Hungarian Rhapsody #2, Pt. 2~1926~L. Stokowski ~ The Philadelphia Orchestra... sets the scene for night-folk events

Some 'Atmosphere' And Back Story Leading Up To A Pivotal Night-Folk Confrontation
<watch the video>









The evil elferino known as Peter prepared to descend from the heights. A thousand feet is nothing to accomplished fliers, especially one trained at Topkapi. How he missed the incense and perfumes of that place. The artistry of Sinan. Friday devotions at Haiga Sophia, premiere religious sanctuary in The See of Abraham (encompassing the Abrahamic or <in order of appearance> Hebrew-

Christian-Muslim world). So he stood up, held the baby close, cradling her little head by his neck, stepped onto the barrier ....(how high... the city alight... from river to river... from The Schuylkill to The Delaware... stage set for America's nativity) surveyed the glittering towers, leaned forward and fell, shimmering into invisibility, as he and the little one drifted down to the sidewalk. There was a reception at The Comcast Center that night. Limousines bled glitterati all over the street. Tight-necked, capped toothed matrons (skin re-upholstery is a wonderful thing) and their steel haired, orange 'tanned' tuxedo clad husbands. Let me tell you, money changes everything. And no one noticed a discretely materializing elferino ('little brother' in the vampirino world), as he made his way through the crowd, holding the baby safe. 


For a time they just walked, spreading the scent, if you will. Tomas would find them. Night-folk know their own. The 'born' witch might sense Boopsie. After all, they're family. Blood will tell. But there was time. The night was young. So he took the baby into a yuppie supply house on Walnut Street and walked out with a state of the art stroller and a handmade stroller blanket too. Tags were still on it. But an elferino magician, trained in the Ottoman Court, is well versed in the art of obfuscation, so tags don't mean a God damned thing. And even though the alarm went off, no one ever heard.


He took the baby into a Waffle Shop, got a booth toward the back, ordered silver dollar pancakes, low sugar apple juice in a restaurant supplied sippy-cup, a scrambled egg to top it off and an iced tea for himself. Baby's eat a lot. Baby witchlings are no different. So he cut everything into tiny pieces, topped with the requisite butter and syrup and she ate. Warm food and a full belly spreads the scent.


Later, back out on the street, he picked up something. The taxi with the technically decapitated driver (see OLDER POST down below) was close by. They danced about each other, he and the baby, the taxi and the rest, spiraling in toward a certain meeting spot. The video, up above, will give you a clue. Well, more than a clue. 'X' marks the spot, America's oldest, continuously operating, grand opera house, Philadelphia's Academy of Music... The Grand Old Lady of Locust Street, holding court amidst The Avenue of The Arts. It's empty tonight. The vast, three thousand seat sister to La Scala is dark. But the ghosts are there. And soon an assortment of night-folk will be too.


Tomas loves the place and has since opening night... more than one hundred and sixty years ago...


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THE VAMPIRES AND THE WITCH HUNT FOR A BABY..... 3/26/14

We rode in a taxi. I don't know why. Sublimation would have been much faster. I don't know if the 'born' witch, Pig Blood Annie actually moves through space like we do. But I'm sure she has her methods too. Yet she didn't want to do that. So we walked around the corner and down the street, where there was more commercial traffic and I hailed a cab. Imagine, three people in ridiculous, lush, dark, full length mink coats. One with a nurses' aide uniform underneath and a talkative parasitic head sticking out of her belly under that. Thank God the wizened, little head bastard slept through most of it, though he did mumble a bit in his sleep.

I think the witch just wanted to observe humanity. Maybe 'humanity' is not the right term. For have we all not human forms? Are we not all born of human mothers... even the witch. It's the details that are different. That's all. The driver looked at us and said -  What? The Russian circus is in town?... I suppose because of the furs and all. We even had matching hats. The witch didn't like that  and instantly lopped his head off with a dirty look. Tomas shrieked - Are you out of your mind. We're gonna crash!... Sarah went - Please! Please! Please! Please! Oh, God, No!... Blood was everywhere, pulsing up from whatever vessel it is that supplies the pressure. Even the windows turned red.

Shut up, you pansy, vampire, bastards you - said the witch, as she blew a fart that instantly snapped the driver's head from off the floor and smacked it back in place, abet slightly crooked, upon his shredded neck. Oh, all the blood disappeared too. So we weren't locked inside an old fashioned, diner, juice machine anymore. But the driver's face looked a little bit goofy. Considering the ordeal, that was to be expected. And it became obvious to Tomas and Sarah that the witch had been in charge since they got in. The figure at the wheel was just to throw off the cops.

Sarah said - Is he dead? For good, I mean.... The Laura Linney witch thing ( and I gotta tell you it was supremely unnerving to see that gracious countenance used like that) said - What do you care? I'll fix him! I'll fix him! I'll fix him, you schmucky bastards!..... So we rode a little way in silence, til the witch whispered - Look at them (she meant the people on the street). They live so fast. They die so young. And my kind (she meant witches) don't match you bastards. But still, you know..... She turned toward Tomas and asked - How old are you?..... He said - I don't know. I think I was born in the year ten seventy, maybe ten seventy five. Calendars were different then. Some still counted from Rome. Some from Charlemagne. Some from the last time their dad took a bath. But you'd call it ten seventy or so..... (more silence) The witch says - Then what? You're like nine hundred and forty years old?.... Tomas goes - Yep..... Witch goes - Then why they always sayin' ' a thousand?' I been readin' this blog thing. That 'Billy' guy, I wanna kill him, always says 'a thousand.' Can't he count?...... They round it off. They just round it off. That's how people talk. When you pay one ninety nine for a cup of coffee, don't you say two dollars? - asked Sarah..... But the witch ignored her and entertained herself playing around with the driver's face.  She cackled and each time she did, he changed a little.... sickening 'barf' face.... pursed-lip lady face.... cross-eyed crazy guy... Witch points toward rear view mirror and goes - Don't he look funny!?.... Even Tomas had to stifle a little laugh.... Trouble is they were stopped at a light ('born' witches obey all the traffic laws. They know how to fit in.). Cop comes over mid Pee-Wee Herman Face, taps on window and goes - Yo, buddy. you all right?..... Window comes down (witch's doing). Driver spews projectile vomit all over cop's head, instantly transforming it into an horrific human scaled fly head.  Cop stumbles back, plops down on bench and goes - Jesus Christ. Scruffy guy next to him looks, grabs his gun and runs away. Light changes. Window rolls up. And they're off. Tomas goes - Yo, Endora, quit the parlor tricks..... Witch goes - Eh, shut up (eyes buildings and whispers). Where's my baby?...... Sarah messed with crap in her purse. Temporarily dead, technically decapitated driver drove. And that was it. Nobody said a word... No, wait. I'm wrong. Witch turns to Sarah and goes - Yo, bitch, you got a breath mint..... Vampires use breath mints from time to time. Long as they suck 'em up to spit and don't chew 'em it's alright. So she finds some Tic-Tacs in her purse and hands 'em over. Witch takes one, opens her coat, scrunches up her nurses' aide top and gives it to the parasitic head, who chomps it up right away. Head goes - Another one.... Witch turns to Sarah and goes - You mind?... Sarah goes - Keep 'em.

Meanwhile, up above, on the pinnacle of a huge skyscraper (The Comcast Center maybe), Peter, the evil elferino kid sits clutching baby Boopsie to his chest. She twists around and looks over too, just as far below the taxi with the technically decapitated driver passes. A rare spring snow begins to fall as the baby sadly whispers - Mom-mom. Mom-mom. Mom-mom.

Peter hugs her tight against the cold night air, kisses her head (through the thick, knit cap), smiles an evil smile and whistles the opening bars to 'Teddy Bears' Picnic.'..... (When you go into the woods tonight, you're in for a big surprise)

Unnamed, disembodied, spirit narrator signing off.

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CARSON DALY DOESN'T FOLLOW ME, BUT BLOGGING FOR VAMPIRES, I STAY UP TO WATCH HIM EVERY NIGHT..PLUS MORE STUFF WITH PIG BLOOD ANNIE... 3/25/14

It got dark. We got up. The grotesque witch creature wasn't in our bed, so we went into the shower (it's big enough for two) and stood under the hot, pounding spray for fifteen minutes. Vampires don't get grungy like you do. But still, after hours of lying in bed with Pig Blood Annie it's like a reflex action. Also, Sarah wanted to try some new shower gel. You know how we are with aromas and all. I knew she was still in the house. The witch, I mean.  I could feel her putrid presence all over the place. We finished up, got dressed (usual stuff, black leather bootkins, black jeans, white shirt for me. turtleneck, bluejeans, different boots and a brassiere for her) and went down. 

They were in the kitchen. Little Joe, Pig Blood's runty husband was there too, but she didn't care much..... Sugar babe, I was out lookin' for the kid. I shimmied in all over the place. My shins all scrapped. My ass got bit up. And don't ask me how the hell that happened - he babbled... Pig Blood shut him up real fast. Leveled her gaze and said - You got her? You know where she is?.... Runty, bony husband goes - No, sugar babe, but... She goes - Shut yer pie hole and drop dead, you little monkey... He do that real fast, the shuttin' up part. Figures the drop dead part only hyperbole. At least he hope it is.

Witch wife all fixed up. Did a 'hoo-doo' on her whole body. Look like that pretty Laura Linney again. Got nice hair and everything. Edith (the not as powerful of a witch housekeeper) and Little Joe, her lucky he ain't no dead monkey husband, try not to notice her one defect. Got a scrunched up, squinty-eyed, parasitic twin head peekin' out a her belly right below the diaphragm. Look like Gilbert Gottfreid with the mange.  Sour, little mouth. Fat red tongue pokin' all around. She put piece a Wassa crisp bread wit' peanut butter in her mouth. Head go - Me! Me! Me!... So then head get a piece. But it a sloppy eater. She get sharp, little multi-grain bits all over her crotch..... Edith go - Why you not witch youself some panties an' a dress maybe?.... 'Cause she more sanitary and belly head sneezin' on her nice, clean, granite island..... Pig Blood Annie go - You want my belly-head a suffocate you son-a-bitch!?... Little Joe jus' pick hisself up, go in family room an' set down. Got a stack a ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST magazines in there an' he discover a sudden likin'  for decoupage, even if he can't read all them words.

Pig Blood go - Where that Jew vampire son-a-bitch!?... Tomas goes - He's right here.... 'Cause at that point, he was. Sarah was too. Edith gives each a hot mug a plain tea an' they set down..... Belly head go -  Gimme a Pepsi-Cola! Yo, waitress! A Pepsi-Cola!... Pig Blood shoot her a look an' Edith don't want no trouble so she get him a can out the refrigerator. She say - Diet OK?... Belly head go - I look fat to you!?...... But he drink it through a straw (Edith hold the can) jus' the same.

Pig Blood go - You gone help me get my grandbaby?... Tomas see she really all broken up about it an' he go - Yes, you pagan bitch.... 'Cause he give as good as he get..... 'Born' witch go - Fair enough.... Then she brush them sharp, little bits a Wassa crisp bread off her crotch onto the floor. Edith don't say nothin'. Figure she clean it up when they gone..... 'Born' witch say - You gotta excuse this little head I got on my belly. But he come out when I nervous an' all. And please excuse what I do to both a you in that little sleepin' space before (voice drops) but it jus' I want  that baby back.

Edith go - Aw, dear, you want me to find you somethin' a wear?....... Pig Blood go - No, that's alright. I can 'fix' somethin'..... And seven heartbeats later she wearin' a light blue, pant suit like what nurse's aide got at old folks' home and a 'black diamond, thick pelt' full length mink coat.... Everybody still hear little head mumblin' under all them clothes, but 'least they don't gotta see him. Two heartbeat later Tomas an' Sarah got mink coats too. His a man mink coat. Got gloves an' scarves. Got everything. Vampirina and vampirino say 'thank you.'.... It not their style, but they polite. Little Joe don't get no coat. He jus' get clean underwear, 'cause he stayin' home. But he jus' keep readin' the magazine...

Tomas say they gone start over Laurel Hill Cemetery. An' evil elferino, Peter, what got baby 'Boopsie' not there. But he know they comin' an' he want somethin' too. 

This the old, Francophone, New Orleans, creole gentleman Mister Never You Mind. I back as disembodied spirit narrator again. That because I like that job... But you know that.

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THE VAMPIRINO, TOMAS, TAKES US INTO HIS DREAMS... 3/24/14

There in the sleeping chamber, with the putrid, virago witch between us, Sarah and I managed to sleep. My own abilities, while in no way equal to Pig Blood Annie's (the 'born' witch) are still better than most, so I exhaled a Morpheus spell and we both drifted off. The witch snored too. But my efforts had no effect on her.

Sarah dreamt of her shop... a snug and cozy little book store called Philadelphia After Dark. It opened with the gloaming and shuttered with the dawn. An all-night refuge for lovers of the paranormal, mysterious and romantic. It's where I found her... a magical place with just enough light provided by carefully placed, little boudoir lamps and one or two, silk shaded chandeliers. There were clocks on the wall... old clocks, a few of which might have been valuable. It's a wonder she was never robbed.. or even killed. But many thieves tend to be superstitious and they left the midnight book lady alone. Someone else runs the place now... a 'familiar' fond of shadows and enchantment. Philadelphia has many such places. 

I do not know the details of Sarah's dream. Sometimes I can see that far, but I am tired and burdened with dreams of my own. 

Behold, Firenze, late of the Medici, now ruled by Savonarola and his acolytes. Etruria in the fifteenth century. I speak of Florence and Tuscany for those with no Italian. And travelers will tell you that city still stands.... il Ponte Vecchio , the old, stone paved, Romanesque bridge, lined with shops.... il Duomo, the shining, marble clad cathedral and it's steadfast spouse, the baptistry, similarly attired. We thought it another Jerusalem back then. Well, maybe the Trinitarians did. But to Unitarian Jews, like me, Jerusalem was Jerusalem, regardless of its compromised state. Though the cities of Italy were beautiful, bathed in their Renaissance light. And if those golden hours were denied to night-folk, like me, I saw them still in paintings.

Marco D'Ancona his name was. An artist. A painter. Some said converso ( a baptized Jew, often in an attempt to avoid The Inquisition... but I never asked). He knew me as Tomas de Macabea, a Spanish mortal. And I saw no reason to complicate his life, or my own. Such pictures he made.. gracious ladies in their velvets and jewels.... Baby Moses in the bulrushes.... Daniel amidst the lions. I see them. I see them all, thrown about his officina, his atelier, if you will, as allies pack them up for the flames. The Bonfires of The Vanities roar in the piazzas of Florence, burning all but the most puritanical tools, implements, garments and accoutrements. The canvases of D'Ancona and many others went with them. Artists wept that night. To be seen crying at such an event was dangerous in itself. But Marco actually ran forth and reached toward the bottom of the inferno, in an attempt to save at least one of his creations. The multitude, given to hymn singing and hosannas, barely noticed. But one old monk saw. He pointed and yelled - Backslider! Backslider!

I grabbed Marco and pulled him back. His hands were burned. And as only a vampire can, disappeared into the lurid, jumping, red tinged shadows with my charge, taking him to safety in my lair, an old, medieval, Gothic cellar down by The River Arno. I treated him with unguents and special wine known for its curative powers, slipping in drops of my own blood to guarantee success. He thought me an alchemist, or perhaps even a devotee of one of the mystery cults known thereabouts. I said nothing, for knowledge can be fatal, especially in ecclesiastic times.

When I left the city, on my way to The Low Countries, Savonarola himself was burned. Some said they hung him before the fact, but just some.

And Marco made altar pieces, sponsored by the returning Medici, grateful for the restoration of their jewels and palazzi. Though he occasionally crafted chalices and Torah (Pentateuch) crowns (silver ornaments for the top ends of the sacred scrolls) for IL Tempio Maggiore (the first Great Synagogue of Florence) and The Medici knew about those as well

Now please excuse me, as I drift through dreams of a more private nature, in preparation for our  ordeal with the 'born' witch later this evening, when the dark time comes.

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SINKERS~~~~ Unbelievably Slow Death In A Warm Dark Wet Silent Place... 3/22/14

Not a usual Vampire Wonderland post, but a taste of something that may be expanded in the future. PLEASE share your thoughts via COMMENTS. Thank you.

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Being alone can be lethal. There are places solitary people should not go. The North Marsh is one of them. It connects a cozy, little seashore barrier island to the mainland. Some parts look like wheat, tall, thick sea-grass.... all gold in the late September sun. Ducks nest there. Dragonflies dance around like so many Tinkerbells. Tight, little woods butts up to the mainland. Covers maybe sixteen acres. Just big enough to get lost in, if you're dumb that way. Ain't no real roads through there, not even for bikes. Ground's not made for that. Few little footpaths maybe. Don't know who made 'em. Everybody around here knows you don't go in the marsh, especially not by yourself.

Dolan knew that. He's from here. Not the storybook town on the island. He lives inland, a chipped paint kind of place with cracked cement and weedy yards. Did lawn care. Not inland, on the island. Lots ain't big, but real pretty. Fixed up like Walt Disney was in charge, or Leave It To Beaver's father. Got lots a flowers... all green... little 'water features.' That means tiny lily ponds that gurgle and all. Dolan does everything. Trims trees. Cuts grass. Kills them 'no name' mongrel plants. After Labor Day it's easy. Homeowners ain't in town. Not on weekdays. They just pay money to keep it fancy. Lawn guys do what they gotta do. Don't take much time. Cut what gotta be cut. Feed what gotta be fed. Trim what gotta be trimmed.  All the crews know where to hide. Some little backyards perfect for that, all fenced in and private. Good place to eat hoagies, potato chips and drink soda and all.  Quiet, peaceful, salt air. Patio furniture still out so they got plenty a chairs.  Good job for a guy with high blood pressure and like a 'baby' heart condition. Dolan don't know exactly what kind it is. Doctor at the clinic never says. Guess he thinks poor folks can't understand anyway. 

His daughter works  'on the island' too. Tends bar in a cozy, little 'bistro,' or what passes for a bistro on a seashore island. She's called Tina. Wears black pants and a white shirt with a bow-tie. You know what kind a place. Got 'bee' lights all over the outside on the doors, windows and potted evergreens. In a cute, little business area. Got old fashioned benches, streetlights with flower baskets hanging off of them. In fall they got autumn leaves, corn, gourds and that kind a stuff. Tina's boss a real bastard though. His name's Frank. He's divorced. Ex-wife cashiers at the supermarket. Girls at the bistro hate him. Always comes on to them. Brushes up behind the bar and all, or in the supply room. Grabbin' chests. Grabbin' ass. Husband of one of the waitresses wants a kill him. Beat him up, I mean. But Frank's too big... retired cop. Still keeps in shape.

Followed Tina out to her car. She parks 'round the corner, down a residential street. Nice houses. TV's and lights on timers. Some blocks got a fair amount of all-year-round people, but not where she parks. Frank comes up behind her, grabs her shoulders and starts kissin' her. She yells - Get off me, you sickening bastid!.... But he just chuckles and bites her ear. She bashes her fist back, right in his face. Wears a big ring. Sharp edges. Cuts the side of his head from eye to temple. He yells. Lets go. She runs. But now he's mad and comes after her. She keeps running. Takes out her keys. Got a fifteen year old Sable. Hand shakes. Fumbles with the lock. Boss grabs her neck. Calls her all kinds a names. He's drunk by the end a the night, but that ain't no excuse. She jam her foot down his instep, where some 'perp' once bit him and broke a couple bones. He yells, winces and lets go. She spins 'round, slams her open hand over his face and pushes back. He slips, skitters on some white, smooth landscaping stones, lousy kids steal from flower beds and play with, falls over and dies. Not the fall that killed him, but the smashin' his head on the jagged gray rocks 'round the 'water feature' part. Tina's all shaking and sweating. Gets in her car and drives away.  Only thing is the house where she parked wasn't empty. Flickering TV light's for real.  Owner's kid (just out of college) down for a long weekend, peeks through the drapes and sees it all. Don't like having no dead guy right by his mom's 'water feature,' so he calls the cops. They're there in like three minutes. Not one car... two cars.  Dead guy by the 'water feature' big stuff 'round here. Right away they see his clothes... black pants... white shirt... bow-tie. They know he's from the bistro. They know he's a retired cop. And the kid describes Tina... car and everything. Ten minutes later they find her parked behind the closed supermarket, shaking and crying.

Trial starts tomorrow. Dolan's got a suit and everything. He's scared. Tina's a good girl...mostly. Got a prior for shoplifting.... Not like t-shirts from Old Navy.... diamond studs from the nice jeweler at the rich folks' mall. Rich folks' jeweler got a retired cop too. He grabs her and that trampy friend real fast. She fall and smash her knee. People lookin.' Owner screaming how she switched real rocks for crap. That's it. You think county prosecutor ain't gonna bring that up? Maybe not admissible, but he's gonna say it and jury's gonna hear it.

Dolan parks his truck on the mainland and rides over the causeway in the big truck with the rest of the crew. They drop him off after cutting some grass and eating hoagies and all. But he don't want to go right home, so he walks out into the North Marsh instead. It's quiet. He can think... maybe relax a little. Air's got that late afternoon-early evening, September orange look. Nobody around. Even sees a short eared coast rabbit. Bunny looks right at him like it knows. Hops down a path. Dolan follows. Now he's in the wooded part. He ain't thinkin' straight. Nobody goes in there. Probably fill a ticks. Might even hide a South Jersey rattle snake or two. Who knows? But Dolan don't care. He don't wanna think at all.

Something catch his eye... shiny and close to the ground. Well, he likes shiny stuff. Tina ain't the only one. So he steps through the trees and itchy scrub to an empty space, maybe ten yards across. And right there, on the ground, in the middle of flat, yellow sand is a pair of glasses... expensive lookin' too... vintage Ray-Bans. Might be worth something, so he goes over to get 'em.  Maybe they ain't prescription? That'd be nice. 

Sand feels a little sticky. Sucks at his shoes real hard. But them Ray-Bans look real good. And it's so quiet. And it's so peaceful. Who knows? They could be worth three hundred dollars. So he bends over and grabs them. Hey, they ain't scratched up or nothing. Look brand new. And thank you, Dear Lord, they ain't prescription. Genuine article. Hot damn... Folds 'em up and stows 'em in his shirt.

Trouble is, when he wants a leave, ground won't let him. Already in to his ankles and sinkin' fast. Screams... yells, but nothing. Ain't no houses close by. Marsh backs up to big parking lot. Lot belongs to big church. This ain't Sunday, so it's a ghost town. And he's far from the edge anyway. Trees block a lot a sound too. Can't reach any branches... Too far away. Dolan cries. He prays. Keeps mumbling - I don't want to die. I don't want to die.... Well, he won't die... not for a real long time. 'Cause this ain't quicksand. It's a live, lose, living, fungal mass... And it eats stuff... organic stuff... critter stuff... people stuff. Guy what lost them glasses right there under him, maybe thirteen feet down. And he ain't dead. Fungal mass don't want him dead. Fungal mass like live food. It passes dissolved oxygen right through people's skin... nutrients too. Guy what owned them glasses grabs his foot. Dolan shrieks. In his mind it's a giant bug, like a huge ant lion, or something. He don't know, but there's other people below that guy and a couple dogs too.

But just 'cause they ain't dead don't mean fungus ain't eatin.' It start with the wings and drumsticks. Arms and legs get liquified first. Then the ass... Then the belly... Then the back... the ribs, chest and neck. Head's still livin.' Oozing, fungal mass preserve life real good, even when you don't want it too. Sometimes it never eats the head. Might be something in the brain it don't like... some dangerous prion... some poisonous element. Takes eight months to finish a body. Head can live down there forever, or almost forever... Who knows how long... all the time sinkin' down in warm, dark, wet silence...

And a little bit later, when the sun disappears, Dolan does too, til nothing's left, not even the glasses...

Well, nothing on the surface anyway...

The short eared rabbit sees it all... But who's he gonna tell?

And next morning at the courthouse, Tina never learns what happened. 

Boy do I feel bad for her mama...

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DEALINGS WITH AN ALL POWERFUL GRANDMOTHER WITCH ... 3/22/14

Sarah screamed. Her hands flew to her face and she cried. But Tomas couldn't do a thing. The 'born' witch laughed... a hoarse, dry, sound, as an avalanche of hungry ticks fell from her mouth onto the helpless night-folk below. puncturing their skin in ten thousand different places and drawing out the blood. Though none molested the bare, porcine body of the vicious conjurer squatting on Tomas' ribs. She was their mother and not to be used that way.                                                                                                                                                         And the witch clapped her beefy hands, bouncing up and down with delight, as the tortured vampirino and vampirina writhed and trembled. Soon each biting spider-cousin (for that is what ticks are) grew round and firm.... shiny, small beads protruding from  the flesh of their attractive victims in a more or less paisley design.                                                                                                                                                                     After perhaps two dozen heartbeats the witch quietly spoke. She said - Had enough? Where's my little grandbaby? What did you two shitheads do with Boopsie?....... She had to know they couldn't answer. Vampires feel septic shock too. But, you know what? She knew that. She wanted them to suffer. So she rose up, releasing Tomas, and smacked her ass against the sleeping chamber's fruit wood ceiling. Her breasts hung down... two heavy pendulous schoolhouse light fixtures (except they didn't give off nearly as much illumination.) Tomas and Sarah manically scratched at the rapidly vibrating insects., but their razor sharp mandibles held firm. Soon large red weals rose up around each buried head. Sarah shook like she was freezing. But Tomas managed to cough out a few words. He said - Please... please stop this. We'll help you. We'll help you..... The witch said - What can you two shitheads do for me?....... Tomas said - Boopsie... We'll help you find Boopsie...... The floating witch thought for a moment. She looked at Sarah and said - Look at her shake.... Tomas started to cry. Some of the ticks were even attached to his eyelids....... He begged again. Pig Blood Annie said - What about my 'man'? What about Little Joe? You gonna help me find him?..... He whispered - Yes.... She descended just a bit and knocked their heads together. Apparently, she didn't like that part..... Ain't gonna waste no time on him. Who the hell cares? I don't need him. I can get me another Little Joe... Tomas readily agreed and said - OK, OK, OK (all the while tearing at his skin)..... The witch contorted her face into a gristly smile, thought about something (you know with power like her's she don't need props), pursed her lips , sucked in all the air and 'vacuumed ' them evil bugs off every inch (nooks and crannies included). Had to hover down low for that. Certain attachments on her pendulous body rubbed against them.... Ewww.... When most of the blood engorged  ticks were safely stowed, her thick tongue wiped the last few off her lips and she absentmindedly crunched them, before flipping around and snuggling down between her two victims. The dark, red, silk, down comforter, long since kicked to the floor, rose up above the bed and slowly settled itself upon them all. Tomas and Sarah stared at the ceiling, as the thick-set witch cuddled each in turn. She shushed them like a big, crazy mama and whispered - Wait til dark. Wait til dark. Then we'll get her back..... The multitude of red weals scattered all over Tomas and Sarah's bodies, rose up through their skin like boils, before bursting (they had to repeatedly move and re-position  the comforter to allow that). Then the tiny, red explosions traced patterns through the air like          bubbles in strange champagne..                                                                                                                                                                                     While somewhere, not so far away, The elferino known as Peter slyly smiled, as Boopsie  contentedly gouged the eyes from tiny mice..                                                                                                                                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                                                                                                         

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SHADOW LADY SITTING ON TOMAS' CHEST IN THE DARK ... 3/20/14

It was dark in there. Sleeping chambers lock up real tight. Same window treatment place that made their plantation shutters for the 'family room' and little sitting room off the kitchen did it all.... Like if HGTV had a designer devoted to night-folk decor... Not vampire-chic. They don't like that look. No gray stone walls. No black velvet curtains. Just a nice, Center City townhouse... Dolly Madison meets Crate & Barrel, but with thick, opaque liners on all the draperies, or fine, cabinetry shutters. Nobody would notice if you didn't say. Hotel rooms have curtains like that. Sleeping chamber's not much different that one of those little private rooms they have on trains, except all the surfaces aren't stainless steel, or fake, pale green formica.  Tomas and Sarah's has all dark, fruit wood veneers, a thick, pillow-topped mattress, little pin-up lights... You know, those small, fancy lamps with the little, silk shades that fold out from the wall? I never looked in there. Edith and the two women who come to clean every week told me. Don't worry. The two women are 'familiars' so it's alright. There's a small, flat screen TV on the wall too. That, I know, 'cause I saw the guy install it one night when they were out.  Got little tables for books and  whatever else they want too. 

The 'born' witch, Pig Blood Annie's in there right now. Edith knows. She picked up on it as soon as she woke up. But Edith isn't a 'born' witch. She just knows a lot of hoo-doo's. Everytime she goes near the place, the sleeping chamber, I mean, her arms and legs begin to solidify. Thin, tough, wood-like fibers snake through her flesh... Child's play for a 'born' witch, even one still in roach-mode.

Pig Blood don't know how old she is. Oh, she's not very old. Not like some of the vampires or anything. From what I've picked up around here, peeks in La Ciencia Vampirismo and all, witches like her last maybe four hundred years. It's just the time travel thing throws them off. In actuality, she might only be two hundred and seventy years old. But that don't mean she ain't seen Ancient Persia or Paris during The Plague. 

And if we seem nonchalant about having such a powerful entity scurrying 'round the place it's 'cause she  messed with us too. Don't need no props, or shrunken heads or crystal beads. Just thinks it and it is. So me and Edith (after she learned her lesson and calmed down, or was made to calm down) mostly sit out back in the little patio-garden area outside the kitchen savoring the sunny, mild day (55F) and dozing. 

Funny thing is, Pig Blood Annie could kill us if she wanted to. Does it all the time. Softened up a guy's skull bones and drowned him in a toilet. Gave him a swirly he'll never forget. Well, he's dead. But you know what I mean. Transported folks to vast, dark, maze-like caverns in Nepal. No light. No way out. Enough air to last forever. And they will. No hunger. No thirst. Just dark, chill, rough, stone walls. 

Now she's expanding. The 'born' witch, I mean. Don't look like Laura Linney anymore.  Just her big, old, virago self. Sitting right on Tomas' ribs too. Pinning him just like a wrestler..... like a sumo wrestler. Emanates just enough weak, gray light to cut the darkness.  He wakes with a start and instinctively begins to effervesce , but the 'born' witch stops him. She whispers - No use tryin' to sublimate yourself through me, 'cause you can't do it, you son of a bitch. Where's my grandbaby? Where is she?.....

But he tries again. You know when vampires sublimate through living beings, the organic substance shreds to the point of liquification, til the quivering form of what was the thing in question rains down upon the the ground like a sticky, pool of soup. And the second time is no more successful than the first. 

The 'born' witch says - I got a teach you a lesson..... and a tiny crack snakes down the fruit wood veneer, from the ceiling to the floor, letting a thin, sharp, hot, bright, razor of sunlight slice into the dim cocoon.... The big, old, flabby, naked thing goes - Oooh, it feels so nice and warm on my back. Here, let me move over and share some.... Three ribs on his left side snap as she does. Whether simply from her bulk, or due to witchcraft I don't know . And yes, his vampire powers will quickly heal them, provided the magic stops. But he still feels the pain.

Sarah, just beginning to wake, starts to scream, as the light cuts 'cross her eye...

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