This is Doctor Franklin. They don't know I can commandeer their system. They don't know a lot of things. The vampires and their like, I mean. But if you're loyal to the tale, you know how many times I, or others attached the The Bureau have pulled their chestnuts out of the fire. And this 'Billy' thing is just the latest example. To them, I'm just another 'familiar,' an exalted one, at least I like to think, but a glorified servant just the same. You probably think so too. Do you identify me with the gentleman from history class... with the, well, for lack of a better term, the 'midwife' to the birth of our American Republic? Or do you just see me as that old guy in a strange painting with a Davy Crockett hat smashed on his head? Remember, ladies and gentlemen, it's I who grace the one hundred dollar bill.... Which one are you on? And even I have a dark side too. How do you think we beat the British? (he gazes off, focusing on a what-not artfully placed on a fruit wood table in The Residence, before continuing) Let me relate one instance. Captains would bring back things. Ships' captains, I mean. We had spices and fabrics and ivory carvings and carpets from the Turkey trade, Chinese porcelains too... and then there was the 'quickened' cargo... the live trade... exotic animals.... small, wildcats, such as ocelots for aristocratic menageries. We had our landed class too. Hereditary patroons in New York. Manor-Lords in our Pennsylvania. Not to mention those troublesome, cavalier, slave holders farther south. The New World didn't come with ready-made serfs, so they willingly compromised our ideals and created a beaten down peasantry of our own. God, how we were blind to those things. Even me. (he toys with an enamel snuff box in his vest pocket before going on) What were we talking about? Oh, yes... my dark side..... There were these crabs. I can't recall whence they came... an island in the South Atlantic, I believe. Rather large and 'muscular' for crustaceans... about the size of a farmer's fist, not counting the claws and legs, which were stout in their own right. And the most hideous mouth parts all working and working to tear away the flesh... Ah, yes! Shiboomi Crabs! I remember....Dull green and purple creatures. Natives would dig a pit... smear a victim with pig's blood and honey... Can you imagine such a concoction? Then they'd do a dance, sing a song, line up, spit in the victim's face and throw him in. Did I mention the pit was filled to approximately thigh level with the crabs? Well, it was. Screaming started right away. They'd thrash and try to climb out, but that was impossible. Then they'd slip in the whole bloody mess and fall into the hellish maelstrom, sending the horrible scavengers into a frenzy. Like being devoured by living quicksand. Hands and limbs went first, along with the gentleman's bits and pieces. Oh, the bones were left... tendons too. But without muscles they were, shall we say, somewhat passed their prime. I'd say it took a good quarter hour to die in that pit... at least. Then a few minutes more to thoroughly clean the bones. They'd fish them out with a hook... the bones, I mean.. and worship them in the bonehouse. Well, we did the same thing. Had a pit right where 'The Wedding Cake' is today. That's a term some people use for City Hall, since it looks like a gigantic, Second Empire, French wedding cake. Politicians just say 'the cake.' Who's got the cake? -means who's got the power. In those days it was our Tyburn... our killing field... where we did executions. Mostly foreign spies and the like. Kill the first and the rest tend to become quite blabby. Had a gallows there too. Readers know this. Right in the middle of City Hall Courtyard. Right where the big, inlaid, bronze compass rose is today. That's where they 'dropped.' Crab pit was right nearby. I think just off to the northwest. We did the crab thing at night, lest children and ladies see. Occasional doxies didn't count. Kept the pit locked under a thick, oak slab when not in use. Constabulary chased people away... (nods and sighs) Yes.... Shiboomi Crabs. I forgot about them. Today, I use other means. (lowers voice) Enemies are all about us, you know... contemporary Redcoats... even worse... a lot worse and 'magic' has nothing to do with it. Now let me go speak to Jonathon and Sarah. I'm sure they're at sixes and sevens. Let me tell them how goes it with their Billy and his vexacious spirit. After that, I'll come back and we'll continue our conversation. With that, the old reprobate gets up to leave... heads toward the door... turns and says - Pig's blood and honey. Can you imagine such a thing? heh heh heh heh heh heh heh. <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ see more Vampire Wonderland. click -STRANGE OLD TALES ... and join me on Twitter. click - REASONS TO BELIEVE ... please leave a comment. kindly use the share bar and tell your friends. thank you for any help you're willing to give me.
They laid Billy's body on a large stainless steel table. He was not actually dead, just in retreat. The entity was in control. I suppose the whole experience was rather like being the victim of a violent home invasion... tied up, gagged and watching helpless, as other hands violate your life. Technicians wired him up, attaching sensors to all parts of his body. Luna was there, besides being a physician, she is a vampirina too after all. Look at her, in that white coat, her sandy colored hair tied back. I don't know where she hunts, or who she hunts. Maybe the Anti-Enchantment Bureau brings in victims for her. She's so clinical and practiced. Believe me. I've been a disembodied, spirit narrator (somewhat like the entity, but not remotely as old, or of such exotic background) a long time and I've never seen any other night-folk like her. Grace Kelly with fangs. Not lurid, comic book fangs, but neat, little sharp pointed teeth. Doctor Franklin floated around behind all the action. He wasn't flying. Nothing like that. Rode his scooter... that little electric thing he has. Oh, he did put on a fresh, Philadelphia Eagles sweat suit. The team made sure he had plenty of those. Some of them were sterile. But he could see what was going on. Barked directions every now and then. After centuries of scientific inquiry, what discipline didn't he know? Franklin was 'the Wizard,' so to speak. He had his hand in everything. Then they wheeled in the orangutan. Jamba was strapped down on his own stainless steel table, but he hadn't yet been sedated. And he seemed so sad, stretching his huge neck to look around and take it all in... rather like a human abducted by aliens. Orangutans are such quiet, abiding beasts. He makes faint, little moaning sounds. Those straps must really be strong. Blood tests disclosed they were both type O. humans and other Great Apes share most blood traits. Staffers decided to transfuse a bit of blood from one participant to the other. Not much. Just a little. In that way, the entity might grow confused and wander into the other host. Perhaps the greater strength of the orange ape might attract it? I think magnetism played a part too. Spirits are made of energy, or they manifest as energy in our world, which is essentially the same thing. If the subtle magnetic fields 'round Billy's body and the ape's can be brought into synchronicity, the transfer might, more readily take place. And it seemed the entity noticed. Great knots of flesh roiled under Billy's skin. Technicians rolled around the tall, pole-like magnets, the better to stabilize the field. If you've ever seen those outdoor heaters restaurants use to warm alfresco diners on chill evenings, you sort of know what they look like. But then Billy tensed... more than tensed... He convulsed, arching up from the table, as if his spine would break. His eyes bulged, like two, wet, blue-pink orbs. His body trembled. Luna bit into her lip, wiped a drop of blood on her finger tip and put it in his mouth. You know how efficacious small applications of night-folk blood can be. She also gave a drop to the orangutan to equalize their 'environments.' Must make things homey for that spirit thing. Then they watched, as tiny, pale green praying mantises erupted all over Billy's sweat soaked skin.... <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to see all episodes, click TALES AND STORIES... and join me on TWITTER, click COMMUNICATE ... please leave a COMMENT down below. thank you. and one other thing-- I noticed someone unfollowed me on G+. Please understand I truly do not know much about that site. It confuses me and seems complicated. Maybe because I learned Twitter first. If you contact me there (on Twitter) I am very supportive. So don't think I ignore ANYONE on G+, just not so adept. Just wanted to say that.
This is not my regular post. that will come later. This is just an insight into my 'cinematic' feelings and vision. Vampire Wonderland is a big lose nebula based on my real screenplay, PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK, a much tighter and focused piece. The characters are similar, though there are differences. Jonathon is a minor Scots aristocrat. Sarah is still Sarah. They have a spiritual adviser named ROLAND. You see parts of him here broken up among a few characters. He's a life-eater holy man... half Celtic Christian... half Byzantine Jew. His parents met on Pilgrimage over fifteen hundred years ago. Then we have 'The Khan,' our puck and maybe the hand that stirs the pot. The townhouse is still there. The mysterious all night bookshop remains, as do the elferinos and cherubs. We have other characters too.
And at the end, just before the credits roll, when it's all over, we hear the song up above. Please listen and enjoy.
The script only exists in hard copy. Maybe some night a real movie person will read this and ask to see it?
Who knows?
If anybody wants to talk to me, click TWITTER ... as always, please leave a comment. thank you.
In the 'real' parallel universe tonight. Twitter page all messed up. Looks like somebody cut up all the elements of a regular page and scrambled them up. Hard to read and navigate. Makes me seasick. So I went to my old highschool year book page and looked around over there. Never knew how to navigate that site either. Lot a fun. Will go back and post pictures when I learn how. I guess those yearbook sites are like a variation of FaceBook. Took my mind off Twitter problems. Some people say Twitter goes screwy when hacked and to change my password. I don't know. will do so tomorrow. Too late for that. You know what I really want to write about? MARS.... Was never there or anything, but very attracted to the place. Looks like Gobi Desert. Would like to do more EL RANCHO TEXACO story arcs. This time a prequel about first settlers, the original 'troopers' who went out on the first ArchAngel class ships right after initial terraforming. Early days in desert towns. Big land holdings. how the Texacos got their place, El Polva Rosa. The growth of capital city, Barsoom (pronounced BARsum). First taste of Tuva-Tuva culture. Every settlement got a WalMart and a Cabella's. The WEST will live again. Who knows? Your kids and grandkids might establish powerful Martian dynasties? Gonna carve the place into states--- North Mars, South Mars, East Equator, West Equator, Mars Montana and the Federal District of Barsoom. Whole place still part of America. Martian leader not called President. He, or she's called 'the Secretary, as in Secretary of Mars... a cabinet level position, although voted by the local constituency. Them what read the first EL RANCHO TEXACO arc know planetary anthem's SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON.... America's anthem (America includes Earth, Moon, Mars, Europa plus a 'twilight zone' outpost on Mercury. Them what's been out there 'go all Kansas' from the sight of a threatening, bloated sun. Term means crazy. Sun's called 'Kansas,' 'cause one of the few times it's actually been given a name is in Frank L. Baum's THE WIZARD OF OZ ---- 'and Kansas, she said was the name of the star.' Oh, yeah... one other thing... Martian dialect a kind a South Texas, Spanish-English patois. Comprende, partner? And befor I sign off for the night/morning, 'born' Martians a tall and lanky breed. Less gravity does that... longer bones... longer spaces between 'em... Not giants...just taller. Maybe y'all come out one year for the Bartlesboro Stampede? MARS is a place... or soon will be. Hasta la proxima, amigos. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ more posts- click -ALL KINDS OF IMAGINATIVE FICTION ... join me on Twitter - click - WELL SAY SOMETHING ... please leave a COMMENT. thank you. would have posted a regular episode, but Twitter page all messed up for some reason and that gimme the 'hinky-dinks' (a Martian expression)...
Orangutans are the oldest of the great apes and somewhat separate from the gorillas and chimpanzees and bonobos and humans. Geneticists say we're more closely related to chimps and bonobos than either are to gorillas, which (according to the math) puts us squarely among the great apes. Thus 'MAN' did not evolve from the apes. He never left them. And don't think this violates 'creation.' God merely used what was already on hand. We may be apes, but we're not chimps, or bonobos, or gorillas. We are the finest of the breed, possessed of intricate language and a higher form of reasoning, though in most instances just as violent. But tonight we speak of our orange haired kin, a bucolic race, quiet and sungular. They munch leaves and grubs, insects and mammals. Don't worry, only the tiny ones and everybody eats them. Well, in the jungle they do. Doctor Franklin has one. He calls him Jumba. Not exactly an Indonesian name. But the Doctor is not always politically correct, though he is intelligent and inquisitive. Both the Doctor and the orangutan, I mean. Jumba is seventeen years old and in his prime. He should be somewhere deep within the forests of Sumatra or Borneo seeing to his wives and scaring off interlopers, but he's not. His mother performed in a jungle theme park in Florida. Wore a coconut brassiere and a grass skirt. Never been to Hawaii, but did a real mean hula. Daddy was feral. Escaped from a circus. Hid in a patch of semi-tropical woods south of Orlando. Every once in a while somebody'd see him. They'd yell - Skunk Ape! Skunk Ape!... That's southern for bigfoot. Only he was no skunk ape. Never made no trouble or nothing. Just turned away and disappeared in the brush. Found an old trailer knocked on its side. Probably happened in a hurricane. Fake skunk ape slept in it on cold nights. Found a mattress . Covered himself with blankets, or drapes, or something. What difference did it make? He don't know from home decor. Eats live shrews too. Told you humans were better than them other apes. One night he sees a compound. Sees a real pretty orangutan woman in it too. Sneaks inside. Solitary apes are good at picking locks. Once he found his way into some pie house. Got drunk on key lime pie. Messed the place up real bad. Ran off with a box of hamantaschen (like triangular, Linzer tortes filled with tart prune filling for Purim time) just before owner comes in. Blamed it on a bunch a drunk carnies wintering near by. Folks blame everything on drunk carnies... even when there ain't no drunk carnies.. So that's how Jamba was born. Drunk carny did it... heh heh heh heh heh... Franklin got him from a discount orangutan place. Nobody knows too much about his childhood. Them discount joints don't keep fancy records and orangutans don't say nothin'... Now he's gonna be a receptacle for some ugly, old entity. He don't wanna leave his place. Got little trees in it... tropical butterflies an' a Coca~cola machine. Just Diet~Coke, 'cause Franklin want him to be healthy an' all. Even if he is gonna be mostly dead.... I know this is not a typical Vampire Wonderland post... but what is? Just wanted to give Jamba some back story... Poor Jamba.... He's the nicest great ape of all. <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ see a whole bunch of strange stuff. click DRUNK CARNIES DID IT ... join me on Twitter, click MORE DRUNK CARNIES DID IT ... please leave a comment down below. thank you and kindly tell your friends.
They sat 'round a table in a room within The Residence. Doctor Franklin had quite commodious quarters within his Anti-Enchantment Bureau. Vampires and other exotic quests visit from time to time. Please don't go by the name, but in the early days of scientific inquiry around here 'pro' enchantment sentiment was a problematic viewpoint to have. Rougher sorts and backwoods types were not adverse to burnings. Though by the late eighteenth century they were not usually publicized. Mustn't scare away settlers. Tonight his guest was Jonathon. They sipped hot spiced gin in the 'tavern' room, as they pondered Billy's dilemma and how he might escape 'possession.' ..... Doctor Franklin said - Since the being, when mortal was 'mantid' or arthropod, a large crustacean might do the trick... maybe something like a king crab, or a coconut eating crab might suffice. Have you ever seen them? (Jonathon shook his head) Big ones can reach ten pounds with thick, muscular legs. Believe me, a horrific sight. They'll take meet too. Wouldn't want to be a lost, little Pacific Islander. I can tell you that.... Can you get one? - asked Jonathon..... I have merfolk, Jersey Devils and Yetis in there (gestures toward the specimen wing). I can get anything. You know that - said the old scientist.... But do you really think it would work? - asked Jonathon.... The scientifically preserved patriot shrugged and said - The number of limbs might be wrong. Even seven hundred and fifty thousand year old entities have memories, you know. We need something smart and something agile. I'm thinking a chimp or an orangutan. Don't tell anyone I said that. Not to politically correct these days. You know the P.E.T.A. people wanted to come through here? They know about this place. What don't they know?.... How do you keep them out? - said Jonathon...So far, copious, luxuriant amounts of money. Nothing unseemly. Not to individuals. I mean to the organization. So they tolerate an incarcerated merman, or Jersey Devil, or Yeti. Besides, those things are not animals. (thinks for a few moments) I'm going to use an orangutan. Smart, but not too smart. And they move with a slow, precise mantid grace. Have you ever noticed that? - asked Franklin..... No - said Jonathon. I believe they're diurnal (active in daylight). How could I?..... Good point, my boy. Good point - whispered the Doctor. Then he said - Have him ready when next the moon shines bright. The van will be outside. Let my people in. They'll get him out. None will see. And should a nosy parker pepper the household with questions, let them say some sort of television or electronic device is being returned to the vendor. I've seen your eyes and by 'you' I mean all night-folk. None can fight such eyes. So they finished their drinks and went to hob-nob with outlandish examples of lifeforms best kept in the dark. The Yeti trilled an alpine song in exchange for nuts and apples. Three pens down a Circassian Bear ate convicts, as right next door the replacement sea hag (the earlier aged mermaid died) sang sad songs of the depths. One night hence, the magic begins. All prayed for success.... <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to see more click STRANGE MENAGERIE ... join me on Twitter. click THE TALKING PLACE ...please leave a comment. thank you for any support you're willing to give me. you know if you click the BLOGGER icon on our SHARE BAR down below, you can import any episode to your own BLOGGER blog site. I just remembered that.
This is part of an album and there are rumors about how it was recorded. But we won't discuss that now. We're here for other things. This is an intermission.... a break from our vampire drama. Night-folk are really quite tame. They're not like ghouls. They're not like zombies. Those of you who've been with us for a while know that. Real terror lies elsewhere, in souls quite human, though contorted into strange shapes. Every city has them. But they hide. And the thing is... you don't want to look.
Witness 'the ice cream man.' Listen for his bell. Ah, there it goes, serenading children on hot summer nights. The route is very special. And the schedule rather late. If you live on a block with lots of people, don't look for 'the ice cream man.' Crowds frighten him. Monsters have phobias to, you know. He frequents leafy lanes on the outskirts of town, with wide lawns, old trees and large stone houses. Most people go in after dark, breathing in the artificially cooled air. It's expensive to retrofit old houses. Occasionally there might be a lawn party, but they're around back and far away. What with all the trees, there's not much light. Street lamps can only do so much.
Sometimes a child comes out. Every place has it's loners. Which is not to say they have no friends. But certain individuals relish the dark and the quiet. A door opens... a side door... leading from a small library out to a grey stone porch. A child comes out... a little girl, but not that little... perhaps eleven. She crosses the lawn, taking care lest she trip on tree roots. Lights are for flower beds, or driveways. There are none here. Only shadows. A boy once sailed from the heights of that tree, smashing his skull on a bough toward the bottom and thus already dead by the time he hit the grass. But that was in nineteen twenty one. The current family knows nothing of it, though his spirit flickers through the grounds on warm summer nights. Fireflies say hello. So do the bats. The eleven year old girl runs right by him, noticing nothing more that a cool breeze and an exceptionally dark shadow. He whispers a greeting, though she's deaf to it.
There by the curb is the truck... an old, small, white, ice cream truck. There's no roof. The driver sits out in the open with a big freezer in back. It was once a GOOD HUMOR truck, but that was long ago. Tiny, exterior lights up toward the top make it glow... an oasis of soft illumination on an other wise still, dark street. Not even a car goes by. Little gnats swarm 'round the lights. The man stands there in his while pants and white shirt, smiling a well rehearsed smile.He has a hoarse voice and thick, leathery skin. His hands are boney. His nails shiny and thick.
What is thee wish? - he says... The girl asks for a choco-taco. He opens one of the thick freezer doors and hums a little tune. A gnat bites the girl's forearm. She slaps it away and stands there politely waiting for her treat. But when he turns around there's no wrapped confection in his hand, but rather a wadded up rag dowsed with chloroform. Before she can resist, he grabs the back of her head and jams the dirty cloth into her face. She gasps... but that's good, for it forces the intoxicating fumes deep into her lungs. Then she lashes out, scratching his arms and kicking her feet. He twists her neck. Something cracks. Oh, it's not broken, but she realizes he could do that too, so she stops. Eight heartbeats later the girl goes limp... not dead... just drugged.... She smells his acrid stench, as he picks her up. And she hears a night bird sing, as he forces her body into the freezer through the small, open door. A wrist breaks... a clavicle ... Pelvis cracks a little. Oh, she feels the pain. Chloroform numbs it a little, but just a little. And the ice cream man's gotta do what he gotta do to get her in...Soon she's all scrunched up on top of a thick, canvas drop cloth. Then he slams the door, locking her in with another almost dead body.
But they ain't gonna die in there. He has to get 'em 'home' first. So the ice cream man hops in front, shuts the door, pops out his two glass eyes and puts 'em in a box he got. Feels better without 'em. Sees better two.
Then he starts the engine and drives away. Streets all quiet... few crickets, maybe, but that's it. Blue, TV lights vibrate from windows here and there.... maybe the noise of an old central air conditioning unit that needs replacing. No kids. No people. No nothing. Just dark. Every so often a ghost... not many, but they're around.
Family goes - Where'd the girl go?.... Somebody says - Oh, she's watching TV in the little library...
And that's it.
Truck don't stop no more. It just goes. Little exterior lights blink out too...
It's easy to sneak away...
<more next time>
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