Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: SHUT YOUR EYES AND STICK THEM FINGERS IN YOUR EARS...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: SHUT YOUR EYES AND STICK THEM FINGERS IN YOUR EARS...: Aura and her sister Sylvia missed Jonathon. Actually, I do not know if they were blood sisters. Sometimes I think they are. But that is bes... When this first posted only 2 people read it. The episode details an attack by our (now temporarily dead) resident ghoul, Johnny Jump Up, on two 'mole girls' living in hundred year old, never used, exceptionally deep, subway tunnels. That happens to bloggers all the time. Early episodes go unread, but still we write. Somewhat scary and atmospheric. 


In our 'part of the forest' ghouls are crazed, terrified beings.... either in ghost, or physical form, or a combination of the two... who have manically smashed through their coffin and clawed their way to the surface after being buried alive.


Johnny Jump Up suffered that fate in the 1840's or there about. He's frighteningly thin and cadaverous with a partially rotted nose, an almost skull-like face, lank, greasy black hair, long claw like nails, small, sharp, triangular, grey teeth and breath that reeks of putrid flesh. He wears a tight black suit and filthy 'linen' (Victorian word for shirt and high, wound neck scarf). Maggots occasionally stow away on his person.


And he has a certain uncanny ability to silently vault up from midnight shadows, cling to the bricks and prise his way into second, third or fourth story windows. 


Single girls living alone in Center City (collection of urbane Philadelphia districts analogous to New York's Manhattan or The Loop in Chicago... Indeed, it's the third largest American 'downtown' area after those two and not far behind Chicago) know to ask for apartments between the fifth to tenth floor. Too high for the ghoul, but not too high for fire truck ladders. Except sometimes the ghoul creeps after he clings, so you never know.


Some of our relatively more recent posts draw hundreds of readers. They draw people every night. This episode deserves to be among them. Jump in and scroll around. Good place to explore the early nights.


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Barcarolle (Offenbach) P Jaroussky et N Dessay ... The Night-folk, particularly Tomas, also known as Jonathon, love this... 3/7/14

There is good music down below. Tomas, also known as Jonathon has been listening to it all night. He does that sometimes. Leonard Bernstein's CANDIDE is special to him, and so is this one, The Barcarolle from TALES OF HOFFMAN by Offenbach. 

But before I fill you in on things around here, I believe Peter promised to tell you about another bloody and torturous death. And so I surrender the floor to our rather strange and 'evil' elferino, late of the cold, dark sea....

PETER ~ We watched royal surgeons slice thick, wet strips of flesh from the limbs of Magyar prisoners til only the bones were left. Severed blood vessels were cauterized to prevent premature death. Then implements resembling shallow, silver bowls were heated o're a fire for roughly one hundred and twenty, or one hundred and thirty heartbeats til they glowed. Upon removal from the flames, highly trained artisans-of-exquisite-torture, purchased from a Wallachian (European region connecting Hungary and Romania) princling for eight odalisques (sort of an assistant harem girl in training) and and three brand new, never fired, bronze, ceremonial canons filled with fine, Izmiri halvah (sweetened sesame seed paste candy) quickly slapped the concave forms onto what was left of the shoulders and hips of the prisoners til all viscous oozing stopped. Did they scream? No, they were beyond screaming. They just trembled. The youngest prisoner experienced such severe facial muscular contortions an eye popped out. But one of the prima-donna torture artisans snipped it off with a jewel encrusted pair of engraved, golden shears brought from his homeland. I think he dropped it in a big, heavy jar of Long Haired Zanzibar tarantulas, the expensive kind, usually given as gifts. You know Topkapi (the Ottoman Palace) had the best of everything? Oh, in case you're interested, three of the prisoners survived the ordeal and were kept in the Human-Oddity-Menagerie for many years. One fathered six children with the Gibbon-Woman, but I don't think he was close to most of them. 

After that, for dinner, they gave me a rejected French chef, send out from the Court of the Medici in Florence. Punishment for a spoiled Tira Misu. Kindly excuse my spelling. But please know I was locked in a leaden chest for two centuries. Formal schooling wasn't my thing. I remember his blood reeked of brandy and cinnamon. So in a sense, I had desert too. (laughs) He farted the whole time, til he was dead. The other elferinos thought that was funny and would not shut up. But our handlers did not like that and made them eat goons from 'the shitty bin' instead.

Before I forget, here's how the mice kill people... STEP 1- Strip down a babbling, terrified prisoner. (You'll find most torture recipes begin this way) 2- immediately shackle to large table top in spread eagle position. 3- put approximately one dozen alert, bright-eyed large mice in a heavy gauge metal bowl. 4- cover bowl with light weight bread board, of a type used to remove pizzas from a pizza oven. 5- quickly flip over and rest upon terrified prisoners belly. 6- slowly pull out bread board, taking care not to let mice escape. 7- glue edge of bowl to living flesh with heavy weight mixture rendered from stunned draft horses and screaming Bessarabian captives. 8- beat prisoner about arms, legs and other sensitive areas while adhesive cures. 9- heat two or three egg sized lumps of coal. 10- arrange on up-turned bottom of heavy gauge  metal bowl. replace frequently as coal cools. 11- after ten minutes rising temperatures inside the bowl reach stifling levels driving rodents into frenzy. 12- in effort to flee searing, lethal heat, vermin quickly chew through skin, subcutaneous fat, muscle wall and into viscera. 13- death ensues soon after..... If clean-up happens in timely manner, before mice exit torso, mess and fuss is kept to a minimum...... They say the Romans started this one.

MEANWHILE BACK AT THE TOWNHOUSE - Tomas tells Billy and Sarah that the name of the piece means 'Beautiful Night. Night of Love.' ... He's in one of his melancholy moods. They haven't found Pig Blood Annie's grandbaby yet. Little Joe, her husband, sits around making angry faces at everybody and moving his dentures around with his tongue. Edith says if Pig Blood such a good witch, how come she can't grow him no new teeth?

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I think the guy singer down below is what they call a counter tenor.. very good and really big in the opera world. the girl singer is his equal in every way, except she has different genitalia. I subscribed to this account on you tube. You should GOOGLE Barcarolle(Offenbach) P Jaroussky et N Dessay on You Tube and follow them too.... weird and wonderful... hauntingly beautiful voices...


OK, now cue the music (bet you listen to it more than once)~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE FURTHER EDUCATION OF A VAMPIRE-CHILD-ASSASSIN ... 3/7/14

They had cats in the palace. The place was not over-run with them, but within certain precincts they were very much in evidence. Most represented various Persian varieties. Some came all the way from Siam. Court ladies fastened tiny paper messages to jeweled collars and sent them off... in that way correspondence with the outside world (which included all areas beyond the walls of the 'forbidden quarters') was maintained. 

A few haughty felines frequented our portion, entering through a series of ventilation tubes binding all parts of the Imperial Household. Some claimed scent gave them away. Harem cats smelled different than kitchen cats or throne-room cats ( at times actual cheetahs ), or observatory cats. The mortuary cats had a certain stink. Embalming, contradicting Scriptural precepts was rarely used in these parts. But The Imperial Household contained thousands of individuals. Some died every day. That's just how it was around there.

And one more thing before I forget. My torn out toenails and fingernails grew back quickly. Night-folk just are that way. So physical tortures meant little. Our kind is adept at escaping. Trance-like states come easy to us. Most effective punishments include horrific isolation. A 'learned man' (basically a wizard anywhere else, though we have no wizards here) via ethereal manipulations learned from a Hundustani master, sent an Imperial Enemy to the far side of the moon. And we saw the unfortunate vampire reflected in a 'magic' bowl' standing on a black sand plain, staring at the terrible brilliance of a black sky dense with stars. None else save a vampire could endure such things. Lack of warmth... lack of shade... lack of air mean nothing. Our bodies just endure. Maybe, in this case, the vacuum of space will cause a slight bit of desiccation but eventually a point of stasis will be reached. It's not the blood that really comforts us, delightful as that is, but the taking of the life.  And the 'dead' man on the moon.... the solitary vampire just stares. I suppose one day a wandering explorer will find him. Perhaps the night-man will bite through the suit?

And every day another victim. Once I had a twenty five stone (about 300 lbs) pirate.  Please know that piracy was a capital offense. The Ottoman Navy ruled the seas. Interlopers, including the still marginally formidable Venetians, were crushed. Originally the fat man was 'for the hooks.' There was a large tapering pylon erected in a public square hereabouts. Like a scaled down Washington Monument. I know that shape from obelisk grave markers in Laurel Hill Cemetery. Marianne told me. This particular civic erection rose approximately seventy cubits (1 cubit = 18 inches... 70 cubits = about 105 ft. or 35 m) into the clear Thracian sky. Large, heavy, sharp hooks were mounted on it and condemned individuals, stripped and bound, were raised up via a truly ingenious system of mechanical levers and carefully pressed into place upon one of the sharp points. Specially trained 'picture hangers' rode up to oversee the procedure, lest hasty placement caused excessive bleeding, or organ damage. Mustn't ruin the show. Blood dripped down. Not too much. Just enough. Panic shit too. Gulls and ravens made short work of the eyes. Brokenhearted family members attempted to give food and water to their loved ones (provided they were mounted down below) and the guardsmen never stopped them. The extra attention only lengthened the suffering. Though mothers and fathers never saw it that way. 

It turned out that the brother of the pirate, possessed of an enviable fortune, promised half to the Grand Vizier, or maybe it was the First Eunuch Harem Guard, charged with carrying messages between the Grand Vizier and the Sultan himself, in return for his fat sibling's merciful death. Since the brother's fortune was an honest one earned over years in the Trans-Caucasian slave trade, the Divan (throne) took him up on it. And so I had a blood rich feast. So much blood he had. It trickled from my ears, from my nose, from my rear and my urethra. My body could not hold it. But I drank it even so. I saw a commercial once, for a cascading chocolate fountain at a place called The Golden Corral. Well, I was one of those. Remember, my form is the form of a twelve year old boy, abet with somewhat pointed ears and ever so slightly lengthened fingers.

Lesser slaves came in to clean the blood after the scrumptious indulgence..... I'm not evil... (whispers) Just addicted.

Tomorrow I'll tell you 'bout evisceration by mice.  

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WITHIN THE 'ENDERUN' ... THE PALACE SCHOOL OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE ... 3/6/14

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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Haunted Prison ; Eastern State Penitentiary - Part One - Philadelphia Pe.. Can't post regular Vampire Wonderland stuff tonight. But this is TOO good to miss 3/5/14.

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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The Schooling of An Evil Elferino..... 3/4/14

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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SOME INSIGHTS ABOUT HOW PETER (THE BAD ELFERINO) GOT THAT WAY ... 3/3/14

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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