The Wee Hours of December 3rd In Philadelphia ... 12/3/14

Tomas slept. He lay wrapped in the sheets and he slept. A nurse came in to check his vitals... all within acceptable parameters. The room is dim. There are no external windows, but as is the case with many underground, 'Bureau' chambers, artificial windows (basically extreme high definition panels dressed to look like windows) provide 'views' of an outside world. 

Sarah, his consort, sits in a chair watching silent talking heads on @TMZ. Then she gazes out the window, taking in the exquisitely rendered Jacksonian scene.... eighteen twenties Philadelphia by twilight. Carriages bounce past in the deepening gloom. Lamplighters, carrying long, match-like poles and four sided, glassed in lanterns, go about their rounds igniting wicks in oil-filled street lights. Squirrels scamper about leaving embroidery-like tracks on a dusting of snow. A woman hurries by, dragging a dawdling child. She turns toward the people in the room, as if she can see them. The Anti-Enchantment Bureau has unmatched technology, if that's even the right word for it. 

Doctor Franklin, dressed in his favorite uniform, a green Eagles sweatsuit, glides into the room upon one of his battery powered scooters. He stops by the foot of the bed and says - How is he?.... The same - says Sarah. He mumbles. His eyelids flutter. He gets restless. Changes position.... Luna's been in (a vampire physician and Sarah's one time rival). She tapped some tubes, scanned the monitors and left. Sarah gave her a weak smile and got one back. They can be civil when they have too.

Franklin says - Come Sarah, take a break.... She follows him out of the room and down the hall toward a small snack bar. They go to the counter. Franklin addresses the girl. He says - Hello, Brittany. I'll have a diet coke and a large sweet potato fries and she'll take a cold, clarified cider...... Vampires can tolerate beverages, provided they're thin and watery. Sarah likes the smell of apples. She enjoys it. Buys green apple aroma candles whenever she can. Skinny guy at Yankee Candle knows her by name. Does he know she's a vampire? Some people who deal with them know. Some don't know. It's always been like that. 

Sarah turns the pages of an OK MAGAZINE. People leave them on the tables. Seems the British Queen has a real good way to make bread pudding. Makes it for herself and her husband on 'off nights.' Buckingham Palace is like a big ornate hotel. Ain't got no casino. Who knows? Maybe it does, down the basement or someplace. Queen has an apartment. Don't know how many toilets they give her. That's like a secret. Says she got a nice kitchen,though. Sarah closes the magazine and says - What will he remember... about the procedure... about... being dead?..... Doctor Franklin says - I don't know.... We got his ashes. And you know, I mean more than just dried ashes. I mean the greasy residue. All of it. We got it right away. They say life-eaters,  who die suddenly, revisit their remains. They say a lot of things. I know more than my share, but not everything. Did he survive as coherent energy? Call it a soul. I'm not adverse to that. I'm a Deist. God 'is.' You do the math. Yes, he did survive. And it took a long time to get him, shall we say, 'settled,'. We had him in a 'soul' pod even before we got a body. And what's a soul, energy, a quantum field? We bombarded him with images even then. Is this a precise science? No. One day it will be, but not now. We were just lucky. We were very lucky. And the information we got from that place in Russia was invaluable...... But, now we have him back? - asked Sarah..... Yes - said the Doctor. Now we have him back.

She sipped her cider and whispered - He looks so fragile... Doctor Franklin said - Because he's mortal. You've never seen him that way.

Sarah broke down - I want him back. I want him the way he was....... We all do - said the Doctor. We all do.

When she returned to the room, Tomas was all curled up sucking his thumb. She stroked his hair. He seemed to smile. It's miraculous how close this body is to his - she thought.
Then he said something in Old Vahmperigo (an ancient vampire dialect)....

But she didn't know the words...

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You Can Play A Mind Like A Vast Piano ... Tomas' Next Adventure 12/1/14

Things happen suddenly. Meteors vaporize continents. 'Soldiers' machine gun babies. A dancer plucked from the chorus by an amorous star-maker goes on to a stellar career. No one knows why. Perhaps time doesn't matter? Maybe the past, present and future are but competing swirls of syrup in a vast eternal smoothie? Sometimes they kiss. Sometimes they part. When reality and illusion are added to the mix things really get complicated. Can you follow all the threads?

Ssssh, he hears something. The sounds... the voices... Tomas hears them. He huddles in a den beneath the hedgerows with other tiny humans. They have warm, carefully cured, mouse pelt blankets. He taught them how to do that. He taught them many things. It's raining out in the dark, wide world. Each drop is so large to them, like a liquid pomegranate falling from the sky. But the original possessors of this den, the ground squirrels, knew how to build, so the wetness stays outside. 

The others sleep, even the few novice vampires. But Tomas, also known as Jonathon, does not sleep. He lays curled by the smooth, dirt wall, surrounded by his rescued brethren. His eyes are open. He detects things... a rhythmic, electric hum... tiny rapid, pin-point tickles... voices... muffled sounds... the smell of ozone..... Then come flickers... The den disappears... He is suspended in a soft, grey void.... a dense, ethereal place. They say some parts of Jupiter's atmosphere are like this... smothering blankets of slowly, flowing matter... not solid... not liquid... not air...

And then the squirrel den is back again.... It's all so fluid... Doctor Franklin appears. He hovers above me like a shield blocking the sun. I hear my own voice... mumbling... moaning... trying to shape words..... lights flash... it gets dark, but the temperature rises, warmer than it should be in a chill, damp, nighttime burrow. Tomorrow will be bright. Tomorrow will be spring. The sun will shine. Vampires can endure sun in this strange place.....

A pulse wracks my body. Iridescent singularities dance before my eyes....People talk. They whisper. But not here. Not in the den. No one here seems to notice. They breath. They snuggle. They sleep..... Doctor Franklin whispers - Not long. ... Someone says - It's so hot in here.... Doctor Franklin says - I can't help that. It has to be warm. Be patient. A few more minutes. A few more minutes. Let him breath. Let him breath..... Another voice shouts - He doesn't need oxygen!..... Can you keep quiet, you idiot?! Do you think I don't know that?! - barks the 'Doctor.' It's a reflex. He inhales. He exhales. That tells us a lot....

The voices fade away. Tomas studies the sleeping humans all around him. It's dark, but not  completely so to vampire eyes. And his gaze falls on a skinny, little girl, wrapped in a mouse-skin blanket. She leans against the opposite wall. Their eyes meet. She smiles and waves.....

(Then it all disappears... Poof! It's gone)

Tomas stares up at a smooth, white, clean, cement ceiling. Clinical fixtures bathe all in bright, metallic light. He rests suspended, held aloft in an energy web emanating from the throbbing heart of Doctor Franklin's harmonic masterpiece, The Grand Armonica. Crisp, uniformed technicians race from end to end, monitoring readings. The Old Patriot sits at the organ-like controls of a large console, orchestrating the whole thing. He says - Tomas... Tomas, can you hear me?.... A technician, holding up a syringe asks - Shall I give him some more?.... The Old Reprobate raises a hand to silence him, then says - Tell me your full name, Tomas and where were you born?.....

For perhaps twenty three heartbeats just silence.... Then a weak response.... The young, naked vampirino hanging in the barely visible, ever changing network of harmonic, energy threads coughs and in a quiet voice he says - My name is Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea and I was born in Granada, which is ruled by The Caliphate of Cordoba.... Then he whispered something in Old Spanish, or Hebrew, or Arabic... None could tell. 

Those in attendance burst into applause. Most were staff people, but some were wealthy guests, there to see the potential for 'life extension' inherently possible in this unusual procedure. The 'Doctor' valued his business world connections and the income they brought in. Benjamin Franklin is, after all, the ultimate realist.

When the cheering died down, the 'Doctor' adjusted his controls, weakening the web and slowly lowering our esteemed life-eater (politically correct term for vampire) onto a waiting gurney, where he was immediately wrapped in clean sheets and whisked off to an uber-tech intensive care unit. 

Human neurons can be very precisely stimulated. The mind can be played like a piano. And now, with our extensive knowledge of each and every region of the brain, we can paint detailed experiences and memories onto the human psyche. Thus Tomas' recent adventure. Those at 'The Bureau' had to know the strength and completeness of his re-mortalization. They needed to know if his energy cloud, or soul had successfully integrated into its new physical environment. He had to experience all manner of stimulation. Did the programmers get a bit crazy? Sure... 'invasions' of The Bureau... panicked flights to the Moon... a subterranean, Dyson Sphere-like lunar civilization.... Escape From New York-like chaos on the streets of Philadelphia... Giant canine, civilized, mid-Victorian alternate universe.... tiny humans raised for food in deep cellar mushroom farms? Looks like some of Doctor Franklin's programmers and technicians want to write for the movies. Lotsa luck. Hope they got 'good' cousins and stay on the right side of North Korea.

But that's history. Tomas is back. The procedure was successful.

Naturally, the poor, unwitting donor lost his mortal body and is now for all intents and purposes completely dead. But he didn't count for much anyway...

<nitey-night...or rise and shine... depending... more next time>

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah Thanksgiving threw me off, so here's some classic stuff 11/30/14

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: We walked. We walked back to Philadelphia, to a new existence in our new tabernacle in the sky. I led the way. Sarah, Bob, Baylah and a Pow ...



The Thanksgiving observance threw me off... beloved family members in from the far shore of our Great American Empire... new little dumpling (that means 'baby'... extra dogs and all that.... enough fancy deserts to do in three boatloads of Pilgrims and turkey flesh galore. I'll hopefully be back on track tomorrow. Til then, please allow me to show you a few Vampire Wonderland baubles from the past. They come from the early times, highlighting the Never Land existence of night-folk and, for the most part, slipped unnoticed into the great nimbus that is our wondrously pixilated world.



Just above these red letters, you'll see the portal. Click where it says The Book of Sarah . That'll get you in. Actually, this is the second post you'll see. I'm going to put up another. That one will be at the top. 



To wander through the whole treasure chest, click on this and scroll around ~> THE MAGIC KEY ...

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TOMAS RETURNS FROM WHENCE HE CAME.. 11/27/14 . Best Of Peter Pan-Never Neverland

Thus did the winter pass. The humans settled in. Existing vampires made more of their kind, forming a warrior class among the little people. They even learned how to herd mice, fattening them up with buttercups and marigold seeds. The flesh absorbed the flavor of the feed and it was good. 



Tomas served as a kind of Dalai Lama in this strange new Shangri La. He told them what to do and taught them how to live. They had no alphabet. He taught them our Roman alphabet. That's the name for what we use to write English. They made paper of a sort from tree bark. Not the thick bark that forms on trunks. These people were much to tiny for that. But the fine, thin bark sheathing new born twigs was perfect. Their first codices were crude, scratched out with a kind of charcoal and the spelling was obviously phonetic. Their language was a mix of English, Spanish and Hebrew. Tomas taught what he knew. Even a few giant canine words found their way in. At times the speech resembled Welsh, or Middle English, though sometimes it wandered off in directions all it's own, with vocalizations and syntax never before heard by mortal man. If that's what these beings truly were. They seemed to be.



Just having a written language gave their culture a huge step up. As their kind advanced into new territory and killed (you knew they would) more dog people, they'd be able to share things... ideas... discoveries... observations... all kinds of things. They'd mine metal, already refined and smelted from the eating implements in the huge houses. One fork could make a lot of plows... or swords. Tomas couldn't say which way they'd go.



Spring turned warm. Bugs woke up. In this giant place, that meant danger. Bees were OK. You could reason with them. Plant a lot of flowers. Let them have the nectar. Just spreading the 'dust,' just moving it around from plant to plant made more flowers. Bees were experts at that. Ants were another thing. They're mercenary bastards... all 'What's in it for me? And if I kill you, or your little grubs, will you taste good?'



Folks would have to feel their way. Tomas showed them how to make slings, simple bows and arrows, things like that. Even taught them how to use certain kinds of dirt to kill bugs. They can't stand it. Dries 'em all up. Desiccates their bodies. Turns 'em into husks. .... Teachings from an alien. We've heard that before.



But let me tell you this. I will put up, I will publish what I've channeled so far. This is me, Billy. Facts are coming through me this time. But there's a lot more to this post. Vibrations... resonances come back. Tomas feels them. He knows them. He recognizes them. And behind the buzz he hears voices. Folks are talking, whether to each other, or to him he can't tell. So he sits by himself and thinks. He prays. He wishes... tries to figure out what's going on..... Maybe he's not so all alone after all? ... Maybe somebody's found him?



Harmonics can work miracles and he does know a bit about that. If you've forgotten past episodes, or never read them, google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz Harmonics, or Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz Great Armonica... Something'll come up. Then you'll know, or at least have a clue. And it's based on actual science. God bless Doctor Franklin.



I have to go to sleep now. Thanksgiving washes over us tomorrow. Let me rest. Let me get ready. 



That title up there will make more sense when the rest of this post goes up.



Tonight's music (the Never Never Land video) might put you in the mood. I hope you listen and enjoy it. 



May The Holidays... The Season of Miracles... dawn bright for you and yours.



Keep dreaming and please tell others. Thank you.



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The Vampire, Tomas, Becomes Attuned To Things... 11/25/14

We huddle together during the night. Days are bad enough, but nights are brutal. There's a layer of dried, plant particles on the floor. The den's full of it. Mostly leaves, I suppose. The humans burrow into it, just like they used to dig in under the excelsior in the glass tank in the kitchen. But it's still cold. We find dead ones every morning. 

Polidori (new vampire) had an idea.... use the corpses as bait. Drag them out where the mice will find them. So that's what we did. Caught one right away. Polidori jumped on it. Vaulted right onto it's back, just like an ancient Minoan bull jumper. Grabbed hold of the ears and held on. It squealed. It ran. Tried to knock him off in the brambles. Scratched him up pretty good. But he's a vampire. They heal fast. Thing got tired. Mice can move quick, but only over short distances. When it stopped to catch its breath, he bit in. Now mouse blood's not the same as human blood. But this universe isn't Earth either. Things are different. Do they overlap? Sure. But they're still different. He was nourished in a half-assed sort of way. And the mouse easily had a body mass equal to two and a half or three times that of a person. There was more than enough, so Tomas had some too. Not his cup of tea. But he was curious and this was taking too long. Soon after, it squeaked to a mousy god, shuddered, gasped and lay still, legs stiff, on it's side, the way they always do.

Then they peeled off the skin. Humans watched. One or two smart ones began to help. Repulsive sickening work. Had to force their finger nails under the hide. But what did they know from that? Just a matter of survival. Now being Australian, Polidori understood something about sheep. He knew how to stretch and dress a hide. Sheepskin gives good leather, thick, pliable and what with the fleece, incredibly warm. This wasn't that. Yet when properly prepared would provide robes for two people. Nothing fancy... More Neanderthal than Cro Magnon. If they can kill a few every week, they'd all be warm... or warmer. Built frames out of twigs. Polidori showed them. And via that 'skin talk' they have (stroke each other's faces picking up chemical 'words' along the way) 'smarts' travel fast. 

Did they eat the carcass? Of course. Country folk on Earth eat muskrat. In the tropics, fire roasted rat is a delicacy. It eats the grain and the farmers eat it. Thus they recoup their losses. Fire kills anything, even the germs. Soon they had quite a little community. Killed a few shrews too, but mice are easier. 

Tillie, the other vampire Tomas made, picked up some words. She learned English, naturally, because Tomas and Polidori spoke that, plus a few words of classical Spanish from Tomas too. Might have been Old Vahmperigo, the life-eater dialect. They are fairly similar. She appreciated her new, grey, mouse fur kimonos. The made snug boots too. Rodent couture was 'in' that year. The extra layer or two of insulation did the trick. People stopped dying. Oh, once a weasel came 'round. To the Mouse Skin Wearers it was an apatosaurus. But Tomas quickly sublimated through the head and killed it. Though it did crush a little boy under a sharp clawed paw. All the humans had to climb over it to get out of the den. They had to leave. It was too big. They couldn't move it. But a few yards away there was another den. From the smell, it probably belonged to some mice, though they were long gone. What with the vampires and other humans, what chance did they have? You know mouse bones make good spears? Leg bones telescope together. Sharp too.

Weeks passed. Soon it was time to feed. Tomas needed to kill. Local vampires, ones made here, had no such rhythms. They could kill. But regular small drinks were enough. The 'burden' rested different on them. It's always like that. Even Earth has different strains.After a while they formed 'harems' of compliant humans willing to share their blood. And the donors benefited too. Got choice hunks of mouse meat and nicest robes.

But vampires, at least Tomas' kind, get very aware come feeding time. He felt the air and the night and the damp and the soil. He smelled each and every mortal. How unique they were... How irresistible. The very particles of creation vibrated with a certain resonance...an 'Earth' resonance... It felt like home.

He lay there, curled up in the dark, listening to the world around him.... each breath and the subtle 'hum' of the planet beneath him.

Intersecting universes have overlapping resonances... That's how they intersect. So Earth, although thousands of light years away, was quite accessible in other ways.

Tomas felt that... and it tortured him.

Sometimes he almost heard voices.....

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indulge him a bit~~ TOMAS shares an Old Original Hanukah Tale.. 11/22/14

The life-eater, Tomas, also known as Jonathon, sits with some surviving children, under a hedgerow, snug in a burrow once belonging to a long gone ground squirrel. Although it is roughly the time of year we call February in our world, a soft snowfall puts him in mind of another place and another time. Do these strange, foreign children understand him? Not every word. Earthly speech is so new to them. But they all absorb the heart of it.

Tomas, also known as Jonathon speaks, as he sits by a tiny fire (basically a collection of embers) with the children and their 'parents.' He tells them a tale originally created for two young ones in London, three hundred and fifty years ago, just prior to his crossing , hidden in a chest, deep in the hold of The Good Ship Welcome.

Jews had just been allowed back into the land, after a centuries long absence going back to The Crusades. But their numbers were small and winters were cold. So he came into a nursery one night, rather like Peter Pan, though that miraculous creature had not yet been revealed.

And Jonathon said ~

One child, a boy, was still awake. And by the low orange glow in the grate, he saw the long, heavy draperies billow into the room, as the being known as Jonathon sublimated through the tall, palladian window, coming to rest upon the thick 'Turkey' carpet.

Sitting upright, the young lad, in a quiet voice, asked, "What manner of genii are you!?"

I said. " No manner, boy. I hail from another part of God's enchanted wood." Perhaps my referencing the Devine soothed him. For he hugged his knees, waiting for me to go on. 

I knew what night this was. It was The Season of The Rededication, the First Night of Hanukah, which is merely the Hebrew word for that event. And I knew how it felt being a stranger in a strange land. Perhaps they did not celebrate at all, as his father was busy setting up the basics of a community. Small holidays, beloved by children are easy to forget.

"Know ye this night, boy?" I said. ... He nodded.... "Then tell me."..... In a child's voice he answered, "This is First Light, the first night of Hanukah," and he sighed. Obviously the occasion had not come up to his standards.....

Then the other young one, little brother to the first, woke too and he moaned, frightened by an unexpected personage (me) in their midst. His brother said, "No, Jacob. Don't be afraid. Come to me."... The boy, little more than a toddler, quickly padded over to his brother's bed and jumped in, giving me an exceptionally wide berth as he zipped by. They huddled under the covers. I heard the big one whisper something... "He's like a genii, but not a genii," he said.... The little one said, "Did he give you any presents?"... His brother shook his head and whispered, "No, be quiet. Let him talk. I think he wants to talk."

So I went on.... "I come to you from far away."... "Amsterdam?" said the big one..... "No," I answered,"Much farther than that."... "Where?" asked the little brother.... "From far beyond the great River Sambation, a magical stream, quite passable all days but the Sabbath, when it flows with a frothy torrent none can withstand. For on that day, all boatmen must rest. And even the fish lay quiet with their fishlings in snug, little riverbank caves, listening to fishy prayers.

"What's on the other side?" whispered the big one...... "Mountains, boy, mountains. The highest of which is Har (Hebrew for height, or mountain) Hanukiah, the Mountain of Hanukah."..... "They have a mountain for it?" asked the little brother..... I nodded... "A tall, snowy peak. Unicorns nest there. And right by the summit is the House of Papa Mattathias, the steadfast priest who refused to forget The Lord in the time of Antiochus Epiphanes. Do you know these names?" I asked... They nodded, for theirs was a home well steeped in Scripture.

"What's the house like?" said the big one... "Warm and tight, with strong, stone walls the color of doves. And bright, little windows looking out upon the clean frosty valley below. And think not that Papa Mattathias lives all alone, for he does not. Two and twenty cherubs are always with him. One for each letter of The Holy Script. They help him in his work and he takes care of them. Every morning he asks. 'How goes it in the world?' and the cherubim fly off upon beautiful unicorns to find out. But do not look for them. For no mortal can see them pass. In that way, Papa Mattathias learns. 

"What does he do, up on the mountain, all day long?" queried the little one, who seemed quite concerned by it all.... "He fashions things for those in need. Blankets for the poor and plows for farmers. Prayer books for the faithful and parchment for scribes. But he never forgets the children. And every year, throughout The Feast of The Rededication, he sends them cheer in many ways."

"You mean he remembers us? He has something for us? Me and my brother, I mean"

I nodded... "Oh yes. He remembers you. And according to the cherubim, you've been very, very good."

"Are you a cherub?" asked the big one.

What could I say? I'd Hanukahed myself into a corner. So I said, "Yes."...... They inhaled in expectation. Then the little one said."What?"..... "What do you mean 'What?'" I asked....."What did he send us? What does Papa Mattathias have for us?"

Thinking fast, I reached into my waistband and pulled out my purse, just a soft, suede, pouch really, tied to my belt with a braided cord, but filled with golden ducats from far off Venice. Vampires favor Venetian coinage. Don't ask me why. There were eight of them, large and bright and yellow. A fortune in that land..... "He sent these for you," I said, "to buy playthings and sweetmeats and whistles and kites."

How delighted they were. I had to quiet them lest they giggled too loud. Then I put the heavy coins back into the purse, pulled it closed and hung it from a bedpost where they'd find it in the morning.

After, I regaled them with tales of pirates and mermaids in the warm waters of southern seas, for you know I am quite well versed in those things, till they drifted off to sleep. 

When they awoke, I was gone. Though a being such as I has ways to keep in touch. The eldest looked about in a panic, fearing it was all a dream. But the soft suede pouch was still there. 

Needless to say, Hanukah was very good that year. They bought many things and played dreydel (spinning top game) for the finest currants and almonds from the finest costermonger (like a grocer) in all of London.

Did their parents believe them? I suppose they did. Miracles sometimes happen. What else could they think? The children told their friends and the grown-ups told their neighbors, til everyone knew the tale. And if parents had to take on the role of Papa Mattathias and his cherubs, so be it. Truth comes in many boxes.

On other nights, during The Feast of Christmas, I made similar visits and told similar tales to other children.

You see, the details might differ, but the story stays the same.

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May the Season of Miracles dawn brightly for you and yours.

Tiny Tim said it best -- God bless us every one.

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WHAT PASSES FOR FEBRUARY IN THE REMNANTS OF THE DOG WORLD... 11/21/14

The winter season in this place is almost over. I can tell. There are signs. Nine foot crocuses (at least nine foot compared to me) blossom by the hedgerows.  The big manor house is almost empty... no giant canines... no tiny, 'two inch' people. I haven't looked, but Polidori (a newly created vampire) says the upper 'mushroom trays' in the cellar are filled with dead dried up people. They couldn't climb down. No one watered the sprouts and mushrooms or dripped water into the little, metal-lined 'stream.' They starved and died of thirst. There's a few dead humans in that glass tank on the counter too. Tillie (another newly minted vampire) goes in there. It fascinates her, the way she used to live. She runs her palm over the thick, green glass and peers inside. They're there, she knows, forever hiding beneath straw-like excelsior. She can smell them. Vampires hate stinks like that.

I go out into the fields sometimes. Look, who knows if they were ever fields. 'Fields' signifies farms. I don't know if those dog things ever grew anything there. Maybe they're just meadows. Do they have meadows in the winter time? There's no flowers, or butterflies. Who knows. I saw two mice eating a dead human. They peeled off tiny strips of what looked like beef jerky. No, not beef jerky... chicken jerky. Poor bastard, the human, I mean, must have frozen to death. Damn those mice are big. They see me. I know they see me. But I spook them. Animals feel things. Don't have words for it, but they know.... Stay away. Don't bother that one... Maybe that's what they say... or whatever it is they do. 

I could kill them. I could run and go and sublimate right through them. Their bones and meat and hair and ears would fall down on the dirt like rain. But I don't do that. I let them live... What did they do?

Later, just before dark, two of them go buy.... Not mice... giant canine creatures, I mean. Not grown ones. These were juveniles..... a sad little girl, except she was eight stories high and carried a 'toddler' the size of  King Kong. They don't make a sound. She wears bright yellow rubber boots. Canine creatures loved their children too, you know. I suppose the humans already got to their place, wherever that is, and killed all the other dog people. Not regular humans... vampire humans, I mean. And I have no idea how many there are.

They wouldn't listen. I tried to teach them. Don't over-kill. Once a month is enough. If you have to, take little drinks here and there... Just don't kill.....

But they do kill... And the night-gift spreads like a plague. 'Night-gift,' why do I call it that? Day doesn't scare them here. I don't know why. Maybe there is science behind it? Maybe it's not all 'spiritual.' I like to think of it that way... Me, Tomas also known as Jonathon, a vampire who still believes. I can't not believe.

What will happen here? Will they become slightly more fastidious zombies? Look how culture effects me. 'Zombies,'... I called them 'zombies.'...... Do you know what genuine Caribbean, Haitian and Creole zombies are really like? What they call 'zombies' back in my world are not zombies. I don't know what they are. But they're no more real than Thunder Cats. 

It gets dark. The juvenile dog girl and her baby brother (I imagine that's who he is) come back from wherever they've been. Maybe there's a place she goes to find food?... Maybe a bush with cold, icy berries on it? I hope they survive... A world with towering dog people and chess set size humans, some of whom are vampires..... Why not?

I feel tinges sometimes... Earth tinges... vibrations really. I can tell. I know what they feel like.... the waxing and waning of the moon.

And I've been there too.

<Tomas sighs, turns and walks back into the brambles at the bottom of the hedgerow... True night falls. Stars come out. Dead leaves dance in the wind>

<more next time>

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