VIRAGO 'BORN' WITCH - PIG BLOOD ANNIE crosses into Philadelphia ... 3/16/14

She crossed over the bridge. Pig Blood Annie made her way along the pedestrian catwalk, a big-boned, over weight Piney woman in a house dress and flip-flops. Some drivers looked. Smart ass kids honked at her. They yelled stuff. But she didn't care. Witch don't feel no cold. Witch don't care what 'worms' do. That's what they call regular folk what can't conjure shit. 'Worms'... We are worms to them. And they squish us and cut us and burn us and hook us just because they can. 

Pig Blood (what friends call her) stepped down off the Benjamin Franklin Bridge into Old City, right by the huge, more or less modern, lightning bolt sculpture meant to mark the spot where Franklin flew the kite. Man, if them 'worms' knew that old reprobate was still living they'd put him on the @SyFy network or like THE ELLEN SHOW and he'd love it, the old son-of-a-bitch. But Old City's filled with bars and clubs. Cars zoomin' by. Hateful, twenty-something yuppies (and that includes thirty-somethings too) throwin' keys to slick valet-boys who care for them Beemers like they care for your grandmother. Narrow cobbled streets full a cops and tourists... architecturally 'integrated' condos and art galleries... fistfights too, after the bars close. 

Cop starts givin' Pig Blood the eye. Think's she's a drunk. Who else would walk around like that? She see's him and feels like playin' a little. Don't get into Philadelphia much, so what the hell? Goes down an alley behind some shops. Tight little place big enough for trash cans, recycling bins, winos what gotta take a piss, grease, mold and ashes. Gets dark real fast too. Fifteen feet in and light from the street looks like a distant doorway. Storekeepers 'sposed a put up security fixtures and they do... just don't turn 'em on. Got these real heavy, thick, metal anti-break-in doors. Nobody gone through them. Only open them once or twice a week to put trash out... no garbage, just trash. So, you know. Witch goes in real deep. Has to squeeze her ass passed all them bins. Cop gets off his bike, pushes it into the dark. so nobody take it. Clicks on flashlight. You know how they hold it? Like a bottle. Like shining light out the bottom of a bottle. He a kid-cop. Twenty eight, thirty two. Can't be no more than that. Light bouncin' 'round like outta scary movie. First here, then there... Old bricks... Sexy-curse-words... dead cat... what look like a human turd... Could be like from a chimpanzee or a gorilla. But ain't never heared a no gorilla or chimp walkin' 'round down here, 'less they do it incognito. Cop hear laughin'... quiet, wheezin' laughin'.... He stop, raise up light an' go - Ma'am, you alright?.... Just hear laughin'.... Light see big, meaty shoulder, thick strap from old house dress, little tattoo... Maybe jus' a bug? I don't know.,.. Light see her face... little chin... big, ole cheeks... l'il piggy eyes.... Oh, yeah, forgot the fat nose..... Cop go - What you doin' lady? Ain't you cold?.... But witch-woman doan say nothin'. Jus' make like she laughin' only nothin' come out. ... Cop get little bit too close. She look like old neighbor lady what once half kill two husbands, so he feel bad... Can't do that 'round no witch, 'specially this one, 'cause she got like a Medusa app. She look at him an' he just stand there. Flashlight fall, clatter on cement. It roll somewhere, but I don't know where. Pig Blood pick up her beefy hands and grab his arms, right below the shoulders. Young cop sob a little, but that all he do. Then she lift him up off his feet, open malf real wide... like a sea lamprey. It stretch real big, grotesque and terrible. Teeth gone all the way around. Don't stop for nothin'. Tongue dancin' back and forth like a big, fat, moray eel. 

First the head go in. He shakin'. He sweatin'. He tremblin' real bad, but that's all he do...Tongue all over it. Lick him all over. Cop's glasses dissolve. That the magic part. Shoulders go in. Clothes dissolve too. He got badges, leather and all, but it disappear jus' like that. He moan. He go - No. No. no.... Cry and all. Think about his baby. Think about his wife. Think about his mama... his brother... his papa. Head down in witch's belly by now. Neck stretch real wide. Inside a whole lot bigger than outside, 'cause she got the magic an' all. Hips go in. Legs go in. Then, jus' for fancy, she bite the feet off. He stuck inside a tight, hot, heavy, wet, acid, burning sack. Feel dark, stifling guts pressin' in all 'round him. He gone die. Innocent, young, cop boy gone die. Gone take a while, but he will.

From outside, Pig Blood Annie just a big, sloppy thing again. But she fix that. start changin' 'fore she leave that alley. Body slim down. Arms get skinny. Wattle go bye-bye. Toes get clean. Chankles go where the bad chankles go. An' she back out on the street. Face all smooth and wonderful. Teeth look clean an' nice. Got nice clothes. Fresh underwear an' all. Don't stink none. 

Jus' another bastid yuppie-gal walking down Yuppie Street in the middle a Yuppie Town, 'cept this one got a still not dead, cop boy in her belly.

Ooooh! Look how pretty her pocketbook is.....

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The 'Born Witch' PIG BLOOD ANNIE Just Doesn't care... 3/14/14

Real witches, powerful witches don't like bein' played with. And that includes in a physical manner 'less they callin' the shots. So you don't mess with them. You say - Yes, ma'am... and you say - No, ma'am... and You want me to get you a nice cold iced tea, or maybe hold some shit-ass down so you can stomp on they belly?..... Then best run away an' hide, 'lest she start lookin' at you.

Sometime they shrink people down, like to a sardine and mash 'em up with mayonnaise for like a sam'itch. I seen one itty-bitty-ize a snot-nosed kid and shove him down the neck of a coke bottle. Then she pour throw-up and maggots in it (I think it her throw-up, but I do not know who the rightful owner a them maggots is), shake it up real good, til everybody start dancin'. Snot-nosed kid go completely dead soon, 'cause he got low throw-up tolerance. That like a medical thing. Witch not thoughtless, though. She do send like a video to snot-nose mama. She cry and cry and cry. Witch feel bad, so she give snot-nose mama year supply a Tasty Kake chocolate cupcakes. That way she not cry so much. 

Now you know I talkin' 'bout 'born witches.'  They not gotta learn nothin.' Got the hoo-doo stuffed inside they bones. You know that little bone you got right up top you heinnie? What doctahs call - the tailbone? What nasty son-a-bitch call 'the coccyx?'  That where it is. That where all the magic go. That way you jus' pop a fart an' BOOM, magic time!

Pig Blood Annie want her grandbaby real bad. She gone hug it and kiss it and make french toast (outta mostly real French people). She gone make nice, little, spinnin', flyin' thing for over it bed. But that not magic. She jus' knot fishin' line round baby bat feet an' let 'em go. Hope grandbaby like guano.  Right now she stompin' down county road 561 in Jersey.  Can't miss it. She the big, WOW-size, mama in flip-flop and house dress.  Like Jabba-Hut got a sistah.... a big mean white lady sistah who 'splode all the folks gettin' off bus wit' a fart 'cause she feel like. I do like how she wear her hair, though.

Little Joe, her skinny, dirty husband know she comin'. He got like a tickle feeling. Edith say it jus' impetigo, 'cause she not gonna want him get juiced up. He ask Edith if she gone feed him filet 'cause Baylah give him one last night. She say  - No, you gone get corned beef sam'itch and split pea soup.... Little Joe smack his lips. Piece a spit fly right in a Sarah's malf. She just sittin' there drawin' backward mermaids wit' a Sharpie. Them mermaids what got fish from waist up an' bare, naked lady parts from waist down. No arms, jus' fancy fins. Wear high heel too, 'cause that make it more artistic..... Sarah go - Ewww, you dirty, son-a-bitch.... Then she gargle Clorox from under sink, 'cause she a vampire and it not gonna hurt her.

Pig Blood Annie chase a stuck-up dog breedin' lady outta her house, 'cause she hungry an' wanna chomp on all them puppies. Puppy-daddy doan care, 'cause she give him two hundred dollah. Puppy-mama pregnant for life, so you know she one crazy bitch.

Pig Blood reach in cage, grab little puppy, turn 'round (so other puppy doan know), open her malf real wide, like she a Monty Python cartoon, or picture from Alice In Wonderland book and suck it right down. Then she belch an' do it again. 

Stuck-up dog breedin' lady husband clap every time and go - Wheeeee!.. 'cause he like people what can do tricks.

Tomorrow she gone cross over Benjamin Franklin Bridge an' be in Philly... Would a been here earlier, but had a go back 'cause she left someone burnin'...

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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)~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~