of an everlasting empire at that time more than two thousand years old. Heralds proceeded them to Topkapi (the palace) , where the occupants of the leaden cage were immediately ushered before the Sublime Porte, into the very presence of the Emperor/Sultan himself.
The ruler never spoke and barely acknowledged his functionaries, communicating through a series of subtle gestures. The three night-folk were separated, each surrounded by a different cadre of imperious eunuchs and led from the exquisitely tiled throne room, proceeding over what seemed like miles of handmade, silk carpeting to the place where they'd be trained.
They fit Peter with a thick, lead collar and showed him the instruments of torture, all lead naturally, which would be brought to bear should he prove recalcitrant in any way. Now he was newly made at that time and had no idea which parts regenerated and which did not, so the various tongue extractors, flesh pinchers , flaying knives and eye screws were never ever used.... so far as I know.
But his toe nails were pulled from their beds just to teach him 'what for.' And he cried as they carried him away.
His schooling had begun...
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Marianne couldn't take it anymore. Boopsie made the shattered almost corpse wriggle along the cold, stone floor like a snake and Peter clapped his hands and laughed. He seemed to be exhilarated by everything. But that's probably due to being locked up in that leaden chest so long. All curled up like a jelly roll, he was. Would a killed a regular human bean. Being welded into the chest would have killed a regular human bean, what with suffocating and all. But night-folk (all varieties) can breathe the same lungs-fill of air over and over and over for ever. Oxygen is not a necessity for them. They just inhale and exhale out of habit.
Marianne said - Kill him! Get it over with! Kill him!.... She tried to grab him and do it herself, but Peter held her back. Not with his hands... with his power. He 'picked' her up and SLAMMED her against the wall. And this mausoleum was well built. Could have been like a doll house, or an outdoor play house at Downton Abbey. Cracked her head. you heard that. She just groaned and crumpled down onto the floor. True, elferinas are fast healers, bur 'fast' doesn't mean instantaneous, nor pain free for that matter.
Boopsie piped - Lady alright?... But nobody answered. The other elfin-folk just sat there. They didn't want any trouble. And the smashed-up almost dead, drunk guy didn't know what he wanted. Smelled like he crapped himself. Vampires hate that. You know how Tomas and all of them at the townhouse are with aroma candles and all? Peter's no different. So he leaned over the almost-corpse, lowered himself down on the reeking back (that part wasn't pleasant) and ripped any leftover life right out of the grimy neck. Boopsie said - Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! .... She wanted some too, I guess. but three heartbeats later the oozing remains crackled and burned with a 'cold' blue flame. Peter wiped his mouth and said - No, baby. none for you...... She just stared. Born-baby-witchlings aren't used to being denied. But the flickering cobalt flames hypnotized her. Soon in was over and the body, save for a greasy, ashy residue was gone. Peter looked around, suddenly bored by the surroundings. Maybe he remembered the leaden chest? The others steeled themselves. No telling what a 'ruined' elferino might do. Some say The Ripper himself was one such being.
Roland found his courage and said - We want to leave. We thought this would be different, but we want to leave...... Peter ignored him and picked up the baby. She didn't seem to mind the cold, bundled as she was in two heavyweight snuggies, scarves, hat and mittens and all. Now you have to remember that minus the flames, the never-used mausoleum was dark, save for the orangy light reflecting out from Peter's eyes. But people, especially night-folk, don't really need much. You know how when you get up to use the toilet you can 'almost' see by the glow-in-the-dark light from the clock radio? Well, it's like that, but a bit stronger. The elfin-folk shuddered as it passed over them. Albion, the second elferino tried to get up, but he couldn't move his legs. Why do you keep us here? - asked Celeste.... Peter didn't answer. He bounced the little witchling on his lap. She gurgled and seemed happy enough. Peter whispered - Almost a 'cherub.'
Now Zebulon, the disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old (Peter's physical age) Judean stoned to death twenty one hundred years ago for witchcraft, flits about the afterlife with great dexterity and he finds things. He talks to people and I (Billy) am also quite adept at channeling him, thus I know things too. Peter was a baby killer. Well, they were sort of dead. He'd steal into remote houses by night, pad through the darkness toward the bedrooms, maybe wring the neck of a dog or two that decided to look into things. Just small dogs; not too much trouble. Big ones slept in kennels. Sensitive ears might pick up a muffled yelp, but no one stirred. Interior, nighttime, darkness was absolute back then. We're talking about the seventeenth century. High beds, covered in testers were sealed under canopies and draperies, the better to keep in the heat. Infants and toddlers slept just beyond in snug, little cradles with high sides and sheltering headboards rather like wing chairs with roofs, bundled under their own quilts and coverlets. That's where Peter found them. Didn't take much to kneel down, fold back a duvet or two, untie a simple bonnet and take a small, sweet life... or at least the mortal part of it. Two or three little blood kisses after the fact were enough to awaken the vampiric nature of the little thing. He'd wait til he felt the tiny fangs, smile to himself and leave. The newly minted 'cherub' instinctively hid from the daylight, crawling under nearby bed skirts at crack of dawn. Sometimes the parents never found them. When night came again they'd break free, scrambling over the moor like badgers seeking others of their kind, if any.
Now most baby killers turn out to be demented conventional vampires and that's bad enough. But when a juvenile, an elferino, does it there must be other reasons.......
Next time we'll explain....
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Not our regular post. That'll come later after the OSCARS. But who wants to see this picture?~~~> a terraformed Mars, much like the AMERICAN Southwest...... the population, centered around the capital city of BARSOOM (pronounced bar-sum) and other towns, though many old original families have huge ranches out in 'el polva rosa' (the red dust) and are called 'Troopers' a la cavalry of old American frontier. The unofficial anthem of the Five Territories (Mars Montana, East Equator, West Equator, North Mars, South Mars) is SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON (they sing it all the time when they're drunk). One old Trooper family are the Texacos, holders of a huge spread and breeders of prize pegasus (bio-engineered winged horses). Family scion Bobby Joe Texaco poised for a run at THE STONE HOUSE (Martian 'president's' residence). But dastardly invaders from beyond The Ort Cloud swoop in. It's WAR! America (basically most of the Earth, the moon and an outpost on Europa) is slow to respond. Martians go it alone. Anti-war sentiment strong back home. Aliens gain upper hand. But at the last instant Earthside sentiment flips (maybe after an alien raid there too?). And HUGE squadrons of AMERICAN space planes flying in formation, streak over the Martian horizon, filling the sky, as two young boys race up a hill, plant an AMERICAN FLAG and salute just as the armada speeds by overhead and rallies in BARSOOM and WASHINGTON (other places too) break into the 'king' of patriotic anthems ... George M. Cohan's OVER THERE!... (cue the music up above). And as the film fades a rather 3D slide of a HUGE AMERICAN FLAG flying in the breeze, fills the screen and says --- BUY WAR BONDS!....... BOOM--- THE END OF El Rancho Texaco I..... coming soon... EL RANCHO TEXACO II ..... I think the people filling multiplexes would stomp and cheer. We NEED a movie like this.... and just in case you want to know, the AMERICAN anthem is .... God bless America,
Worlds that I love,
Stand beside her.
And guide her,
Through the night.
With a light from above.
From the sun-worlds.
To the ice-worlds,
And the sea-worlds,
White with foam.
God bless America,
My home sweet home.
God bless America,
My home sweet home!!
THESE ARE THE DAYS OF EL RANCHO TEXACO!
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The homeless drunks were practically dead. Oh, they would have lived if the elferinos and elferinas stopped then. But Peter, the new one, wouldn't let them. And the baby witchling, Boopsie, although in no way vampiric herself, thought the whole thing quite a joke. She kept gurgling - Again! Again! Again! .... What with her natural, instinctive, baby magic way she got about her and Peter's sinister pixilation, crap just seemed to happen. Marianne, Celeste, Roland and Albion (the elferina & elferinos) didn't want to do it. One or two fast little blood drinks is enough for them. But those other two were pulling the strings. So they sat there on the cold, dusty, stone floor of the never used little mausoleum, passing the old drunks around like box-wine at a beach party. Albion tried to stop, but Peter ripped his ear off. He screamed just like a skinny, little, white girl. How fortunate he is night-folk possess the ability to regenerate lost, or ripped off body parts. One of the drunks tried to crawl away . Boopsie squealed - No! No! No! No! No!. Peter gestured with his hand and the poor inebriate flew up into the faux wood (really textured cement) rafters and cracked his head real hard. Peter caught him on the way down. Cradled him like a little baby. Elfin-folk are strong, you know. That ain't no big thing to them. Eighty nine percent dead guy blinks one eye and mumbles something. Peter goes - Uh huh... rocks him a little bit, then leans down and bites his nose off. Grins with the bloody, fleshy thing 'tween his teeth and says ( not to clear, but he says it) 'I got your nose.'... Boopsie claps and goes - Uh oh!.... Think by then the eighty nine percent dead guy was completely gone and the other one starts crying. Peter was mad because night-folk (real night folk) won't drink from a dead corpse. You see, it's not just the blood that sustains them. It's the taking of a life, or in the case of elferinos and elferinas the diminishing of a life. I can't lay it all out for you here. El Mundo Vampirido is much more nuanced and complicated than that. If you browse through all we got up here, you'll pick up a lot. I don't even know what all is up here, because I just channel the stuff. Sometimes I go back and see a post and think - Wow, did I say that?!... But the truth is I didn't say it. I just typed it.
Marianne crawls over to the second drunk and finishes him off. Peter sees, but he don't care. He's like in a stupor. Didn't take long . Thin, dry, sour, jaundiced skin don't hold much blood anyway. Killin' folks is foreign to her. She's done it, but not that often. Just sits there watchin' as he ignites into the 'cold' blue flame and disappears. Ashes rise up and stick to the ceiling. Some day a caretaker will come in here, see the burn mark on the stone floor and the ashy soot up above. Probably blame it on homeless folk. Thing is, he gonna be exactly right.
Boopsie claps as the ashes dance through the air and goes - Pretty!
Then it's quiet. Everybody just sits there. First dead guy what never got drained to death lies in a heap. Peter gets a crazy look, like Malcolm McDowell in A CLOCKWORK ORANGE and a lot a other movies too and says - You had 'cherubs' around here. Didn't you?..... Marianne, who usually speaks for the elfin-folk says - Yes..... He goes - Where are they?... She says - I don't know..... He grins..... She adds - They went off when the old caretaker left. His wife died. She used to be like a grandmother to them. Crocheted little outfits... sweaters... knit caps.... scarves. Cold can't hurt them, but she wanted them to be comfortable. She was a good woman..... Peter said - And you don't know where they are now?..... No - she said. I'm sure they found another safe place... a warm, little den... a dear, old soul to take care of them. We just let them be. Why do you ask?...
Peter didn't answer.....
Roland said - He made 'cherubs.' He did that. I can tell.... Then he looked at Peter and asked - Is that why they sealed you in the chest?..... Peter still didn't answer. Cherubs are baby vampires.... Maybe like a one or two year old toddler too. Bad enough making elferinos and elferinas, or the occasional child vampire, but them what make baby vampires are the worst.
You know what vampire killers do when they catch 'cherubs?' They roast 'em on a spit. Take 'em off before they die. Dead vampires ignite into 'cold' blue flames too. Them what kills 'em can't have that. Feed 'em to hounds... Big ones... mastiffs... them giant, Brazilian ones too.... killers.... Want 'em to 'get' the scent and the taste. Use 'em to sniff out night-folk.... Dogs get a little bit night-folky too. 'Hell Hounds' they call 'em. Showed up here in Philadelphia a couple years back. But we haven't seen 'em lately. You should hear them howl at night. They got a religious order. Not the dogs, them what raise 'em. Not an official one, but they think they are. The Brotherhood of Saint Shamus of Castle Mara. Old too. Go back to the early days of Celtic Christianity... I don't know. Maybe they were an official order at one time? But they're not now. Haven't been for centuries. Still, if they think they are, who's to say? When they howl, the dogs, I mean, people say - Ah, the music of the children of the night.... Bela Lugosi didn't start that line.
Edith picked up things about Peter, from when he was here in the townhouse. Said he 'smelled' from 'cherubs.' Probably an orphan taken in by The Brotherhood. But then something went wrong.
Exactly what, we don't know.
Back at the never used Mausoleum, Peter was gonna drag the dead guy out into the night ant bury him under some bushes. Lot a places in Laurel Hill for that.
Boopsie don't want him to. She likes the dead guy. Uses her powers to make him twitch around..... Puppet! Puppet! Puppet! - she says...... Marianne, Roland and the other two (Celeste & Albion) don't like this.
But they can 'not like it' all they want, 'cause Peter won't let them go...
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Tomas called Doctor Franklin. He got on his armonica thing, trying to detect changes in ethereal vibrations. They picked up the elfin-folk over in Laurel Hill Cemetery right away. Magic folk, or whatever you want to call them, have a certain aura.They give off this 'thing.' So I guess there is a physical component to it all, or maybe that's just the way it manifests in our particular universe? Baylah was back in town, so she came right over too. I don't know how much help Leo and Conrad are gonna be. Sure, they're vampires, but lets just say if vampires had professional representation, they wouldn't be signed by a big agency. And the 'familiars' are just mortals. They can't do anything. Likewise the cops.
The ghosts fingered Pig Blood Annie's husband, Little Joe, right away. Johannon asked Tomas if he wanted him to scare the dirty, runty bastard off. Was all set to drift into his corpse-burnt-in-a-fire phase, which is what he was. That is how he died. No lips. No eyelids. Nose all gone. Skin like a pepper left on the grill too long. But Tomas told him not to.
Sarah, Tomas' consort, took it upon herself. She simply opened the big, red, lacquered door, stepped out upon the white, marble stoop, looked down at the strange, little man and whispered (since it was quite late and very cold) - Can I help you? Can I be of any assistance?.... And she made sure he saw the fangs..... He was flustered, but just a bit. Being spouse to a big, old, powerful born-witch, like Pig Blood Annie gave him some measure of accomplishment. After all, she ain't crushed him yet. So he rose up to his full, substandard height, thrust out his weak, little chin and said - My lady wants her grandbaby back...... Nineteen heartbeats later he was seated by the big, granite island in the kitchen giving everybody nervous looks. What big teeth they had, don't you know. Not 'big.' That's really an inaccurate word. Wouldn't want to give any new readers the wrong idea. 'Noble' vampires have discrete fangs... a tiny bit longer... sharper and pointier. That's all. But a scalpel doesn't have to be a machete and the rustic, Piney 'gentleman' got the point.
Tomas told him they didn't have the dumpling in question and were doing everything enchanted beings could do to get her back. Then he asked - Where are the parents in all this? .... Little Joe sniffed and said - We don't speak about them. .... Why? - asked Sarah. The mother, isn't she a born-witch too?.... She a born-slut. That's what she is. Sometimes it skip a generation. - he said. Wanna be a whore. Sent her to the best whore school money can buy. But she flunk out once already and look like she fixin' to do it again. How you know that baby ain't dead?..... Sarah said - In a house filled with supernatural beings we feel things. I walk through her room, the place where she slept and I know. Your granddaughter is alive. And it looks as if she wasn't taken...... She ain't my granddaughter. She's my step-granddaughter and what do you mean? - the really rather sad, little man asked.... Well - said Sarah, It looks as if she just left...... Little Joe put his head in his hands and cried..... She gone kill me. She gone kill me. My sainted wife gone bust my head like a sausage casing.... And he cried some more. Edith gave him a mug of tea. But he say he want Sprite and a doughnut instead. They don't have no Sprite, 'cause only ones what drink soda is Edith and Billy and all they go for is diet iced tea and diet Coke. So she give him diet Coke and a TastyKake. That like a Philadelphia Twinkie only better. Chocolate cupcakes, I think it was.....
Meanwhile, seven miles away, in the freezing, winter woods of Laurel Hill, the nine or ten month old born-witchling named Boopsie clapped her little mitts and made warm, orange light orbs to keep away the chill, as she and the elferinas and elferinos ( including the new one, Peter) passed around two, old, disoriented drunks, taking little blood drinks from each. Would they live? Probably, but don't ask me to guarantee it. That 'Peter' make 'em do things a little bit different. Not the drunks. The elfin-folk, I mean.
An' folks what got telescopes 'round the city get quite a show, watchin' them hills they got in there, 'cause them warm, orange light orbs seep out a that snug, little, never-used mausoleum an' go floatin' all over the place, just like 'ghosts' an' 'aliens.'
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