Idina Menzel - No Day But Today - Los Angeles, October 22, 2011 (HD) ..and NO NIGHT BUT TONIGHT... a rainy vampire evening .. 3/12/14

A rainy night. No fancy script, just plain letters. They are not here. Tomas and his Sarah are out, bundled against the cold hard wind, two silent, abiding souls walking through the wet, shinny streets. Boopsie is still lost. Little Joe, the rough, knotty witch-husband from The Pines claims he looks for her, his dear, tiny, step granddaughter. I suppose he does. But he's off with Baylah now, all bathed and dressed in city clothes, seated at a snug warm table in her piano-bar jewel-box appreciating a sizzling filet and the dulcet tones of an accomplished Michael Feinstein impersonator. And although his missus, hoch-witch, Pig Blood Annie, pines for her little dumpling, he doesn't care. The city has magic of it's own. 


Our two night-stars, Tomas and Sarah, pass The Old State House, also known as Independence Hall. How dark and red the brick sidewalks look in the rain. Ghosts peek through the multi-pane windows. So far as I see, no one special. Not the great Jefferson, nor the vociferous Addams, but some mean little clerks charged with writing it all down. Such dedication. Still on duty after all these years. 


I am an unnamed narrator. We haven't met. My appellation is immaterial to these events. I crave not glory like Mister Never You Mind, or Johannon. Sometimes I forget how I'm even called. But the night-folk of this place, these Philadelphia vampires are special to me and have been for centuries. And if I had to tell you why, I could not, for that would ruin the truth of it.


They've already had their meal. Tomas and Sarah, I mean... A dark soul, taken in what used to be an old cloak room off the small, paneled lobby of a Washington Square West, gilded age apartment house, for him. And a street hood with blood on his knife for her. Tomas tipped the doorman twenty dollars to vacuum up the ashy residue (after the cold blue flesh consuming flames died down). The man was a sometime 'familiar,' so that made it alright. Sarah avoided that complication, since her soul died in an alley. They are good, these night-folk and I love them. 


She (Sarah) had jewels on every finger, fine 'dinner rings' from the twenties and earlier, Edwardian baubles too, taken from their coffers. Each meant as a gift for the poor. One went to a sad faced woman pricing bread and eggs in a small bodega. Just slipped it in her pocket and disappeared. Another helped ease the pain of single father, recently fired, with two, little girls. That's how it was. Tomas had three watches, two on his right wrist and another on his left. Any one would fetch three or four thousand in the worst 'we buy gold and diamonds' joint. Soon each will be gone. People call them angels. You know, they have this 'look' in their eyes, a more than mortal 'gleam' I suppose you might call it. So, in a practical sense, they are 'angels...


Sarah wants to go look for Boopsie. Tomas does too, but he's afraid of what he might find. Does he know all the details of Peter's years in Europe and his time in Istanbul?... No, he doesn't... But he feels things. 


Then they dry themselves off in the glass entryway to a little diner. He has a bowl of hot, chicken and matzoh ball soup and a steaming mug of tea. Sarah orders the same thing. They're adept at mashing the dumpling (for that's what a matzoh ball is) into teeny tiny bits after finishing the soup, so it looks like they ate half. A few other souls are seated around the place, warming up after the cold dash over. There's an all-night drug and sundry store across the street. These days 'sundry' store's almost like a Sears Catalog (do they still publish that?) . Got everything from shampoo to handy, little, light-weight power saws and clean, bright, tightie-whities. Sarah and Tomas buy magazines. She likes thick, heavy glossies from when her mortal self used to own the all-night book-shop , Philadelphia After Dark. He likes science, history, GQ and This Old House. Oh, yeah, aroma candles... they always pick up a few of them. I think they bought a Seek And Find word puzzle book for Edith and a Start Prize Tomato Plants On Your Own Window Sill kit for Conrad and Leo. As vampires, they won't eat the tomatoes. But those two always do crazy things like that. Maybe Leo wants to throw them at a bus? Conrad saw a thing on TV about botany, so he's Luther Burbank now. 


Look, Sarah's only been night-folk for maybe three years, but he's 'walked the shadows' for centuries. And this is how they spend their evenings..... murders, give-aways, chicken soup and shopping at the CVS.....



Sarah wants to 'on demand' an Idina Menzel special when they get home.  If you like, you can cue the video up above and join them. Good video too. If you want more (and you will) subscribe to the great Hayley Hanson on You Tube.


Oh, Pig Blood Annie's been snoopin' around town. That ought to juice things up.....


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INT. HORROR SCRIPT - NIGHT: Hostel by Eli Roth... if you want it, here it is. come and get it. but you better hurry 'cause they're bleedin' fast... 3/11/14

INT. HORROR SCRIPT - NIGHT: Hostel by Eli Roth: Genre: Horror- Torture Porn Premise: Three backpackers head to a Slovak city that promises to meet their hedonistic expectations, with no... OK, so now you gotta dip into fearthecrypt.com and @fearthecrypt on TWITTER plus@craig_mack and @eliroth One stop chopping!



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PETER, the 'evil' ELFERINO, RELATES MORE HORRIFIC SIGHTS... 3/11/14

The night was approaching when we'd be sent out to kill. Not indiscriminately, but charged with eliminating certain human 'obstacles.' For convenience sake, such troublesome people are termed 'evil.' To simplify matters, wives, offspring, and various relations of the first and second degree are 'evil' too. 

I'm told various potentates on this part of the globe have employed night-folk for centuries. The Byzantines, precursors of our magnificent Osmani Royal House, trained Circassian woman, infecting them with the vampiric burden via an old strain imported from far off Serendip, known to you as Ceylon or Sri Lanka. Female elferinas and vampirinas they were. Charged with protecting the coasts. For Serendip was a rich land, 'Womb of Emeralds,' they called it and the rudest concubine had nose rings of finest ivory and purest gold. Children of the streets used rubies as marbles. And banquets went on til the eldest guest died.

Sirens they were, haunting the coasts, luring sailors to their deaths upon the sands with keen, sharp kisses by the dark of the moon.... Now they bring us in from all over. I'm told there's even one from the New World, a royal, Aztec princling, purchased from the accursed Spaniards, for my masters have never forgiven them the Reconquista, nor the destruction of the overland trade from China on the Great Silk Road. Perhaps I'll kill his Excellency the Ambassador from Toledo? Who knows?

But til then, Peter has seen many things. They took us to the Bone Pits, huge 'dry wells' 'cross the Bosphorus, in a nearby arid zone of Anatolia. Perfectly round depressions, clean, crisp circles, thirty cubits (45 ft, 14m) across...  gigantic, empty cylinders descending into the earth for perhaps two hundred cubits (300 ft.... I'm sure those adept at ratios can do the rest of the math). Precise in every way... smooth, stone facing down to the bottom. Some attribute them to the Hittites, or the Trojans. Others blame pagan, Olympian deities. For questions of faith, that third choice can only be whispered in this realm... and I suppose among the Spaniards too. 

One night, a multitude was driven toward the edge. Four dozen war elephants, assisted by an equal number of Indian cavalry rhinoceroses, sent as a gift from our brother emperor to the east, The Great Mogul himself. It's rumored the Sultan originally desired  ninety five Andaman Island archers. What for, in that time of nascent musketry I can't even begin to imagine. Perhaps he wanted a human game of draughts where the pieces killed each other instead of merely jumping?

But they pushed the people to the brink. Families they were from a rebellious province somewhere there abouts. And they cried and they begged and they shrieked. Those attempting to flee between the wall of huge, gray mammals were quickly apprehended ...the Jannasaries  you know... and hurled in first. Then the avalanche of bodies began. How they grabbed and pinched and tore at each other. How they fought to grasp the edge. Lips rip off, you know. Ears do too. And an errant desperate hand grasping baggy Cappadocian trousers found horrified man parts instead.

Three hundred feet they fell, tumbling and spinning in the dark. Mothers reached for babies and lost them, only to find them again on the sharp, slate shards at the bottom. And they were the lucky ones, for subsequent waves found purchase on the bodies of the dead. Some died caught on the bones of the first ones, often protruding through the flesh. And skulls are very hard.

A few of the last ones to take the plunge lived... at least for a while. That's when they sent us in, the elferinos I mean, to finish them off. Just shoved us over and that was it. Some never knew they could fly, but they learned that night. We swooped down from above to kill the living..... and they welcomed it. But I kissed the babies first and cradled them, before rocking them to sleep.

'Evil' they may call me. But cruel I am not.

And please excuse my drifting from the past to present tense. But this still seems very real to me... Shhhh, (whispers) Boopsie's sleeping......

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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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